Hi. So… I’m having a bit of a quandary-slash-crisis of the… heart? Soul? Heart and soul? Are you hearing that one song that everyone knows how to play on the piano or the kicky Huey Lewis and the News song from the 80’s-ish?

It’s this whole adoption thing. It’s SCARY. And the attorney I’ve talked to is not at all helpful. International adoption is very daunting. So many rules… I’m too fat and previously depressed for China. Too American for Russia. Too old for other places. And oh by the way… the fact that I know in advance that we need to rule out countries that are going to require open-ended trips apparently makes me NOT a good planner who considers all the options but instead makes me a workaholic potential mother who will clearly lock my baby in a crate and feed it nothing but diet coke and mallomars with a side of whiskey.

(Are mallomars even still a thing?)

Domestic adoption… Patrick has ordered me to immediately cease and desist walking up to pregnant children in Wal-Mart and asking for their babies. I LIVE IN TENNESSEE! That’s where these kids are congregating. In completely unrelated news? I’m terrific at ducking a right hook but the left one always takes me by surprise. This is an unintentional victory because Wal-Mart always makes me sad.

But what I’m trying to wind my way around to talking about is something I’ve actually just recently learned about. Embryo adoption…

When Patrick and I both started down this path a million years ago back when my boobs were perkier and he still had hair, one of the things we agreed on was that we would have a child that was either both of ours or neither, biologically speaking. I tried and tried to make my eggs the little engines that could but while most women’s eggs are firm and plump and like those gorgeous brown, cage-free eggs that are absolutely perfect… mine are more in line with the plastic Easter egg with mismatched halves that has probably been left outside for a year, stepped on and probably peed on by a few dogs.

Clearly, it seemed like adoption was the only avenue we had left to explore. But the other day, my mother mentioned something to me in passing that I stuck in the back of my brain and took to the internets a little later to learn about.

Embryo adoption is NOT a traditional adoption. When women do IVF, there are almost always more embryos that they need/desire/plan to raise/whatever you want to call it. In the past, these embryos were either donated for research or destroyed but apparently now? They can also be donated for adoption. To people like me with crap eggs.

So we looked into a little… and then a little more… and then it started to seem like something that might be a really great fit for us.

And I started really turning it over in my head. Is it an adoption that is contradicting the entire mission of adoption? There are children that exist that need homes and parents. These embryos, regardless of what your definition of living or existing or whatever may be, are not those children. These embryos are, for intents and purposes, little teeny tiny ice cubes.

But despite that, this is still really appealing to me. And after talking it over with Patrick, I think I’m okay with that. There are people who are led to adoption as a “mission”. Regardless of their own reproductive status, they want to adopt children. We aren’t necessarily those people, we want to be parents. To a baby. I had come to terms with the fact that I wasn’t going to give birth to that baby but now, suddenly here is that possibility again. But without all the drugs and procedures that I’d been subjecting myself to.

I don’t know… we are still learning. But for the moment? This is winning…