Month: January 2013

We’re back home. Been here two whole days. It is nice to have all the things you take for granted until you are not home and don’t have those things. Like sitting in bed, sipping a small amount of bourbon over ice with only the bedside lamp on while the babe is asleep and the man is watching Taken 2. I’ve come to enjoy my moments just before bed by myself in our room. Its peaceful and relaxing. This Heavenly bed doesn’t hurt one bit either. I capitalized that on purpose. If you don’t know, you should. The Westin hotels all furnish their bedrooms with this particular bed, and it is quite lovely. So lovely that we actually bought the whole package which includes pillows (2 down and 2 hypo-allergenic) bedskirts, sheets and comforter among other things. It seems silly. I never thought I would be one of those people who would pay more for something so mundane as your bed. Everybody sleeps in a bed. And millions (probably more) sleep in a less than stellar bed at that. And here we are paying a premium for a bed that is likely built by the same people who make those “less than stellar” beds previously mentioned. It might be the same bed with just a different cover encasing it. All I know is that when we stay at the Westin or any of our timeshares (we really only have one, but it is spread out over 16-20 properties) I sleep like a baby. And you might think that has to do with the fact that we are on vacation. I don’t care. I’ve come to an age in my life where sleeping well is important. Do you think it is a coincidence that this bed was bought shortly after Calliope turned 2? Because, believe me, the timing is not lost on me. And I have been sleeping better since we got this bed. And you can’t even argue that life has settled down and we are just more relaxed, because everyone knows that is bull, shit.
So what is it that brings me to bed before Michael tonight? It has to do with names. Calliope is starting school this coming Monday. We are very excited for her. We visited the school today as a precursor to just dropping her off come Monday. So she would know some of the other kids, understand the layout a little bit, meet and interact with the teachers for a while. We just watched for an hour and a half as she participated in coloring, eating rice and beans, throwing sand in her hair, shoveling water in and out of buckets… We could have stayed there all day watching. She loves it there already. Right now, she is loving the space, the activities, the freedom of running around doing whatever, whenever. As time goes on, she will love the interaction with the kids and teachers and everything else this place has to offer. We left feeling very good about our decision to enroll her there. And of course, it has been a lot of paperwork. Trips to the doctor for a formal written OK that Calliope attend school and is not a danger to the other kids. Field trip forms, disaster preparedness forms, emergency contacts, medical information, likes and dislikes, potty training specifics, and on and on and on… Oh yes, and there are the supplies. An extra pair of shoes, two sets of clothing, rain gear, lunch box and sippy cups. All of which have to have her name on them. As I sat there putting her name on every item that she would be taking to school everyday, I started thinking about the fact that her last name is Lasmanis.
I have always been super happy about Calliope’s name. First, middle and last. I don’t regret any portion of it and never will, so don’t get me wrong. I’m not upset that she doesn’t have my last name. I am still upset over the fact that if the adoption situation in New Orleans had turned out more positive, that baby girl would also have been a Lasmanis. Hopefully I have not expressed this more than once. Because we are a gay couple and can not be legally married, we would not have been able to adopt a baby in Louisiana as a couple. Michael would have been the one to adopt, and that was decided based on his financial background. I haven’t exactly been working all that much since Calliope was born, so my income is not nearly as stable or sufficient as Michael’s has been. And since he was adopting, it would have raised one too many eyebrows for the name of the adopted child not to be his own. I was willing. If it meant that we could go through with the adoption with one less question mark, it was worth it to me. Adopting as a gay couple, across state lines is hard enough as it is. But as I sat there writing her name over and over, it made me just a little sad that I would have been singled out. Not left out, because that would be me being a drama queen. Just different than everyone else in the family. Garig. Michael and I have discussed several times the idea that our second child would carry my last name. It seems pretty simple and straight forward to me. And it truly is not that big of a deal, but as with most things, I like to play it all out in my mind and think it through, hopefully to some beautiful well thought out conclusion. Just don’t bet on it. So you ask yourself some of the age old questions to get you started. What have people before us done in this situation? Well, there are two answers that come to mind immediately. One, there aren’t that many gay couples with kids that I know personally. Supposedly, we only make up 10% of the population as queer individuals, so the percentage of us that have kids has got to be a lot smaller than that. And two, straight couples combine their last names or they all take the same last name. We can’t do that. I love Michael Lasmanis, but I don’t want to be Michael Lasmanis. I’m Michael Garig. Logistically, its a nightmare. And that is putting it mildly.
The next question I ask myself is why it matters at all? And the best truth I can come up with is that it is one more thing that points to the fact that we are different. As much as I embrace being different, there is a part of me that also wants to fit in. To be part of society. An accepted part. And sometimes, there is some comfort in knowing you are normal. I love it when I relate a story about Calliope and what she is currently going through and other parents chime in saying how their child just started the same thing, or just finished it, or are right in the middle of that phase. Its a great feeling that we are raising a child in much the same way other people do. The best we can 🙂 But here I am with a different last name than my family and can’t do much about it. True, if my name were not the same as my partner’s, this might be less of an issue. But the fact that we are same sex is what led to the same name being an issue in the first place. (yes, i know that same sex couples sometimes have this problem too, but that doesn’t count!) All of this also reminds me that we have no boundaries. Since few before us have done this (raise kids as gay parents) there are no rules about how it should be done. I found that when I was a young adult, being gay held the same lack of rules. While there were plenty of role models, it was a lot less developed than the social expectations of the traditional male or female. I didn’t have to play sports. Hell, I didn’t even have to like musicals. (i love sports and love exactly two musicals) I truly could do what I wanted. Freedom is scary. In my mind, giving my last name to a second child sounds perfectly reasonable and within acceptable boundaries. There is some argument about the kids being in the same school and not being recognized as siblings, but somehow I think the teachers and staff will know just fine. Maybe the other parents won’t catch on, but do we need them to? The ones that matter, they will know.
And finally, is it just me being insecure? Lord knows that happens from time to time. I do worry about being at the airport and someone questioning whether or not Calliope belongs to me. I don’t have any way to prove it. Its a good thing we look so much alike 🙂 Having the same last name would be helpful, at the very least. Then again, growing up, the siblings I was raised with all had separate surnames and that didn’t seem to matter. Its fairly important though. Its likely that we will adopt a child from another state like Louisiana and that would mean using Lasmanis. Is it ok if my answer is simply that it would make me feel better to have the second one share my name? I know I’m not alone, or separate from the rest of my family. I know it doesn’t mean the kids belong somehow “more” to Michael. I just don’t want to be the only Garig. I want to write Garig on a lunchbox one day. Oh, it seems so silly. But I just can’t help it.

Its been a long week, and the week getting ready for this week wasn’t so short either. Its pretty amazing how much has happened in those weeks. I am grateful for the experience. I’ve learned so much. I’ve felt so much. That baby girl was so adorable and precious. All the hair on her head, her little wide nose, how she was sucking on her thumb first thing out of the womb.

I never even got to hold her, but I was in the waiting room while she was being born. Waiting and anticipating and having all the feelings a new parent has in that situation. But I guess it wasn’t our turn yet to adopt a new family member. I can only hope that she is well loved and taken care of… I have no reason to believe otherwise. While her birth family was not rich, they weren’t begging on the streets either. And maybe the situation isn’t ideal, but I’m pretty sure that it will be ok. And for that, I am also grateful. I know that I am ok and that Michael is ok and most importantly, Calliope is ok. I’m not sure she grasped the full situation, but I know she could “feel” the change in the end. The ending. While this weekend was not really about her, she was amazingly sweet and beautiful and well behaved. I appreciate her even more. I appreciate our relationship with her birth family even more. I pretty much appreciate everyone and everything even more!
In short, we don’t really understand what happened. Apparently, we were not told the truth about some things. Well, a lot of things. Secrets were being kept and things were going unsaid. I personally blame confusion and fear. I believe that the situation was just scary enough to keep the birthmom from making good decisions. I believe she had good intentions. I have to believe that because otherwise, she just put us through the ringer. We named that baby girl. Delphine Renate Lasmanis. After Michael’s Mother’s name (Renate). Should we adopt another baby girl, do we use that name again? It seems odd to me. A name we intended for someone else.. Maybe I will understand it better when the time comes and I’ll be able to move past this particular situation. Maybe I will feel differently. I certainly do not want to forget. I suppose it would be a good story for our next little girl, or boy for that matter, down the line. I know I will keep a couple of pictures of that sweet little girl. I also took a picture of the hospital. Well, not the hospital itself, but a big star on the floor that was decorative and was located at most hall intersections. I will always remember this trip and I like the idea that this star will be one of the symbols that I associate with it.

I went back to the hospital one more time to see if she would talk to me. Almost all contact had been through Michael after the baby was born because he had the wrist band that allowed him access to her. So I was with Calliope most of the time. And I guess I just needed some closure, to say good bye. To know in my heart of hearts that it truly was over. When I arrived, I asked if she was still in the maternity ward and she was. I knew the room number, but I didn’t want to push myself on her. That is not my way. Never has been and never will be. I politely asked one of the nurses if she could go in and ask Asia if she wanted to see me for a moment, the other Michael. I knew she would understand that. While the nurse headed off, I couldn’t help but notice the sad eyes of every nurse at the station. They were sad for me, and for Michael. Maybe that extended to Calliope as well, but they could hardly look at me as I stood there. The room was a mere fifteen feet away, so it wasn’t long before she returned and said no, that she did not want to talk to me. Maybe I imagined it, but it seemed like there was a collective gasp at the nurses’ station. I thought I would stop breathing myself, so I took the biggest gulp of air that I could push into my lungs, straightened myself up and asked if I could leave a note, would that be ok? She said she would be happy to deliver it, but didn’t think it would do much good. Well, I knew better. I knew it would do ME some good. They were kind enough to get me paper and pen. In my best penmanship (which I take extreme pride in) I wrote a goodbye letter to Asia and just expressed our sorrow that things turned out the way they did, that we never had any intention of taking the baby girl without permission from all parties, and that we wished them all the best in the world. It was simple, kind and gentle, and most of all, it was filled with love. I don’t even know if she read it. Maybe she threw it away before even opening it. I don’t know. But it made me feel immensely better about the whole situation, and I walked out of there with my head high and ready to be with my family again.
We met up at Superior Bar & Grill for some good old fashioned sit down mexican food. Southern style of course. And I had a Bloody Mary to go with 🙂 Calliope had her first real enchilada and ate it so fast I thought she might choke. The waiter was very enamored with us. He and his partner worked there together as waiters and are seriously considering adoption. I think Michael scared them off! I forgot what he said, but I just remember thinking LORDY! He meant something positive, but it just came out all wrong… I just let it go. We were having a hard morning. But thank goodness for Mardi Gras once again, as we stepped outside of the restaurant and found ourselves right in the middle of a parade. This one was put on by the Carrollton Krewe. We found front row seats and took turns holding Calliope up high when floats came by so she could catch the various goods being thrown. We have tons of beads, stuffed animals, fake coins, the whole lot! OOOOhhhh, and my favorite was this guy throwing handfuls of little rubber balls down from up high, into the street so that they would go bouncing in every direction. It was so cool to see them just bouncing everywhere, and all the kids trying to catch them, or getting hit in the belly by one as it was bouncing through the streets. So funny. It definitely made our day to see that parade.

After that, we went back to the hotel, after witnessing a parking attendant and a taxi driver yell at each other for about seven full minutes at one of the back alleys we had to take in order to miss the parade and get to our hotel. We put the little one down, played a little Catan Rivals and relaxed. After, we made the final decision to start calling everyone who knew where we were, what the deal was. We called the hotel company and begged to leave early without penalty, to which they obliged. Flights were easier to find than we thought, and much cheaper, thank goodness. We had only bought one way tickets because we weren’t sure when we would be going back home, or how many of us there would be. Well, its only the three of us. Yes, I want to cry. But I’m on the plane right now, so I’ll wait until I can have some quiet time with my chicken pot pie, in our bed, in our home. It won’t be the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.

Its 2:51 am Louisiana time. I’m awake because we are headed to the hospital soon. We met Asia last night and her little sister Shelby. Donna the social worker picked them up and brought them to meet us over dinner at Zea’s. Yes, it was awkward. By the time dinner was over, I had sweat patches under my arms that had long left their designated sweating areas. The only reason I knew was because Calliope needed to use the bathroom somewhere in the middle of dinner and I saw myself in the mirror briefly. It wasn’t one of those long pauses to stop and take a good look at myself or anything. It was a quick glance, not even one to see myself, more on accident than anything else. But it was enough for me to realize the issue at hand. Oh, and Calliope. What can I say? She was a doll. Maybe that sounds odd to some, but my friend Bob would understand completely. She sat and ate her dinner fairly quietly. Before dinner came, she played with the colors. She didn’t beg to be the center of attention. There were no time outs or even a hint of crying. We are so blessed. And to ask to be blessed yet again seems like a sin. Asia was very nice, very shy and very thoughtful. She didn’t have a lot to say, but I’m pretty sure we all agreed with everything that was said. And it looks like we are leaving here in about 45 minutes to go pick her up. And I think her sister Shelby will be joining us, but I’m not sure. Originally, her Mom was going to take her but after dinner we got a text from Donna asking if she could offer us up as a potential ride. We said sure! I’m not sure who schedules a c-section for 5:30 in the morning, but I don’t like them very much right now. Our plan was to get up at three, pack, maybe shower and then head out to pick up Asia. The hotel we are in is less than five minutes away from the hotel, by plan. Asia lives half an hour away. So much for planning. Of course, its not like we had more than two weeks to plan this either. Thats it folks. Two weeks. Less actually. Factually. We went to bed by 10 thinking 5 hours would suffice for sleeping. My mind and body had other plans and I didn’t even doze off once during those five hours. I heard Calliope say something in her sleep and Michael snoring at different times and intervals throughout, but never once did I slumber. I suppose it has to do a lot with that two weeks. I haven’t had time to process this the way one would hope. To just think through the few million scenarios that could happen over the next week or so. But that is a luxury I don’t have, we don’t have. In the end, everything is still up in the air. There are some serious hurdles between here and when we leave Louisiana, especially if we want to leave with a new family member. But last night, we took one more step in a positive direction. And we are thankful to everyone who is cheering us on, crossing their fingers, saying a prayer…

Look at the experienced traveller waiting for her flight at SFO

To tell you the truth, I am doing this mostly for my own sake. I won’t remember many of the details after a couple of years have passed and this is a great way to record at least some of them. For instance, I can hardly breathe right now. Or all day for that matter. Sometimes it is the sheer height of the rollercoaster. Other times it is the plummeting depths that keep you from breathing. There never seems to be a middle ground. There is nothing concrete about this situation. I have no idea what we are walking into. My imagination has had a ball today coming up with twenty THOUSAND different scenarios. Hell, its even been fun to some extent. One scenario involved Asia, her mom and all her siblings (none of which I have heard anything about except they live together) meet us for dinner. Considering how little communication there has been, that would be a total nightmare in my opinion. I’m sure we would be fine, handle it etc… but it sure would be unexpected. However, if her Mom were to show up for dinner, I think that would be more than ok. We do sort of have dinner plans for Thursday evening with Asia which is exciting. And I think it would be nice for Asia if she had someone there for moral support. It can’t be easy meeting us the day before she is going to give birth. And I mean that. I know that I’ve been going on in my own head about how hard this end of it is, being unsure of what is going on, juggling logistics, etc… but the truth is we have to stand up and be the adults in this situation. Asia is young, and I’m sure her emotions are beyond any kind of control at the moment. She doesn’t need us harping on her about what we need. She needs someone to care. Someone who will give her some answers about what the future holds, some straight answers (via gay mouths). Lets just hope she isn’t completely blown away by our progressive Californian attitudes, thoughts and way of being. Lord knows my Mother went screaming in the other direction (back to Texas, and now living in Louisiana of all places). The cultural differences are nothing to scoff at… Besides gumbo and crawfish, I’m not sure how much I like the idea of being in Louisiana for three weeks. Two white males running around holding hands and raising children. Its all too much. Just asking for trouble. Obviously, there will be do holding of hands in public, or anything of the kind. It actually is too dangerous. And while five years ago, I might have done it in spite of what people might do or say, I can’t afford to be so cavalier now with Calliope in the midst. Oh how I ramble.
Tomorrow, we are getting up at 3:30 am and will arrive in Louisiana around 5pm. Travel days are not awful, but they aren’t exactly fun either. In any case, the baby we find ourselves stalking is to be born on Friday. One way or the other, we should know something by Monday, providing everyone is healthy and discharged on schedule. And yes, the end is near. Or is it the beginning 🙂

Just got back from the Newells’ house. Calliope and Piper are amazing together. They are about two weeks different in age, but they are so much the same and so much not the same. Its adorable and I fall in love again every time I see Piper. And its not like they see each other all the time. It is sporadic at best, but it matters not. I think they truly like one another, are drawn to one another. Calliope cried when we announced it was time to leave. She genuinely wanted to stay and hang out with Piper. It broke her little heart to leave.
Since last Tuesday, we have had just one email from Asia. It was one line and acknowledged that we were coming to New Orleans and that we planned to be there early in case she wanted to meet us. But that is it. Its hard to stay positive with such little communication. Its hard to be excited. Less than two days away, I will be on a plane to New Orleans and I am in denial. My mind doesn’t acknowledge this as “happening”. Well, wake up, because it is happening. Logically, I understand that this adoption is bound to be different than the first, but somewhere in the dark recess of my mind, I won’t let go. I need more assurance. To me, open communication leads to honesty and accountability. It makes me think of big corporations being “transparent”. It gives me faith that things will move forward with dignity. Things might not end the way I want, but there will be a discussion about it, understanding… and yet, I am getting on that plane come Wednesday morning. And I will press forward, hoping for the best. Even though the best might truly be that she decides to keep the baby. I want what’s best for Asia and the baby. Yes, I want a second child. Now more than ever. We even have names picked out. But not if it isn’t the right decision, the right time… And I can’t decide that. It is out of my control. Welcome to my rollercoaster.
In the end, Michael is absolutely right (when has he ever been wrong?) when the baby, whether it is this one or the next one or the next one, is in our arms, it won’t matter any longer. All will be love and no amount of anxiety or praying or anything at all will change that. Period.

Three days with no word. We truly are in the middle of it. I forgot how hard the waiting can be. How hard it is to temper excitement. How hard it is to know you need to buy plane tickets and generally coordinate being in another state for weeks. How hard it is to juggle excitement with logistics. Ugh!
However, we remain cautiously optimistic.

Oliver or Olivier? Delphine or Delphina? In the long run, does it truly matter? Well, yes, I do want every single person he/she ever meets to fall in love with him/her. Isn’t that what every parent wants. Global acceptance. Ok, not really. Where would I be today if I had been loved by everyone I ever met? Who knows, but I do know that its impossible to achieve such a goal. Plus, I just don’t want to agree with everyone. I love being different. Yes, I am talking about being gay. It has forced me to be far more aware in life. It has forced me to be strong. Being gay is one of the best things that ever happened to me. So what’s my point? My point is that we are about to embark upon a journey even more different than anything we have ever done before, and likely will ever do in the rest of our lives. We are going to adopt a black child. Two white males and their adopted two and half year old daughter are welcoming a fourth person into our family. A very small, beautiful person (though it hasn’t been born yet). And we couldn’t be more excited, nervous and generally happy.
But the funny part has nothing to do with the fact the baby will be black. I was far more concerned with the fact that Calliope has been such an angel, such a blessing. Her adoption was flawless, her birthparents are just an extension of our family these days, she never cried much, she is gorgeous, smart and just all around perfect. How can you share your love for such a beautiful creature with another? For the longest time, I was so worried about whether or not I would love a second child as much as I love Calliope.
But then this potential adoption in New Orleans showed up. And one day as I was sitting on the sofa daydreaming about babies and Calliope was sitting about ten feet away eating lunch, it happened. I was completely wrapped up in thoughts of newborns, their smell, holding them, rocking them back and forth or just that amazing experience of having them nap naked on your chest. And there was love, and lots of it. And Calliope was right there. I didn’t love her any less, but she is not a baby anymore. There is no sadness that Calliope isn’t a baby. Every day she is something new and older, something more. And there is no comparison. The new baby will be just that, new. It was a true revelation for me. In that moment, I knew that Calliope would still always be “perfect” and have a perfect spot in my heart. Our new family member will have its own spot in there too. I am relieved. I was honestly worried about the balance of love and how it would all work out. It seems silly in hindsight, but at the time, it was very real to me.
Speaking of perfect, look at this picture of Calliope giving Dad a “look”. Freaking amazing.

Today I can’t stop thinking about cute little babies, and holding them, and kissing them and feeding them and watching them sleep. Newborns! So adorable. So fragile. Everything and everyone that I encounter is being affected by it too. I am more lenient on Calliope, so quick to hug her. Michael too. I should call my mom. Anyways, that is a love puddle. It ripples out in all directions spreading love and all things good.

Today I woke up, took a shower, shaved and got ready like so many other times in my life. Its been years since I’ve had to do that, and so I don’t… normally. But I had to get off my arse and find a good preschool sooner or later for Calliope. Today was our parent tour of our one finalist in the list of preschools I’ve been researching. They have a spot open mid year which is lucky. They aren’t cheap. Neither are nannies. We really want her to be hanging out with other kids on a more regular basis. And not just one or two. Group dynamics are hard. I still haven’t conquered them and I’m pretty close to 40! Plus one of the neighbors’ little girl goes to this same school. We actually saw her there today which was kind of nice. Calliope would not be in her class as she is a little bit older, but they will see each other in the outdoor play area during the day. And its possible that we could work with the neighbors to organize group drop offs and pick ups! I love carpooling. It’s my version of saving the world. The school is great. The most amazing thing was the ratio of male to female staff/teachers. Its almost 50/50 which is extremely unusual. Being a gay man, I love it. It feels awesome. Don’t read more into that than need be. The other arresting moment I had was when I realized that I had been in a room of about fifteen two year olds for at least ten minutes discussing politics and what have you with the school administrator without being interrupted by craziness. It was calm. Fifteen kids, two year olds! It was incredible and that was when I was sure it would be a fine place for Calliope to spend some time. I think Michael was very happy with the visit as well. The paperwork might take a while with all the permission slips and doctors’ approvals, but I’m sure we’ll manage. I just don’t think she’ll be going there next week.
Afterwards, I dropped Michael off at the house and took Calliope with me to order a light fixture for a client. Well, that didn’t last long because she decided to throw a huge fit and we had to leave right in the middle of the transaction. That was fun. However, after a very stern conversation in the car with Calliope about her transgressions, I decided to try REI for some snow boots. We were successful and several people commented on how cute, nice or pretty my daughter was. One lady in line was so impressed I thought she was going to give me an award or something. Two and a half? Really! She is so tall and well behaved and well spoken. Its just unbelievable. Of course, I’m thinking to myself that only if she had seen Calliope a mere thirty minutes earlier, she would understand 🙂
We went home after that where I made lunch for everyone and Calliope went down for a slightly late nap. I typed some emails to clients, even made a couple of phone calls. Had decided to go down to the lighting store during naptime and finish my transaction from earlier, though I loathed the thought of the looks on their faces upon my return. Michael is on the phone. I believe he is talking to my sister’s partner, but when he comes towards me and puts the phone on speaker as he sets it upon the table, I know it isn’t her. Michael knows how much speaker phone is not an option for me. It feels so cold. There’s always a pause where there shouldn’t be in conversations caused by this form of speaking on the phone. I can’t hear it that well, and I’m never sure if they can hear me. Its just awkward and I hate it. Anyway, its our Adoption coordinator. There is very little information. New Orleans, no drugs or alcohol, picked us specifically, black baby due on Tuesday of next week. Are we in? Yes, we are in. Please get the ball rolling to get more information as soon as possible. This means finding an agency in LA that will work with our agency here to administer all the paperwork, legal and otherwise. They will also coodinate an assessment of the young lady to ascertain the truthfulness of everything reported. We only have a week, not even. Get over there and do it already. They will, but its already the end of the day there and so we won’t hear anything again until tomorrow. But we can’t exactly wait to start thinking about the possibilities, the ramifications, the torture a five day pregnancy would cause to our lives!!!! So I leave and go to the lighting store. Somehow facing them in light of new circumstances is trivial. And I do and I handle it. They are fine, cordial even. Then I run home, take some more work notes and scream out loud with anxiety every time my mind has a moment and stop about the possibilities. Should we take Calliope with us, or leave us here? Wait. One couple we know were out of town for a month for an out of state adoption. We can’t leave her that long. No, she definitely has to come with us. Do we have enough starwood points to cover a suite in New Orleans for at least a couple of weeks? Ha. Thats funny. Because we totally do!
Oh wait, we have to wake up Calliope because we have an interview with a potential babysitter in about fifteen minutes. Great. Do we have a list of everything we want to talk about? Have we even thought about it? Can we possibly do this given the phone call that we just got? I’m losing my mind here. But we do go through with the meeting. The lady is nice. A little older than I expected, but completely comfortable with Calliope and us. We will definitely use her, I’m sorry, IF we don’t have a newborn baby in five days. We will not be going on any “date nights” which was the whole purpose of a babysitter. This is ludicrous. What about that client that I just landed that has exactly two pieces of furniture in his whole house? Superfluous I know, but my head is spinning and … well… lets just order pizza and watch a bad movie. Michael is totally game. Man I love him.