I’m not a patient person by nature. I’ve never bought into the whole ‘patience is a virtue’ crap idea. I hate waiting for anything. The page to load while surfing the net. The commercials to end while watching the telly. The slow cashier at the grocery store who needs to call for a price check on cheese while I have to pee. Waiting sucks for an impatient chick such as myself.

So it is no surprise the whole adoption process has been a trial for me. It’s been one long lesson in learning patience right from the beginning. Waiting to hear if we are granted FINAL approval is starting to drive me batshit crazy.

There is still no word.

Might as well just beat me with a large wooden club and pluck my eyes out with a spoon. At this rate it would be much less painful.

No one has any idea why signing off on an application that was already recommended for approval is taking so long.

Me, I like to think it’s the government’s way of torturing me.

So while I wait and try desperately not to worry that they are changing their minds and going to deny us a kid, I’m going a little baby crazy. Seems like everyone is either pregnant or packing a kiddy around these days. Except me.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Nixon, the World’s Greatest Dog, EVER. is almost as good as a human baby. After all, he gets me up in the middle of the night as much as an infant would.

Think of the money this would save me in tuition!

I wouldn’t even need to buy any clothes for him. I could just use my daughter’s doll clothes!

Never mind. He doesn’t look that good in a dress and I couldn’t get the little bugger into overalls. Who knew a lazy dog could run so fast while wearing a diaper?

I could always use the doll I got for my tenth birthday. I never did give her much love back then. Mostly because I had hoped to receive a red plether jacket like the one Michael Jackson rocked in his glory days. Instead, I found Esther when I ripped open my present.

Very disappointing. It’s kinda hard to rock out to Thriller while packing a Cabbage Patch doll.

Esther is sporting a decidedly unpleasant smell. I can’t decide if it’s mold or mouse pee. Still, with a little wine, this could work.

Scratch that idea. I never liked that doll. Something about the yellow yarn hair creeps me out. Can’t have a baby that gives me the willies.

Still, my maternal instincts are on overdrive and I need to mother something. I tried catching my birds to cuddle with them, but the little fackers turned on me and tried to rip my fingers off. Ungrateful beasties. I NEED a child. I’m not picky. I’m not asking for a healthy baby. I don’t care what the child looks like. After all, it has to be better looking than Nixon or Esther. I just need someone to love.

Preferably before I get too old to keep up with a child and my mind gets more twisted.

That last picture probably isn’t going to help speed up the adoption process, is it? What can I say? I’m desperate to be a mother again and I have way too much time on my hands. Time that could be well spent parenting a child in need.

Instead of wandering around the neighbourhood looking for babies to hog hold, or dogs to terrorize or bottles to caress, I could be somebody’s new mommy.

But in the mean time until I hear from my friendly neighbourhood adoption office, I will just continue with my lesson in learning a little patience.

While trying to find a way to get Nixon to drink from a bottle and ride in a stroller.