Dr IVF and Mr Open Adoption Agency

I have been full of avoidance lately. Mostly disguised as busy-at-work - with a little bit of off-on-vacation.

My happy side has been consumed with open adoption errands. Trips to the police department for fingerprints and 9.1.1 call records. Searching for photographers that can turn my eeyore mug into something more inviting. Tracking down birth certificates and divorce decrees (the former for me, the latter for S). And it's been great. S and I share happy daydreams and exciting discussions. And we smile and laugh and dream up the perfect parenting response to all the crazy antics our one-day-peanut is going to get in to. Cue the lights and happy-go-lucky sitcom music....

Then there is this other side. The painful undercurrent of infertility that I keep under wraps by taking on too much work and keeping myself too busy and telling myself I'm-done-with-that-grieving-shit. But it sneaks up on me. And I can't read anyone's baby blogs and I can't write my own. I avoid talking to certain knocked up friends. And before I know it, I find myself in the embarrassing situation of crying over my beer in front of a friend and her new girlfriend (AWKWARD). Apparently, I'm not done with the sad.

I'm driving myself crazy (and probably S, too) flipping back and forth. What I wish is:
1. I could go to Target and pick up our new baby next time I'm over there stocking up on toilet paper.
2. And if that isn't possible, I wish I could move forward with this adoption with out any knowledge of my stupid infertility.
3. And...screw that, if we're wishing for baby wishes, I wish I had my 25 year old body with my 36 year old brain...I mean really, why is it when I finally get my shit together (career, emotions, finances, relationships), my body goes to hell?