An Adoption Process

Here I sit, on the bed. Alone.
Muffin is in the lounge room playing Tiger Woods Golf with his cousin, Cheesecake.
On the bed next to me is our new child.
Slightly less then a week ago, 6 days, 9 hours, 27 minutes ago, this Cupcake and her Muffin took one step further in creating a little bakery of our own.
After much deliberation, research, soul searching, pleading, pouting and a little bit of emotional blackmail, I was able to convince my muffin that we were ready to become parents.
So on to Google I hopped and, in my travels, I was able to find the most perfect adoption site to suited our needs.
Phones were called, appointments were made, forms were filled and finally the day came when we had to travel to meet our potential child.
Leading up to the date I was so nervous.
I was having trouble sleeping.
I was thinking of all the things that could go wrong.
I had been let down previously and what if that were to happen again.
Muffin was his usual stoic self. He didn’t show much emotion and as excited as he claimed to be, it was hard to see through his cool, calm and collected exterior.
I was slowly falling to pieces with the stress of it.
I could hardly eat, hardly sleep, hardly concentrate...
Ok, I'm being just a little bit dramatic here.
But I was nervous about the whole thing.
Cookie was fantastic about the whole thing.
She kept me deliciously distracted the day before, and kept putting a positive spin on the whole thing.
She keeps me sane.
Much love for the cookie.

Finally the day arrived.
We had to leave early, as it would take us a good hour and a half to get to the small town out in the sticks where we were to meet our potential addition to our bakery.
I was worried about under dressing.
I was worried about over dressing.
Should I wear heels? Flats? Thongs?
Would jeans and a t-shirt be alright or should I wear long pants.
None of this showed, however, as Muffin and I went through our Sunday morning rituals of doing the washing and having breakfast together.
I was one cool cat, I can tell you that much.
Before we left, we called the adoption agency to confirm our appointment.
As I mentioned earlier, I had been disappointed previously and I was hoping to avoid a repeat of that occasion after having driven over 100 kilometres to get there. I would much rather the disappointment be in the comfort of our home.
Our contact woman was unavailable.
We left anyway.
The drive was nice.
It was an impeccable day.
The sun was shining.
The sky was blue.
The light breeze was positively glorious.
It was fantastic to spend the quality time with Muffin.
It doesn't happen nearly enough.

And so we arrived.
It was your typical small country down.
Anyone who has been to anywhere even slightly rural would recognise the town and the people.
The happy kind of people who smile at you in the street.
The kind of people who don’t look at you like you have a screw loose when you ask for directions, which we had to.
It was the kind of town with a population of 3,000 and about 2,500 of them are farmers.
It was quaint and pretty and the sort of place I would probably become more of a psychopath then Patrick Bateman if I lived there.
We were only 5 minutes or so late, which by my standards is positively early, but the woman was even more so.
She arrived about 20 minutes after the designated time for our appointment.
My Muffin and I sat outside, soaking up the sun and each other’s company and tried not to get too hopeful about the possibility that was facing us.
She arrived.
Out of the car she brought the most adorable little boy on the entire planet.
He is 4 years old and has big brown eyes that could melt even the coldest of hearts.
It was instant chemistry as he walked up to me, a little bit shy, and we had our first meeting.
This soon progressed to a hug and, after Muffin saw me and realised that I quite possibly wouldn’t be able to let me him go, he agreed that this was the perfect child for us.
After filling in the appropriate paperwork and paying the adoption fee, we were able to hop back in the car and begin the long drive home with one extra passenger.

We had to stop by the Hen and Rooster's on the way home.
I say this like it is a nonchalant, easy thing to do, when, in fact, we had to drive past our house to get to theirs.
But things had to be collected for our new arrival.
Blankets, bedding, toys.
All things necessary when one adopts.
Also, I think The Hen just wanted to meet her new grandson.
I believe it was more that then anything else.
He was very timid at first.
He didn’t like being hugged or touch in general.
He was skittish as well.
Making sure that either Muffin or myself were in his sights the entire time.

We got him home and begun making him feel as welcome as we possibly could.
We set up his bed and took him on a tour of the house.
He was very uncertain.
He didn’t know where he could go and what he could do.
6 days, 10 hours, 35 minutes later, he is much better.
He has claimed the couch as his own and tried to adopt my granny blanket.
That was nipped in the bud and we bought him a blanket of his own.
It is hard during the day while us baked goods are out making a living, working, slowly killing ourselves, and we have to leave him home on his own.
But as yet he hasn’t gotten into any trouble.
I guess time will tell.
He is definitely a mummy's boy.
Right now he has fallen asleep next to me.
Even after such a short amount of time, he has become part of the family and there is much, much love.
Even if he did try to pluck a few feather from the Hen today.
But even with all of his eccentricities, he is and always will be, my Cream Puff.