Uh-Oh...

I guess you could say I did a little shopping yesterday... No, that's not quite right. It wasn't a little shopping. I'm not sure what to call it. It wasn't even a shopping spree... It was more like a shopping bender... No... I committed a full-on shopping assault- a shopping blitzkrieg, maybe? Closer, but no... What is a sudden, passionate, fervent outburst of unbridled shopping called? A shopping orgy? Can it be an orgy if only one person is involved? If that one person is doing the shopping of four normal humans, can it then be classified as a shopping orgy?

Let's see- 40 schmillion dollars later...
Car seat- Check
Stroller- Check and Check (actually two strollers- a big one and an umbrella one)
Baby monitor- Check
Baby clothes... Um, yeah- Check, Check, Check, Check and... Oh, Crap... Check.

This doesn't even begin to cover it, but I couldn't get it all into one shot.

I woke up yesterday morning and my first thoughts were swirling around our baby. I don't recall dreaming about him- I just woke up with him on my mind, and feeling absolutely, 100%, completely, positively sure (a great amount of certainty is what I would be indicating, here) that our referral is just around the corner and we're getting a boy. The feeling was incredibly strong. More like a knowledge than a hunch. I felt giddy and joyful and hopeful- a very nice way to wake up. I don't know why I felt this way and I'm not suggesting I was having a psychic moment or anything freaky like that. But, definitely one of those unmistakable Mom Moments- hopefully a strong case of mother's intuition (wouldn't it be awesome if it turned out to be right?). Hence, the boy clothes (and I got monkeys, Heather).Obviously, every baby boy needs a tiny surfer dude outfit. Why do they even make these? How many babies really need swimming trunks? It was cute though, and 50% off, so... there you have it. Besides, he's coming from a beachy place, so he must have the appropriate attire, right?
AND... Just in case my radar is off:
Obviously, one gender's clothes will have to be returned. Which will be a huge hassle, what with looking for receipts that have long since flown the coop by the time I have to find them again. Then I will have to exchange 89.9% of the clothes I'd wanted to keep for different sizes, I'll bet, and they won't have the same outfit in the size I need anymore, so I'll be all disappointed, like, "Geez, this blows." Then, while I'm standing there feeling like the world is about to end and all that, I will see 25 more outfits and buy those, too (I'm sorry Darrell, but I'm just being honest- you know it's gonna go down that way, so let's just accept the things we cannot change, hon).

So, yeah... This was a really smart thing to do.

I don't know how this happened. I've been so restrained; so good. I bought a crib and a few sheets back in January, and then I stopped. I waited. I was going to keep waiting. One minute, I was totally under control and the next thing I knew... Oh, crap.

There's still a very small voice in the back of my mind, whispering things like:
"What? Are you completely NUTS, woman?
What if this adoption doesn't work out?
Don't get your hopes up too high.
You'll be heartbroken if something goes wrong.
How will you look at all those little outfits, knowing there will be no baby to wear them?
How will you stand there at the Macy's cash register and hand each thing over to the cashier without bursting into tears (or flames... or worse... is there worse?)?"

I keep shutting her up by stuffing Dove milk chocolate squares (yes, we had to upgrade from M&M's. Desperate times, and what not) and Double Stuff in her mouth. She thinks she's the lone voice of reason, but to her I say, "You're just the voice of fatness. Have a cookie."

But, you know... She's right.

I will be heartbroken.

Please, God. Let it work out this time. Bring my Sam home soon.