the waiting game

There is an old episode of The Simpsons in which Homer buys a plow. He christens himself "Mister Plow," and puts together a commercial telling all of Springfield that he'll plow their driveways and their roads when they get snowed in. The family watches the commercial on television and afterwards, Homer says, "Well, John Q Driveway has our number. Now we play the waiting game. Ah, the waiting game sucks. Let's play Hungry Hungry Hippos!"

Me and Homer are of like minds*. I do not like the waiting game. The calm before the storm makes me nervous. The night before a film shoot is a restless one. I do not like waiting; I like doing. I do not like guessing; I like making informed decisions. While I appreciate surprises and enjoy spontaneity, I generally like to have a plan laid out before me.

I dropped two copies of our "Dear Birth Mother" books off at the attorney's yesterday and now we . . . wait? Wait for good news? Wait for the attorney to find someone for us to meet? All we really can do is get the word out there that we're looking to adopt. Beyond that, it's just . . . waiting. Waiting for a friend to run into someone. Waiting to overhear a conversation. Waiting for a social worker to contact our attorney. Waiting to make the right connection with the right person who'll put us in touch with our baby.

Kelly is much better at turning restless energy into productive energy (as you can see from her previous posts). I find myself playing more video games and watching more movies (and as I already have an unhealthy obsession with sitting on my butt, I need to find a new way to distract myself). Perhaps I'll go for a walk. Or a hike. Or a swim.

But tonight, after I've walked, hiked, swam or whatevered . . . I'll still be playing the waiting game. And the waiting game sucks.

* A sentence that will send shivers down my English major wife's back.