Would you like to come over for lunch?

Cause we're enjoying our nice, fat, shit sandwiches. Thats right, I said shit sandwich. Can I say that? Of COURSE I can, its MY blog! What IS a shit sandwich, you might ask? Well, Ill tell you. A doctor I used to work with would say that she reserved that term for really especially bad occasions. Occasions that knock the wind out of your sails, jerk the rug out from under you and sucker punch you in the gut. Sometimes only one colloquialism is involved, sometimes all three. For this occasion, lets say we've had all 3.

Its all fun and games Monday. Tuesday morning, we get turd #1. My doctor calls to inform me of the semen analysis. Lets just say that our team wont be winning any gold medals. Not even silver. Oh, and whats it look like? No blue ribbons, either. Thats right, wonky on both ends. Trying to bury that turd, we think of how things can improve that situation, herbs and medications. Also, we try and focus on our upcoming home visit with the foster system. Its a sign, we say. If we hadnt had issues getting pregnant, we wouldnt be here, after all. Clearly, they need us. Clearly.

Speed on to Wednesday. Home visit goes off without a hitch. Angus is a perfect angel, shows all his best manners, she says she isnt traumatized, gives us lots of paperwork to complete, asks for it ASAP.

Thursday morning, I speak to her in regards to our license. She tells me that I need to bring all our paperwork in and we should be licensed by mid-March (small giggle) and maybe getting our first kid!. Im stoked. I leave early for work in order to take all our papers there. Im leaving the DSS office and my phone buzzes saying I have a new voicemail. She called while I was inside. I return her call. Bad news she says. Here comes turd #2. She spoke with the state. There is no way they can license us because 1)we have electric around the top of our fence. 2)we have too many dogs (I literally asked this woman atleast 10 times about the NUMBER and the TYPE, she assured NO PROBLEMS!) and 3)Angus could knock a baby down and harm it. Right, but so could, oh, idk a rock, a couch, a chair leg, a shoe, a cabinet door, a toy, ANYTHING. Really people? That is part of being a PARENT, you SUPERVISE. So, my feelings are hurt. Really hurt. My hopes were up, finally. I had blocked this out for so many months now, not getting involved, unsure of what we wanted to do. When I committed, I committed my heart. Thanks for ripping it up. 6 months ago, when we first started inquiring, some stupid person should've done a LITTLE TINY BIT MORE RESEARCH before assuring me over and over again that the dogs would NOT create a problem. Im really angry. And now, where IS the silver lining? Maybe we're just supposed to have dogs?? Who knows. I sure do wish someone would come over here and share our sandwich with us, because I tell ya, im STUFFED and ready to VOMIT. K?