Drinking too much in January of 2009.
By January of 2009, we had turned in all of our paperwork, completed our profile, and were just waiting for my fingerprints to come back. It took nine trips to the police station to get my fingerprints done. The right guy wasn't in. Or I needed cash. Or the address on my license didn't match the address on my application so I needed to go to the DMV, get a new one, wait for it to come in the mail... Or my fingerprints were done, sent, and not clear enough because my fingers are too small. Seriously?
So when I went to Chicago to see a friend's show, I was- once again- overwhelmed with the process. Feeling hopeless. Feeling like I couldn't keep up this fight much longer. So did I want to participate in a power hour? Of course I did. (a note to my readers who do not happen to be 23- a power hour is when everyone drinks a shot of beer every minute for an hour. It's a really bad idea. Especially when one is extremely emotionally vulnerable, and extremely not 23.) So, long story short, by the end of the power hour I was crying. A lot. Uncontrollably. For a long time. Talking about things that are most certainly not important to 23- year-olds. I was never going to get a baby. Never ever ever ever.
Fortunately we had been joined for the evening by a friend from Ohio, and this friend was able to settle me down enough with some Christian words of encouragement that I finally fell asleep. But I was most certainly the official buzzkill of the evening.
The next day I got a call from our adoption caseworker. My fingerprints had been approved, we were officially Paper Pregnant. I was ecstatic. And I felt like an idiot. Maybe the next time I decide something is never ever ever going to happen, I should wait, like, a day.