Of Careers, Homes, and Adoptions

This is a post that I have been holding in for ages and ages and ages.  We have had some major stressors on our plate for quite a while now.  Here is the short version:

We had another adoption fall apart (not Rose's - nobody freak out).  Paul accepted a new job.  We are going to sell our house and move in the next month or two.

The Adoption Situation:

Not Rose's, so no need to worry there.  But there was a big part of Rose's story - a possible quasi-twin brother due March 30th in Florida - that I haven't talked about on here before that we were waiting to see what happened and it just finalized itself.  WAY back in August, we were contacted by an expectant mom who was only 10 weeks along.  LONG story short, two weeks later she told us that she had chosen us to be the parents to the baby she was carrying.  She started a blog and posted about us, using pictures we exchanged in emails and texts.  Here is an excerpt from one of her posts:

Seeing the baby through ultrasound was an emotional crash I was not expecting, therefore, I was completely unprepared for the feelings that came rushing in. I decided on a whim to keep the baby. I just love him too much and could not imagine going any further with this adoption process. I decided to put my blog back on private because I didn't want to announce this news to the world without knowing for SURE. 
I've spent the past couple weeks on my knees praying and praying. I have never received confirmation on keeping the baby which became very heartbreaking and frustrating for me. I even got in contact with the birth father to try and work things out for the sake of keeping the baby but I soon realized what a huge mistake it would be to bring him back into my life. Confirmation came soon after praying about adoption and practically begging Heavenly Father to let me know what was right. I want to keep this baby and I probably would if I loved him any less. I want him to have better than what I can provide. Please do not misunderstand what I'm saying, I'm not trying to imply that mothers who do decide to keep their babies don't love their children and I do not, in any way, think of myself as some selfless hero just because I am choosing adoption (I just wanted to make that clear because apparently I have been giving the wrong impression when it comes to expressing my thoughts and feelings. Please understand that whatever I share through my blog is based solely on my own experience).   I feel so incredibly blessed for the Nash family. Amy and Paul are just so amazing and I couldn't imagine any other couple adopting my baby. It just feels so natural, like all of this was meant to be.
I feel this need to validate that I am not crazy (believe me, when you go through failed adoption after failed adoption you start to feel really crazy and wonder what instincts/promptings/feelings you can trust about people and your own intuition and even the Spirit) and I feel like being able to see how she communicated not only with us but with others (she would post links to her blog on her Facebook account every time she posted) explains some of this. 

Anyway, we texted, emailed, skyped, sent packages, etc.  Things got really stressful for her when supposed birthfather issues cropped up (although I'm not entirely sure how much of everything was accurate there based on emails exchanged with the birthfather and his eventual cooperation with the adoption attorney we hired in Florida to facilitate the adoption).  We cheered for her, ached for her, prayed for her.

When she chose us, our profile was pulled from the LDS Family Services website.  But a week later I called our caseworker and told him I wanted it back up.  The wait was too long.  We had already been through multiple failed adoptions where we communicated and built a relationship for 4-5+ months before the expectant mom changed her mind and we were looking at 7 months before the baby was due with this one and I couldn't stomach the thought of missing out on potential opportunities when this one might not work out.  He agreed and our profile was live again in mid-September.  Thank goodness for that inspiration or Tabby (Rose's birthmom) wouldn't have found us.   

The baby was scheduled for a c-section.  We had bought our plane tickets to fly across the country already.  Both this expectant mom and Tabby knew about each other and that the babies would be only 2 months apart and both were really excited about that and expressed how amazing it would be for them to having siblings so close together.  This expectant mom joined a Facebook adoption support group that I am a part of and posted often, including this post that I screen grabbed on my phone the night the baby was born:

The weird thing is that when she posted the above sounding all excited and super gung-ho about the adoption (I mean, knowing it would be the hardest thing she would ever go through and all that but as gung-ho as any reasonable birthmom who has made an adoption plan might seem to be) she had already texted me telling me maybe it was best for us to wait and NOT come out (less than 8 hours before our flight was supposed to leave had we changed our tickets to get there the next day) and when she had already told the caseworker that she was thinking about not going through with the adoption.  I mean, I get it.  She changed her mind.  It happened.  That is totally understandable and her choice and everything.  But it still hurts and it doesn't feel right.  It feels awful. 

It is so hard to know how to explain what I am feeling.  Before I even throw out words, I have to say that what I am feeling is NOT about her.  The anger I feel isn't directed at her.  She had every right - EVERY right - to choose to parent the baby boy she created and I don't begrudge her that choice.  But I do feel anger.  Anger about the situation.  About the futility and unfairness and lack of control or power or efficacy any of us (not just me and Paul but any couple dealing with infertility but particularly adoption) have.  Anger about being chosen FIVE times in a row and spending literally hundreds of hours emailing and texting and supporting and praying and agonizing over the confused and conflicted young women who had told us using every word of surety and promise and conviction that they were going to be the ones to go through with it and place a baby with our family (again, not blaming them, not really.  I'm so, so, so sorry if it sounds like it.  In ways, I am grateful and even honored to have been able to have helped so many women going through the hardest times of their lives in such a unique way.  I'm not even being sarcastic, although I may be gritting my teeth a little bit because it somehow feels like I am flagellating myself by saying that.) 

Adoption really isn't so unlike pregnancy in a lot of ways because during these years there has been weight gain, sleepless nights, sickness, stress, etc. that all correlated with each adoption scenario we were dealing with.  Not to mention thousands of dollars spent covering adoption expenses for the failed adoptions (thank goodness Paul found a tax exemption for failed adoptions that has allowed us to recoup at least some of those costs this year). 

Ugh.  Anyway, I feel like I have only written a quarter of what was in my head when I started out writing this and I feel like I have already written four times more than what I should have written.  And maybe I shouldn't have written anything. 

We are so unbelievably thankful and blessed to have our two girls.  We don't mean to sound ungrateful for the adoption that DID just happen for us with Rose by complaining about this adoption that just DIDN'T happen for us with this baby boy.  We had been asked prior to ever being in a situation where two birthmoms had chosen us at the same time what we would do if that happened and we never had an answer.  A part of me (a HUGE part) felt extremely guilty about saying yes to both Tabby and the other expectant mom because I thought about all the couples still waiting for a baby and I felt like it was insanely selfish of us to try for two babies at once.  In our defense, I will say that we always tried to be prayerful about the decisions we made with how to proceed.  So we are a little sad right now.  But we will be okay and having Baby Rose in our home fills us with so much joy (and keeps us so busy!) that we know the dark little cloud this most recent (and possibly last ever) adoption failure has brought. 

As for future family planning - we just don't know what we will do.  Maybe we will be done with our two girls.  Maybe in a few years we will be healed from the past couple brutal years of failed adoptions and want to try again.  In all honesty, we would love to have a boy - Paul especially.  But we also feel very complete with Clara and Rose and are so grateful that they will have each other (how does anyone get through life without a sister?!).  Maybe we will look into private adoption agencies (that isn't the same thing as a closed adoption - we love our open adoptions) or maybe we will look at international adoption (something that I have ALWAYS been interested in).  Who knows. 

The Job Situation:

So way back in October (on my birthday actually, over lunch at Gott's, the best burger place in the Bay Area) Paul and I had a conversation about his career.  Like, how long he should stay at his current firm, what kind of experience he was getting versus what he wanted to get, and where did he ultimately want to end up.  We have had this conversation every now and then over the past couple of years (doesn't everybody?) but this time felt different.  Lots of lawyers make a move between their 3rd and 5th year and Paul was getting calls from recruiters multiple times a day.  A couple days later he happened to take one of the calls (usually he would just brush them off because seriously, recruiters can be incessant) and connected with somebody who specialized in placing associates with commercial real estate practices (Paul's specialty).  Long story short, he interviewed with a couple of firms in Palo Alto around November/December but the positions weren't what he was looking for.  Then in late January a position opened up at a firm in San Francisco that is THE real estate firm in California.  Like, the top firm in that practice for 10 years running.  It isn't the hugest firm in the nation (fine by us) but they do just what Paul wants to do and are really well respected and basically it was too perfect.  It was a firm Paul had always thought in the back of his mind that would like to end up at. 

He applied and that very day got a call back that they liked his resume and were interested in interviewing him.  He liked the people he met in his first round of interviews and felt like it went really well and the follow-up emails seemed promising.  Not long after that they called to say that they were interested in doing a second round of interviews and set up a schedule for Paul to meet with 14 of their attorneys in the SF office.  That's a lot of manpower to dedicate to a potential candidate so it really felt like Paul had a good shot at this job.  Then just a couple of days before his second round interviews (on Valentine's Day to be precise), the HR person who had arranged everything called to let Paul know that there was an attorney already with the firm who was in another office who had filled the position so Paul's interviews had been cancelled.  We were bummed.  We had already started brainstorming and making plans since the new job would involve a longer commute and/or moving, among other factors.  And we felt like Paul had been doing the job search process since October and it was so slow and a little discouraging.  The news put a little damper on our Valentine's Day to tell the truth, even though they told Paul that he had been really highly thought of and they would keep him in mind for future positions if any opened up.

But not even a week later, Paul got a call from his recruiter to say that one of the associates at the firm had given her notice and they wanted to know if Paul could still go in for the full round of interviews.  The interviews must have gone well because Paul got the offer a few days later.  He is excited about the new opportunity and what it will mean for his career and he starts the new job at the beginning of April.  Which means....

The Housing Situation:

We are going to be putting our house up for sale and moving.  The commute into SF from where we currently live is less than ideal.  It will be around 1 1/2 hours each way most days, maybe more if there is bad traffic.  And that just isn't sustainable for us.  So we are thinking that we will move to the East Bay - maybe around Walnut Creek where there is a BART station (Bay Area Rapid Transit) which would take him to work and drop him off right in front of his office and be a 35 minute commute where he never has to deal with traffic or driving himself (although he will have to deal with some of the crazies who ride BART and any possible strikes, which seem to happen too frequently).  We might consider other areas too though like Dublin or Concord, which also have BART stations although the ride would be a little bit longer. 

In the meantime, we have met with a realtor about getting our house ready to sell.  It will be sad to leave behind this great place after all the work we put into it and all the memories we have here.  It will be even harder to leave behind the friends we have made and the ward that we are a part of because they have been such a support and such a big part of our lives.  It's not like we are moving forever away - Dublin is about 35-40 minutes away and Walnut Creek is about an hour and fifteen minutes or so - but still...

Soooooo, I think that pretty much brings everybody up to speed on all the craziness that we have been dealing with for a while now.  It has been nuts.  We feel like we have been spinning like tops and are probably going to keep spinning while Paul is transitioning jobs and we are figuring out our housing situation.  We are thinking that we might just rent for a while since we don't know the area in the East Bay as well and we don't know that we want to commit to a house until we get a feel for where the best place will be for us.  But we are excited for what the future holds!

Rain Cloud

Lately I've been feeling blue.  Quite blue, actually.  I feel silly and ungrateful admitting that when I have a wonderful husband and a precious little girl who makes me smile every single day, but I sometimes look at the things I post on the blog and know that I'm hiding some burdensome feelings behind the fun and new things Clara is learning and doing or the smiling, happy images of us playing together (which are accurate but not a good representation of many of the overwhelming emotions I have been going through).

The truth is that it has been almost a month now since we found out that we would not be adopting the baby girl we had been expecting for more than four months.  And I still can't get through a single day without thinking of that birthmom and that little girl on an almost hourly basis.  I'm not stinging from this most recent failed adoption the way I felt earlier in the year with our previous failed adoption - I feel more numb and sad about it all this time around.  2012 was a difficult year for us with those two major adoption let-downs where each time we thought that we were literally this close (insert tiny thumb and forefinger hovering near each other) to having a newborn baby join our family. 

We actually heard from "D" this past week letting us know that she still hasn't had the baby even though she had told us back in the first week of December that the doctor's had informed her she would have the baby "any day" due to quite a few complications.  D was writing to tell us that she hasn't had the baby yet but that she is scheduled for a c-section this Monday (still two weeks before her due date) and letting us know what she decided to name the baby.  And that email actually helped.  It is hard going from regular emails with someone who you have come to love and pray for multiple times a day to absolutely no communication after one short email letting you know that that person had changed her mind about whether you are going to have another daughter.  I have been worrying about D and the baby and wondering when and if she had had the baby and it actually eased some of my burden getting that email from D and knowing that D has carried the baby full-term. 

And yet, I sort of want it all to just go away (not D, per se, but "family planning" I guess? which sounds like a cruel joke because there is not much "family planning" that Paul and I can actually do, is there?).  I suppose I don't really mean that and I don't mean to be overly melodramatic about things, but sometimes infertility and adoption is just so hard.  Like over Christmas when it hurt to smile and act normal around the people who know and love us best - our families - just a week and a half after having an adoption fall apart.  Not because they wouldn't care or understand or want to comfort us and be there for us, but more because I just feel so weak and fragile and sometimes when people are too nice to me when I am feeling badly about my life it makes me cry just when I am trying my hardest to hold the pieces of my heart together.  I don't know if that even makes sense or if anyone else ever feels that way but I imagine I'm not the only one who has experienced this which is why I am going to go ahead and not delete this post. 

Or when I am around my sister or sister-in-law or multiple friends who are all expecting babies this next year and I want them to know how truly, blissfully happy I am for them and I want to celebrate with them and not dampen any part of their joy with the sorrow that we so recently went through or turn the conversation away from them and onto me and yet there is a niggling ache inside of me that just hurts and hurts and hurts and while I kept everything together while I was around these pregnant friends and sister and sister-in-law (who I know will read this and I am so, so, so sorry to burden you with this knowledge of how I was feeling over the holidays) I cried over it more often than I care to admit and had a full-on melt-down in front of my mom one afternoon when nobody else was around that was beyond embarassing (and confusing too because you are supposed to confide your deepest feelings and sadnesses to your mom, right? I figure that if there is anybody I shouldn't be embarassed to cry in front of it is my mom for crying out loud! and yet I felt so ashamed!).  And as open as I am about my life with people, this hurt that I am feeling is something that is incredibly hard to talk about or share, I think, in part, because I worry that it will so easily be misconstrued as envy or bitterness or anger, which isn't accurate at all.  I am not jealous.  It is not that I wish I could get pregnant.  I'm just sad.  I just wish things had worked out.  I just feel defeated and outside and alone.  I feel spent.

It has been hard shaking those feelings.  I mostly think of myself as a naturally happy person and I have certainly always tried to live by the philosophy that I can choose to be happy and maybe that is part of the reason why this has been such a difficult period for me recently - it is because I don't feel like myself. 

I know things are going to work out and I'm fairly confident that someday another little one will come join our family.  I feel myself getting stronger each day, especially this past week as I have gotten back into a routine of exercise and prayer and balanced eating and semi-normal sleep (as much as you can get with a toddler with a 102.5 degree fever that lasted four days) that all seemed to go out the window the last few weeks of December.  If I wasn't feeling better about things, I don't know that I could have brought myself to tackle this topic in a blog post.

Anyway, I think that one of the reasons I hesitated to post this is because I feel like I am rehashing ground I have already covered - sadness, heavy heart, adoption is tough, yada-yada-yada - but I know my feelings are valid and probably not unique and I know that I have a number of friends who this might help so I am going to go ahead and hit "publish" at the end of this post. 

I can't say that I am "excited" to see what 2013 brings.  I feel like 2012 aged me more than just 365 days and I am wary of what 2013 will do - maybe I am gun-shy or something coming off of 2012.  Part of me is quietly hopeful that maybe by next Christmas we will have another little one to share the joy of the season with.  Another (smaller) part of me feels like maybe it would be healthier for us to have a year with no activity on the adoption front to "cool our jets" so to speak:  It's not like it is the worst thing in the world to have kids spaced a few years apart and I know that we went for a second adoption really fast when Clara was (and is) still so young since we were hoping to have our kids close together in age.  And a big part of me is hitting myself over the head and trying to get it through my thick skull that I should just let everything happen when it happens and just focus on the here and now of Clara and Paul and Amy.  (Yeah right, since when have I ever been the "just let things happen" type?)

Phew, this bit of honesty has been highly therapeutic.  And now I can get back to posting way too many pictures and not feel as guilty about it. 

Heavy Hearts

Where to begin...

A few canny friends called me out via email or FB message after my most recent post about our quick trip to D.C. and Virginia and wanted to know whether we were "secretly" meeting with a birthmom.  This past August we received an email from an 18-year old girl in Virginia who I will refer to as "D", letting us know that she and her 17-year old boyfriend were trying to decide what to do because she was pregnant and due in January.  She was LDS, he wasn't; they had been banned from seeing each other and were secretly meeting at McDonald's to go through couple profiles on itsaboutlove.org; they had each made lists of their top favorite couples and we were one of three that they had narrowed it down to. 

To make a very, very long story short (since I don't have it in my to write it all out), we emailed for more than two months before she made her decision and told us that she had officially chosen us to be the parents of the little girl she was expecting.  That was on October 24th. 

During the months of waiting and worrying and wondering about every email and every delayed response from D leading up to that decision, Paul and I had struggled with our feelings having gone through such a difficult failed placement back at the end of June/early July.  We were guarding our hearts with as much strength as we could muster while still trying hard to be open and loving and honest with D.  But after she made her decision and told her caseworker she was excited for us to come visit and meet her in person, we couldn't help but find ourselves growing more and more invested and hopeful and excited each day about the idea of a new baby girl in our home and a sister for Clara in January.

Our visit went well.  Not perfect since there were some ups and downs with the birthfather and D at our first meeting and D's mom decided she wasn't up to meeting us, but overall as good as we pretty  much could have expected.  We think that was thanks to a solid and trusting relationship that was in place between us and D from the months of emails and texts we had exchanged and we loved finally seeing her in person over a couple of days. 

There had been some complications with the pregnancy so even though D isn't due for 5 more weeks, we have been anticipating getting a text that the baby was on its way any day for the last 2 weeks actually.  We've fretted and worried over D's pregnancy and celebrated each day that D was able to carry the baby longer because we knew it would help her to stay put as long as possible and we knew that it would be so difficult to have a preemie.  Then last night, instead of getting the text we had been expecting, we got an email from D saying that she had changed her mind and decided that she would let her parents raise her baby.  We knew that her mother wasn't ever totally (if at all) on board with an adoption plan and early on in our communication D had told us that the idea presented to her by her parents was to let them raise the baby as their 9th child (D has 7 siblings) and they would keep her true parentage as a family secret until she was older.  I am so sad for D and for the baby about what will likely be and what could have been instead.  It is a heartbreaking end for us when we felt so near to being parents again. 

We don't have bitter or angry feelings toward D.  We truly love her and wish her the best despite our sadness and the ache and confusion that comes from this kind of loss for us.  It is our second time this year going through such a miserable outcome and we are very much looking forward to putting 2012 behind us and moving forward. 

If anyone has wondered why we haven't mentioned adoption basically at all during the second half of this year, this is why.  We still very much would like to have another daughter or son and if anyone is visiting relatives this Christmas season and hears of a cousin or niece or family friend or anyone who is unwed and pregnant, will you please consider mentioning us and passing along our contact information?  Our profile (which was actually pulled from the itsaboutlove website when D made her firm decision) should be live again by Monday and I hope to update it in the next week or two (depending on how hectic it is getting ready to head to Utah for Christmas).  And thank you, thank you, thank you to everybody who has offered prayers on our behalf - it has meant so much to us and has given us strength during this difficult time.

What it's like to be Prometheus...

I once wrote a post on our adoption blog about what it is like to be waiting to adopt your first child.  I woke up yesterday morning feeling desolate and thinking of my high school Greek mythology class and decided I should write a post about what it's like going through a failed adoption.  As a disclaimer, there are many, many versions of how an adoption falls apart and so this post is very specific to our failed adoption which happened after the baby was born and we had held him, named him, introduced him to our daughter, taken family pictures and introduced him in person to almost our entire families as well as on Facebook, and loved him as our own for four days.

In Greek mythology, there was an immortal named Prometheus.  He was a Titan and he is regarded for his intelligence and as a champion of mankind after he stole fire for them.  In the western tradition, Prometheus represents human striving and the risk of overreaching or unintended consequences.  During the Romantic Era, Prometheus was regarded as the "lone genius whose efforts to improve human existence could also result in tragedy."  (Note:  I am supplementing my recollection of my Greek mythology class by resorting to Wikipedia.  Not very scholarly of me, I know, but I wanted to tell the story of Prometheus with at least some degree of detail that my brain just won't conjure up for me at the moment.)

Zeus punished Prometheus with an eternal torment for stealing fire and giving it to mankind:  he chained Prometheus to a rock and sent an eagle every day to feed on his liver.  Because Prometheus was immortal, his liver grew back every night and the next day he suffered the same fate of having his liver eaten again.

I feel like Prometheus.  I feel like perhaps I overreached in thinking that this little boy could be my son.  That the idea of an infertile woman like myself having a big family (as if my dream of four children is all that big) was too much to want or hope for.   We felt like our efforts to adopt this baby boy would improve his life, our lives, and even his birthmom's life (even though we knew it would cost her so much to place him - we aren't insensitive to the sacrifice and pain it takes on a birthmom's part to go through placement).

In my mind, the eagle from the Prometheus myth is infertility and she swoops in to pluck out my liver (or my heart rather) more often than you would think possible for someone who has known since she was 15 that she would never be able to get pregnant.  It happened at lunch at Cafe Rio when I literally felt trapped by pregnant women or women carrying carseats with infants all around me - it was a dizzying, sickening experience and I don't know how anyone lives in Utah and gets through a failed adoption with any degree of sanity because of the overwhelming abundance of fruitful wombs. 

I thought I could handle a quick in-and-out at Gymboree to return the things I had bought for the baby so that I didn't have to pack them in my suitcase and unpack them again in California and go through the pain of returning them there.  But when the salesclerk started asking the standard questions of "was the item too small?  was there anything wrong with the item?" I found myself literally doubled over in the middle of the store bawling out the whole story of the failed adoption in an incomprehensible gush of nonsense words and snot while my mom tried to let the poor clerk know she hadn't said or done anything wrong. 

The cursed infertility eagle visited me again at the splash park when I thanked my sister for being there for me this past weekend and being excited for us when we thought this baby boy was going to be our son.  She said multiple times while things were looking so sure and solid that she was "jealous" of me and as I hugged her I started feeling bad for not worrying about her feelings and my mom's feelings and my in-laws and other family members and their struggles going through this too (and their other burdens such as the Utah wildfires that forced my in-laws to evacuate their home the day before the Fourth of July).  I tried to stop the tears from coming there at the splash park, but they came just the same there in the blazing hot Utah sun while the mountains burned black as my heart.

He is a week old today and I can still feel the phantom of the wristband that I wore for three days that granted me access to him in the nursery and it kills me.  I can't scrub off that feeling on my left wrist in the shower no matter how hard I try.

I loathe being this volatile. 

One moment I am feeling strong and can go to a movie with my sister or play with my nieces, and the next moment I feel my throat clench and I am choking back a sob.  I have been trying to keep it together around Clara because I don't want to traumatize her through all of this.  Our sweet girl has just been so, so wonderful this past week.  She just adores her Grandma Cece (probably because she gets anything she wants like walks in her stroller way past bedtime or having grandma pull her out of her crib and read her books until I got home from a movie at 10:45 p.m.). 

And it is not just me either.  Paul had to go back to California and he told me that on Tuesday night there was a knock on the door and our bishopric (local church leaders) had come by unexpectedly.  They hadn't heard that the birthmom had changed her mind - they were just there to talk to Paul about a new calling.  Paul said that he cried the entire time he told the whole story of what had happened.  I am so thankful for our church and for leaders and friends who are prompted by the spirit.

I know that we will heal eventually.  I feel comforted so much of the day - the majority of the time right now, actually, and I feel very close to my Heavenly Father.  I even actually feel the healing occurring in some ways and getting home to California has been the biggest relief.  Reading everyone's comments and feeling the indignation and even outrage on our behalf was a balm to my soul. 

Paul and I worried about being self-pitying until we realized that what we are feeling is not self-pity - it is grief.  And it is okay to feel grief - lots of people grieve and get on with everything else in life. 

Paul and I have a recovery plan though.  It involves temple attendance, a trip to Disneyland for Clara, family walks in the warm July evenings, and farmer's market apricots.  It involves miles on the treadmill for me and maybe even a commitment to do a race in the not-too-distant future.  It involves hikes in the mountains for Paul.  Our recovery plan includes recognizing situations where we know we will hurt and preparing ourselves mentally and emotionally beforehand or avoiding them altogether if we have to (I am thinking friends' baby showers are off-limits for me for a little bit). 

It also involves stepping back from our adoption plans and waiting for just a bit - maybe one month, maybe more - until we feel like we wouldn't totally lose it if a new birthmom contacted us.  It involves editing the previous post (or creating a new version of it and unpublishing the original) and hopefully taking this blog public again. 

Prometheus was eventually freed from his torment.  I know that we will be too.