Another Kind of Journey

Ten years ago, I sat in an auditorium listening to an adoptee share her top 20 list of things she wished her adoptive parents knew.  She was going on and on about creating a grief box and putting something symbolic inside representing each loss an adopted child experiences.  A grief box?  Doesn’t that seem a little, I don’t know….depressing?  Morbid?  Sad?  I left with a slightly skeptical response.  It was heavy  information.  I liked to think that she had a difficult adoptive experience.  Perhaps her parents didn’t tell her they loved her enough.  Maybe she wasn’t affirmed or accepted for whatever reason.  I stored it away (not too much) as interesting and maybe semi-relevant but probably for someone else.  

We adoptive parents sometimes ( most times) think that the “issues” will show up in someone else’s family, because we will just love and hug our little ones through the yucky feelings.  It will all be just fine.

I wish I had paid closer attention.  

As a young 20 something, I just preferred living in adoption La La Land.  We will role play with dolls and speak of the gift of a family and the love of a birthmom’s choice and we will all just get it.  

Well, that was a nice idea.

Today my feet are wet.  I’ve traversed some hard conversations with the agility of an elephant.  I’ve tackled the tears of rejection and loss feeling ill-equipped, like a mumbling, keep-it-together mom.  And I’ve maybe even googled “grief box.”    Luckily, said speaker put her ramblings in a book and I’m willing to take notes this time.

These adoption conversations are hard to navigate.  And I’ve found that it’s because there are no easy answers, no reasons that are good enough, no simple fix to knowing your first year of life started with someone deciding not to parent you.  Having met each of my children’s birth parents, I can whole-heartedly say that they were well-intentioned people making a decision based out of love or necessity.  And my kids range from clueless about adoption (insert toddler) to really struggling to make sense of it all (insert oldest). But somewhere in the narrative, my children have started to understand that the” love reason” for relinquishment just doesn’t make complete sense.  Sometimes relinquishment love gets reinterpreted into…not wanting me, not fighting for me, NOT LOVING ME.

I didn’t get the loss until we set up a meeting with one of our birthmoms.  We went into it feeling like we were really good adoptive parents.  One of our kids had expressed repeated interest in meeting her birthmom and with the push today for open adoptions, we felt like this would help her answer some questions.  We spoke with experts, set up guidelines, and tried to make it feel low-key.   I anticipated smiles and hugs and the showing of pictures… and that happened.  But my little one moved closer and closer to her until she was on her lap, arms around her neck, leaning in, eyes starting to glaze over.  And then when it was time to go, she clung and wept to a woman she had met one time for one hour.   She had to be carried to the car.  I sat in the back holding her hand, tears streaming thinking “What just happened?  What did we do?  Why is she so upset? WHAT DO WE DO NOW? “   The feelings of biological connection, belonging, pain, sadness, rejection, fear…they all came bubbling up and pouring out in a deluge of tears.  They were feelings I thought weren’t even there yet.  And to be honest, I was a little confused, a lot panicky, and ready to flee hoping an ice cream would help us all JUST CALM DOWN.

But that moment was important and inevitably going to come.   It snapped me into reality and the responsibility I have as a mom to walk beside my children through those dark emotions, fold them onto my lap or in my bed and talk about it over and over, to bring “it” up, to stick my chin up when the anger comes pouring out, and to understand that for now, they just can’t understand it all.  And that’s OK.  When I put myself in their place, I can only get a bite-sized portion of what it actually feels like and it doesn’t feel good.

I wish these kiddos could process their stories with the intellect of an adult.  Maybe with the life experiences to understand the stigma that can come with an unwanted pregnancy, the difficulty of provision in a place of poverty,  that sometimes choosing what’s best for a child means making the ultimate sacrifice a parent could make.  

But they don’t.  

When we sit down for dinner and a little one says out of the blue, “Why didn’t our birthmoms want to keep us?” as though this is a conversation that every family has over green beans and grilled chicken, my heart hurts for the hearts of my children.  What a thought to have so early in life.  What a difficult question to be asking when you aren’t even old enough to tie your shoes.  To the rest of the world, we show up and are a happy, loving family.  We’re so cute and diverse and lovely and we are those things on most days…happy, loving, cute, diverse, and lovely.  But we’re also real and some days are raw and ugly and sad and angry.  How could they not be? 

This adoption journey for many is defined by the homestudies, the numerous papers, the approvals, the background checks, the trips to far places, the fingerprinting, the waiting and waiting with the culmination coming on the day we finally come home together as a family.  Thank you, Jesus!  We did it!  Adoption journey complete!  Check and double check.  

Um....not so much.  This so called journey is just getting started.

But here’s the thing.  I’m willing to take the trip.  I’m willing to take the “You’re not my real mom,”  the “I don’t even belong here,” the “I hate being adopted,” the “I wish I lived with HER” because I can recognize where the words are coming from.  

And

 I’m here to help with healing.

 I’m hear to listen and say, “I know.  That is really hard to think about.”  

 I’m here to be a safe place to land. 

 I’m here to let it come out instead of avoiding or pushing it back down. 

I’m here to set boundaries for what we can say or do when we’re mad.

I’m here to say, “I think we should pray about this.”

I’m here to remind them HOW MUCH I WANTED THEM.

I’m here to kiss the tear-stained cheeks and whisper "I love you no matter what and I WILL NEVER GIVE UP ON YOU."

And I’m here to speak of the love of a Father who has adopted us all into his family.  He takes hold of our right hand and says, “Do not fear.  I will help you,” who hears our prayers and changes our hard stories and makes them HIS stories.  

 Because that’s what real moms do and we don't let our kids journey alone.  

Today I heard my oldest say to her little sister, “You are in our family because you’re birthfather loved you and he thinks about you every day .”  I knew that all the times I felt like I’ve messed it up, wished I could have said something differently, wanted for more advice…some understanding that love can be a part of relinquishment  is slowly seeping in and I’ve done something right. 

Worth My Words

What if I had turned in our paperwork 3 weeks later?

What if she had changed her mind at the hospital and decided to parent her child?

What if I had gotten pregnant?

What if she hadn’t died from something so stupid as a preventable disease?

What if a document had gotten lost in the mail?

What if she had chosen someone else?

What if we had stayed and waited at that agency?

What if someone had supported her instead of taken advantage of her situation?

What if a family had embraced the idea of an illegitimate grandchild instead of shunned her?

What if we had decided three was enough?

What if that country decided to close its doors to adoptions?

What if we had pulled out when things were looking tricky?

A lot of things lined up for this family to be this family.  Had any one of those questions been answered differently than reality defined, my family photo could look completely different.   The four framed faces sitting on my desk could be four different faces.   I think about that sort of thing, the “what ifs”of a family made through adoption, of all the factors that go into a child eventually being matched with a family.  What role does God play?  Is it a tangible working in the minds and hands of people involved?  Or is it more abstract and permissive of situations taking place?  Does he sit up in heaven pointing and nodding, “Yes.  That little man is going to go in that family of three.  And I’ll use that couple to shape the future of this sweet potato.”?  I don’t know.  The more I think about it, the more complicated it feels.  But I believe strongly that prayers are heard and answered in concrete ways.  I have stories to prove it.  God is a part of all of this.

But if I’m going to be honest, more than all of those I think about this:

What if my children were growing up in their first families?

What would that be like for them?  Because in a world without sin and pain and poverty and brokenness, that is exactly where they should be.  And as a mom who loves them so deeply, I’d rather just not even think about that.  I’d rather nuzzle them and squeeze them and pretend they should have been mine all along like somehow God ordained their broken starts so that my motherly longings could be filled. That would be nice, wouldn’t it? (No. Not really.)  I’d like to imagine that the days I looked down at their real or photographed faces, they came free of a history.   I like to pretend that they were gift-wrapped with a large bow just for me.  But I know it is more realistically and theologically complicated than that.  And when I think about their first families, my heart hurts.  I think God’s heart hurts, too.

And then there is this:

What if I could have done something differently?  What if I had redirected my adoption expenses in a way that would have allowed a family to stay together?

If you want to keep an adoptive mom up at night, just have her start mulling on that question.  I’ve learned that in most cases, the answer is not as simple as more money.  There are so many factors going into decisions about parenting or not parenting.  There are social stigmas, family pressures, personal goals and futures, and ultimately unselfishness and love.  

But what if?

I like the idea of keeping kids in their families and being used to make that happen.  I like the idea that a little bit out of my pocket could make a significant change for a little person.  I like the idea that it could be much simpler.  I like the idea that I could provide a meal, some extra clothes, school expenses, medical care all from the comfort of my living room.   I like the idea of being a parent helping another struggling parent.  I like that I could be the difference for one.  Or three.  Or…

So, let me introduce you to some other members of our family.

Mihiret is 9 years old and my Hannah chose her because she is the same age and she liked her hair. 

Eden (no joke.guess why we picked her?) is about to turn 7 and is currently in kindergarten.

Bereket has a face I could eat.  Something about him reminds me of my boy and when I saw him, I knew he was ours, too.  He is a strapping young lad at the age of four.

And all of these kids grew up in the same neighborhood as my youngest son.  And all of them still live there with their families.  And all of them have the same child status:

VULNERABLE.

What if God has somehow ordained, once again, the crossing of my path with the path of these three little ones?  What if our encounter with one another could change their status from vulnerable to hopeful or better or just plain more comfortable?

I try to walk the balance beam of advocating for kids.  It’s tricky.  Don’t be too outspoken that people get tired of the message or tired of you.  Choose your conversations.  Be challenging but not overbearing.  Be well-rounded and approachable.  Don’t overdo it.  Be passionate without being a lunatic.

But here I go again because I just really believe this is good.  It’s worth my words and worth your time.

Children’s Hope Chest is a child sponsorship program. (Do. Not. Stop. Reading.) It meets the basic needs of kids.  It’s a program that has been researched and visited by people I know and trust.  And they’re working in Woliso, Ethiopia, a place that is dear to my heart.  A place where I’ve seen what kids living in poverty looks like.  It’s a place you go to and don’t forget the faces and the dirty clothes and the barefoot feet.  And the smiles.

I want to bring it up because many people want to help but don’t know how.  

I want to bring it up because many people have the heart for kids, but can’t take the leap into adoption.

I want to bring it up because these little ones can’t be spoken about too often.

I want to bring it up because it’s important.

I want to bring it up because part of my heart is in Ethiopia.

I want to bring it up because these kids are just as valuable as our own.

I want to bring it up because I think it’s the right thing to do.

So, will you just do a quick tap on one of these links and look at these faces and ask yourself if you could make a difference for one?  Or three.  Or….  

Get on it. (I mean that in a gentle, loving way.)  But seriously, get on it.

http://www.hopechest.org/community/woliso/sponsor/

http://www.hopechest.org/community/burayu/sponsor/

An Unread Letter

Dear Tayech,

Today your son turns one.

I went into his room this morning to his smiling face and I thought of you.  I picked him up and kissed his face and thought of you.  He nuzzled his head into the crook of my neck and I thought of you.  I tickled his piggies and he giggled and I thought of you. 

Somewhere across the world, you are well into your day but I wondered if you woke up this morning with the same thought, "Today is his birthday."  I wondered if you smile or cry or push the feelings down and stay busy so as to not think about it.  I wonder how you're doing.  I wonder if you can think comfortably about your boy or if it still brings painful memories.  I wonder if you imagine him in my home, in my arms, in our family.  I wonder if you are thriving or surviving.  I wonder if your family has taken you back.

I've spent the last few months writing letters to birthmoms and sending pictures and highlights and words that I hope convey how wanted and loved our kids are.  I did not realize how much these letters meant to me before my Ethiopian babes came along.  These letters allow me to once again reflect on my kid's stories...of how they grew in you and how they are growing up with me.  I get to share their successes, their funny moments, their struggles, their lives, their faces.  This is not the case with you, Tayech.  There is no mailbox.  There is no email address.  There is nowhere to send a letter.

So, I write this knowing you will not read it today.  But it feels like it should be written.  It feels like you should now how your "gift from God" is doing.  And I want you to know this:

HE IS AMAZING.

I wondered how the adjustment of starting over with a little one would go.  I wasn't quite sure I was ready to start over at baby stage.  I've been looking around and there are less moms my age who are pregnant or getting up for nightly feedings.  But here's the thing.  I love this baby and being with this baby and everything about this baby stage.  I love that he loves spatulas and big plastic bowls.  I love that he starts jumping up and down in his crib when I walk into the room.  I love that his two words are "mama" and "dada."   I love that he comes to me, wanting me to hold him, to comfort him, to play with him.  I love that he hangs out at my legs sucking on my pants.   I love that he is speed racer when his dad walks in the door.  I love that his favorite thing is getting placed in between his two parents and literally getting squished between us.

HE IS STRONG.

When we came home, this boy was small and his legs were thin and his belly was big.  His vitamin levels were out of whack.  His kidneys were acting weird.  His head had that perpetual orphanage fungus on it.  He was puking over every. inch. of. my. house.

And it is all better.  He is healthy.  He is rounding out.  He's getting teeth.  He loves food.  He is a speed walker. 

HE IS HAPPY AND HE BRINGS HAPPINESS.

This boy is content.  He smiles easily and bounces when he's excited.  He bangs on everything with joy.  He coos and talks and plays.  He can turn a scowling nine year old into a affectionate little mother.   He turns an active four year old into a gentle spirit.   I watch his daddy look at him and I can see how thrilled they both are with each other.   And my heart....it is full.  Brimming.  Overflowing.

But mostly I want you to know this:

HE IS LOVED.

And he will ALWAYS be loved.

Thank you, Tayech, for this child.  For bringing him into the world despite a very difficult life situation.  For giving him a chance.  For making a sacrifice.

For giving him a birthday.

 

Living the Dream

We thought long and hard before taking in black children into our family.
 
We live in a small, rural, white community and our kids go to a well-intentioned, ethnically challenged school.  I have sat through the school spring concerts in a cold sweat as I looked out at all those blondies wondering if my kids can find a place here, too. Our sweet little Ethiopians bring smiles now because they're cute and little.  I wonder, no...I know that some of  those smiles will change if one of my kids shows up to date a daughter or son.  I worry about them fitting in, finding friends, marrying spouses, being teased, facing heartache, resenting me because I am not the mom they should have had.   I dread the day when they look at themselves and feel shame because they are different.  I want to protect their hearts, their souls, their beings from nonacceptance and rejection and THAT DAY when they realize that their gorgeous little chocolate skin might not work in their favor.
 
We are a trans-racial family.  I never dreamed this for myself.  I guess God shaped my heart in a way that could be filled by this bunch that looks so different from me.  And I would NEVER have thought my hubs would get on board at the idea of traveling to Africa to fill our quiver.  God shaped his heart, too.  And apparently God has prepared him for a dozen or so.
 
We are a trans-racial family.  When I head out, I am noticed.  People look.  They remember us.  They smile. They stare. They glare. They ask. I don't leave the house without someone making a judgement about me...my kids...my family.  Sometimes that feels kind of weighty when all you want to do is run in for a gallon of milk.  Some days it feels like a platform to speak words for the kids like my kids who need families.  Some days, I'm so proud of them.  My girl who still thinks her hair is pretty and whose smile lights up a room.  She doesn't walk.  She bounces and skips and sings her way through life and is so carefree.  She and her beautiful, bright smile and her endless energy.  And my boy who grins at me every time I look at him with his little curls and that skin.  It is just delicious.
 
I remember going to the store and a random woman coming up to me and saying, "I remember you.  You were here last Thursday."  I could not say the same.  And once a gentleman came up to me to talk hair routines.  And another black man actually elbow- bumped me over a Crisco conversation.  And when I go to the doctor's office, they know our names and not because of repeated illnesses.  I have been stared at by a black family with arms crossed and scowls on their faces.  I have been told that "these" children are so precious.  Children at school have literally stopped in their tracks when we walked down the hallways.  Random strangers have come up and asked to touch her hair.  People have pointed and others have broke into tears.
 
And last week, on one of our first Sundays out to a church as a family of six, I left the service to walk the chatty, squirmy baby around out back.  The pastor read Dr. King's speech during his sermon. 

I have a dream where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers.
 
I've heard this speech before.  I was educated, reminded, and even empathetic in the past.  Now, I am emotionally invested.  I started boo-hooing right there as I was holding my black baby in my white hands and thinking that in another time not so long ago, THIS WOULD NEVER HAVE HAPPENED.  We are the literal incarnation of this man's dream. 

I slipped back into our row as the final song played.  We walked out together and a man came up next to me and in front of my babes, leaned in and asked, "Are you working through Child Protective Services?" 

I guess we have a ways to go and if we could speed the process up, that would be great.  Because my babies are growing up and I want them to be loved and I just want skin color to be a NON-ISSUE.  I want their hearts to shine through.  Their value to be acknowledged because they are CHILDREN OF THEIR HEAVENLY FATHER MADE IN HIS IMAGE.

My dear Eden, my dreams for you are grand.  I pray that you are surrounded by friends and opportunities and every good thing that you deserve.  I hope that you find a godly man who sees your beauty, inside and out.  I want for you all that life has to offer with nothing to hold you back.  May you look in the mirror and still keep smiling and singing and bouncing your way through life.  You are complete and enough just as you are.  

And little Judah...my man. When I look into your big, brown eyes, I don't know how anyone could not fall in love with you.  I hope that others will see your sweet temperament and calm, contented ways.  May you find your place in life through struggles and joy and an assurance of who you are in Christ.  May you be respected as a lover of people and a lover of God. 

And Dr. King.  Thanks for thinking big.  Big enough to start movements that bring about change.  Because if you didn't have a dream, I wouldn't be living it.

 


 

New Normal

We have hit the two week mark.  It's a milestone worth sharing.

This is when I start feeling like a sane person again and when a baby cries in the middle of the night, I'm not puzzled thinking, "Huh?  What is making all that noise?!?"  The luggage is unpacked, the jet lag has worn off, the house is kind of back to normal except for the explosion of primary colors trailing throughout the living room floor.  And, it feels like I can take a few minutes to write when every other day I would just head straight for a nap.

Here's a few of the details for those of you who are detail kind of people and all happen to ask the same following questions:

Question #1...How'd it go in Ethiopia?

Answer...I have no idea.  It is one big, exhausted blur.  I do remember picking up the baby, not sleeping, a traditional dinner (ew) in costume and then leaving. 

 

 

Let's move on.

Question #2... How was the flight?!? (typically asked with eyes widened, mouth formed in a worried, sympathetic expression, hand on shoulder....)

Nugget was amazing.  We got the coveted bassinette row.  I didn't even know this existed before our trip with Eden.  They just hook a little bed/death trap up to the bulk head row and babies can sleep (or not sleep) there instead of sprawled on your lap.  Genius.  We may have gotten this seat due to some pleading, urgent prayers sent upward while standing at the ticket counter or maybe just because babies trump other passengers when it comes to getting a little bed.  I may have let out a little, "Hallelujah. Thank you, Jesus!" when this seat was confirmed and in ROW 10 meaning I could beat out rows 11-46 at deboarding time.  However, I soon realized that three other babies would be sharing our special row, my favorite being the mom traveling with a two year old and an eight month old all BY HER LONELY SELF.  Said mother may have not brought one item of entertainment for the 17 hour plane ride and I became spare mom to either/both of her children.  I digress.  

I've told people that our baby was clearly the most prayed for as he was the best behaved and slept not necessarily in the coveted bassinette but mostly on me.  I had numb butt cheek syndrome for 15 of the 17 hour ride.  We all kind of tanked on the last leg to Grand Rapids.  People kept looking at us, some sympathetically and some slightly annoyed. I wanted to stand, turn, and give the "baby has been traveling for 20+ hours so how about you just sip your Diet Coke and move about your business" kind of speech. My favorite moment may have been when I asked some business-looking man if he would like to trade seats with my husband in the back of the plane.  He looked hesitant.  I lifted sweet, bawling Nugget and said, "Or...you can sit by us!"  Business man made his way to the back.

The good news is that we got off that awful, delayed plane and walked down the ramp to the crowd of the devoted/those who had nothing going on that Saturday afternoon and it was just a moment of everything coming together.  Three little ones running towards us with tears flowing as I watched them lay eyes of their little bro for the first time.  These are the times you don't get to live very often.  Well, sort of.  I can relive it every day if I want thanks to my girl buddy, pro-photographer/fellow adoptive mom who captured it all in slow mo.

What's the link?  So glad you asked.
http://staceyclackphotography.pass.us/scholten/
password: Scholten

Question #3...How's it been going? (ironically asked with the same facial expressions as question #2)

People,  he is the cutest little whipper snapper I ever laid eyes on.  More pics! More pics!  I can hear you chanting...

 

 He's a happy little dude.  He smiles easily.  He crawls and stands and looks way too little to be doing either.  We are all sort of infatuated with him, especially my dear girl, Hannah, who loves everything about babies.  Actually mostly she loves that they have to do whatever she wants and won't talk back.  I kind of share her feelings.  There's something sort of endearing about a little one who has three primary concerns: food, sleep, clean butt and doesn't argue with you when you ask them to put their breakfast dishes away.  They snuggle you and bounce up and down because it is just toooooo much fun.  When J's excited, his little legs start frantically kicking.  He is loving tubs and toys and stroller rides and all things baby.

The doc says he was probably born early.  He's made it to the 6th percentile, on target with his age group, a little low in iron and Vitamin D (who isn't?), puking much less (I could tell some stories), sitting up without immediately nose diving and eating everything he finds on the floor.  He stand at the window looking outside, reaches for us when visitors come over, drools like a fool and happens to love dad's whiskers (and dad....that is also worth noting). 

Uh, and then there are the nights.

They've been, shall we say, sporadic?  Some nights (like 3 nights) we're up once or twice for a quick bottle and then back down for the count.  And then there are the last few nights of more frequent, special bonding times.  Baby likes a bottle...not rocking, not patting the bum, not gentle swaying back and forth.  The kid wants a bottle.  And so sometimes he just wins and I say, "Have at it. I'm going back to bed."  This is a habit we will have to slowly replace.  In time.  Like when I have more stamina and energy and sleep.  OK, maybe never.

We're on our way.  Heading in the right direction.  Slowly getting to know each other and trust and love and become a family. 

There are days...change that....EVERY day, I just look around at this conglomeration of a family.  One who talks non-stop, showing signs of becoming a young lady.  One climbing the shelves in search of a screw driver to take the wheels off his trucks.  Another with her fluffy puffs and her love for music.  And the newbie with his easy coming smile....interests still to be determined.  I can't help but feel those "quiver is full," "blessed beyond measure", "life doesn't get any better than this" kind of moments.  And then they start fighting and I tackle laundry load number 23 for the week, or they spill their cereal on the floor again and it gets crazy.  But it's the good kind of crazy.  The "this is the best kind of crazy."  The kind of crazy that could change in a heartbeat.  So for today, I'm taking the messes and the 100 requests all starting with, "MOM!!!!" and I'm soaking it in with a thankful heart and spirit.

Grateful for these kids.  My kids.




 

Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss

Nobody tells you how hard this day is.

At 6:30 in the morning, years ago, I was in the garage putting on my shoes, almost in the car on my second to last day of substitute teaching.  I stopped because the phone rang. I answered.  "Kim, she's in labor.  Baby is coming today!!"

I paced and paced and called and cleaned and sat and then stood up again....didn't even bother with teaching that day.  It was a day of pure elation.  Today was the day.  The day I never knew if it would exist.  The day that would make me a mom because of someone else's decision.

And so on the way to the hospital, we stopped for flowers and held hands and smiled as we searched out the room and there she was. Perfect.  Wrapped tightly in those hospital blankets with a little pink hat probably knit by some random, charitable grandma.  She wasn't even one of those babies that is cute simply because she was a baby.  She was beautiful. No squished up little face just round and pink and lovely.

This day was amazing.  I would live it again and again.  But no one prepared me for the other feelings.  The one's that came when I saw a teenage mom with swollen eyes and my heart checked.  The one where a would-be grandma was consoled in the corner as she answered phone calls from friends and family who would never come to the hospital for a reunion.  I felt her loss, too.  Maybe even more because she knew what the word "mother" meant.   The feelings of jealousy as I watched someone else change her and feed her and hold her and kiss her.  The desperate unspoken fears of "What if she changes her mind??

Or when I walked into the hospital with an empty car seat, watched this young woman/girl slowly ride in a wheelchair to the front door, red-faced and crying, cherishing those last moments, handing her baby over, getting in a car, driving away....as I stood their holding HER baby and an empty car seat.

No one told me to expect this to be so hard.  No one said that this day, THE day, would also be one of the hardest.  It wouldn't feel like a Gotcha Day, but more like I Stole Ya Day.

I have lived this day now four times.

I was emotional even in the anticipation of today, knowing the duality of feelings was coming.

We did the norms...photos, laughs, visiting, playing, holding the babies, drinking the strong coffee.  But I knew it was coming.

We sat on pink couches and it slowly, quietly creeped in.  A woman I have come to respect for her devotion, her commitment, her LOVE for these children who come in and out of her life like a revolving door.  A women who loves these babies knowing it will be painful to say goodbye.  And she sat holding my Judah and the tears came freely.  "Rabirra, I know you will have a bright future.  You will live good life.  You will grow to be strong boy.  Goodbye, Rabi." Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss. And once again, a baby is placed in my arms and I am his mother with the blessing of another.  Her pain is palapable.  She apologizes for being emotional because, "we just become so attached to these babies."

Today Judah lost his family.  Again.  And although I know he WILL have a bright future, today my heart just hurts for those women who love tirelessly knowing that their attachment will result in sadness.  Today they lost four members of their makeshift family.  And yet tomorrow they will all show up again and keep on loving and caring.

Thank you, dear women.  For being a mama to my boy.  For picking him up when he cries, getting him to smile, snuggling him to your chest, feeding him in the night, sitting on the floor and encouraging him to crawl and roll over and share his toy.  You are precious.  You are amazing.  You are women of great strength.  And I am so grateful that you become attached knowing it is only for a short time. Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss.

Weed Eating and Other Baby Essentials

Today. 

I get on a plane and start the trip back to Judah.

Oh. my. word.

This sort of elicits three appropriate responses that occur in the following order:

1. "Holla!"

This is the pure joy, excitement, nervous energy, long-awaited reality coming to be.  It makes you smile.  You swoon at Nugget's picture.  You sniff those little diapers and stack those neatly folded baby outfits.   Giving baby a bath and putting him in his jammies washed in that special baby detergent sounds fun. Nugget is going to smile and laugh and attach to you and think you are the best thing that ever came along.  You envision rocking and cuddling and sleeping through the night. I repeat....sleeping through the night.  It feels like the world is aligned.  God is blessing.  Life is good.  I can't wait. 


2. "Oh, crap!"

This is the reality component that interferes with the above dream world.  It is the experience of mothering taking hold of your thoughts and slowly reminding you of all the unpleasantries of life with baby.  The lugging of the diaper bag and car seat through parking lots, the puking on your clothes, the inability to shower, the stack of laundry, the night feedings.   The understanding that life is going to be....uh.....different for a while.   The realization of all the things you were going to get done before this trip but didn't.  And in my case that longer than long, long flight home.  And this time, Baby better like Daddy.  I remember laying in bed on our Eden trip and thinking, "What are we doing?  We have lost our minds."


3. "Say what?!?"

I've kind of been through this adoption thing a time or three and every time it never feels remotely normal.  I am getting on a plane.  I am crossing the world.  I am swinging on by an orphanage in the afternoon.  I'm sitting through a coffee ceremony that has nothing to do with adoption or babies.  I pick up Nugget.  We hug everyone goodbye.  And then Nugget is now coming to live with me. FOREVER.  No matter how excited or scared or whatever the emotions...this just always seems a little, little, little bit unusual to me.  And kind of amazing, too.

As is then waking up at home to strange baby in...your....living room.  Totally not weird.  Baby from the picture is now 3-D baby sitting on the couch with your other kids.

And the great news is that I have completed the following list of essentials in preparation for a new baby over the last three days.  New moms, you may want to take notes.

• swept garage and organized the jumble of plastic cars, bikes, scooters, bubble wands, sticks/swords, golf balls, and socks.  Don't ask. 
• oil changed in the car....wiped down seats, vacuumed floors
• stripped all pink things from Nugget's room and replaced them with animal printy things and new crib sheet.  I don't know why I feel Ethiopian babies can pull of animal prints, but they just can.
• organized the pantry
• had a fun session with the weed eater
• located saved boy clothes to discover none would actually fit
• made 4 trips to the grocery store in one week for....groceries.
• chosen grout color and new garage doors
• given three members of our family haircuts

That's pretty much what you need to do in order to welcome a new child into your home....especially the weed eating.  Wouldn't want baby to get lost in the grass or something. 

So, whatever.  The bags are 90% packed.  The plane tickets are secured.  The kids are going to hang with the grandmas for a few days.  It will all be O.K.

It will all be O.K.

Because on Saturday, after 24 hours of travel, I will walk out of our concourse to my kids waiting for their new brother.  And they will be beaming.  And I will be beaming.  And Judah will be home.

And I'm pretty sure he won't care about the pantry and I'd even wager some cash that he won't get lost in the grass.

We're on our way....