Gettin' 'cited

I’ve been back in the States now for...I don’t know how long. Even after thinking about it, I can’t tell you if I’ve been here for two weeks, three weeks or four. I just don’t know. Coming home has been good in some ways. It brings me closer to Thor. I have been able to do things in honor of being a Mom. Things like shopping at Target and BabysRUs (or however you spell the blatant misspelling) and the baby section at Ikea. All monumental things when you’ve been living on a tiny island at the edge of civilization (literally and figuratively) for a couple of years. I’ve been making decisions for the house and planning a nursery and spending time with good friends. All the good stuff.

But being home has also been like smashing my face into a brick wall...really hard. I basically walked off the plane and into my office and I have been at the office almost the entire time. I come home (the rented, furnished apartment) to sleep. I work and work. I work so much I haven’t had the time to buy what we need for our trip to China or even think AT ALL about that beautiful little girl waiting for us over there. In response, I have cried and stressed and screamed, but I continued working. Because that’s what I do.

This past weekend I didn’t work because we had very very very special guests in town, of the Alternative sort (also known as the kind, generous and beautiful sort). And over the weekend I realized that I will disappoint people when I leave for China. I will leave work unfinished because I took too much onto my plate and was not realistic about what I could reasonably do in a such a short period of time. I let my needs, my family’s needs, fall to the side and I went to work with a pitbull’s grip. And then I was miserable. I was trying so hard. All the while knowing that, ultimately, I would be making no one happy. Most of all myself.

People ask me if I’m getting excited and I look at them, with my eyes sunken into their sockets (I’m not sleeping well either), and I explain that I haven’t had the time to be excited. I just haven’t had the clarity of mind or the space for that kind of happiness. And that makes me sad. Especially because I have no one else to blame.

So I’m coming out of it now. I’m taking ½ hour to blog this morning because I want to memorialize this time in my life. The time before Thor. The changes I’m considering...and making...as I make way for the little God of Thunder. I’m picking up my husband and my cat from the airport this evening and I will experience big joy. I AM feeling excited about that. I will then have 3 of the 4 puzzle pieces in one place, with only one wee one to go. That is very very exciting.

And then we go to China. We leave on Saturday morning, get there on Sunday PM and meet Thor on Monday AM. In less than one week we will be meeting our baby girl. Holding her in our arms. Touching her cheeks. Stroking her palms. Offering her Cheerios. Looking into those giant, almond eyes. We will finally experience that moment, and all those moments afterwards that we’ll call life. We will finally be really living it. In it. Not planning for it, or trying to convince others that we’re worthy of it. We’ll be living it. In our home. With our little girl. With our cat. With each other. All of the pieces in one place. FINALLY!!!

OK, now I’m getting excited.

A bus ride through Thor's home town...

No Crescendo

Last week we found out that we have been approved by the Chinese government to be Thor’s parents. Holy crap.

The approval came in the form of our Letter of Acceptance or Seeking Confirmation (LOA/SC). This is the most coveted of documents in China’s Waiting Child Program. It’s like getting your referral in the traditional, or non-special needs, program. Essentially, it’s huge. It means they have reviewed our files, reviewed our petition to adopt Thor, reviewed Thor’s special needs and deemed us good and fit parents. Holy crap!

There is now nothing but a few simple pieces of paper and a few thousand miles standing between us and our daughter. Holy crap!!!

We are thrilled, yes, but I’ll be honest with ya’. There are a lot of other emotions going on as well. And some of them have nothing to do with rainbows or ladybugs.

I don’t like comparing the process of adoption to the process of giving birth because they are very different on many levels. I have felt uncomfortable when listening to people make comparisons because it *sometimes* sounds like a desperate attempt by a potential adoptive mother to FEEL pregnant or to validate (for her or for other people) the connection to her adopted child and, in doing so, implying that being pregnant is better than adopting. And I don’t feel that way.

Therefore, it feels very strange to admit that I feel like Thor has been growing inside of me since the day I laid eyes on her. I have grown to think about her constantly. Every move I make, every decision I make, absolutely EVERYTHING that I do, I do with her in mind. Everything. I look at her face and not only do I know, intellectually, that I’m her mother, but I FEEL like her mother. I didn’t start out this way, but I’ve become this way. I can sense what her skin will feel like and what her little hands will feel like. I can see her running across our floor. I can feel her on my lap, and I sense her concentration as I read her a book. I can almost...almost hear her cry.

So I think I’m ready for this. Heck, I know I’m ready for this. But I have to tell ya’....I’m scared shitless.

Going back to the birth/adoption comparison, women give birth to an infant. A little, tiny creature that takes up very little space, sleeps most of the time and cries little cries with little lungs. Thor, on the other hand, will be 18 months old when we she storms into our lives. Very different story. They’re all different but, generally, toddlers take up more space than their small frames can account for, sleep only when they darn well feel like it, and have a loud desire to make sure people think you’re the worst parent in the world every time you step out into public. People give birth to infants so that, by the time they’re toddlers, they have learned how to parent this creature.

I just finished a book entitled “Toddler Adoption – The Weaver’s Craft” by Mary Hopkins-Best. It’s a great book that describes some of the trials that adoptive parents can expect when adopting a toddler, and how they might address these “issues”. I won’t go into the “issues” here because many of them are scary. Like really really really scary. Due to the objective of the book, she doesn’t spend much time talking about how wonderful your life will be after you adopt your little one. It’s all just plain scary. Yes, she presents effective tools for addressing these “issues”, which I am thankful to know about, but that doesn’t take away the scary. Just because you know you can repel vampires with garlic, doesn’t make them any less scary -OR- knowing that George Bush will someday be out of office, doesn't make him any less scary. So, obviously, that’s where this fear is coming from. (I love what people are thinking right now...”Oh Lord! She’s comparing her daughter to the undead! – please.)

Adopting a toddler feels kind of like a trial by fire. It’s not a slow build-up, or crescendo, to the maelstrom. Rather, you just start there.

I’m excited by my new (umpteenth) on-line group for parents of toddlers adopted from China. I’m sure I’ll find one or two kindred spirits there. I need to talk to people who understand the fear that their daughter will be repelled by them, who understand the isolation when nobody in your circle of friends can relate to your situation, who understand the rages and the grieving and the frustration and the night terrors. Who understand this particular kind of scary.

Sleep, Pee and Poop

I should be making a list right now, but I just had to tell y’all something. We were recently informed that on or around last December 14th Thor’s sleep, pee and poop were normal. Yes indeedy. Sleep? Normal. Pee? Normal. Poop? Normal. That’s our girl! We’re just so proud of her that I think we’re gonna have t-shirts made up. They also wrote that she was lively and she had a good appetite. Ha!! Our hearts are just full to bursting. Full to BURSTING I tell ya!

We learned all of this from her surgery report. The one that they filled out when she went in to have her cleft lip repaired, thanks to The Smile Train. These wonderful people provide cleft lip and cleft palate surgeries to children all over the world...in 71 countries to be exact. One of their angel doctors fixed our daughter’s cleft lip so we made a donation in her honor. Go check out their website and consider a donation yourself. And remember one thing...her sleep, pee and poop are normal. HA!!

If anybody sees my head...

...could you please pick it up and pop it in the post. Tanksferdat. You see, I think it’s finally popped off and I just really hate the thought of kids using it as a soccer ball or some dog chewing on it. It hasn’t been doing me much good lately but I'm thinking it could really come in handy at some point in the future. ? Maybe.

You know how they say there are like three really big life changes that can affect your family: 1) Having a child, 2) Moving, 3) Changing jobs, and let’s just add another for fun 4) House burning down. Any one of these things is known to be a major stressor, but what would a therapist say if they knew I was dealing with all four at the same time? They would probably advise me to just leave the head because I don’t really need it right now and it’s just going to pop off again tomorrow.

So here’s a little update, saving the best for last of course...

House Burning Down (or “essentially destroyed by fire”, as we prefer to say): The house is coming along great. Our contractors and their marketer turned the restoration into a real project that showcases green building practices and “what to do if your house burns down” education. We’ve got hard hat tours, open houses, way cool vendor participation AND our home has been chosen to be on the City’s Build it Green! Tour this year. All this AND the restoration is coming along great. The plumbing, wiring and radiant heat are all in and now they’re putting up sheetrock, which means there’s actual walls. The windows and doors are in and they’re absolutely stunning (at least from what I can tell in the pictures) and the siding is going up on the back of the house (where the fire was). All of this while we’re on the other side of the planet. It’s all quite amazing actually. Our contractors are wonderful and kind and we trust them. If it were not for them our heads would’ve popped off a long time ago. We have no doubt the house will be absolutely gorgeous AND we’re thinking that, after a couple of dinner parties and some Thor-time in the Tupperware cupboard, she’ll be ours again.

Moving and Changing Jobs: I need to combine these because they kind of go together. Things are a little complicated on this front. We were originally planning on going home at the beginning of August because that’s the end of our two years here, but the house won’t be done by then so we were granted an extension from The Death Star, requiring certain commitments from Floyd. Along came Thor...and we’re suddenly wondering how quickly we can move back...but Floyd made commitments...but the house won’t be done...you get the picture. Then we add the issues with my little place of employment (I think we called it R2D2 before). The messages are mixed but I’m hearing they could use me back in the office, like...now. The conversation went something like this...

“So, I’ve only got one or two months left to play in Ireland and you want me to come back early and go to work? Are you out of your fekkin’ mind?”
...
“Oh…you’re going to pay me?
...
“How much?”
...
“I’ll see you Monday.”

It’s just that simple. We have a few expenses right now so we’ve gotta dig deep and just do what needs to be done. And if that means going back to the States, AND my cubicle, AND being away from Floyd for 4-5 weeks, AND not seeing our home together for the first time, AND not spending our anniversary together...so be it. You gotta do what you gotta do.

Having a Baby: Oh yea, Thor, I almost forgot...NOT! Thor is front and center in all of this mayhem. As y’all know, Thor is in China’s Waiting Child Program because of her cleft lip/cleft palate. That program works a little differently from their Traditional or Non-Special Needs Program. Our Letter of Intent (LOI) was sent to China on June 26th and we are now waiting for our Letter of Acceptance (LOA), which is actually a letter from China asking if we’re still interested. Ummmm....gee, let me think... This seems like a crazy step, but they are simply seeking confirmation (the other name for this step) that we can handle her special needs. These days the LOA can take over 100 days to get (ugh) UNLESS your original file (the one we sent in May 2006) was already through the review room, which would mean that it may only take about 35 days (much better). Now, we’re pretty sure our file was out of the review room but we just don’t know for sure. It gets kind of complicated and involves lots of dates and I won’t bore you with it (as opposed to boring you with all this other stuff). Needless to say, only time will tell, and there’s not a damn thing we can do about it (except take deep breaths). Then after we send back our LOA we wait another 3-4 weeks for our Travel Authorization (TA) and travel can happen within a few weeks of that. Essentially, if things go according to schedule we could be traveling as early as mid- to late September or as late as mid-November. But there is just nothing certain in this whole process, so we still send out LOTS of good juju.

Speaking of good juju, we are off to London this weekend because we have to renew some adoption paperwork (the thumbs-up by the Feds, i.e. the Holy Grail of adoption paperwork) and, in order to do so, we need to renew our fingerprints. Yes, you heard me correctly. Renew our fingerprints. Because they changed so much over the last year. I would really love for somebody to tally up what it costs, financially and mentally, the potential adoptive parents to comply with all of these fekkin’ silly-ass rules to bring home their child. I realize there have been a few bad apples but, man! The Feds (I can't even bring myself to name their office in this blog because I just know they're reading it) have us all by the cajones and it just isn’t comfortable. So, the good juju comes in the form of the vibes that we send to the Feds so that they do not choose to mess with us and we can get our renewed paperwork before we travel (feel free to light candles...if you have any left).

So – off we go to jolly-old London. We have our sights set on toy shopping to help stock the little care package that we’re sending to Thor and her foster family. We’re also going to check out the precious antiquities that were plundered from ancient sites all over the world, such as those we just saw in Turkey and Pompeii, and now reside in the British Museum (for safekeeping of course). We might sample a few real ales as well. So, as usual, any complaints I might have about such things as renewing our fingerprints are now falling on deaf ears.

And let’s not forget the nesting. That instinctual maternal nesting that I am so needing to do right now...and can’t. Imagine. I can’t decorate her room because it’s on the other side of the planet. I can’t buy baby stuff over here because it’s wayyy too expensive and we’d just have to, somehow, get it back to the States. It’s a little frustrating. But you know what I can do? I can make lists. I can make lists of all of the lists that I need to make. That’s what I CAN do. I can also read books about adoption and attachment, join Yahoo Groups, research craniofacial surgical teams back home, talk to other adoptive parents, bake cookies, and...make lists of lists.

So that’s where we’re at these days. Oh, and it’s been raining for 43 days straight here in Ireland. I don’t think I mind it as much as some but I definitely feel a wee bit mental. Something tells me it’s not the rain though.

Inter-Continental

An internetty friend over at China Calling suggested we post a Google Earth image of where we live. Cool idea! I love Google Earth and we've had some fun playing around with it in the past. So I thought, hey, I'll post satellite images of our Irish home, our Portland home, our property on the eastern flank of the Cascades, and the City in China where Thor lives.




The interesting thing was this...you know how when you type your location into Google Earth and the image "flies" from one place to the next? Well, as I flew over vast stretches of land and giant oceans to get to each place I started feeling knots in my stomach. Anxiety. Almost a cold sweat. I started to feel, well, a little spread out. I felt an overwhelming need to pack up shop, go grab Thor, return to our nest and never leave. Ever. I suddenly needed all of these things that I love to be very very close to me.

And then I looked at the scale of things. Look at our Ireland home at 7,500 ft (obviously not a lot of demand for high res satellite imagery to, say, count sheep). We are one of the little brown dots near the top of the screen. Let's just say it'd take a while to walk down to the store to pick up a loaf o' brown bread. Yet, look at our Portland home at 3,500 ft. Ack! Houses upon houses upon streets upon freeways upon Plaid Pantrys. Then compare this to where Thor lives in China, viewed from 35,000 ft. Even at this elevation it's poor resolution because, well, because it's China. Gazing at that image I can almost hear the noises, the shouting, I can almost smell the warm, dank, choking air. At our cabin you can hear the wind touching the leaves. It's amazing to me how different these places are.

I suppose, though, that when you bring it back down to a human-scale, it's all about home. Floyd and I have "homes" in several places (does that sound pretentious or what?) and we've been traveling so much over the last couple of years that we joke about the concept of home. Where is home? We've taken to saying, "Home is where the Jezebel is" (Jezebel being our cat). Now that we've added Thor to the mix, I'm thinking that home is wherever she is. So here are some pictures of our "homes" on a more human scale. Thor's home? Well we don't really know what it looks like, but this image is certainly closer to the truth than any of those other doorways.




So it looks like I won't really feel at home until we've got Thor and Jezebel taking naps under the same roof (sigh....).

I hope she plays the drums.

This may be hard for some of you to believe...but I think there are some people out there who don’t think of me as a Mom.

I know, I know. I can hear you all saying,

“No!”

“Say it isn’t so!”

“Get outta town...and take your tent!”

I know it sounds preposterous (I say calmly as I wipe my hands on my floral-print apron), but I’m sure that’s what some are thinking. And I don’t blame them.

If we just step back to, like, the dawn of time. I was a Type-A workaholic and my participation in my few outside interests was basically dictated by how I felt after going out on the piss with my peeps on weekend nights. I rocked at my job, I dated drummers and I got tattoos.

And then I met Floyd...so I didn’t date drummers anymore.

As I’m writing this I’m finding myself wanting to make the argument of WHY people might find it hard to see me as a mother and HOW I’ve evolved and WHY I will be an amazing mother. But I think those topics are superfluous to what’s really eating me right now. I think I’m most interested in people’s expectations of what a mother SHOULD look like, SHOULD act like, and how a mother SHOULD behave.

Now, in all fairness, it’s 7am on Saturday AM and I’m not prone to having great, deep thoughts at this hour (nor at any hour for that matter)...so I’m just throwing this stuff out there, because I need to process.

I think that many people of my generation might view their own mothers as non-traditional. I think the 60’s may have been the first time that women had run shrieking from the June Cleaver model of motherhood en masse. My Mom was one of those women. While she was a very young mother in the late 60s I think she was relatively conservative, but still quite non-traditional. She focused on her career, she dated (no drummers that I know of) and I don’t think I ever saw her bake. Our family time was ordering pizza on Friday nights and watching Barney Miller (or Sunday night’s Dance Fever with Deney Terrio). Not very traditional, but good. And I wonder what sorts of opinions she had to face regarding her parenting methods and I think about what opinions ALL mothers (and mothers-to-be) have to deal with.

It seems that one of the really cool things about being a Mom now is that we have, comparatively, many different role models for motherhood in the media. Being a great mom is really “in” right now. There are loads of images and stories about non-traditional mothers raising their conspicuous families in pretty non-traditional ways. It’s awesome really. Yet, while it may not be surprising to see a woman with pink hair, a sleeve of tats on one arm and a baby in the other in my neighborhood (back in Portland), I wonder what sorts of opinions get flung her way when she travels outside of our ‘hood, to the Safeway store in the suburbs. Opinions o-plenty to be sure, because, despite the recent media, she doesn’t look like what most people think of as “motherly”.

I look in the mirror every day now and I think, “do I look like a mother?” Seriously. And not just, “do I look like a mother?” but “do I look like a GOOD mother?” Ugh. I embrace the lady with the pink hair and the tattoos as a perfectly appropriate vision of motherhood. So where are these thoughts coming from? Deep within my psyche I suppose. They’re there. They’re inside all of us that have been raised in the western world. We all have this image of Mom, Mum, Mummy, Ma, Mother, whatever, and she probably doesn’t have a septum piercing. Whether we believe in this image of motherhood or not doesn’t really matter. It’s primal and we are affected by it.

It’s been just over two weeks now that I’ve been thinking of myself as a mom and, fortunately, I feel pretty darn comfortable in that role. I think it’s because motherhood is coming to me later in life. This means, to me, that I’ve had a lot of time to indulge myself and now I’m ready to honor and indulge somebody else. It does not mean, however, that I am ready to give up who I am. I think there are still many messages out there that conspire to encourage women to believe that we aren’t truly “good” until we’ve completely given up our own personal interests and sacrificed ourselves on the altar of the Baby God. I realize that how we define ourselves essentially changes when we have children, but I don’t think that needs to entail turning our backs on pieces of ourselves that may not serve to uphold our maternal image. While it may satisfy the grandparents or the neighbors, I don’t think it serves the mother or the father (or the husband) or the child very well. Just like we deserve the “whole” woman, so do the people we love.

So, essentially, if this jammin’-Mammy wants to put on her biker jacket, sport her tats, and go see an “X” concert, you can bet your britches it’s gonna happen (after the essential attachment and transition period of course)…and, come to think of it, Thor’s gonna get a drum kit for her birthday.

Like mother, like daughter...and proud of it.

....then Thanking

First of all...thank you. Thank you to all of you that kept us in your thoughts, that lit candles (at the church, in your hearts, and the designer, scented ones), that gave us words of encouragement, that prayed for us, hoped for us, that crossed your fingers (and toes), beat drums, chanted, and sent us good vibes and mojo. I truly think that all of these positive vibrations made a difference. And a big thank you to the people that believed in us....especially that small group of people, total strangers, that sat around a table and made the decision that Floyd and I were “the best” parents for her. Thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

(I can only hope you weren't imagining somebody's painfully tedious acceptance speech as you read this last bit...sorry)

So here’s the story...

Two weeks ago our agency’s waiting child list was scheduled to come out. Floyd and I had known this was coming for quite some time. We had talked about it quite a bit and we had “decided” (the quotation marks loosen the meaning a bit – you know?) that now was not a good time for us to seriously review the list. We had watched several lists come and go, but we had never been in the right place to consider the children or their special needs, mostly because of how the fire back home had completely disrupted our lives and had put question marks over many things. We weren’t sure of exactly when our house would be restored or when we might be moving home. Thankfully, we were able to resolve these things in the week or so following our “decision” and preceding the publishing of the list but, because of company and travel, we just never came back to it.

So, despite this “decision”, my face was pressed to the computer monitor the moment the waiting child list was posted. The list was posted at approximately 9:10am MST so it was probably about 4:11pm Ireland time when I saw her face. Her beautiful, precious, face, with the sparkling eyes and the skin that looked like it was lit from within. My heart began to race a little. I quickly read her translated file. “...she is introverted, reasonable, and quiet.” Reasonable? Oh I think so.

I had to leave immediately to go collect Floyd at work. I was tormented as I drove. We had made a “decision” and I wanted to honor that....but her eyes! I don’t want to make Floyd the heavy by not sticking to our “decision”...but she’s reasonable!

Floyd gets in the car and I’m still struggling. I keep my mouth shut but I’m a pretty emotional person and keeping something like this inside is just not part of my constitution. So I go with my gut....and I tell him what I’ve done. I don’t go into great detail...I just want him to know that I’ve fallen in love with a little girl and that I’m really torn up inside because of the “decision” that we made, and, and, and....And you know what? He’s fine with it. He understands and he says, “Great. I want to see her too.”

Which is unusual. Not because Floyd isn’t understanding or good or patient or anything like that. But Floyd is an engineer. Floyd questions things that many people wouldn’t consider questioning. Floyd considers most things...a lot. But he didn’t question this, which is unusual.

So we get home, make ourselves comfortable on the ratty, purple couch, we squish together, put the laptop on our laps....and we meet our daughter.

I gave no introduction, preferring to let her do all the talking. We stared, flipped through the few pictures, read through the brief file...there’s really not much to go on, you know? The whole meeting took about one minute. My heart was racing but I remained reserved. I already had my moment with her, so this moment was between them. Well I’m still not sure what she said to him, but it must’ve been brilliant. There were no questions, no discussion, no “what about...?. Amazing. It was as if we both knew that we would forever define our life by that moment...our life before that moment...and our life after. All he said was, “Let’s go get ‘er.”

So we did.

We learned the next day that there was more than one family that wanted to adopt her, therefore, each family was required to prepare a petition for her. The petition is intended to describe how this child has touched your hearts, how you are equipped to address her special need and why you are the best family for her. That is the only guidance you’re provided. It seems like a good process because it’s not a “first come, first served” situation, which would just be a crass free-for-all. Rather, it’s dependent upon an evaluation of which potential parents are best fit to care for that particular child and their special need. It’s mighty tough on the potential parents because you really have to put your hearts on the line for this child, knowing that you might not be selected, but when it’s done right, it’s really the best thing for the child.

To say that I took this effort seriously is a wee bit of an understatement. It was absolutely unbelievable to me that anybody else could have felt the way we did about her and yet I knew that, if we goofed up this petition, they could decide to select somebody else to adopt her. And that was just not acceptable to me. I felt, with all of my soul and all of my body, that this child was “our child” and it was impossible to remain reserved at this stage. I fought...hard. I wrote with every emotion pouring out of my fingertips. My previous post attests to what that writing experience was like. What those five days were like. Very intense and revealing. Floyd gave too. We gave everything we had and then some.

We wrote the bulk of the petition on Mother’s Day and, as I said in our cover letter, I prayed that it was just the first of a lifetime of Mother’s Days with this little girl in our life.

The petitions were due on Wednesday at 5pm MST. We submitted our 10-page novella on Tuesday morning because we wanted the review committee to have the opportunity to read every word of it. Every. Word. Because every word was from the depths of our being and the thought of somebody skimming these words made me want to wretch. Literally. Every word was chosen for her and every word should be honored as such. We just had to trust that they understood that and that they felt the same.

By Tuesday afternoon I had submitted an amendment to the petition because I realized there were a couple of items that we had not addressed in the first, and which may have been important to them. With our amendment they would either think 1) we weren’t together enough to get it right the first time, or 2) that we just wanted to be as thorough as possible and that we would always regret not sending in this last bit of information with the possibility that THIS was the information they really wanted to see. You know? There were no second chances here. This. Was. It.

Wednesday, 5PM MST is midnight in Ireland. Wednesday night we were restless. Actually, going out of our minds is probably a more apt description. We decided to play Scrabble to occupy ourselves. Scrabble with a twist. Every word played had to be used in a sentence about her. I found myself using words just because I wanted to use it in a sentence about her. Well here’s the picture of the Scrabble board...and us...for posterity’s sake. You’ll notice the words “praying”, "love", "wish", and even a part of her Chinese name (Floyd graciously didn't challenge that one)...not worth many Scrabble points, but totally worth it.


We had a very fitful rest that night. I hesitate to call it rest and it certainly wasn’t sleep. We both dreamt...dream after dream after dream...good news, bad news, wanting, crying, desperate.

We both opened our eyes at 7am. We were reluctant to get out of bed because we knew our fate would unfold as soon as we did, and, as desperately as we tried to be optimistic, we were terrified. Paralyzingly so (my heart stops beating at the remembering of how frightened we were). We talked a bit about how each of us was feeling, the dreams we had had through the night...then we resolutely got out of that bed. We had to remind ourselves that life would go on...that we would survive bad news just like we had survived everything else that we had been dealt. You have to. You just have to.

We sat together, holding each other, in front of the computer. We went to our e-mail and the words immediately popped out....”Very Exciting News for the M.. Family”...that’s all we needed to read. My screams of joy were primal. My tears, even right now, are from a place that is so deep. So instinctual.

The review committee chose us (us?!), out of 25 potential adoptive parents, as the best parents for her.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you....for our daughter.

We realize that we have a long way to go before we are granted the privilege of adopting this beautiful little girl. In this internet-world, we will refer to her as Thor, and in another post we’ll write a little more about her, where she comes from, her special need, etc. We’re still sensitive about photographs of her on the internet so it may be a while before we post those. You’ll just have to believe me when I say that her cuteness has the power to make old men weep. Her cuteness is mighty, it is omnipotent, it will consume you, and it will most likely prevent you from concentrating on other things. She’s just the cutest little God of Thunder you’ll ever see. Be warned.

Wanting

Have you ever wanted something so bad that your whole body aches with the wanting? So bad that you feel compelled to lie on your back in the middle of a wet meadow and pray to the heavens for it? So bad that you’re washing the dishes and you just have to bend down and sob?

You ever felt that way?

And you feel like it’s in your control. There’s so much that you can do to make this one thing happen. And yet...there’s nothing.

Somebody told me recently that it was “in God’s hands now”. What if I don’t want it to be in God’s hands. Who’s this God and how did it get into his hands? Besides, that implies, once again, that we have nothing to do with it. Yet we have everything to do with it.

At least we think we do.

I certainly hope we do.

We have given everything we can. We have written down our hearts and we have double-checked the spelling and grammar. We have talked up the good stuff and we were honest about the bad stuff. I bled all over those pages. Trying with everything inside of me to splay our insides out.

Isn’t it funny to think that our words, just words, could be the keepers of our future. Who will read these words? What can we do to compel them to read them? I mean to REALLY read them. Nothing. But I try humor, honesty, appropriately placed exclamation points. Can I make them cry? Goodness no...they’ve read this all before. They’ve seen a million of us and they’ll see a million more. What can I write to make them see us as different? To make them see us as “the ones”, “the best”. The power and the futility of words.

Sometimes I think that if I can’t make this thing happen, this one thing, that I will never write again. I know this isn’t true, but it brings into question the worth of it. This writing. If you can’t persuade people with it, or bring to you "that thing that you’ve wanted more than anything in your whole entire life"...then why do it?

Drama, I know. But that’s what this desire thing has done to me. It’s driven me to drama. Overacted, bad drama.

And, man, you think this is bad. Just you wait. If I have to write about how we didn’t get “that thing that you’ve wanted more than anything in your whole entire life”, it’s gonna get mighty dramatic around here.

So, please pray with me (to whomever or whatever) that we get “that thing that you’ve wanted more than anything in your whole entire life”. If for no other reason than to spare the world another bad, drama blog.

I’m feeling very very protective of “that thing”. I’m afraid to put it out there. Maybe I’m feeling like I need to keep it close to my chest. Mine. My heart, my desire, my everything. Or maybe I’m feeling like I don’t want to lose “that thing that you’ve wanted more than anything in your entire life” in front of all of you. I don’t know what it is, but I’m scared to put it out there. My intentions are real. Let’s get that clear. My intentions are very real and I have put them out there...just not here. I’m not sure what this is. I think this is a main dish of “rambling” with a side of “cry for help”. Dig in.

The clock ticks. It’s time for me to go back and make some more changes to the words that control our future. Another tweak here, an exclamation point there. Maybe if we soften this phrase? Is this word to haughty? Oh fer fecks sake...

Thankfully, the deadline is approaching and I won’t have anymore opportunities to make changes. Is that when it’s in God’s hands? I don’t know about that, but that’s certainly when it’s in a bunch of strangers’ hands. Skimming, analyzing, looking for key words (should I have bolded key phrases?). Will they get my humor? Jaysus...nobody gets my humor! What was I thinking? But they will see the exclamation points (!). Yes...maybe that’s the secret weapon. The exclamation point. The cheerleader of my soul.

And maybe the next time I write I’ll get to tell you all about “that thing that you’ve wanted more than anything in your entire life”. I really really really really....hope so.

So if you’ve made it this far, and if your name is God, or even if your name isn’t God, light a candle for us. Then these words will have done some good. Thanks. (!)

An Amazing Day

I just need to document this day. This amazing day. Right now my heart feels lighter and I feel an optimism and a joy that I haven’t experienced in a good long while. So long, in fact, that they feel kind of strange to me. Almost like trying on clothes at the Bins (where clothes are brought to "display" with a backhoe and you buy them by the pound) where you just found this cool blouse but, good Lord, you don’t even want to know where its been. You look great in it, but, hmmmm... That kind of strange.

So, yes, optimism and joy. And why, pray tell, would I be feeling this way? Well, a couple of reasons...

After waiting two long weeks (well, six months actually), we finally received our first check to rebuild our home. I think I mentioned before that our (almost thoroughly incompetent) mortgage company originally mailed the check to our charred wreckage of a home back in the States. Whatever. And then it took them for-fekkin’-ever to get their act together to then send the check to us over here. Meanwhile, our contractor can’t start because, well, it takes a lot of money to rebuild a house. But today, oh blessed of days, the check arrived.

We live behind a locked gate so it’s always a hassle when packages come. They’ll ring when they get to the gate and you have to go up and meet them. If it’s an important package I’ll usually stay at home to wait for it but, really, how lame is that? Now this would, indeed, qualify as a very important package, but I had my first piano lesson in a while (and I had actually been practicing) so I didn’t want to miss it. ANYhoo....I’m sitting at the piano at my teacher’s house, a few minutes away from my house, and the mobile rings. The conversation goes something like this...

Me: "Hello."
FedEx Guy: "Ehh...FedEx here."
Me: "Great! Where’re ya at?"
FedEx Guy: "The gate."
Me: "Ok, Ok (panicking)....I’ll be there in.....12 minutes!"
FedEx Guy: "...and I’ll be gone."
Me: "Gah!!! But I desperately need the package that you have for me (I’m now packing up my lesson supplies and running out the door)...please...can you wait just a few minutes...I’ll be right there."
FedEx Guy: ".....nah....I’m fekkin’ lajughehsghegfrsedj....."(something in a really strong Irish accent)
Me: "Pardon?"
FedEx Guy: "...yea...I’m up to me neck. I can’t wait for ye."
Me: "Then tell me where ye'll be...I’ll come to ye...I’ll meet ye in fekkin’ Dublin if I have to...."

And, amazingly, we worked it out. We did the deal in a parking lot. I picked up Floyd at work, we met “your man” in the parking lot, we signed the check, then we packaged it back up in another FedEx envelope and sent it back over the water to our bank back home. Efficient eh? Now we only have another, ohhhh, I’d say 6 or 7 checks to do that with before we’re finished rebuilding the house. My nerves should be pretty well toasted by then. But today I am happy. It’s been almost six months since the fire and today...we can start to put her back together again.

And if that wasn’t good enough....

I’ve been kind of freaking out about this whole adoption thing. Oh yea...remember that? We’re adopting a wee one from China. Well, I don’t talk about it that much these days because there just hasn’t been a lot of good news on that front. The wait just seems to get longer and longer and the process seems to be getting less and less reliable. It’s like if you’re at the grocery store and you’re ready to check-out (and, no, I’m not comparing our future child to a head of lettuce....don’t be silly) and you survey the lines at the check stands....hmmmm....and you pick one. And you’re standin’ in it...and you realize that it’s not moving very quickly. In fact, the other lines seem to be moving much faster. And, hey! Those people got in line after you and now they’re walking out with their groceries!....and you’re still in line. And then you look ahead in your line to see the checker and the customer arguing...the checker isn’t happy with the customer...the customer starts to beg and plead...he’s sobbing...but the checker gruffly sends him away.....without his groceries. God. How devastating. It must suck to be that guy. But, wait. The checker might not like you either. What if he yells at you and sends you home without your groceries? And as you continue standing in line, you watch other people go through their lines....much faster....and go walking out with their lovely bags of groceries. But you can’t move because you’re afraid. You're scared stiff actually. You've never wanted anything more than this bag of groceries and you're desperate. You’re afraid that if you jump lines then maybe everybody’ll jump lines and you’ll be too slow and you’ll wind up in the back of the line again....or maybe that checker will go on break and then that line’ll slow down too. Aarrrggghhhh! So you stay in the line that you’re in....and hope for the best.

Get the picture?

So I called a representative of our agency today and I was talking to her about their different programs (AKA the other lines) and we were discussing the wait times for those programs, etc. and she said something to the effect of, “...well, from a timing perspective, you wouldn’t want to switch into that program because you’ll be getting your referral from China in about six months...” Wuh? Could you repeat that please? Six months? At first I thought she was delusional. We’ve been hearing (from unofficial sources of course) that our wait could be two years and over, which would put our referral at least another year out. And she’s telling me 6 months? So I questioned her. And I questioned her some more. This woman has always been, in my eyes, a very honest and reliable source of information on International Adoption. Always. But six months? She indicated that, because of the new regulations going into place in May, the referral process would speed up significantly and that the wait times would not exceed 18 months. Hm. So I’m thinking....and I’m thinking...

You see, there are a lot of things about this that just don’t make sense, but talking about them would detract from my amazing day and I'm just not going to do that. Suffice it to say, a lot of things, indeed. But, you know what? I want to believe her. I really really REALLY want to believe her. I desperately want to believe her. So, you know what? I’m going to believe her. So, please, don’t rain on my parade. And DON’T shackle my high. Because, today, it feels like we’ll be meeting our little Thor before the winter solstice!!!!

So, shush, just give me this one, amazing, day...please....

Silly Old Pig...

Floyd and I went to the US Embassy in London last year to complete some adoption paperwork and celebrated by sitting down for some scrumptious dim sum in London’s Chinatown. After devouring our rice noodle rolls, pork dumplings and sweet, sticky black sesame seed thingies, we slowly ambled (so as to not upset the delicate balance in our distended tummies) across the street to a little shop selling paper lanterns, Chinese videos, porcelain figurines and the like. We wanted to buy something to commemorate the trip because, at that time, we thought we were SO CLOSE and every little event felt like something we needed to commemorate. It was right around Chinese New Year and we knew that our daughter would be born in this year, the Year of the Dog. So Floyd picked out this lovely, little rose quartz doggy on a pink thread. Very precious (if you disregard the fact that it’s just about the right size to get lodged in a small child’s windpipe) and very appropriate. I couldn’t find anything that seemed either precious or appropriate so, as we’re headed to the cash register, I find this little plastic, gold pig with a small piece of already stale chocolate inside, and I decided it was precious and appropriate enough (at least it’s large enough that it can’t get lodged in a small child's windpipe). But it was NOTHING compared to the pink dog. We keep them both in a little corner of our dressing table and I sometimes look at them and think...cool dog... silly old pig....

But I learned something the other day (I know, wonders never cease). I was on this on-line writers forum that an internetty friend of mine writes for and she wrote this great article that made me feel all kinds of wonderful. It turns out that not only is this next year The Year of the Pig, but it’s also the Year of the Golden Pig! Really?!! Well this is almost as cool as the Year of the Little Plastic Golden Pig that Holds Stale Chocolate. Our purchase of the silly old pig is starting to make sense now but, most importantly, it makes me feel like Thor is a little closer to us.

There's a lot of talk about how children born in the Year of the Golden Pig will be more fortunate and make loads of money. There's also mention of how Asia's birthrate is going to skyrocket this year. I also realize there's a lot of controversy about this so-called Year of the Golden Pig, for example:

According to Chinese astrological calculations, 2007 is really not the year of the Golden Pig but the Fire Pig. The lunar calendar has a 12-year cycle of animals that runs along a cycle of “Five Elements”—metal, wood, fire, water, and earth. Notice there is no gold here. Perhaps since fire is red (related to money in Chinese tradition) and yellow (the color of gold), 2007 has also been heralded as the year of the Golden Pig.

Fire Pig? Golden Pig? What. Ever. This is all background noise to me. I’m stuck on the relevance of the little plastic pig that we bought in the Chinese market. Did I mention that it feels like Thor just got closer?

E-Mom Speaks

My friend, E-Mom, called me the other night. She’s an amazing friend that I’ve had since the dawn of time and the story of our friendship deserves a mega-post...but I’ll save that for another day (hmmm...maybe she can help me write it). Anyhoo...E-Mom has two absolutely beautiful children and she’s sad that we’re having problems makin’/gettin’ some of our own. She knows how hard we’ve tried and how sad we’ve been...but she also knows how happy we are to be adopting from China... and then how sad we were to hear that the wait might be excruciatingly long. It was very easy for her to get pregnant both times and I think she feels an eentsy bit guilty because she’s watched us have a pretty tough time of it and she also sees how much we love her kids.

So when we were on the phone the other night she pointed out that almost all of my experiences surrounding motherhood have been negative. Bad eggs, short luteal phase, high fsh, bad, bad, bad...and now the wait for China is going to be quite a bit longer than we had thought...bad, bad, bad. So she thought that maybe, with all this negative stuff floating around, I could do with something a little more positive. So she went on to tell me (quite convincingly I might add) that she believes that we WILL be parents and that we WILL be wonderful parents and that all of this parenting stuff that we dream about WILL happen for us someday.

And then she said, “...and I’m not just blowing sunshine up your ass”.

And I believed her.

And then I started to cry like I haven’t cried in a while.

Thanks E-Mom.

Shacklin’ My High* (i.e., harshin' my mellow)

What a great trip. And how. But I’m not here to talk about the bluebirds of happiness and our wonderful little, European holiday. I’ll talk more about that in another post (once we get all 2,378 pictures downloaded) where I’ll tell you all about the wonderful food we had, and the great art that we saw, and schlepping around in the biggest shoe store in Paris (this is where I make that sound that Homer makes when he looks at a donut)...but for now I need to bitch....because, since coming home, my high has been seriously shackled and my mellow has been determinedly harshed.

WTF happened while I was gone? Yes, Mary Mia got twins, which made me all kinds of (double) smiley, but that didn’t last for very long, because then I started checking in with my AltDTC peeps, and it would appear that our wait is now estimated to be at least 3 effing years??!! WTF? Please tell me I’m delusional.

And, as if that weren’t enough, the CCAA is getting cranky on our asses, telling us the increased wait will make us better parents (wh wh wha?) and denying our agencies any information that might aid in the decisions that we all need to make at this point, such as “what the eff do we do now?”

Whew. Taking a breath...thanks for listening...it’s almost over.

I know, I know. It’s only rumors at this point. But, gosh, even if they are rumors, this is so NOT why we chose the China Adoption Program. This situation is not reflective of predictability or stability to me...in any way shape or form.

So we talk about our options. When I last spoke to my agency about the extended wait time (when it was hovering around the “remotely comprehensible” 18-24 month range) I asked them if we should change programs. They suggested we relax and settle in for the wait (and learn Croatian, write a symphony, and read Ulysses). But I’m afraid it might be time to stop asking for advice and just start making our own plan. Because a cranky China scares the hell outta me.

You see, we’ve never felt that some divine force was drawing us to China. I am happy for those folks that have that insight and guidance...but we just don’t have that. I have wanted to adopt a child for many years now and, for some reason, assumed that child would be Asian...but I haven’t a clue as to why I assumed that. Our hearts are open to a baby. Period. African, Asian, Canadian (OK, maybe not Canadian...joking!!), Russian, Texan, Whatever...Baby. But, while our hearts may be open, it doesn’t mean our minds are. Floyd and I have all sorts of little thoughts and hang-ups (which we’ll keep to ourselves thankyouverymuch), that guided us to China...and that may now guide us somewhere else. Our child is somewhere out there and, frankly, we don’t know where (but we do know it doesn’t appear to be hanging out around these dusty, old eggs). So, we may be back to the drawing board, because I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around this 3 years thing (which is fitting because China seems to think this would make me a terrible mother anyway...just more proof).

So, there you have it. Thanks for letting me vent. How’re you guys doing with this whole thing?

Oh, and Ms. Bionic Valentine? I think we could all use a big (like global in scale) whack upside the head with your No. 838, The Fortunate Hammer. Tanksferdat.

*Floyd just pointed out that the appropriate phrase MAY actually be “shackle my hide” (vs. high)....but that’s not what I say. I always screw up these little phrases. This may be the ONLY thing I have in common with our good buddy George W.

What was your first...?

Now, now...get your mind out of the gutter people! I’m talking about your first baby thing...the first little thing that you went out and bought for your baby-to-be. Wzgirl wisely suggested a “round robin” so that we could learn about what other folks have deemed worthy of “their first". Great idea!

There was a comment over on the NO that really summed it up for me (duh, do I have a post where I don't reference the NO? Shhno). Cagey said...”For me, the clothes was not about the CLOTHES, it was about imagining my baby boy actually IN THEM. This isn't some shallow thing about dressing up babies like dolls. It's about having a tangible object in your possession that helps to make it real for you. Because with adoption or pregnancy, it is hard to wrap your brain around it.”

Ain’t that the truth?

I know there’s some folks out there that started shopping for their baby-to-be around, oh like 9th grade, while others wait until after they get their referral (or give birth...“post family-expansion” shall we say), and there may be some that even wait until they get to China (you can’t beat the prices!).

And I’ll also bet that not every “first” was clothing. Maybe it was a stroller? Anti-fungal cream? A kids book? Whatever it was, we’d love to hear about it. How have you commemorated, and made a little bit of commitment to, that twinkle in your eye? And if you haven’t bought a thing yet (and don’t plan to until you get a call from their school) we’d love to hear about that as well.

So, what was it folks? Do tell!

Logistics: You could either leave your story in the comments section or you could post your story on your blog...but then let us know to go over there by leaving a comment. Or...whatevuh. I just thought it would be cool to make a list (or maybe a powerp*int presentation with charts and graphs ;0)).

First.....tartan?

We’ve got these great friends back home that are about five months ahead of us on the China adoption path. Like us, they were excited and apprehensive about buying their “first pink”. I know...”first pink” sounds kind of...not so innocent, but that was their name for the first thing they were going to buy for the twinkle-in-their-eye, baby girl from China....and it stuck. First pink. They already have a boy (i.e. lots of blue stuff) so I think they were looking forward to (and apprehensive of) buying that first, cute little pink dress. First pink.

I can’t speak for them, but for me, buying things for a baby that is still just a dream is a serious commitment to faith. Obviously, we’re already committed to the idea of having a baby. We’re so there. Rather, it means a commitment to faith in the adoption process. Now, for folks like us, who have tried other ways of starting a family, and failed (again and again and again), this commitment can be a very difficult one to make. Let’s just say trust is a little hard to come by at this stage. I don’t want to start buying things for Thor, only to find out that WHOOPS China has decided to close their doors on us...or whatever.

But we’ve recently watched other folks get their referrals and seeing those beautiful, baby faces for the first time, and feeling the excitement of those new parents, well, it gives you some faith.

So, on our trip to Scotland we bought this. First tartan. Momma and Thor matching tartan at that. Man oh man...I never thought I’d see the day. It felt sooooo goooood. When we were standing in line at the cashier I just wanted to yell, “I BELIEVE!!!” at the top of my lungs....but I didn’t. So, I’m imagining Thor with the “kilt”, a cool, black t-shirt, and some black converse. I will, of course, be wearing mine with black boots.

I know, I know...it’s not pink. But it is the first. And that’s what counts.

It Can Really Happen!

Whew. What a day! And it’s not even really OUR day...it’s somebody else’s day. In fact, it’s somebody we don’t even know, but we feel like we know them. I’ve been following The Naked Ovary for about six months now. Her ramblings and musings during her wait for her daughter in China have made me smile and grumble and laugh...and sob on many occasions. And, Lord, how this woman has waited. I can fully appreciate why she intends to blow-dry her hair and wear pointy shoes when she goes to China. After what she's been through, shit, she could wear a fekkin' tutu in China and I'd still give her the nod. I like her...even though I don’t know her.

And today she (finally) became a Mom. I didn’t run my errands today because I couldn’t leave the computer for that long (well, that, and I needed to take a two-hour nap). Me, and thousands of other women, were glued to their computers...waiting for Karen to become a Mom. It was surreal. Go check out her posts from today and pay attention to the number of comments she was getting with each one. Seriously, the world was watching. I was so anxious and excited I had something like a mongoose running around in my stomach. And then it happened. I swear there was an audible gasp, a universal gasp, when she finally posted... “WE HAVE A DAUGHTER!!!!”. We all held our breath while we read the details of Maya. And then the universe could finally breathe again.

Whew.

So, it really happens. I mean, this is a big deal! Families really are made through this process, and arms that were once so heavy with emptiness, can now grow strong by carrying a child, their child...our child. This is huge!

I’m sure you’re thinking, “Uh, yea...duh...” But, you see, waiting for your baby through adoption is VERY different from being pregnant. When you’re pregnant, you’ve got a baby growing inside of you. You’ve got this thing, a bump, that you can rub, and sing to, and other people can point to, and it’s real. With adoption, you have a dream, you have a promise, a “contract” (and, actually, we're the only ones that have signed anything. Our agency and China have made no real obligations to us...gulp), and you have the stories and experiences of the families that have gone before you. This is VERY different from having the bump. And, because of that, it sometimes seems less...real. And that can be scary.

But it’s made a little less scary, and a little more tangible, when people like Karen, and all those other families that have gone before us, share their experiences with us. It helps us realize that it can happen. That there is a light at the end of the tunnel. That there is hope. That we will have a baby someday. And that maybe, just maybe, it might be safe to go out and buy Thor a little dress with flowers on it. Maybe....

So what’re you doing over here??? Go check out The Naked Ovary! Oh...and check out Sophie's video while you’re at it. Made me cry like a baby.... What a day.

Baby? What Baby?

When you look around our house you’d have to be very perceptive to see evidence that a baby is going to come into our lives within the next year or so (heavy on the “or so”). I see the red folder sitting in the corner that holds all of our dossier material. That red folder was a very big part of my life for a few months there...and now, I can honestly say I haven’t looked at it in quite some time. There’s a few scattered books on Chinese history, a Chinese travel guide, some borrowed Chinese language tapes, and a couple of popular books on Chinese culture/lifestyles, etc...just enough to make someone think that we might be considering a trip to China at some point. There are a few books on international adoption, Chinese adoption and attachment issues, one of which I even keep on my bedside table, but a perceptive person would see the dust collecting on it. There’s no nursery, no baby clothes, no “What to Expect, The Toddler Years” or any other books on how to take care of a baby...nothing, nada, zip. It’s weird, and I’m pretty sure it means I’m going to be a terrible mother.

We spent the last two years totally focused on having a baby. I threw myself into the chase, not to the extent that some gals have, but it consumed me nonetheless. Then, when we decided to just adopt my days continued to be consumed by the chase, but this time it was the paper chase (I loved that show!). So, now, our dossier is sitting in China, I’ve got the books (and, yes, I’ve read some of them, thankyouverymuch) and...and...and, now what?

You see, we can’t decorate a nursery because we’re not “at home”, meaning we don’t live where we will be living when we bring Thor home (at least not by current predictions). Besides, I don’t even think I could bring myself to buy things like changing pads (despite sporting fabrics that I would design an entire room around) at this point, because I’m still only marginally convinced that we’re going to have a little Thor at the end of all this (but that sounds like another post to me). And I guess this is why I can’t even bring myself to buy the baby clothes that I’ve been drooling over for years now. WHY IS THAT?? (oh my, that would certainly qualify as a whine....yep, definitely a different post).

So, what’s this stage called? Adoption-limbo? Adoption oblivion? Sometimes it feels like that, but in some ways it feels like adoption nirvana (see, I am going to be a terrible mother). I mean, we’ve done our work, we’re (supposedly) going to have a little Thor come into our lives in the not-so-distant future (it’s all a matter of perspective), and now all we have to do is....wait? Hell, I can do that...on some days (nirvana days). On other days (the limbo/oblivion days) I scurry about, going to the waiting children sites, learning about different “special needs”, investigating adoption from other countries, scurry, scurry, scurry...because that’s what I’m used to doing. You can’t just SIT BACK and expect your baby to come to you???? You gotta go out there and GIT IT! scurry, scurry, scurry...

But then on other days, like today, I can just wait. I think it’s called faith. I don’t have much experience with it, but I think this is what faith feels like. It’s kind of like knowing you’ve done what you need to do and that somebody else is going to fulfill their part of the bargain. Faith is a nice, peaceful place....it’s where the bluebirds of happiness* hang out.

So, with a little bit of faith, and a little bit of patience, maybe I can enjoy this next year (or so) of our lives. A little bit of travel (have I told you we’ve added Turkey to the list?) and maybe even a little bit of shopping for Thor (I’ll need a little more of that faith stuff first). Yea, that sounds nice. OR...maybe I’ll get my panties in a bunch and convince Floyd that we gotta go to Kazakhstan RIGHT NOW to git Thor. Maybe I should go get a Kazakhstan travel guide just in case....

*Bluebird of Happiness courtesy of Morgan Gleave (morgangleave.co.uk)

Don't Worry Mom

We won’t be naming her Thor. Not that that’s a bad name. Floyd (darling husband’s nom de blog) was almost named Thor....seriously. You see, I wanted to pick a nom de blog for the little twinkle in our eyes. Something cute and pretty like Bunny, or Pumpkin (what Mom called me) or Jennifer Aniston. But then there were the....boy referrals (gasp). Yep, there were a few referrals last month of beautiful little baby boys....to parents that had not “requested” boys. It had the Chinese adoption community all a-twitter. So that got us thinking. What if little Jennifer Aniston turned out to be a boy? With that in mind I decided to butch it up a bit.

And, then, there’s the fact that we may be waiting a loooooong time and a lot can happen in that length of time. Importantly, I could get fed up with the wait and decide to go someplace else for our little angel. So, that leaves out the China-centric names, like Panda or Ladybug (ugh) or Little Empress (now, if you know me, you may know that I couldn’t go this route anyway).

But I think the biggest factor at play here is that I have a weird sense of humor. You see, I really like the whole God of Thunder thing. I mean, that’s what our little ray of light will be....right? All-powerful, smiting their enemies (with a keen wit instead of hammers of thunder, of course), and saving the planet...regardless of whether they’re a boy or girl, Asian or white, black or purple. (Although some Thors decide to forgoe the whole saving of the earth thing and just become Legendary Rock Warriors. That's their choice.)

Floyd’s still a little uncomfortable with the nom de blog, but he’s a scientist and prone to being pretty literal (as am I), but this is for fun. He wanted to know if this would be, like, a real nickname...like would we call her this when we get her (or him)? Hmmmm....Maybe when she’s screaming at the top of her lungs in the midst of the Nordstrom Anniversary Sale (see below), I could gaze at her lovingly and say, "awwww.....are you my Thor, my little God of Thunder?" I mean, really, doesn’t it make you smile...just a little?

P.S. Please don’t tell me you can’t take your babies to the Nordstrom Anniversary Sale...please.

The Road to Thor

Part I. Dusty Eggs.

When the Reproductive Endocrinologist told us we had less than a 1% chance of conceiving our biological child we thought the world had caved in on us...for about two days...and then I just got ornery. My diagnosis was high FSH as a result of premature ovarian failure. Talk about a shit sandwich. This diagnosis doesn’t really leave one feeling like there’s a whole lot of options. I got it a few times from a couple of docs (because I was ornery) and each time they delivered it with a little cock of the head. You know, that look that attempts to indicate empathy. I think because of my advanced age (?! I was 37 at the time) we never found an RE that appeared to give a rip. Had we elected to proceed with high-tech (expensive) options that may have changed...but that’s just my bitter perspective.

After the diagnoses I consulted my good buddy Dr. Google (where you get what you pay for) and found that there was, indeed, LOADS of hope for my dusty ole eggs (heh). So began the regime...acupuncture, Chinese herbs, wheatgrass, temperature charting, loads of obscure supplements, sex on a schedule (hardly inspirational, my good friend calls it “gas station sex”...ding ding...fillerup!), cleansing fasts, special diets, and NO ALCOHOL (emmmm...excuse me?). In the meantime, I watched my friends get pregnant again, and again...sometimes accidentally.

Then we moved to Ireland. Oh. My. God. I have never, in my life, seen so many fekkin’ babies and pregnant women in one place. It really does live up to its reputation as a fecund nation. I tried to continue with the Eastern medicine regime, even going so far as to send digital pictures of my tongue to my Chinese doc back home (a means for diagnosis) and having monthly telephone conferences with her. We even upped the supplement intake to the point where we were each taking about 20-30 pills/day. Fun. We looked into going the high-tech/IVF route over here but I never really felt good about it. You know. Even though I watched my friends getting pregnant through IVF, the “gut check” just never revealed that warm-fuzzy feeling of hope. So I took some more wheatgrass.

Then winter set in. Now, Irish winters can be pretty damn dark and dismal...especially if you’ve lost all hope. There was just no light at all....and all of our friends and family were really really far away. But it was in this darkness that a little light appeared. We’ll call that little light....Thor, God of Thunder (or just Thor for short, I’ll explain the name in another post).

Part II. Sandwich Gone.

We had discussed adoption briefly when we were first handed the shit sandwich but the time just wasn’t right. I was too busy being ornery. But when I brought it up in the midst of the dark Irish winter (actually, I think we were in Scotland over Christmas) it was a pretty simple conversation.

Me: “Should we adopt?”
Floyd (that’s what we’ll call my darling husband): “Yea.”

Whew. It was just that easy. We always knew that it was the making of a family that was the most important thing for us and we were open to the different ways that can happen. Once we finally decided to adopt we felt like a huge weight had been lifted from our shoulders. The sun came out and we could, finally, FINALLY feel hope again. I think The Naked Ovary put it best when she wrote about adoption after infertility, “I never imagined that hope can have other soil.” (credit where credit’s due – that was the inspiration for my blog name. Read her post "The Mom Precipice" under Adopty when you get a chance.).

We pretty quickly decided on international adoption (for all sorts of reasons) and then chose China (for all sorts of reasons). I doggedly researched agencies. I worked off a list of agencies that work with Americans living abroad (there’s easily about 100 of them), made phone calls, reviewed their websites and mission statements (I was uncomfortable with the agencies that were heavy on religion), developed spreadsheets and did more gut checks. Once we picked our agency it started to feel pretty real.

So now the light of Thor was getting brighter...

Since I’m not working much over here I was able to kick some serious butt in getting our homestudy done and preparing our dossier (our paperwork). This whole process was made slightly more complicated and time-consuming by the distance from things like authenticated birth certificates, as well as our expat status, but, if you don’t spend too much time bitching about it, you just get it done. So we got our dossier over to China on May 22nd (DTC) and we were logged into the Chinese Center for Adoption Affairs (AKA God) on May 24th (our LID). And now we wait...and wait...and wait.

When we got started we thought the wait was going to be about 8-10 months but now they’re telling us the wait will be somewhere around 12-18 months (from LID). Jaysus. This puts our gestation period at somewhere between a sperm whale's and an Asian elephant's. Needless to say, this is a serious bummer. I’m trying not to bum out about it too much. Downside? It’s not the way we planned it (stomp my foot). We wanted to have this time in Ireland to make our family. Upside? Instead of starting a family while we’re over here we’re going to take the opportunity to travel. And travel we will. Scottish Highlands in early August, London-Paris in late August, Croatia in September, the south of France in October and Prague-Budapest in late October. But all this travel is just not distracting enough....I still think about ways to decrease the wait...but I’ll save that for another post.

So, we’ve gone from eating the big shit sandwich to feeling like we’re the luckiest folks in the world...because we have Thor to look forward to. Isn’t life funny?