A Tale of Two Adoptions

After Brent and I wrapped up our first adoption nearly eleven years ago, I assured myself and those around me that Next Time would be different. I wouldn't stress about being Chosen. I wouldn't stress about how Slow The Process Is. I wouldn't stress about Birthmother Anxiety. I wouldn't stress about Wait Time. I'd have a child and therefore it wouldn't be so Confounded Urgent.

Let me go on the record saying, I Was Wrong.

Eleven years ago, I didn't know that I would soon find out I was pregnant. Eleven years ago, I didn't know that God would reach out and touch me and heal my womb so that miscarriage wasn't a foregone conclusion. Eleven years ago I didn't know that I would be either pregnant or nursing for the next eight years. Eleven years ago I didn't know that every time I even considered adopting again I would find myself pregnant. (Not complaining, mind you!) ((And NO, that is NOT an announcement. This time seems to, so far, be the exception.)) And eleven years ago I had NO IDEA I would find myself head over heels in love with a little girl who lived across the ocean.

This has been one of those rollercoaster weeks I promised myself I was done with. Adoption is a process. Hoop jumping is involved. If you continue to hoop jump, you generally wind up winning. There is no sense getting all wrapped up in bad news. God has it in control. God is in the timing. You will get your child when you are supposed to get your child.

Have I spewed enough platitudes yet?

Bugger the platitudes.

You know what platitudes do? NOTHING. They are completely worthless to calm your anxieties in the middle of the night when you've woken from a dream where you were fixing your little girl's hair and you realize that No, she isn't there and No there isn't a thing in the world that you can do about it. Platitudes are completely worthless when you are asking your Sunday School class to pray for the Buerocratic nonsense to pass and you have a sobbing fit right there in the middle of a room full of people. Platitudes mean nothing when emotions are involved. Even when they are right and true.

I was completely unprepared for how much it would bother me to wait for my daughter to be home. Because though, yes, I have a house full of children that I adore, I am missing one. Why I thought that waiting would be easier after I had a child, I will never know. Inexperience, probably. Because having children only emphasizes how important it is to have them with you.

So, while I'm waiting for my dossier to be translated, and waiting for a court date, which means, I think, waiting for the rainy season to end (in the middle of this drought), and waiting for my homestudy re-write to be Fed-Exed all over for signatures, and will eventually be waiting for my travel date and then waiting for the MOWA letter, and then waiting to be submitted to embassy and then waiting to be accepted by embassy, and then waiting for an embassy date and then waiting to travel to embassy and them waiting and hoping against hope that everything clears, Please Jesus, my little girl is growing up without me.

So, if you see me in front of the green beans at the grocery store, don't ask me how and I am, and for the love of all things holy don't give me a hug, or I will break out the ugly cry.

You have been warned.