Adoption

One Year

It’s been almost one year since we announced our adoption publicly on this blog. That’s been a year full of

home studies and

letters from doctors and

letters from accountants and

pictures of our home and

letters from psychologists and

employment verifications and

fundraising and

crying and

laughing and

dreaming and

decision-making

and waiting

and waiting

and waiting.

At this point, my desire to nurture something is so strong that I fear I might turn into The Cuddling Hulk when I’m around children. I’m not sure my dog or my cactus can withstand my overwhelming desire to sing something to sleep.

We’ve gotten word that the adoption administration in our country of choice is understaffed so timelines are being s t r e t c h e d, which means the two year wait time we were told might be 3. For those of you who are counting, that would mean we’re hopeful for 2014 but it might be 2015 before she’s home. Are we in a sci-fi novel? Because those don’t look like years to me. What ever happened to 2008 or 1994?

Adoption is weird because there’s no outward physical indicator to remind people that you’re in the process. Like, I go to work every day, and people are like, “Can I have application for English?” and I’m like, “HEY! MY DAUGHTER IS ALIVE SOMEWHERE AND SHE’S NOT WITH ME!” and they’re all like, “Calm down, vato. You is loco.”

Alex and I were just talking this week about how we’re tempted to squash our feelings down because there are jobs that need to be done, laundry that needs to be folded, food that needs to be grocery-shopped. We’re in this weird mental state where we think about our adoption constantly, but we also have to be “normal”. It’s like we’re going into heart-protective measures. Can we really pine away for someone everyday for 3 years? Won’t we become clinically depressed?

And the answer is that she’s worth it- the feeling deeply. Because someday, she’ll be in my arms and I can say, without reserve, “I thought about you every day for THREE YEARS, even though it made me sad, and I cried and I prayed and I dreamed. And now you’re with me forever.”

Until then, if you’re talking to me and I space out, I’ve gone into “future family” world. Just let me reside there for a little bit or I might hug you so hard that your head pops off.

What do you think?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s