One year ago today...

I met my beautiful son, E. As you can see, our relationship had a bit of a rocky start. Apparently we arrived during his afternoon nap and he was more than a little groggy when he was first placed in my arms. Poor baby, it hurts my heart to see these photos where he is so clearly terrified and confused. What you can't tell from this photo is how terrified I was as well. But I simply held him close and kept whispering to him that I was his mommy and he was so very loved and that he could cry as long as he wanted, I would wait.

Eventually he calmed down and snuggled into me...one of his very best traits. He is truly the snuggliest baby ever.



Our first family photo. As you can see, he's still in shock, clinging to his new teething ring for dear life.



E and Mommy asleep in the Frankfurt airport.




E & L a few weeks after we arrived home. As you can see, L is not terribly pleased with her new competition little brother.




E's first birthday. Already looking less like a baby and more like a toddler. Sniff sniff.




Fun at Mimi & Papa's!




Just took this yesterday. He was not afraid of the sprinkler for ONE MINUTE. And check out the pirate skull & crossbones on his trunks. How cute is that? I do love me some Target.




Gorgeous boy. Those eyes.




I don't know why I love this photo so much. It's just so very him. He may walk away from me for a wee bit, but he's always always checking in, blessing me with his smile.



 My beautiful boy. One year ago today a nanny put you in my arms and my life changed forever. Here are some things I want to always remember about you: you love to be in your mama's arms (seriously, I'm getting some impressive guns as my boy just keeps getting bigger and bigger), and when you get sleepy, you pop your right thumb in your mouth and your left hand immediately goes down the front of my shirt. Your dance moves are hilarious: some random squats followed by a rather violent up & down movement of the arms. Your emotions are swift and dramatic...if you feel as though you've been wronged (perhaps by another cute little Ethiopian that happens to be your sister) you make sure we KNOW it. And if you are happy, it's huge smiles, laughter, and dancing (like when I gave you your first sucker today). You are fearless and your curiosity and desire to get into things is unparalleled. I had never heard of a 15-month toddler learning to open baby gates, or doors, or plastic water bottles until you, my little MacGyver. You give the best sloppy kisses (some day we'll have to talk about how you shouldn't go in for a kiss with your mouth wide open, but that can wait a few more years). You are a mama's boy, through and through, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Happy "Gotcha Day," my amazing, beautiful boy. Every day I thank my lucky stars that God brought us together.

When I need something to smile about...

I take a look at these gorgeous babies of mine. Our car was returned to us today after being stolen and missing for almost a month. I really haven't experienced much anger about our car being stolen until today. Today my car was returned without carseats and looking & smelling like an ashtray. They left cigarette ashes EVERYWHERE. They left food, hand sanitizer (don't even want to think about that) and an f'ing sweatshirt for me to clean up. I'm pissed. I simply don't understand how someone can steal a car with two carseats and have a joyride without realizing that they were stranding a family with two small children. It doesn't feel like my car anymore and I suspect it won't until after a very very thorough cleaning. So, I choose not to dwell on the shittiness of car thieves, but rather at my beautiful and lovely children. I know I'm hopelessly biased, but aren't they gorgeous????

Wearing the adorable shirt I made her last week. A FREE Oliver & S pattern!

Slightly blurry, I know, but this is E. Love his smile, even with the constant stream of drool.

L right before her Flying Pig race! Cute Adidas outfit from Costco, of all places.

E sat there and played with pots & pans sorting jars of babyfood. Love his concentration face.

He loves that hat. I don't have the heart to tell him it doesn't fit.

Beauty.

Tina Fey's Prayer for Her Daughter

Love this excerpt from Tina Fey's new book, Bossypants:

First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half and stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels.

What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short - a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day - And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.

“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

Amen.



Happy Birthday, doodlebug!

Tomorrow my girl turns 4. Lately, I look at her with complete amazement. She's a bonafide little girl. No chubby baby parts to her at all, she's all lanky limbs and a big 'ol head of hair. She includes phrases such as "that freaks me out" or "I just can't take it" into her daily speech. She does, however, call an umbrella a "hambrella." It tickles me and so I haven't corrected her just yet.

I remember the day I got "the call." It was a Monday afternoon and I had just arrived at work. I remember spending the next couple of weeks completely freaked out at how insanely tiny she was. At 5 months old she was only 8 pounds - not even close to making it onto the WHO growth chart. When we met L she was 8 months old and a whopping 12 pounds. Still so tiny, but already full of the personality for which she is now notorious.

My darling L is bright, hilarious, scary smart, energetic, dramatic, and incredibly loving (she just turned to me and said, "Mommy, I am so very glad you are home from the store. I missed you so much." Oy).

Happy Birthday, Doodlebug. The day I met you was one of the best days of my life. I love you so much there are simply no words.

Guilty Pleasure

Has anyone else seen the show Parenthood lately? Lordy, I do love that show. I rarely watch it in the evenings, but rather I enjoy catching it on Hulu on rainy afternoons when the babes are napping. My brain knows that the show is beyond corny, but I just can't stop! I can honestly say that I have never watched an episode and NOT cried and cried. It's that cheesy and wonderful.

And despite the heightened drama that is the cornerstone of any show like this, there are frequently episodes that hit rather close to home. For example, in the past two shows one of the characters is dealing with infertility. I am always amazed at how quick my eyes are to well up whenever I watch a show that has infertility as a part of the storyline. Why does this happen? I am the incredibly joyful and blessed mother of two of the most wonderful little human beings on the planet. I love them so much it astounds me. So why the tears?

I can truthfully say that I have no regrets from our journey of becoming the family that we are today. Each and every experience has shaped me as a person, shaped my marriage, and shaped how I am a mother to my kids. But I think those years of infertility treatments (and subsequent failures) have left scars deep down where I don't see them every day or even every month... but they are there. And perhaps they will always be there, just like a physical scar. Because really, how can one endure the endless shots, nurses, pills, getting blood drawn every other day for weeks, procedures, more shots, hormones, the indignity of those damn stirrups... and all to see the empty bubble that was my uterus on the ultrasound screen every. single. time (10, to be exact).

The thing that struck me the most about the episode I just watched (mascara lines down my cheeks to prove it!) was the husband. He was perhaps not quite as emotional about it as the wife, but pretty darn close. I thought of my darling hubby and how he was the opposite. He gave me those horrible shots in the ass with a steady hand. He may have cried on his own, but I never knew it. All I knew was that he was there for every meltdown, every hormone-induced freak-out, every run to KFC when I was on bed rest, and he was steady. Calm. I knew without having to ask that he was going to take care of me for both my physical pain and my grief each time a cycle failed. I remember our final IVF so vividly, even though it was 5 years ago. We had actually received the news that the cycle had worked! Of course, things happened over the course of the next week that gave me cause for concern and definitely kept my hopes at the "cautiously optimistic" level, but I still was not truly prepared for that moment on the table when the doctor, nurse and I looked expectantly at the ultrasound screen, hoping to see a little blob with a heartbeat and instead saw nothing at all. I had a 30-mile drive home where I knew hubs was at home having lunch. I remember calling him pretty much hysterical yelling, "There was nothing there!" And when I arrived home he comforted me, now a complete sobbing mess, took me up to bed and handled all of the phone calls we would soon get from family members wanting to know how the scan went. I still can't believe he did that. Had to repeat over and over on the phone that no, the scan did not go well and yes, I was ok but didn't want to talk to anyone. I can honestly say I don't know anyone stronger than my husband.

So honey, here it is, perhaps definitely not said enough: you are my hero. My knight in shining armor, making my heart go pitty pat. We may lead rather mundane lives here in the 'burbs and your acts of heroism may not be as dramatic as in the TV shows, but know that they are noticed and appreciated.  Like when we were at someone's house and something broke leading L to say, "My Daddy could fix that. He can fix anything."

Married at 22 looking like babies, we got through college, grad school, a year apart, transfers to the middle of nowhere and then Chicago, infertility through all of that, baby #1 and baby #2, and now we're slogging through the land of mortgages, preschools, tantrums, diapers, yard work... scary stuff, man. But I have no fear. I've got my knight with me.

Of two minds...

It's been all over the internets as of late: Ethiopian adoptions will be severely cut back, by as much as 90%. Here is the skinny (taken from the State Department's Intercountry Adoption website)...

On March 9th, MOWCYA announced a plan to implement a reduction in case processing from approximately 50 per day to only 5 per day. MOWCYA has stated that this reduction is to improve screening of adoption cases while also devoting existing resources to other priorities on vulnerable children.

I've read so many differing reactions to the announcement: disbelief, anger, fear and sadness on one side, and relief that the Ethiopian goverment is doing something to combat the ever growing problem of corruption and fraud in the adoption process on the other. Me? I feel it all. I am truly of two minds on all of this. 

 

When we started the adoption process to bring home L back in the spring of 2006, there were only 5 agencies licensed in Ethiopia. It was still a small program and was only just beginning to change because of the slowing or cancelled programs in China, Guatemala, Nepal & Korea.  When I first joined the online groups as we submitted the first of our paperwork, families were getting referrals in a matter of weeks. By the time we had our dossier submitted in February of 2007, the wait for a referral had increased from 3-4 weeks to 5-7 months. One can only imagine how ill-prepared the government agencies of Ethiopia were to deal with such a massive increase in cases. As Ethiopian adoption became increasingly popular, more and more agencies jumped on the bandwagon. Some good, some bad. When we started the adoption process for E in the winter of 2009, the amount of agencies with an active Ethiopian program was overwhelming, and the rumors and stories of fraud and corruption were disheartening, to put it mildly.

 

I think what MOWA is doing is a positive step. In my heart I simply cannot justify 100 "good" adoptions if there is even one case where a child was taken from his/her birth family through manipulation or fraud. The Ethiopian government needs to take the time to build their infastructure so that they can review each and every case, making sure the agencies working in Ethiopia have provided full disclosure as to how each and every child has come to be declared an orphan.

 

Yet it wasn't too long ago when I was submitting paperwork, going through homestudies, and living in that horrible limbo where all waiting families reside. Wanting a child so desperately and having almost every aspect of the process out of your control is a horrible feeling. I remember the fear I felt when I heard Ethiopia had decided that parents would have to be present for court, thus requiring two trips and countless delays. We were lucky to squeak through before that was implemented but I have plenty of friends who had their lives turned upside down during that time. Sadly, that now seems like small potatoes compared to what is happening now. I think of all the families who are now glued to their e-mail, waiting for news from their agencies, trying in vain to get a grasp on the new timeline these changes will create. When they get a referral now, how long until court? After court, how long until an embassy date? 3 months? Six? Twelve? No one knows, but it doesn't look good when we're talking a 90% reduction of a process that has already slowed so much over the past couple of years. Add to that the backlog created each year during the rainy season closings...it's grim.

 

What hurts my heart the most? The thought that so many children will now live in institutionalized care for even longer periods of time. I can barely bring myself to think of my kids' life before they came "home" to me. It's painful to think that they cried and no one was available to soothe them. That they were hungry and no one was there to feed them. That they didn't always have someone there to read them stories, "ooh" & "aah" over each little smile and triumph, and hold them close when they were lonely or scared. Don't get me wrong, the nannies and nurses at L & E's orphanage were all wonderful. There certainly didn't seem to be any willful neglect, only the neglect that occurs when there are a handful of nannies taking care of dozens of infants and toddlers. They did the best they could, of that I'm sure. But even the "best" of institutionalized care is never as good as having a loving parent/family.

 

On a purely selfish level, I'm sad that the door to adopting again from Ethiopia seems to be closing. The choice made for me. Although my two amazing babies keep my life VERY full right now, I had always thought that, just maybe, we might head back for #3. Now that possibility seems so slim and I'm grieving for the child that might have been a part of our family.

 

So, lots of talk, but what can we do? Donate to non-profits like Ethiopian Orphan Relief and help make life better for those children that will be affected by these changes the most. Click here and donate now.

Complacency

Not too long ago (but long enough ago that I'm a wee bit ashamed this post was not written sooner) I attended a panel discussion on transracial adoption. Here is my big admission: I didn't want to go. I mean, I did, but it was a Saturday afternoon, the Buckeyes were playing in a really big game, kids were restless, hubs didn't want me to go either...etc. Thankfully the collective pull of my tribe forced me to change out of my stay-at-home-mom uniform, slap on some make-up, and head out the door to hear what two authors (themselves transracial adoptees) had to say.

I think a big part of my reluctance to attend was that I didn't want to hear that I wasn't doing enough as a transracial adoptive parent (and a part of me knew that's exactly what I would hear). L had been home for 3 years, B for 9 months and I was feeling happy and content with my kids and my mothering. I was right: a big part of the message I took home was that I was definitely not doing enough as a white parent to children of color. Yet I was also wrong: I expected to feel somehow shamed or scolded by the authors' message and I didn't AT ALL. Instead I left feeling inspired, motivated, and proud of the successes I have had in parenting my children of color.

Both Kevin Hoffman of Growing up In Black and White, and Rhonda Roorda of In Their Own Voices: Transracial Adoptees Tell Their Stories spoke candidly and with surprising humor of their experience as children of color in a white family. The good, the bad, the ugly, and the I-can't-believe-that-actually-happened moments. I haven't the time to write about specifics (alas, naptime is fleeting), but will just speak to the thoughts that ran through my head in the hours/days following the event.

I had become complacent. I had convinced myself that I was not only doing all the right things, but that there was little left to do. L's hair always looked great, we talk frequently of Ethiopia, she has lots of "brown" friends (L's word for people of color), and so forth. When did I become so focused on her hair? Not sure, but somewhere along the line it became the way I made myself feel like I was doing it "right." Sure I was white, but have you seen my daughter's hair??? What I realized is that while her hair may in fact help her to not stick out from other brown girls as a transracial adoptee, I had completely neglected to provide her with the tools to relate to other brown kids. What happens after the kids look each other oven and decide they all look the same. When the kids start talking about their family life and L can't relate. Doesn't understand because her family is white. 

What became crystal clear to me is that surrounding L and B with other transracially adopted kids (mainly Ethiopian) is great in the sense of them having their own special community where they have friends "just like them,"  but it is certainly not a substitution for finding friends (their age and mine) that can help them to navigate through life as an African American. I simply cannot provide that for them. In the same way I can never help my son understand what it is to be a man, I can never give my children anecdotal advice on what it is to grow up as a person of color. I can empathize, but I cannot relate.

It sucks to realize that, as a parent, you can't provide everything your child needs. I hate the fact that I have to go outside our family to parent my kids. But this isn't about me. I came away from that weekend determined to work harder. Reevaluate often the needs of my kids as they grow older. And to never become complacent.