Waiting makes me grit my teeth, pull my hair and worry. I’m a take charge, can do sort of gal. I like to get stuff done and make things happen.  Patience is a virtue I’d do well to cultivate a bit more.

When we were doing our home study and getting all our documents together for our dossier, my to-do list was broad and deep. During that phase of the adoption process we were able to exert some semblance of control over the process.

Twenty questions to write answers to, no problem. A few online courses we need to chug through. Just log on the computer and get down to business. Five references to collect means we pick up the phone and call our friends. Fingerprinting, notary stamps, police clearances….check, check, check.

Once our dossier was safely translated and waiting in Armenia, then the real fun began, waiting, waiting and more waiting. Calling the shots goes out the window. You are at the mercy of bureaucratic process. Months can elapse without word and what is going on behind the scenes is a mystery.

Even once a family receives a referral or chooses a special needs child from the waiting list, there is still more waiting in store. In fact, when adopting from Armenia, receiving the Prime Minister’s approval is just the first step in the process.  Several ministry committees still need to review your request before first one and then a month later, a second court date are assigned. Only then is your child officially yours to bring home.

It is maddening. With a few exceptions, if you get pregnant, nine months later there’s a baby.  Not so with adoption. People always told me that the “waiting period” was the adoption equivalent of pregnancy. From where I sit, this feels different. Granted, I have never been pregnant so I am speaking from a place without experience. But it seems like pregnancy is a waiting period with known parameters, whereas waiting to adopt feels like limbo.

I walk through the world carrying my secret. Unless someone knows me and is aware of my story, there is no evidence that I am “paper pregnant.” I see round-bellied women at my local market and strangers walk up to them and ask, “When’s the baby due?” People give advice, bond over shared experiences, and celebrate a family in the making.

When friends and family ask me, “What’s taking so long?” I’m not sure how to respond. I wish I knew.

Truth is, even when I do get a snippet of information, I’m not able to share much. Most international adoption agencies request that families sign a non-disclosure agreement, requiring you to keep quiet on details such as the orphanage’s name for the baby or exact date the baby was born, the name of the orphanage and photos, until the adoption is finalized.

We’ve been advised that our adoption and the adoption process itself could be jeopardized if we do not adhere to the non-disclosure agreement. And even though we are given permission to, on a case-by-case basis, share a picture or general information, it is recommended that we do so cautiously.

So while I may ache to run through the streets screaming, “I’m gonna be a mom!” I need to sit mum, meditate privately on my good fortune and hope that folks occasionally divine the reality from the juicy tidbits and subtle clues I occasionally dole out.