Pampers and Paklava

Can’t see the forest for the trees

by

Our adoption agency sent an email letting families know that the new laws regarding Armenian adoption have been published and there are several changes to update families on.  They will be sending each family a personalized letter with their current status, place in ‘wait’ and details about how the new laws will impact them. All we’ve been told at this point is that the new laws and time frames should significantly reduce the waiting for families once officially matched to a referral. The letter describing all of this is slated to be sent out next week.

One treeWe wait with bated breath. Can I just say for the umpteenth time how much I struggle with waiting? Whether it’s waiting to get our U.S. Immigration approval for the required annual update to our home study, waiting for a referral or waiting to become parents, it just seems like adoptive parents-to-be do a heckuva lot of waiting.

I’m not trying to look a gift horse in the mouth. Reduced time frames would be absolutely fantastic. I can only imagine how tough it will be to wait once we have a solid referral. At this juncture, time from referral to court dates and then homecoming has been taking anywhere from four to eight months.

Sitting here, know our child is sitting there will be excruciating. Missing months of developmental milestones makes me sad, so if changes to the laws translate to less time waiting, more power to ‘em.

Even though our trip to Armenia this past September was painful, I am thankful Big Papa and I had the opportunity to visit one of the orphanages and see the excellent care the kids receive. I can now picture what it looks like in my head: the rooms, the caregivers, and where the kids sleep. Knowing they are in competent, caring hands eases my anxiety to a degree.

Still, waiting to adopt can feel endless. I guess a lot of things in life that. Whether it’s waiting to find out your mammogram results, waiting to find out if you got into your number one choice for college, or waiting to meet the person you want to share your life with, waiting is a big part of the program. Minutes feel like hours. Hours feel like days. Months feel like eternity.

treesYou’d think because of all this practice, I’d learn some patience. I try so hard to cultivate my ability to stay present. I don’t want to miss joyful moments that are in my life each day because I’m so focused on this one thing that I can’t see the forest for the trees.

There are days when I find patience easily and other days, not so much. Something shifts my focus enough and I become hyper-aware that we’re not there yet. It could be news that a good friend just had a baby or I might see an adoptive mom at the market. Finding ourselves faced with yet another task to complete for the adoption (such as the recent update to our home study) or news (like this week) that changes are afoot with regulations in the country we’re adopting from, sets me off too. Or it could be a casual conversation with a caring friend who asks: “What’s happening on the adoption front?”

It’s a funny thing, this adoption journey. We wake up and our day looks just so…until one day it doesn’t.

Nothing happens, and nothing happens, and then everything happens.
~Fay Weldon

Hurry up and wait

by

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.

Sit a spell

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.

Ticktock goes the clock

by

Counting the days before Christmas feels like fun as a kid. Ticktock. Ticktock. Watching time ebb away. Ten days left. Now eight. Now three. Giddy anticipation builds and you imagine the mountain of glorious goodies that await your discovery.

When THE day arrives and your eyes catch that first glimpse of boxes, wrapping paper and bows, the clock chimes. Bong. Bong. Bong! I remember well that, at that point, any further delays feel like eternity. My patience is threadbare and my ability to stave off desire has altogether disappeared. I want it all and I want it now.

ticktock

The adoption waiting process feels like Christmas morning. You complete truck loads of paperwork. Every minute detail of your relationship, finances, home and value system is analyzed and recorded on some piece of paper. You pay fee after fee to the government, agencies, or lawyers. And then you wait. You have control over information up to this point and then, suddenly, you have virtually none. And the thing is, by the time you start this waiting game, you’re pretty much done with waiting.

When I engage in conversation about adoption, I almost invariably face the question, “Why did you wait to get married?” Or “Why did you wait to have kids.” I didn’t wait by choice. I didn’t consciously postpone taking part in these life passages because I wanted to.

Over the years, I was certainly no stranger to dating and I’d had a few longer relationships, but nothing that led to, “Will you marry me?” When I finally did find “the one,” I was 46. By the time we said our “I do’s,” I was 48. It was the first trip down the aisle for us both. We talked about children and our options for creating a family early on in our relationship, and had several lively debates about the direction this path might take along the way. My own biological clock had wound down at the young age of 46. Using donor eggs was a contender in our quest to become three, as was adoption. We chose adoption.

Here we are, nearly ten months past that initial decision. We are “paper ready” as they say in the world of adoption. Our pile of paperwork has been collected, notarized, apostilled, and government (ours) approved. Now we call it a dossier, and it sits in Armenia, in the process of being translated into Eastern Armenian. Then (hopefully quite soon), it will sit on the desk of the Armenian Prime Minister, the first signature of approval we need to move forward and receive our referral.

Waiting feels interminable. I really don’t want to wait any longer. I’m ready to be a mom now. Past ready. So every delay, every month that passes, every redo or stall in the process is pure agony. I have moments when I am able to be more Zen about it than others. And, I have just as many moments when I feel like a bronco ready to buck from his pen, just before the barrel race.