Ethiopian Exports

I woke up Christmas morning with an all too familiar feeling.  Fredrik was up before Kysa and me, and I heard him making coffee in the kitchen.  Out of habit I headed in the direction of coffee, but my morning shuffle turned into a sprint as I tried to make it to a sink, trash can or any kind of basin in time...

And then we heard the pitter patter of a little person headed towards the Christmas tree and we sprinted in that direction arriving just in time to see the Big Moment. Kysa stood speechless and motionless with a sleepy look of awe on her sweet face. Slowly in a whisper she began naming the things she'd asked for, amazed that they'd appeared beneath the Christmas tree. I slumped down next to her and tried not to throw up on Doc McStuffins.

...and that was the extent of my Christmas Day. Or at least the good part.

I've spent the last few days in bed with something that is suspiciously, exactly, and unfortunately like what I had in Ethiopia. Unkillable bacteria? Persistent parasites? Yes, I believe I might have exported some little friends from Ethiopia.

I spent the first two days of Christmas in a delirious state of yuck, with barely enough energy to watch movies. Some gifts were opened in bed for my viewing pleasure. After two days I left our bedroom, and slowly we've had a visit from grandparents, from neighbors, and this morning we ventured out to meet some new friends, the sweet Eskridge family, another adoptive family from our agency who lives here in Raleigh. Yay! We're so excited to have them close by!

As my symptoms have improved, I've had time to obsess over double strollers and car seats. Productive, right?

So far since coming back from Ethiopia, I've had the business of Christmas preparation, two days of feverish delirium, another two days of exhausted but obsessive online stroller research...all bringing me to the the sad reality today of how much I miss Wynray.

When do we go get him, you ask? Good question.

Last week we had hoped to be submitted to Embassy, but there were some delays with the results of Wynray's medical exam. But now that all his paperwork is together, there is no good reason why we won't be submitted this coming Wednesday. You can only be submitted to Embassy on Wednesday afternoons, so if you miss the window you have to wait for another week.

We predict once submitted it will take a week to process our case, at least another week to interview Wynray's birth father, and then another few days to a week to clear our case. We think it's reasonable to expect we'll be able to return sometime between Jan 16 and Jan 30, but we just don't know...

What I do know is this:
I miss Wynray.
His Forever Family is ready for him...
His community is ready for him...
We are so ready.

My Village People

Two nights ago, I dressed in hiking clothes, backpack, and an afro wig held in place by a head lamp to join other ladies dressed similarly in various versions of our dear friend, Maggie. Maggie turned 50 yesterday, and we joined forces to serenade/stalk/drive by celebrate her.  We arrived in two mini vans and squat walked along the side of her house like a SWAT team. We entered through the back door announcing "your village people have arrived" and set up our shenanigans in her living room, making her sit like a hostage on the couch in front of us as we performed our own rendition of "YMCA"

Here' a snippet:
You're not old, you are R-I-P-E!
You're fun and bold, you are R-I-P-E

There was choreography, passionate singing (some more in tune than others), and a whole lot of love. We ended our drive-by love fest with the gift of a basket. Maggie was choosing to spend her birthday in silence, and the basket was filled with Pema Chodron devotionals, scarves, chocolate, cards, and things to inspire her day of reflection.

This display of love in not in isolation. These same women rapped at our wedding reception, and threw me a wedding shower that involved different versions of me climbing out of a pretend cake and the reenactment of one of their dogs, ahem, famously having her way with my leg.    

Even though I've been away for 8 years I've still had the pleasure of performing and participating in  (fairly graphic) song and dance baby showers, karaoke wedding parties, and birthday roasts. These women live and love BIG, their raucous humor a reflection of the real friendships we've forged over the years of dancing and performing and living.

These women also took care of our home, our dog and cat, cleaned out my fridge, and restocked it, took our or recycling, and returned library books for us when we went to Ethiopia so suddenly.

Simply put. I love them.  I know them in my bones because we've danced, performed and created together. But I love them because of their enormous hearts.

This morning I woke up and checked Facebook. Our adoption agency has a FB support group, and it has become, with no exaggeration, our lifeline. Checking FB has become my normal morning ritual as Ethiopia is 7 hours ahead, and our Facebook group has become the portal for 95% of the adoption information we gather.  

These women (and some men too!) have shared personal struggles with family and adoption. We've celebrated adoption milestones, referrals, and homecomings and we've wept together over bad news. We've prayed for hope, justice, and comfort and shared advice on parenting, nutrition, taxes and everything in between. The support group is a place to vent, and there is never a shortage of kind words and loving prayers from these extraordinary people. 

This is also the group that checks in on other people's kiddos in the care center in Ethiopia. We take photos, transport formula and kisses. We sneak peeks at what sizes the kids are wearing, and report how the children are doing. "Is that just a snotty nose, or a bad respiratory infection?" "Is our baby boy walking yet, if so...push him down!"

I've personally witnessed the power and miracle of group prayer/positive thought/collective consciousness. I've been blessed to take action along side this group to financially support another family who had unexpected medical expenses, make a final push to complete their adoption fees and bring their daughter HOME! 

I didn't know how much I loved these people I've never physically met until yesterday morning. Online relationships seem to be opposite scenario of the women I mentioned above. The ones I've sweated with, lifted their bodies, engaged in creative process...the ones who have seen me at my most vulnerable and most ridiculous. While I knew I relied on the Facebook group, I hadn't processed how REAL our online friendships are. 

Yesterday morning I woke, checked Facebook and read news that shook me to my core. One of my fellow adoptive moms had suddenly just lost her young, healthy, vibrant and loving husband. 

"24 hours ago from right now, Dave whispered to me, as he prepared to jog into work, "I'm leaving, I love you." And those are the last words I will forever hang onto. The sadness is truly unbearable."

I've had the privilege of following Holly's family's adoption, from her participation on the support group page, to following her honest and articulate blog, and mutually commenting on each other photos and status updates. Her journey and outlook on life and adoption has been inspiring to say the least. I've  held her family in my thoughts and prayers as they've navigated complicated adoption waters. I've admired her strength and grace through that difficult process, and unfortunately, I'm still sending prayers from afar and still admiring her strength and grace as she mourns her husband. Her husband, Dave, was only 37, they have three beautiful children. Spencer age 6, Leah age 4, and Maci age 3, recently adopted from Ethiopia. 

I didn't realize I could have such real grief for someone I've never physically met...but her family hasn't left my consciousness, or been far from my prayers.

In true IAN support group style, within minutes of reading the bad news, my phone was buzzing constantly with FB messages with a rally to support Holly and her kids. Prayers, real live grief, shock, monetary gifts collected, and calls to action were scrolling down my phone. I have taken such comfort in this group of people who shine their lights so brightly in the world.  I believe there is something in our shared adoption experience that allows our hearts to be moved in unison, and our energies called collectively into action.

I am sad that something so tragic made me realize how REAL our relationships are, but I am thankful for the presence of these beautiful people in my life. They are truly a village...a widespread constellation of love and support, but no doubt a village.

Today while I mourn for Holly, I feel deep love and gratitude to ALL my village people.

Shell Shocked

We are home, and for that I'm thankful. It was a long journey home made all the more challenging with a sick husband and a daughter whose tummy still wasn't too sure about what to keep and what to get rid of.

It seems we were only home and awake for a few hours before the news of Newtown CT. We're still trying to process our trip to Ethiopia and the monumental things that happened, so I'm having real difficulty trying to process the madness that happened in that school.

We stepped forward to offer a child a safe and happy home. We promised Wynray's birth father to keep him safe. That promise seems so empty now.

I can't seem to stop crying.

Yesterday we made an attempt to leave the house as a family. I didn't want to be caught getting shot out of a cannon again without bottles and formula for Wynray so we went to Buy Buy Baby. I knew it would be overwhelming with all the choices, but I didn't want to have a repeat experience of needing to leave in less than 24 hours and have to make uninformed decisions about how to feed Wynray in Ethiopia and our journey home. After being in Ethiopia for the last two weeks, coupled with the fact I exclusively breastfed Kysa I was basically overwhelmed to the point of indecisiveness as I stared at the floor to ceiling displays of bottles, pacis, and formula.

I asked for help and the sales lady started asking me questions I just couldn't answer. How much formula was Wynray getting a day? Had he started solids yet, because you KNOW he should have started solids at 4 months. Is he allergic to latex? What kind of formula is he getting now...probably Enfamil, right? What kind of nipple is he using? Is he a slow nurser or fast? Colicky? Is he sleeping the whole night?

The nice lady meant well, but I don't think she was prepared for me to get teary and whisper repeatedly "I don't know, I don't know, he's in Ethiopia..."

The language barrier with the nanny at the care center made it difficult to get really specific information. Any question about specifics was brushed aside saying we'll tell you all about that when you come back. We also got a lot of "Wynray...no problem. He eats, sleeps, plays...you are lucky."

Tending to not want to rock the boat, not to mention the fact that the nanny had her hands full and I didn't want to be in her way, I didn't press on the details and just focused on being present with Wynray.  Now I wished I'd insisted on knowing. While we spent a couple hours a day with Wynray for several days, it just became painfully obvious how little I know about my own child. Suddenly he seemed so far away, suddenly I missed him terribly.

Then I got the pity look from the sales lady, and she asked me if I needed help picking out diapers, because clearly I was over my head with this parenting thing.

For the last three mornings Kysa has gotten up at 4 in the morning, full throttle, and asking for a snack. This might sound crazy, but this time with her waaaaay before sunrise, snuggling, nibbling on toast, and watching Christmas movies has been the one thing that has kept me from disconnecting.

There is so much to process, and I'm not sure how to begin doing it....
But for now my little girl needs someone to make her more toast. I can do that, and I'm grateful.

Our prayers are with the families in Newtown CT.
Om Shanti, Shanti, Shanti-hi

Packing Up

When we made our whirlwind plans almost 2 weeks ago, Fredrik and I got ambitious with our travel plans. We thought staying in Ethiopia for 3+ weeks seemed like a reasonable plan. We didn't really realize we'd be very limited to the time we'd get to spend with Wynray. We also didn't realize just how taxing the environment would be, or that Addis Ababa isn't that cheap.The altitude, the air pollution, and limited food options especially for vegetarians has added to the challenge. We'd been warned, but some things you just have to figure out or experience on your own to really grasp.

We also made a bold choice to travel with our 2 1/2 yr old. There have been moments we questioned our decision, but in the end, I can't imagine this trip without her. We are so glad she's been by our side. She is truly a champion traveler!  And, an amazing proud Big Sister who gladly talks about her brother whenever anyone asks.

The days visiting Wynray are getting harder and harder. We dread going to the care center, not because we don't want to see our son, but because it's getting so difficult leaving him there each day. We want to bathe him, and put him in clothes that belong to him...not the community pile. We want to put lotion on those chapped cheeks, and even change his diaper instead of having to hand him to the nanny who doesn't seem to want me to change him. We want to understand his daily rhythms. It's a little like going to visit your child in baby prison with visiting hours, supervision, rules, no privacy...

Don't get me wrong..he's getting excellent care. But the care is not us, his family.While our love for him grows everyday, we are not able to parent him and it's torturous. But we also feel guilty for leaving him. Tomorrow when we leave the care center, I'll get to experience what so many other moms and dads have felt...having your heart be in two places at once. I've never wanted to go home so badly, and dreaded leaving at the same time. The only thing giving me peace is that Wynray is the happiest baby I've ever met...his spirit is strong and bright (and now we know why... see previous posts).  That will get us through. We hope.

But rather than leave on this sad note, here are a few more quirky antidotes from our travels that have made this so memorable and life-changing:

1. For those of you who are freaked out by the Elf on the Shelf, the little bugger found us in Ethiopia. I am quite certain the hotel maids think we're doing some really strange Christmas vodoo... but Kysa's excitement each morning makes that all worthwhile.

2. I packed enough food for my daughter to eat Annie's mac'n cheese here for 3 weeks. I also packed her the baby food in pouches that she still likes to eat as snacks. Fredrik and I have resorted to eating at least one of them a day in lieu of fresh veggies. They are sooooo good. Can you tell how badly we want a salad??

3. Coffee is king here, in case you didn't know. I'm not sure what I'll do now without my afternoon macchiato.

4. We discovered Wynray has had his ear pierced. Not just in the lobe but also through the top part of his ear as if one long stick was once there. Yep. he's a badass.

5. Fredrik mentioned this...but Kysa has become an expert nose picker. We are so proud. The air pollution provides nice black boogies....

6. Does swimming in the Hilton pool count as a bath? If not, our kid hasn't had a bath since we left home...

7. Men are affectionate with other men here. They hug, hold hands, walk arm in arm. It's beautiful, not creepy. American men, get over yourselves.

8. We have watched the Lion King every night since we arrived, sometimes we watch it twice. We've slowly convinced Kysa to watch Madagascar, and we've watched Polar Express maybe once. I CANNOT wait to watch the news, CBS Sunday Morning, and HGTV House Hunters International.

9. We owe much of our comfort to the fantastic staff at the Addis View Hotel. We have made real friends here...and Kysa has even been invited home by one of the front desk gals to play with her nieces and nephews. Tempting...a date night was considered.

10. I'm not sure how we'll sleep at home without a nightly feral cat serenade, or dog fight under our window.

11. Also not sure how we will manage to get Kysa back into a car seat.  She's been riding freestyle, Ethio-style with barely a functional seatbelt in sight.

12. Kysa still thinks we are traveling to Ethiopia daily.  Since we've spent months talking about baby Wynray living in Ethiopia, she only considers the care center as Ethiopia.  As we enter the gates daily she says, "now we're in Ethiopia"... not sure where she thinks we are the rest of the time.

Goodnight Addis Ababa, we leave our precious son in your care. We WILL be back soon.

The Quirky Side of Addis

What a week here in Addis!  While most of our blogging and focus has obviously been in our son, our daughter, our health and such things... we have had our fun moments too.  We have also had a chance to see and experience Addis along the way, even if we have clearly barely scratched the surface.  So let's summarize some of the more interesting or quirky sides of our week... what we've learned or seen around town.

1. There are electrical outlets in the shower.  Every instinct is to not turn on the water.. or, at least not to climb in.  In fairness, it is on the opposite side of the showerhead.  And, it does serve a purpose.  Your very own water heater sits right above it.  Now if only that water heater had an indicator for how much hot water was left so you knew when to finish.

2.  There are no traffic lights and I'll be darned if I've seen a stop sign, ok... maybe one.  Keep in mind, this is a city of at least 3.5 million people and full of cars, vans and buses.  Pulling up to a 4 or 6 lane interchange where all these vehicles from all sides slowly glide together is an experience... which leads me to my next point.

3. No car accidents (that I have witnessed).  I know I have only been here a week and I'm sure in this week there have been accidents around town.  But, I could have guessed we should have been part of at least 20 if this was in the USA.  Somehow this chaos works, that alone is a miracle of evolution.

4. No street or road signs.  Sense a theme here?  God help you if you tried to rent a car on your own here, that's all there is to say.  Exceptions to every rule, I'll admit I did see one street sign at the intersection of a 4 lane and 6 lane road.  For those of you who like to drive and navigate by landmarks, go right ahead!

5. No crosswalks, but who needs them.  This is the most literal interpretation of the "Frogger" game many of us grew up playing (and I've been to some chaotic places).  People are constantly walking through traffic, on the side of the roads, middle of the intersections, etc.  Then, enter animals.  By the time the donkeys and goats have their say it's a real zoo around here.  But I will say, the way the donkey's merge through traffic is quite impressive... they have no fear.

6. Lifeguards wear track suits.  Yes, full on track suits.  I venture to say they wouldn't dare or dream of jumping in the water.  Instead they have a long pole next to them, ready to fish out any struggling swimmer.  Or, maybe they can also use the popular swimming pool verbal commands, "hey, excuse me.. you over there struggling to stay above water... please grab the pole."

7. Ratio of toast to jam is 4:1.  Kysa and I love us some morning toast... as long as we don't need much else, we're good.  The ratio seems astonishingly low.  It's ok, once you get the coffee you forget about everything else... man, this coffee really is amazingly delicious!

8. Blue buses to nowhere are everywhere.  There are 'regular' taxis and large buses that transport people, but perhaps *the* most common way are the small blue vans that shuttle folks of all ages and status around town.  To this ferenge (foreigner) they all look exactly the same.  Each is crammed to the gills, sometimes with people literally sitting in each others laps.  The sliding doors open and close, often while the vehicle is still moving with people entering and exiting.  Another example of chaos in motion.  I have a small desire to just jump on one to see where I end up.... hmmm.

9. African cockroaches are larger, harder and smell.  Luckily - and I mean that very very much - this hotel doesn't seem to have an issue here.  But, last night we did have a visitor.  This 1 inch critter was similar to those back home, but looked meaner... almost like a small dinosaur.  *Squash*... then it smelled up the room too.  Like a small chemical factory had opened up shop, lovely.  Selam (peace) be with you little bugger.

10. Ethiopians build buildings, Chinese build roads.  There is major roadwork everywhere here in Addis and the Chinese are in charge.  When asking our driver, he says it is because the Chinese are much more efficient and do the job much more quickly.  Maybe that explains the many many unfinished construction sites around town.

11. Injera.. not just for breakfast anymore.  Wait, I didn't actually realize it was for breakfast until I got to Ethiopia.  But perhaps not unusual.  In Japan, they eat rice any any meal.  In Korea, kimchi.  Now if only I could get a little bit more jam with that injera, is that wierd?

12. Let's call it the "pick up fetish".  Seems everywhere we go, someone or everyone wants to pick up Kysa.  Sweetly they all say, "konjo" (beautiful).  And luckily for Allison and I the same isn't true for adults!  Fair to say that a little blondie like her doesn't come around every day.  I want to pick her up too.  She's been a pretty good sport about it, most of the time.

Bonus!  The air quality.. yes, the lack of air quality.  I would hate to see my lungs right about now.  Best indicator of what I could expect?  Enter Kysa.  Her nose picking skills unveil parts of the human filtration system that clearly demonstrate how we stay alive over long periods of time.  Thanks for that... now, cut it out.  Wash hands, wipe face, lather in sanitizing lotion, apply chapstick... repeat.

/ fredrik

Filling in the Blanks (Part 2) Birthparent Meeting

Fredrik, Kysa and I returned to the hotel after meeting the Gambellan nannies, and we were ecstatic. We couldn't believe our luck or the kindness we were feeling from all directions here in Ethiopia. Now that we'd seen Kysa through her sickness, we were beginning to get excited about sight seeing. We started making plans. Just 24 hours prior we were thinking we'd change our plane tickets and come home early for Kysa's sake, now we were starting to see the possibility of some fun! The next day (Thursday) we returned to the care center in the morning, did some shopping in the afternoon and enjoyed an early dinner of fasting fir fir (shredded injera with spices) in the open air cafe at the hotel. Even as I write the words my stomach lurches, and I am reminded of how quickly our plans seem to change here in Ethiopia.

I went down fast and furiously, but I spent a few hours in denial that it was food poisoning. I attempted to treat my symptoms with homeopathic medicine, sprite, coke and goldfish crackers. Fredrik was also showing signs of sickness but he wasn't as bad off as me...but we refused to let ourselves admit food poisoning. We both woke up on Friday morning with fevers. I went back to bed and slept until 1:00pm while Fredrik and Kysa watched videos in bed and played in the hotel. Fredrik had somehow dodged the bullet and was feeling better, so I sent Fredrik and Kysa to the care center for the afternoon to be with Wynray while I spent time in bed sleeping and watching Downton Abbey. 

By the evening, I decided to take Cipro, desperate to get rid of the awfulness I was feeling. Our meeting with Wynray's birth father was the next day, and I needed to be of sound mind and body for that meeting...not only for myself, but for Wynray. 

Our meeting was scheduled for 10am, but when I woke the next day I was so weak I could barely walk  or be away from the bathroom for more than 10 minutes. The nausea was unbelievably intense. I asked Fredrik to call the care center and ask if we could either move the meeting back until the afternoon or arrange for Wynray's birth dad to come to our hotel. We all agreed to wait until noon to decide what to do next. 

The gift I most wanted to give Wynray was photos and videos of our time with his birth father.  I wanted him to see us all together, holding him and loving him. If his father came to the hotel, we would not be able to have any group photos with Wynray. It was this thought alone that made me drag myself into the shower and rally.

I can only say that once I made the decision to do it, the Universe stepped in and took over. When we arrived at the care center and walked into the office with Wynray's birth dad I stopped feeling sick. My focus shifted beyond my physical illness to something much bigger.  I emptied myself of any discomfort so that I could absorb as much of that precious time as I could. I invited every moment into my cells.

Here is where I must leave you for a while, dear friends and readers. I need to shut the door of privacy on that meeting. The things we learned in that time will be Wynray's story to tell. We had an hour and a half with Wynray's birth father.  It will most likely be the most important meeting of my life. I will treasure the miracles that transpired in that time always. 

Fredrik and I have spent many hours debating what we should share with our community, and what should be sealed away in the vaults of our memories and files until Wynray is ready to hear and understand his story. We realize that by never speaking of Wynray's mother it may imply there is something shameful about her absence from his story, while there is nothing farther from the truth. So I will share with you what we will now begin to tell Wynray...

Wynray's mother is an angel. While on this earth she loved him deeply and cared for him as best she could. Wynray's birth was the happiest day of his birthparents' lives. They were blessed with many happy moments with Wynray as a newborn. They considered Wynray to be the greatest gift from God.

Wynray's mother was a tall, beautiful, noble Gambellan woman, and his father is a kind and loving Gambellan man, both from the Anuak tribe. They loved each other very much and will continue to always love Wynray.  

As our time with Wynray and his birthfather came to a close, I surprised him with a hug. His embarrassment was tender and sweet. We both wished each other "selam" peace, as our eyes allowed our souls to speak one last wordless conversation. Fredrik then stepped in to give him the half hand shake/man hug, but his birth father pulled him in to a deeper, stronger embrace. I saw Wynray's birth father close his eyes tightly and for a single moment rest his head on Fredrik's shoulder. That moment alone will allow me to sleep at night, and give me some peace in the years to come.

I will share with you only one detail from our conversation because I believe you can help. We asked Wynray's birth father what we could pray for. Without hesitation he said "peace" and explained the danger and civil unrest against his people. Please read our post Thankfully Unexpected for more information about the situation with Wynray's family's tribe. 

So in the days, weeks, months and years to come...if you think of our story, please pray for Wyrnay's family, our now extended family, living in Gambella. Please pray for their peace and safety. 

In meeting Wynray's current nanny, Betti, his Gambellan nannies, and finally Wynray's birth father, we are blessed to fill in all the blanks of Wynray's short life so far and solve the mystery of the brilliant smile. The precious baby boy we now call our son, has been treasured and surrounded by love his entire life.  

In these last few days I've been remembering a conversation I had with my hero/friend/midwife, Lesley, a couple years ago when I told her we were starting an adoption process from Ethiopia. She asked why Ethiopia and I explained to her what we knew about how deeply Ethiopian people love their children. Lesley said, "Allison, you can make up for nutrition, but you can't make up for love." How prophetic her words have proven to be....

While there has been loss, heartache and even hunger, Wynray's family gifted him with the one thing they had in abundance: Love. That mega wat smile is the reflection of their undying, unconditional, deep and abiding love. I will treasure that smile and honor their love for Wynray always. We humbly and respectfully take our place in line behind those who have loved and cared for him so wholly and beautifully.

I believe my mother's prayer will always be:

Please let me never take for granted the miracle of Wynray's smile. 

Selam.

Filling in the Blanks (Part 1)

Today is Sunday, Dec 9. The care center is closed to visitors on Sundays so we're missing Wynray today. This is the first down day we've had since we arrived a week ago. Thankfully no one is sick. No earth shattering, psyche rattling events happened today. We took our exhausted hearts, minds and bodies over to the Hilton for some much needed r&r including swimming, french fry and ice cream eating, walking in the gardens, playing on the playground, and having afternoon tea next to their lobby Christmas tree.

A lot has transpired since court earlier in the week that we need to catch up on...

I mentioned to Fredrik the day we met Wynray that I was perplexed with how happy he is.  We know the child has endured loss, hunger, and being moved from his family home to two care centers. So what's with the non-stop killer smile?

On the day we arrived at the care center on Thursday the 6th, there were two women I didn't recognize sitting in the courtyard of the care center. They were striking in appearance. Ethereal. As a matter of fact, when we got out of the van and our eyes met, I felt compelled to give them a little namaste (hands in prayer) bow, which they returned.

Fredrik, Kysa and I then hurried into the nursery to scoop up Wynray and love on our newest official family member. About ten minutes later we were all playing on the floor, when I looked up and noticed the ladies were making their way across the courtyard towards the nursery. I mentioned to Fredrik that I thought two birth mothers might be coming in. Because there isn't much room in the nursery Fredrik took Kysa outside to play and give them room.

I was alone with Wynray as they walked into the room. They saw me with Wynray and lit up. "Wynray! Wynray! Wynray!" they repeated and came and took him from my arms and started hugging and kissing him.

Huh? How did these ladies know Wynray? WHO were they???

...and then Betti, Wynray's primary nanny at the Addis care center tried to explain.
She pointed to them and said "Gambella"

I'm thinking some of Wynray's relatives have now shown up. My heart stopped. I'm not sure if I should celebrate or freak out.

...and then Betti tries again. She walks over to them and says "Gambella" and then puts her hand on her chest referencing herself and says "nanny."

And then I got it. They were Wynray's nannies from Gambella. Sweet relief. Gratitude.
I took each of their hands in my hands and looked them deeply in the eyes with my teary eyes and said thank you, thank you again and again.

There was a lot of laughter and love and I realized Fredrik and Kysa were missing out....so I yelled out for them to come back.

Fredrik returned to the nursery very confused thinking the situation he had just avoided would have been very somber and uncomfortable. An adoptive mother finally loving on her new son, while a birth mom was most likely saying goodbye. What he walked into was an impromptu family reunion with hugging, laughter, and photos being taken.

"Honey, they KNOW Wynray! They were Wynray's first nannies!!"

...and then Betti, with her dry and understated humor and very limited English said, "Yes, they KNOW Wynray." And then she bust out laughing, implying that they know ALL of Wynray and his big and happy personality.

I then asked Betti to tell them how thankful and grateful we were for taking such good care of Wynray.

Thankfully our driver was 2 hours late that day. Typically, we're only allowed a single two hour visit a day. But on that day, we played with Wynray and his first nannies, we took photos and spent quiet time in their presence. We got to see how much love they him and how much he loves them. We observed their gentle touches, their humor, their sense of play.

They thought Kysa was hilarious. After Wynray went down for his nap we played outside with the older kids and they gave Kysa flowers to put into a flower arrangement she was making with two older children.

When it was time to go, I went to say goodbye to the nannies. They both drew me into deep and warm embraces, and kissed my face with what felt like a thousand blessings.

By meeting Wynray's Gambellan nannies, we were able to fill in the blank of a period of his life we didn't think we'd ever know. We had met Betti, his wonderful and loving nanny here in Addis Ababa, but we'd expected to meet her. While, the Gambellan nannies couldn't share details of Wynray's time in their care center because of the language barrier, what they transmitted to us was the depth of their care and love.

By meeting Wynray's Gambellan nannies we were also able to start solving the mystery of that incredible smile.

Court

Post by Fredrik, Allison's thoughts in italics.

It is 2pm on Tuesday December 4, 2012.  We have spent the morning with Kysa at the doctor, she is sleeping soundly and now we turn our full focus to Wynray. We pull up to a drab, non-descript government building somewhere in Addis.  Is this really happening?

It dawns on me as we ride to court, that this is a bit like going to the court house to get married...an arranged marriage. We've stared at his photo daily for almost two months, we met him yesterday for less than two hours, and now we're committing to him for the rest of our lives. BREATHE BREATHE I start to freak out again and again, and then I summon the image of his sweet face and I regain confidence. Yes. I'm ready to say Yes to Wynray. Yes.

For 2+ years we've been waiting for this day, now we hope to be minutes away from legally adopting Wynray in the eyes of the Ethiopian Court.  Our minds are racing as we enter the building, walk on to the elevator and ride smoothly up to floor #3.  Kysa remains in my arms, asleep.  Immediately as we get off the elevator we sit down in a very small waiting area.  I'm facing the elevator.  Behind me an open window, sound of construction noticeable from across the street.

Emotions are ripe.  Yet, this is a time of sensitivity not celebration.  Sensitivity to the fact that floor #3 is for adoption cases.  Likely some or all the other Ethiopians waiting near us, there are perhaps 5-10, are there to relinquish a child of their own or their relatives.  Very sensitive indeed.  Also a time of anticipation.  What comes next?

There is a young mother, a grandmother, and perhaps a birth father or uncle all in direct proximity to us. They are all in distinctly different states of being and reflection. It is all I can do to hold back tears, I turn my face to the window and construction across the street.

Just a few minutes later, Tefsa (one of the coordinators for IAN here in Addis), tells us it's time.  Anticipation builds as we turn left and walk down the cool, gray hallway spying an open door to the left up ahead.  Turning the corner, it's another waiting area but this one looking more official.  Typically Ethiopian, the environment has feeling of great  pride but is tattered around the corners in not so subtle ways.  "Silent", "Silencio"signs are posted around but on the TV in the corner it's playing Ethiopian music videos.  I'm hooked, watching intently between thoughts of what is coming.  Are we really just minutes away from having legal custody of our son?  Oh... cool dance move, that head and shoulder shimmy is uniquely Ethiopian.

Allison is visibly much more rattled, much more raw in this experience.  Her sensitivity to those around us is still palpable.  Her thought of Wynray's birth family front and center.  Deep breaths and mantras are her tools of choice, gathering herself for the minutes ahead.

2 years of working and waiting, praying and hoping. I want to be fully present and soak in all that it means. I gaze at my husband, my tiny sleeping girl, I think of Wynray and his birth parents and the forces and circumstances that have brought us all to this moment. It's almost too much. I can barely breathe. I get drawn into the crazy music videos and Oh yes! Breathe....you know how to do that. Dang girl, you TEACH people how to use their breath. Right. 

I work to even my inhale and exhale. I add some mantra. om gam ganapataye namaha, the prayer to remove obstacles from your path. Ok I can do this. I may be the crazy white lady rocking back and forth, but I can do this.

Why are we nervous?  Do we need to be?  "This should only take 5-10 minutes", says Tefsa.  That doesn't seem so bad... how badly must one answer the Judge to be denied this approval given 2 years of exhaustive paperwork, notary signings, home studies etc?  Can't be too hard, I'm thinking.  Yet we do some final preparations, silently of course.  

< in a whisper >  Allison, "so if they ask about religion, let's agree to say we were both raised Protestant.... and, if they ask follow-up questions we can say that we are open to the good from many religions and will raise Wynray in a very spiritual home."  Fredrik, "ok, so we were raised Protestant.  Well that's true, we'll go with that."

Um yeah, the religious question has us a bit nervous, and we've been told to be prepared to answer it. Ethiopia takes religion very seriously and many are devout Orthodox Christians. I'm beginning to have my eyes opened to what true Christianity must look like in the kindness of her people. We want to be honest, but we don't want our honesty to be misleading. No we aren't involved or interested in organized religion, at least the way it works in our country, but we are guided by our hearts, spirit and love and believe we sit there for the same reason religious people are there. We were called by a force much larger than us, call it what you will. 

Yep. Raised Protestant. We'll start with that.

Fredrik, "so if they ask about how we plan to raise him, let's focus on Ethiopia in general not go too deep into discussing his tribal ancestry and culture given he is Gambellan."  Allison, "ok, agree...we'll focus on Ethiopian food, music, culture."

Another door opens, we are waved in... the first among those waiting silently.  We see a rectangular room, not particularly large or ornate instead more like an administrative office.  We sit immediately to the left of the door we just entered.  The judge is seated among piles of paperwork, on the far left side of the room.  Oddly, our chairs don't even face her... our necks swivel left for the remainder of our time in this room.  The judge is welcoming but to the point... she is perhaps 50 give or take a few.

Ok, Fredrik. That was bold. The judge is very beautiful and kind...a timeless beauty, and I have no idea how old she was. But I kept thinking that she was going to summon us to at least stand before her, or move herself to the table that was across from us. This perpendicular arrangement was just plain odd, and then I remember our coordinator mentioning how non-confrontational Ethiopians are and it makes a little sense. But it still bugs me, so I swivel my body towards her.

This part may be a bit of a blur, so I'll paraphrase a bit how this all went down.

Judge: "So we are here about the adoption for Wynray.  It is important that you understand all adoptions are final and not reversable under any circumstance.  Do you understand and are you still interested in adopting Wynray?"

Us: "Yes, absolutely" (we're nailing this... keep it coming, what's next?)

Judge: "Have you taken training to understand about international adoption?"

Us: "Yes, we have" (2 for 2 if I say so myself)

Judge: "Do you know other families that have adopted from Ethiopia?  It is important for Wynray to have a community that allows him to stay connected with his cultural heritage."

Us: "Yes, we know several families in the area where we live who have adopted from Ethiopia.  We will get together with them on a regular basis every few months.  We also have a large online community of support." (3 for 3)

Judge: "How do you plan on keeping his Ethiopian heritage alive?"

Us: "We hope to do that in a variety of ways from eating at Ethiopian restaurants, reading books, listening to music and being engaged in our Ethiopian community."  (4 for 4)

With Kysa still asleep in my arms and only about 2 minutes into this court appointment, I anticipate the tough or delicate questions are upcoming...

Judge: Motioning to Kysa, "Does your daughter understand what is happening?"

Us: "Yes"

Actually, Fredrik said "Yes." I turn into to a babbling idiot. "Yes, she's loves Baby Wynray. She met him yesterday. She thinks he's so cute. She's 2 1/2 and can say Ethiopia and can find it on a map. blah blah blah..." The judge has an amused look on her face when I realize a one word answer would have been fine. Allison, shut up.

Judge: "On this basis, the Court approves the adoption of Wynray to you.  Congratulations."

That's it?  Allison and I turn our heads toward each other, making eye contact... no words needed.  We look back to the Judge, "thank you."  We bow our heads and exit right.

Back through the waiting room, down the hallway, enter elevator, down to ground floor and out to sidewalk.  Now, breathe... peck on cheek... embrace (slightly).  Keeping in mind the constant sensitivity.

We briskly walk out of the courtroom, there are two other American looking families waiting as we walk by. Tears are streaming down my face. We stand by the elevator and Fredrik leans in to give me a quick kiss and I give him a short shake of the head. Not here. Behind us the waiting room was even more full of Ethiopian family members there to relinquish their children. I thought of Wynray's birth dad and wondered where he sat, and what he had been feeling only a few weeks ago.

I decompressed as we rode the elevator down trying to let it sink in. Wynray is now our son! And then we were on the street and allowed ourselves a moment of relieved acknowledgement of this long road we'd been on together. I kissed Fredrik and sleeping Kysa...and now I NEEDED to see my son.  

We are not blind to the fact that our joy masks another family's pain.  This isn't celebration, it is relief mixed with respectful joy.  We are now the proud proud parents of Wynray.  Born the son of his Gambellan parents.  Adopted as the son of a Swedish-American family living in North Carolina.  The baby brother to proud big sister Kysa (who is still sleeping).  This is all Wynray's new legacy and the cultural DNA of this young boy who we hope to make proud.

Enter IAN bus, depart.  Next stop: the IAN Care Center.  It's time to see OUR son... OUR Wynray.

/ fredrik

The Lion King Porno

Dec 4, 2012. Part 1

I woke up around 2 in the morning to the sounds of high heels clacking in the hallway, someone attempted to open our door with a wrong key. Then I couldn't go back to sleep. I watched Kysa, who had been sick all day, sleeping fitfully and my mind raced with conflicting thoughts. I was so happy she was present for meeting Wynray, but I was feeling guilty that maybe we'd made a mistake bringing her. 

While we were shot out of a cannon on Friday, I'd been mentally packing for over a year. Fredrik and I had spent countless hours debating the pros and cons of bringing Kysa with us. We felt confident, as world travelers, that we were prepared to take on this adventure as a family. We couldn't imagine not taking her. We had considered everything we thought….except for altitude sickness. 

I can't believe I'm actually going to share this, but it's part of this wild ride. and gives you an idea of our mental state. At around 3am Kysa sat up and asked for water. I gave her some which she chugged, and then threw up all over the bed. As Fredrik and I sprung into soothing our child, cleaning our bed and exchanging freaked out looks (cue the bow chicka bow wow music), it was like the Ethiopian porn industry started shooting a film in the next room. 

I can't recall a moment in my life that I felt like I was loosing it more than that particular moment.  Kysa was so sick and pitiful, we were so scared, and the soundtrack from next door just kept getting louder and louder and wouldn't stop, no matter how loudly our child cried, or we soothed her, or threw water bottles at the door.

Our solution: A 3am double feature of the Lion King and Sesame Street turned up as loud as it could go on our laptop. We snuggled, and hung onto each other through the sickness, fear and Disney soundtrack. And yes, it was during this madness, as Fredrik previously wrote, that Kysa told us she'd had a perfect day.

Somehow Kysa and Fredrik managed to sleep, but I was too freaked out by Kysa's sickness and Wynray's court date.  Around 6:30 I finally faded to sleep, the alarm went off at 7. 

Fredrik got up first and showered, and when he gently asked if I'd slept I started crying. I was so tired. And so we decided we were just going to put one foot in front of the other to get through the day. 

First step was to get Kysa to a doctor.  She was sleeping and we managed to get her dressed without really waking her. As we walked down the stairs carrying our precious snoozing bundle with wild blonde tangles sticking out in all directions, we were met by such sweet concern by all the Addis View staff. Everyone was concerned about Kysa. All the doormen, desk girls, waitresses kissing her hands, and cheeks and wishing us well as we headed to the doctor.

Our driver, Fesaka, was an angel. He led us through the gates of the hospital and got us registered. Now, before everyone at home freaks out about Kysa being so bad off we had to take her to a hospital, you should know in Ethiopia you go to the hospital to see the doctor. That's where they have their offices. Or at least where this children's specialist had hers. This hospital was no frills and not super modern, but I've had the pleasure of spending the night in a Turkish hospital and I'll take this place any day.

We didn't wait long and were taken into an exam room with IKEA fabric and curtains on the wall. It's amazing the things that bring you comfort at the strangest time. The doctor was an older woman with some tribal tattoos on her arms who spoke excellent English with a British accent. She was the epitome of a kick ass/super smart/internationally savvy grandmother. She was brisk, to the point, but caring. I loved her immediately. She examined Kysa and decided on a plan of treatment quickly.  Since I'd been giving Kysa pedialyte and it just wasn't staying down she suggested an injection. She then tsk'd me for being so scared. "Mama, your daughter is fine. This is nothing, stop being so anxious." 

So unfortunately, Kysa got an injection in her tiny rear end, and a little more trauma. sigh. more mama guilt. But within a few minutes she fell asleep as the doctor said she would. She slept through lunch, the drive to court, our court appointment and woke as we entered the gates to the care center. She then perked up and hasn't thrown up since., and I'm planning on actually sleeping tonight.

But one final note. We arrived back at the hotel just before lunch and went to the front desk to pay our driver. Fesaka had spent the morning driving, translating, and generally taking care of us. The receptionist waved us away. "Don't worry about it. Fesaka said he won't charge you for that." I wept, so blessed by his gesture, and reminded of why we chose to adopt from Ethiopia. Such beautiful people, inside and out.

This concludes Part 1 of Tuesday, more to come about court. 

Today was a Perfect Day

From Monday December 3, 2012:

The day we met Wynray we started with breakfast overlooking Addis, sunny skies and seated at a table next to a Spanish family who had just taken custody of their 2 Ethiopian boys a few days earlier.  Less than 30 minutes later, Kysa gets sick… the day just shifted.  Now just 10 minutes before we are scheduled to go see Wynray, we are fully focusing our attention on our little girl who trekked over 7,500 miles to be here.  Like us, she is trying to acclimate to life in Addis 8,000 ft. above sea level.  In 10 minutes she will set off to meet her baby brother.

Kysa is a trooper.  Brave.  Strong.  Our little hero.  She will fight through anything.  We get on the hotel bus and start the trek toward the IAN Care Center about 30 minutes away.  Traffic is chaos, smog and pollution build… we near.  Kysa gets sick again, and again.  She bounces back in between.  Our heads swim with random thoughts, nothing sticking.  We are desperately worried and wanting to take care of Kysa, and anxiously anticipating meeting our son .

Kysa has been charming the hotel staff since we arrived.  Besides the basic questions asked of her, "What is your name?" and "How old are you?"… she always adds, "I'm here to see my baby brother, he is in Ethiopia" as if not yet fully realizing she too is actually in Ethiopia. Maybe that still hasn't really hit any of us.. this is real.

We meet our son, Wynray… he is precious, handsome and full of smiles.  We promise to share much more on this later. Kysa is so proud too, looking at him, wanting to hold him, giving him "love pats" on his head.  She glances at him so affectionately it is amazing to witness.  And, he glances right back hardly able to take his eyes off his big sister.  Cute.  Cue proud parent moments.  Tissues?  Where are the tissues?

Unfortunately for Kysa, she gets sick again at the Care Center.  We go outside, she has had her moment with her brother today.  We play.  She is a trooper after all, so nothing a little play won't solve… or at least distract.  But we can see she is not fully herself.

Wynray falls asleep in Allison's arms and she places him in his crib, our precious meeting and moment has come to an end this day.  We focus again on Kysa and getting her well… back to the hotel for quiet time.  Good sleep, a movie or two, she is doing better.  

By dinner time we brave leaving the room with her to head downstairs for some food and fresh (fresh? ok, close but not really) air.  She plays and musters her strength once again.  She is playful and funny, our little girl.  But it doesn't last.  Dinner becomes room service, but we are all ok with that.  So we gather our things and head up to eat our cheese sandwich with ketchup, french fries and the 'Fasting Firfir' which is basically a marinated, spiced injera mix eaten with more injera.  Edible, not bad.. not great.  Better perhaps than the pasta with "ice cream sauce", or maybe I'll try that tomorrow.

Here's the part I LOVE.  We wake up in the middle of the night after this long, rough, precious, hard, amazing, challenging, beautiful, draining, splendid day.  We are all 3 awake.  Addis is black.  Our room lit by the screen of our laptop, 'The Lion King playing.  Allison asks Kysa, "what did you think about today?"

Kysa responds, "today was a perfect day".  

Kysa, you are our little hero.  You are going to be a great Big Sister!

PS- Don't worry, Kysa is doing great now!!!

/ fredrik

Shot Out of a Cannon or How to Get to Ethiopia in 36 hours

On Friday morning (November 30) at 10:55 am, I had a breakdown telling my husband how disappointed I was that we hadn't gotten a court date yet. I was really throwing down a pretty fantastic pity party when I looked at the clock to notice I needed to shower in time to go get Kysa. I started to walk away and Fredrik checked his phone and there was a voicemail from our coordinator...apparently left during my pity party.

We ran into the kitchen, called her back.
Cat: You've got a court date...
Allison- falls to knees laughing, and still sniffling from the pity party
Fredrik: (Cautiously) When?
Cat: Are you ready for this....it's Dec 4.
A-still on floor laughing harder
F: That's NEXT week
C: I know, I laughed when I read it. It's okay, we can reschedule.
A: We can do it! We can get there, we can do it!

...and then we were off. First to pick up Kysa at her school and to tell them we couldn't bring the cheese tray to the Christmas Party or be responsible for the classroom laundry over the weekend. On the way, I cancelled our weekly vegetable box and cancelled my chiropractor appointment. Simultaneously, I was on Facebook with our adoption agency support group looking for a travel agent who could overnight us to Ethiopia.

On the way home we stopped at Whole Foods and just spun around in place until we realized we needed to make a game plan and lists. So we picked up deodorant and a ridiculous amount of dog and cat food...

Fredrik took over booking the flights and hotel, and he made a last minute appointment on a Friday evening for vaccinations at 6:00 pm

...I started making The Packing List. I also called our neighbors across the street and asked for help watching Kysa and to have someone go with me to Target because despite the list, I was FRAZZLED and not sure what I'd bring home...

Meanwhile, we got an email from our coordinator in Colorado telling us we needed two documents notarized. Fredrik had ALREADY been to the bank and was at REI for water purifiers or travel pants or something when I saw the part about needing a Notary. So I called Fredrik and told him to come home immediately.

He sent a text back to say he'd confirmed our flights and we were flying out THE NEXT DAY AT 7AM. At this point we would need to leave our home in 12 hours.

...and crap! It was 4:00, banks close at 5. Friday traffic. Fredrik rushed home and we flew to the bank by about 4:30 while Carter, angel from across the street stayed with Kysa.

Glenda, my neighbor and friend (and in this case angel and mother of Carter), picked me up at the bank and we drove to Target. I remember being really shaky and not in my body. We arrived at Target a little before 5. I FILLED a cart with everything from diapers, medicine, formula and bandaids both for my family and the care center. I remember having a mini-breakdown because we'd had such short notice and I knew so many people, including Kysa's preschool, who wanted to contribute to donations to the care center. I had envisioned putting all our belongings in one bag and filling the rest of the suitcases (we would have been allowed 6) with donations. I just couldn't show up empty handed, but Glenda reminded me of the second trip...

At 5:30 we filled Glenda's car and she drove me to the travel doctor where I met Fredrik and Kysa for a 6:00 appointment that took 2hours and 15 minutes, and a grand total of 17 vaccinations. Kysa 4, Fredrik  5, and me a whopping 8 shots.

Not only was this an incredibly miserable experience, but it blew A LOT of our precious time.  I still needed to buy more groceries and some homeopathic remedies from Whole Foods. So we rolled into Whole Foods at 8:30.

By 9:00 we were eating dinner at our neighbors, yep those same angels from above. Not only did provide us dinner, they agree to take care of our dog and cat, return library books, pick up our car at the airport, and hold down our fort in general.

At 9:15 we knocked on another neighbor's door to ask if they'd provide backup for dog sitting.

By 9:30 Fredrik was working on getting us international travelers insurance and I was sorting and packing.

Around 10:00 Fredrik headed back out to go to CVS to pick up some prescriptions and to make a photobook to give to Baby W's birthdad. We wanted him to have photos of  Baby W and to see some pictures of what our family life looks like.

At 10:30 I noticed a text from our neighbors who had Kysa at their house, asking if I had any Tylenol because Kysa's legs were aching from the shots. I retrieved Kysa, who couldn't walk because her legs hurt so badly, gave her tylenol and put her in our bed trying not to allow myself to get comfortable. I hadn't slept well in the past week, and I was starting to get very sleeeeepy.

By midnight Fredrik was home and packing, sorting, organizing continued until around 2:45. We forced ourselves to go to bed. Fredrik fell asleep immediately I starred at the ceiling and sent myself reminder texts until about 3:30.

Alarm went off at 4. Child woken from the dead at 4:30. Elf on the Shelf spotted by child at 4:55 and placed in my suitcase at 4:57.

Off to the airport by 5. Boarded flight at 6:45

The flights were fairly uneventful. Kysa was amazing. I think I dozed a little. We arrived in Toronto with just enough time to make our connecting flight and we arrived in Addis Ababa at 7:45 am local time.

Stepping off the plane was exactly how I imagined, from the chaos to the smells. We arrived shell shocked, exhausted and giddy we had pulled it off, not to mention the promise of meeting our son soon. very soon.

After we waited an excruciatingly long time for a visa, well over an hour, we rushed to baggage claim worried about our luggage just circling the carousel. We discovered MY bag had not arrived (I'm not allowing myself to think it's just missing or stolen quite yet). While waiting for my bag, the power went off. Surreal. Wow, I guess we've really arrived.

By the time we got to the hotel, I was so exhausted I couldn't really feel the edges of my body from the inside anymore...everything felt fuzzy. So we did what everyone does in Ethiopia, we went down to the hotel cafe, ordered a macchiato and then found a driver who would take us shopping for some clothes.

Normally, I would have just toughed it out for a couple days until we got news about my bag. But the next flight out from Toronto is on Tuesday and the flight won't arrive until Wed morning...and I needed presentable clothes for court on Tuesday.

Kysa slept in our arms (car seats, what car seats?) during the fiasco as we drove around the city, goats and cows crossing the roads, horns honking, lanes improvised, air pollution thick, people walking everywhere...

I discovered I am a giantess by Ethiopian standards, and couldn't find a shirt to fit. The one skirt I found, the 11 year old looking boy running the store, yanked up the price for the desperate looking white lady. So I walked away in my dirty clothes...

We came back to the hotel, took a short nap and climbed to the rooftop hotel restaurant for dinner. Kysa   ate a few french fries and played with the wait staff while we ate and then FINALLY we went back to our room and got ready for bed.

Kysa and Fredrik miraculously slept the entire night, I was awake at 3 mind racing about meeting Baby W in just a few short hours.

...More on that incredible day coming soon.`

   

I haven't been sleeping well.  

Three baby boys have been keeping me awake.  The first, my own son in a care center in Addis Ababa, the second, a dear friend's baby boy who was recently in an induced coma very far away, the third, a tiny baby boy named Zemene (we are his FIG, family in the gap) stuck for political reasons in an orphanage in Awassa, Ethiopia. 

Please give us a court date....
Please let him live...
Please change policy, please give him a family...

If you could open my heart, and read my desires the way you chop a tree and tell it's age by counting the rings, these would be the mantras/prayers/thoughts/pleas encrypted deeply in the chambers. 

We decorated our home early for Christmas this year because we're hopeful we'll be in Ethiopia over the holidays, and we want Kysa to experience Christmas.  The twinkle lights, the candles, the box of nostalgic decorations and the busy-ness of it all served as a respite.  

I framed a photo of Zemene on my desk, and I placed a little African angel on Baby W's photo on our mantle. St Lucia, the Swedish saint who wears candles in her hair bringing light to the darkest night of winter, sits next to Baby W's photo.  These small symbolic gestures seem so anemic when my arms ache for my son. Yet, the embodied images of saints and angels and tiny lights in our home, casting their glow against the darkness, gives me hope.

I am acutely aware of the surreal state my family is in right now. A beautiful and horrific limbo of seeing and knowing our son's face but not being able to hold him or know him. The ache in my heart is palpable, but what a privilege to feel and experience such love and pain. It is a beautiful and horrific process feeling our hearts being broken wide open, only to be repaired with more space, more capacity, more love and light. 


There is something poetically beautiful and equally horrid about being with your little child at 3 in the morning in a hospital room, listening to his little breath, and watching numbers shift on a monitor. 

....from darkness to light. 

After tossing and turning last night, when I couldn't stand another minute of my loud pleading thoughts, I finally flipped open my laptop and checked my email at 4am.  Against the darkness of my bedroom, with my family sleeping soundly next to me, the glow of my laptop offered up a photo of my friend's son sitting up in his hospital bed, with a big grin and the sock monkey I gave him last year at the beach. 

...from darkness to light. 

There was so much relief in seeing that precious boy's face, and the sweet reward was sleep. 

So much gratitude, so much relief. 
And today I'll celebrate that light.

But, Zemene is still stuck in an orphanage, unable to be matched to a forever family.
And I really miss my son.  

...the light is coming. even this late it happens.

The Coming of Light By Mark Strand
Even this late it happens: the coming of love, the coming of light. You wake and the candles are lit as if by themselves, stars gather, dreams pour into your pillows, sending up warm bouquets of air. Even this late the bones of the body shine and tomorrow's dust flares into breath.

Thankfully unexpected...

After the last few emotionally draining days, it's time for a bit of hope and celebration. Our family is looking forward to a week of giving thanks. We have so much to be thankful for.

We're also obsessively checking our email for a court date...

The night we received Baby W's referral we decided to celebrate, and we went to the Abyssinia Restaurant here in Raleigh for dinner. It's a traditional Ethiopian restaurant and we were excited to eat food we love and celebrate the end of our long wait for a referral. Because we had decided to keep the referral from friends and family until we had officially accepted Baby W's referral, I was dying to show his picture to someone! I was so in love with his little face already, so I showed his photo to our Ethiopian waitress...

her surprised response: "He's from Ethiopia?" (strange look)
me: Yes, Gambella (with proud, puffed up mama pride)
waitress: I see. Beautiful boy, but he doesn't look Ethiopian. (strange look)

I mention this only to give you an idea of our interesting adoption situation.  We've spent the last two years celebrating/learning/absorbing all things Ethiopian and then we find out we're matched with a beautiful baby boy who belongs to an ethnic group persecuted by many Ethiopians. Um, hello mind flip.

Baby W, based on his name and where he is from, is believed to be from the Anuak tribe. We look forward to confirming this when we meet his birth father. The Anuak are river people whose villages lie along the banks of southeastern South Sudan and western Ethiopia, in the Gambela region. The tribesmen are primarily farmers and herdsmen. When you research Anuak history, basically all you'll find are recent reports of genocide and persecution from the other ethnicities in Ethiopia and the Ethiopian government. Genocide Watch placed the Anuak tribe on the emergency list of ongoing genocides in the world.  There are only 300,000 to 350,000 Anuak in the world, making the Anuak an endangered people. Sadly, the Anuak people are also looked down on by other Ethiopians because of the dark color of their skin.

I wish I could post a picture of Baby W's face and skin...he's gorgeous. I mean, he's stunning. Seriously.

Are you hearing the conflict rattle around in my head? That grinding sound is the recalibrating of two years of waiting for an Ethiopian baby and finding out we're going to be the parents of a child whose family and tribe has RECENTLY been persecuted by Ethiopians. 

I had imagined raising my son listening to Ethiopian music in the kitchen while we cook dinner from any of the Marcus Samuelsson cookbooks blending our Swedish/American/Ethiopian heritage, celebrating Ethiopian holidays with our Ethiopian adoption community, I plan on buying him Ethiopian soccer jerseys for every stage of his young life, birthday cakes with green, yellow and red frosting with tiny Ethiopian flags, baby pictures in traditional Ethiopian garb, the space over our mantle is reserved for a piece of Ethiopian art I plan on buying on our upcoming travels...AND we plan on frequenting that local Ethiopian restaurant, the one where the Ethiopian waitress said he didn't look ETHIOPIAN!! 

But he IS Ethiopian, damn it. And quite honestly, we're still going to do these things, but they are certainly going to feel strangely inauthentic until we can figure out a way to embody them respectfully for Baby W and his birth family and tribe. And while I'm making this personal about my family and Baby W, let's also not loose sight of digesting the horrific facts of genocide, and why haven't we heard about it, and why aren't we doing something to stop it. Whether or not to decorate my home with Ethiopian art is not the big question here, though it is the way I'm shamefully processing it.

Suddenly our adoption doesn't feel so Ethiopian anymore. I feel like we've stepped even further off the beaten trail than we anticipated. But please don't get me wrong, this is not a bad thing at all.  Baby W is truly a rare treasure who we plan to celebrate every day. We hold the responsibility of understanding, cherishing and preserving his culture to be a great one, even greater than before. And while our job just got more difficult, it excites and ignites us. It also makes me chuckle at the reminder that Fredrik and I always seem to find ourselves as fringe dwellers, often by our own choosing, but certainly a consistent place for both of us since we were kids. Honestly, we'd have it no other way.  Fredrik and I both grew up feeling like outsiders, but over the years we found each other and have built a loving community of radical truth seekers, community organizers, global entrepreneurs, adventurers, and artists who we consider chosen family and who will embrace Baby W. 

Currently, we anticipate being able to meet Baby W's birth father when we travel to Addis Ababa in (HOPEFULLY!!) a few weeks. We have seriously looked into traveling to Gambella because we really want to see where Baby W is from and try to get a better understanding of his tribe.  Unfortunately, the local Ethiopian staff in Addis don't recommend travel to that region. I'm super disappointed about that, but respect the opinions of the IAN local staff.  But if their opinion should change we'll be heading to Gambella.

So Baby W...are you ready for us? You are not only going to be celebrated for the handsome and rare gem you are as an Anuak, but we're going to celebrate Ethiopia, the country where you were born, and we're going to celebrate Sweden where your dad was born, and where you will have family and dual Swedish and American citizenship, AND somehow we'll find a way to wave your American flag too. We speak English and Swedish in this house and sing in sanskrit. We celebrate many religions, but One Love. We love animals, but don't eat them. We dance in the kitchen, act out stories in bed, and write silly songs about arugula on long car trips. We are a family who celebrates uniqueness and flying your freak flag high (not that you are a freak, son...just speaking for the rest of us). If the four of us need to have our own Anuak/Ethiopian/Swedish/American pride parade through our neighborhood we'll do just that!! If ever there was a community ready to embrace you and us in all our uniqueness and complexity, it's the one we're cultivating here in the purple house on Elm St, and our community around the world at large.  

I look forward to this challenge of digging deeply to help Baby W honor, love, preserve and understand his heritage. Thanks Universe. You know I usually take the path less traveled, and that has made all the difference. 

One step closer

Baby W's father showed up for court this morning and relinquished him.

We're one step closer, but I feel like I've been hit by a Mack Truck. 

It really looks like that little boy with the mega-wat smile will be our son. For that news I'm thankful, but in the meantime my heart is breaking for his birth family.

This is so hard, so unbelievably hard.

Shanti, Shanti, Shanti-hi
May there be peace, peace, and perfect peace

If it be your will...

Today Baby W's birth father travels to Addis Ababa from his home in Gambela. He is scheduled to attend court on Monday and give up rights to his son.

I really know nothing about Baby W's birth father other than his name, where he is from, and the fact his beautiful boy with a brilliant mega-wat smile may soon be our son.  I can't begin to describe what it feels like to have such a connection to a person you've never met.

I know what Baby W's name means, I know the beautiful jewelry he wears, and I know without a doubt how much he is loved by his birth family.  I know if he is relinquished, it is an act of selfless love  beyond what my heart can understand.

I doubt Baby W's father has ever been on an airplane, or stayed in a hotel, or even been to a large city. I imagine him traveling alone, completely overwhelmed, walking the streets of Addis Ababa with the burden of the world on his shoulders.

I don't really have words to describe my thoughts, they are beyond complicated. My heart is in my throat and my prayer is not what I would have expected when we began this process over two years ago.

If it be your will. If it be your will. If it be your will...

I simply cannot pray for Baby W's father to give him up, but I will pray for his father's safety and comfort, and for his heart to find peace with whatever decision he makes. I pray if he does choose to relinquish Baby W that he can sense our presence in Baby W's life and the great love we have for both of them.

this is what will be playing on repeat this weekend:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1MDlMdu2gjw

*right before publishing this post, we learned Baby W's birth father missed his flight. There is another flight out on Sunday.  Baby W's court appointment is Monday morning in Addis Ababa which will be sometime in the middle of the night for us.  Before you go to sleep on Sunday night, or if you're awake in the wee hours Monday morning, perhaps you can join us in sending Baby W's birth father peace, love and light.

If it be your will...

It's us!! It's us!! A Referral Story

Last Thursday evening (Oct 4) we learned of a referral at our agency, and realized it could mean we had moved up to the #1 spot. I sent my coordinator an email the next day to confirm my suspicions.

I ended my email with this:
"I think I'm in a sort of suspended disbelief we'll ever get a referral."

After 18 months of waiting, and over 2 years of being in process, patience wasn't my strong suit anymore. I didn't wait for a response. I just called her.  She confirmed we were #1, and then she said something strange.  She has certainly given us vague words of hope in the past and given us non-committal time frames...but she'd never said anything like this: "You guys get ready, I think it could be soon."

I think we'd become so wait weary, I just tucked that nugget of optimism in the "Yeah, right..we'll just see about that" part of my brain. I knew several people who waited in the number one spot for months. I'm not even sure I could hear the words. I was numb from the long wait.

Fast forward to Monday morning, just one month after moving into our new house. It was a dreary rainy day here in NC.  Fredrik decided to work from home, and Kysa and I went to our Mom and Tots dance class. After I fixed my tiny dancer lunch, we snuggled on the couch for an early nap. I was feeling under the weather, and a sweet sleeping child nestled in my lap was the best possible medicine.

As Kysa was starting to drift off to sleep Fredrik headed out in the rain to go to the post office and bank to take care of some adoption paperwork we're having to re-do/update because of our recent move. He came back quickly and drenched, cursing Christopher Columbus because banks and post offices were closed.  He went upstairs in a grumpy mood...

Maybe an hour later, I'm still snuggling with Kysa on the couch. I (ahem) might have been helping to elevate social consciousness by watching the reunion show of the Real Housewives of NYC. Don't judge. It was a snuggle on the couch watch bad tv kind of day. Fredrik came down the stairs holding the phone with a look I've only seen once on his face...when he had to tell me my Uncle Tony had suddenly and unexpectedly left his body. His face was intended to be blank and allow me to have my own reaction to the news he was about to share. But what it really said was, "hold on, life is about to change."

It's funny my rational brain didn't respond in that moment. Especially since Cat, our coordinator, had said those hopeful and optimistic words just days before.  Reading Fredrik's face sent me back to a time of grief and tragedy. Everything slowed down, and I started shaking and repeatedly asking, "what's wrong? what's wrong?"

I wiggled myself free from under Kysa, and followed Fredrik into the only room in our house that didn't have furniture yet. Fredrik closed the door.  I was breathless. I continued to search his face for clues. And then Fredrik showed me his phone. I could see it was our adoption agency on the phone and my knees buckled and I sat on the floor pulling Fredrik with me.

The conversation started like this on the speaker phone...
Fredrik: Cat, she's here now...
Cat: Hi guys...This is it. This is the call.
Me: nonsense, tears, laughter, trembling, more speaking nonsense

Honestly, the next few minutes were a blur.
We woke Kysa up with our commotion and she wandered into the room with sleepy eyes and wild hair, and snuggled into my lap just in time to see Baby W's photo at the same time as us.

Kysa: Is that my baby brother?
Me: We think so, Sweetie...
Kysa: Is he sitting on a potty?

And then we listened to Baby W's brief history and cried for him...
And then we heard his name (that we can't share, but we LOVE and plan to call him) and saw more photos
And then we asked questions that didn't make sense and listened to the answers without really hearing them.

And now I'm going to admit my true reaction.  The same thing happened when Kysa was born and she was immediately placed in my chest and I looked at her and thought to myself, "who are you? you are not who I was expecting. Are you my daughter?"...and then over the next few minutes, hours, days a love beyond comprehension grew.

Same thing with Baby W..."Who are you? You are not who I was expecting. Are you my son?"
I wish I could tell both my children's stories saying the moment I laid eyes on them I knew they were mine. But in that nebulous new mother time, my expectations took a minute to catch up to reality. I don't know if other people experience that feeling, but I take comfort it happened with BOTH my children.

Maybe it's a mammalian trait, the finger and toe counting, the body scan to make sure everything is okay. I can only describe it as a get down to business, no time for celebrating until I've properly inspected my baby, and THEN turn on the love fest, open the flood gates, and bask in baby bliss. Or maybe it's just me needing a moment to let the months of fantasy and expectation die a proper death, a moment to wipe the slate clean, and let the little precious being in front of me begin the lifelong process of revealing who they are to their mama.

The finger and toe counting was a little difficult with only three small photos...but the process involved me blowing up the photos and scanning every inch of visible skin, and taking in as much of my sweet baby boy a photo could reveal.

I've spent the last few days obsessing over with the photos, discovering drool on his chin in one photo and seeing what appears to be the tops of tiny teeth shimmering above his bottom lip in another. He has a tiny indentation on his left ear that looks like he's had his ear pierced, or maybe it's just a dimple. I've peered over every inch of visible skin I can see in those photos...

He's wearing a white necklace I'm dying to know the story about and hope beyond hope we are able keep for him.  He's also wearing a pink sweater with tiny flowers on it...apparently pink is the "official" Ethiopian baby boy referral picture according to other adoptive moms. That sweater just kills me on so many levels...

In one photo there are two beautifully gnarled hands holding Baby W. In the corner you can see the cheek of a woman obviously smiling and trying to stay out of his photo, a nanny we presume.  This is all we know about his care, the smile gives me hope he's being loved.

Let me tell you, this mama has been floored by what Baby W has revealed through the magic of a flat photo. He whole being SHINES and his eyes TWINKLE with curiosity and mischief. He is going to rock our world that much we know for sure...

Baby W is the cutest handsomest little dude I have ever laid eyes on.  My arms already ache for him. How's that for a proud and biased mama? How's that for a miracle?



With so much gratitude,

Allison