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

Anticipating the Great Unknown: A Guide

As of Friday, we are now #1 on the wait list, which is a wonderful and humbling place to be.  It signifies a long climb from where we started and reiterates the reality that we will be parents to a beautiful baby boy.

Frequently in our society, being #1 is an end state, a goal and pinnacle of achievement.  This is not true with international adoption.  Instead, being #1 signifies a great unknown and frequently the starting line for the hardest part of the journey.

You know that feeling when you get on a huge, old, wooden roller coaster?  The excitement builds and you start the slow, creaky climb to the top.  Eventually you feel that the cars level out and are getting ready to fall down on the other side -- the anticipation builds even more.  This is where we find ourselves today, stuck in between the great expectations and the great unknown.  So, we thought we'd share a bit about how we view this journey and give you some insight from our perspective on where we are and where we think this ride may take us.  The reality is that for all the excitement we feel, we are just as scared.
 
Let us begin by saying we are so thankful for all who follow our story and the support each of you gives us along the way, no matter what form that takes (a phone call, text, an email, a Facebook message, or just a kind thought). You are our support and our village.

Besides our point of view, we love and recommend the following blog post from a family that has already been through this process, it is called "How to be a Village" (http://jenhatmaker.com/blog/2011/11/02/how-to-be-the-village). We know we will be leaning on our village a lot in the coming months.  We write this post not to be grumpy grouches unable to receive your love, concern, enthusiasm, but because we KNOW we will mess up and we don't want to offend and run off our village when we need you most.  We know the emotional fatigue will leave us thin skinned, hearts aching and open, with our brains on overload.  So please be patient with us.  If you ask us a simple question and get an impassioned diatribe, we are sorry.  Or if we simply fall apart, or don't act the way you think a family with a beautiful child on the way should act please give us just a little slack because we are elated one moment and freaked out the next. Hopefully this email will help you navigate some of our complicated emotional waters.

So you're #1. What does that mean exactly?

• Great question.  It simply means more waiting.  The call with a referral COULD come any day now, or it COULD come months from now.  We have no way of knowing.

What exactly is a referral? Does that mean he's YOUR child.

• No. It simply means we have been matched and will await a court date.  It is not binding and referrals do fall through...we know of several personally. You bet, that freaks us out.

Do you have to go to Ethiopia?

• Yes. Twice. Two trips...That's right, we have to go, meet our son, swear in front of an Ethiopian judge to be his parents, and then leave him in a care center for an undetermined amount of time while we wait in Raleigh for a US Embassy appointment.  We might call this time period Crazy Town.  You are welcome to come put this sign in our yard to warn any passersby.  If you see one of us eating ice cream by the carton, rocking in dark corners, or scrubbing the bathtub at 3am you'll know which phase we're in.

Let us break this down a bit.

Before receiving a referral:

• What you might expect: "You are #1, I'm sure you'll get the referral any day now", "You must be so excited"

Reality of the unknown: The reality is that just because we are #1, adoption referrals aren't handed out on a nice standard timeline.  Sure, we could get a call on Monday... or, Monday 6 months from now.  We have no visibility to the number of orphaned baby boys at the care center in Ethiopia, nor can we wish there were more given the painful reality of what that implies for that little boy's family situation.  Once at the care center, we have no visibility to their paperwork and when they will be ready for a referral.  We also have no visibility to other families on the wait list that are currently "on hold" in front of us and whether they will become ready to accept a referral before we get our opportunity.  All we ask, and need, are your thoughts and prayers both of us and for that little boy 7,447 miles away from us. Yes, we're excited, feel free to be excited with us and for us!

Receiving a referral:

• What you might expect: "You have your son now, he is yours", "You should have him home by Christmas"

Reality of the unknown: Once we receive a referral, we will have up to 2 weeks to accept.  We may let you know we got the referral or we may only let you know once we accept.  At this point we know his face, we know his name, and some of his history.  We have scratched the surface.  That said, please refrain from the above statements, we know...we REALLY know how great it would be to have him home by Christmas, Valentine's Day, Easter, Kysa's Birthday, etc, but we find time goals destructive to our mental health.  The great journey is still just getting started and timelines are still far too fluid to predict...so a "your family is in our thoughts and prayers" or "we are so excited for you" will be just fine.  As you'll read below, even if we are fortunate to get a referral in the near future even that doesn't guarantee anything... certainly not a timeline.  We will hope for the best and plan for the unexpected each step along the way.  Our son will be home with us at some point, but we prefer not to put targets on it.  I think it goes without saying, we all hope it will be as soon as possible.

Trip #1 - heading to Ethiopian court, meeting our son:

• What you might expect: "I'm sure you'll pass court, it's a formality right?", "I knew a family once that adopted and I never heard them having issues"

Reality of the unknown: Somewhere around 4-6 weeks after accepting a referral, we will be given a court date in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia.  We will be arranging complex travel plans, paying sky-high prices for airfare, looking for a dog-sitter, making arrangements with work and much more.  That's the easy part. We will also be going through emotional gymnastics as we are about to travel half way around the world to meet a child we've only seen in photos not knowing if we will actually pass court that allows the process to continue as planned.

In court that morning a family member must be present to formally relinquish this child for adoption.  We can't imagine this... will it be a parent, an uncle or a grandparent?  Will we get to meet them?  Will they travel several hundred miles by bus for this (sad? emotional?) moment?  What must they be thinking and going through... not to mention what that means for them financially to take day(s) off work.

Then there is us.  That afternoon we will show up in court, in front of a judge, to acknowledge that we plan to go through with this adoption.  Oh, and yes.. we'll actually be meeting our son during this trip.  Who is he? What does he enjoy? What is he scared of? What has be been through? Will he cry when we pick him up?  Will he laugh when we laugh?  Will he appear healthy?  What is his favorite food?  Will he accept us? How will Kysa react?  Becoming this boy's family is not a formality, it is not a right... it is an honor and a privilege that we have to earn.

Nonetheless, we are one step closer to this unknown.  This, by the way, is the best case scenario.  Fortunately or unfortunately, we have also known families to lose their referrals even while they are in country during this trip.  In these cases, the biological family member could decide that they want their child back, perhaps purely as a result of deep emotional reflection, or an improvement in a family member's health or a change in their financial situation.  While that must be immensely difficult for the adoptive families, we will never WISH for our son or another child to be taken away from their families and their country if there is some opportunity for them to stay together.  We simply hope we can become the next best option for this child, and if given that opportunity we will love and embrace them in every way possible just like we do with Kysa.  Until then, we hope to practice LOVING WITHOUT ATTACHMENT.


The interim wait between trips (aka Crazy Town):

• What you might be tempted to say but shouldn't: "Just a few more weeks, soon you'll have your son home"...or anything about God's perfect timing.

Reality of the unknown: We will likely be home without our son, awaiting our return trip to Ethiopia, for about 1-2 months.  How should we expect to feel after meeting our son and spending time with him, then leaving him at the care center and waiting for our chance to return?  We don't know, but imagine "emotional basket cases" will be accurate.  Somehow Allison should just go about her day, go to yoga, engage in dance class and rehearsals and support Kysa.  Somehow I should go straight back to the intense day-to-day work schedule I love and had before with no lack of concentration.  Somehow Kysa should go about her daily curiosity without wondering why we left her baby brother in Ethiopia.  We have no idea how this is going to work. And it's not that we don't believe in the Universe's/God's timing...it's just a bit like telling a woman in the middle of a contraction in active labor how much she's going to love being a mother. She might really believe you, AND she may just punch you.

Trip #2 - appointment at U.S. Embassy in Ethiopia and picking up our son:

• What you might expect: "You and your son are so lucky to finally have each other", "What a lucky little boy he is"

Reality of the unknown: We are looking forward to this second trip, the one where we will be united with our son and actually be able to have him with us all day, in our hotel, etc, and then bring him home. The primary purpose of this trip -- besides the obvious of being united with our son -- is to formalize the U.S. paperwork at the Embassy and being cleared to bring our son home into the U.S.  Now we can really begin life as our new, young, multi-racial, multi-cultural family.

That said, please don't think about this as a "lucky" situation for anyone, particularly our son. Our son isn't lucky. He has already endured circumstances in his young life that most of us can't imagine, and as a result opportunities to remain with his biological family or in his native homeland haven't presented themselves.  He won't be loved any less and maybe no more (we are sure his biological family love him tremendously)... but we certainly love him like we do Kysa, in that all-consuming unconditional parental way.  We will do our best to present him with an opportunity to live up to his full potential and pursue his dreams wherever those may take him in life, just like we want for Kysa.  If anyone is lucky it's us. But we like to think we are honored, privileged and HUMBLED to have this little being in our lives.  He is now truly and forever, OUR SON!

Having our son home:

• What you might expect or be tempted to say or ask: "Congratulations, it's clear your son was meant to be with you", "Finally, now you can enjoy being together/happily ever after", "Are his birth parents parents alive, did they die of AIDS? or "How could anyone give up this child?", "We can't wait to meet him, hold him, hug him..." 

Reality of the unknown: Wow, will this day actually come?  Once it does, you'll know the roller coaster it will have taken to get here.  But if you compare this to having biological children, this is the day your child is born, the day you start your life as a family of (insert your new family # here).  Now life together starts.  Life at home, the daily grind, the routine.  We will need your love, your support (aka - drop off a quiche or any vegetarian sustenance/bottle of wine/pan of brownies on our porch steps) and also some distance.  Simply asking "What do you all need?" will be HUGE, much appreciated and probably the biggest gift of all!!! If all the previous steps had unknowns, you all know this phase will bring even more.  This will be HARD.  Aside from the typical "get to know you" experiences any new family goes through, adoption brings a whole other set of considerations related to attachment.  This attachment has to be built up over time and will be sacred to all of us as we build the bond with our son.

As for some of the above questions... these are tough and big, but here are our thoughts on the above statements and questions.  We're happy to talk about our son and our experiences. What we do believe is that no child is MEANT to lose their parents and experience such monumental loss at such a tender age. Agreeing that our child is MEANT to be with us also implies that our child was meant to suffer great hurt and loss...we can't seem to wrap our heads around that.

Please don't ask about his birth story or be offended if we don't tell you, or don't give you a satisfying amount of information about his history.  We have decided to honor his privacy and we will reveal his story to him as he grows.  It will be up to him to tell his story when and how he chooses. And as for how anyone could give up this child?...please don't judge his birth parents or culture.  It takes a tremendous amount of love and courage to acknowledge your limitations for providing basics like food or shelter. We view giving up this child either by his biological family and/or country as an act of selfless love. We have been entrusted with a treasure, and know we are not his best option, we are his only option. Please don't misinterpret this as saying we don't view our role in his life as important or us being "less than" as a family unit.  Once we are allowed to have that baby boy in our arms forever...he (and Kysa) will be our world and the air that we breathe.  We will be a REAL family in the truest sense of the world....and we simply can't wait for that moment.

So be prepared that it may be many months before you are invited to our home, before you can hold him or hug him, before you see all of us in clothes that are clean and matching.  If you see the pizza delivery guy at our house several nights in a row please don't judge us too harshly. We'll be huge fans of you giving high fives and fist bumps with our little dude, we KNOW you'll want to hold him so thanks in advance for obliging us this request. Please know we aren't being crazy overprotective parents.  Okay, crazy maybe...but this type cocooning is recommended for healthy attachment. Regardless of age, this child has in reality been abandoned -- whether out of love or tragedy -- and at his young tender age is being asked to trust, to love, to bond after having lots of caregivers in his short life.  We know he will mourn the life he left behind in Ethiopia. Our job is to establish attachment as his parents, the practice has finally turned to LOVING WITH ATTACHMENT and we understand it won't happen overnight. We imagine we will be happy, scared, tired, rewarded and so much more.

So...what CAN you do, you ask?

We know we must be freaking you out, dear village.  And maybe you might feel we're asking you to walk on egg shells around some crazy overly sensitive parents. What we could use is to just ask simply..."How's it going?" "How are you all doing?" "Are you Okay?" Let us fall apart if we need to. Come have a drink with us on our porch, make us laugh, give us a hug, distract us, let us know you're thinking of us, or just simply keep us in your thoughts/prayers.

Anyone who loves roller coasters, looks forward to the big drop on the other side of the climb.  We do too.  We know that the ride ahead will be full of twists and turns, stops and starts, laughs, tears and possibly screams...and hopefully a short pause in Crazy Town.  We are so excited, humbled, freaked out, and scared, to be on this journey.  Thanks for taking part of it with us.

With love and gratitude,
Allison and Fredrik
*a truly collaborative post

Finding Home

The cardboard boxes are mostly gone from the premises. The house is starting to function as a home more than an urban camping site. Kysa is going to school and loving it, Fredrik is going to the office during the day and building IKEA furniture at night, and me? Aside from trying to transform heaps of stuff into an aesthetically pleasing home for my family....well, I'm dancing again. Yep, at 36 I'm dusting off my dance pants.

In the first week in our home, I took my first dance technique class in 8 years (!) and I had a rehearsal yesterday. In the last 8 years I've shifted my physical practice to yoga because of an ongoing dance injury. While my true passion is dancing, the physical pain that also created emotional pain (and probably vice versa) was greatly outweighing the joy. Yoga gave me relief, balance, a regular physical practice, a community, and spiritual connection....oh yeah, and teaching jobs.  I thought I had found a substitute movement form and career path that also challenged me intellectually, creatively, and spiritually.  But there was an itch that needed scratching, and yoga wasn't quite scratching it. Not to say I'm turning my back on yoga, but I think this is a lesson I'm continually learning on finding balance.

So Monday night I went to dance class, a little nervous that my sequencing brain had shrivelled up, that my body wouldn't support me (particularly with my extra adoption weight), and really nervous that my old injury and pain would resurface.

*Yes, this is my public admission that I have gained some adoption weight. I have no idea how much because I refuse to step on the scale (meeting it head on, right?) I don't think it's a crazy amount of weight because I still fit in most of my clothes, but I still hate it. And I'm not making up adoption weight.  It's a real thing. Google it. Maybe "moving weight" is a real thing too so I have double the excuse. Having just moved to a different state, now on our 17th month on the wait list, and sitting in the #2 position, I'm going to give myself a little grace, and hopefully a few less calories.

Back to dance class. At the beginning of class Glenda, my friend and teacher, asked everyone to say why they were there (it was the first class of the entire year).  Overwhelmingly, the responses from seasoned lifelong dancers were: because I need it, because I couldn't get through my week without it, because my family needs me to be here, because it keeps me sane, because this is what I do. 

My response? Because I'm looking for re-entry, I'm trying to get back to myself.

And then we were off, and flying.  And I danced, and danced for a glorious hour and a half, and my body felt great. And not to sound like a Hallmark card...but my spirit soared too.

Yesterday, I returned to the dance studio for rehearsal. I immediately ran into my friend, Natalie (who I met in college dance class circa 1994 when we were babies!) whose first words were "Welcome Home!" Then my friend Michelle started rehearsal by sharing the famous Merce Cuunningham quote, “You have to love dancing to stick to it. It gives you nothing back, no manuscripts to store away, no paintings to show on walls and maybe hang in museums, no poems to be printed and sold, nothing but that single fleeting moment when you feel alive.”

....and then a hand full of new and old dance friends kicked their own butts for the next hour and a half.  I left dripping with sweat and happy. Genuinely happy. It was a different kind of happiness from the sweet and selfless happiness I find taking care of my child, or my family, and certainly different than retail therapy, or travel, or finishing a good book. It was a pure and simple happiness generated from me, by me, for me. It was a manifestation of the mind, body and spirit strewn into the universe for that one fleeting moment of feeling alive.

I believe I've come back to myself.
I believe I've found home, not in this old house on Elm St, but in this 36 year old body that needs to dance.
Welcome home, me.