I should be writing it all down...

The details.
The feelings.
The craziness.
But instead, I'm racing around like a nutcase trying to do everything one feels one needs to do before bringing home two babies that are not tiny sleeping infant newborns.

First of all, thank you so so much for all your words of support, love and congratulations! They mean the world to me.

Secondly, I know I am behind on all of your blogs. I am sorry. I am trying to keep up with reading, but commenting, not so much.

We are thrilled, naturally, beyond belief. We had a middle of the night phone call with the US Embassy that left us near frantic, only to have it all resolve within a day. I guess the rollercoaster never ends, and yes, we're fully aware we're trading one for another with parenting.

And while we are thrilled about bringing our babies home to live with us, there is so much sadness I have in my heart for them, for their little innocent hearts.

The loss is tremendous.  It is something I can only imagine in bits and pieces because, as I have pointed out before, I know what it is like to lose my future genetic connection, but I have no idea what it is like to lose my past. My babies will go through yet another traumatic loss as they lose their culture and their language. Naturally we are going to try to do whatever is possible to help them know their culture but we're not foolish enough to believe it is a substitute for being able to be raised in your country of origin, with your first family. So I do hurt for them. I do keep reminding myself that although I am in love with them from the top of my head to the bottom of my toes and that I have been falling in love with them more every day they do not know me. They do not remember me. They are now at the age where they might not readily go to me.

It's ok. We'll figure it all out. This isn't about me anymore, about my expectations, about my needs. It's about theirs.

But, all that being said can I just say how I am dying to hold them again? How I am dying to feed them, to rock them, to read to them, to sing to them, to dress them in the little clothes I have been washing and folding and organizing for the past few days?

We leave at the end of this week, fly for two days (did you know a volcano was erupting near Ethiopia and that for a few days our agency was nervous for us....and that it hadn't erupted in several hundred years so naturally picked the time the MTLs were coming to unleash some airline un-friendly ash into the skies? Although it seems to have calmed down we both felt maybe a teeny tiny bit picked on by the universe....!), land, love on the babies, see the US Embassy, purchase and deliver all the supplies for the orphanage (we raised $4,300!!), and then fly home to land on U.S. soil July 1st. It's going to be a whirlwind.

Speaking of whirlwind, on Friday I decided to cook as many meals as I could that could fit in my freezer to help us out. We won't have anyone staying with us to help out--my Mom can't do it with my Dad's health condition--and while we do have friends who have offered meals I still wanted to do what I could. Let me say I don't really want to see my kitchen for a while....I cooked: 15 vegetarian eggrolls, one veggie fake chicken enchilada cassserole, two vegetarian strombolis, eight black bean cakes, four feta vegetarian 'burgers,' and a lentil 'meat'loaf. Plus I stocked up on some easy stuff to cook and some of our favorites. I had to clean out the fridge and freezer, which always feels good. The deer in our neighborhood ate well, ha.

Otherwise, we've been packing, washing, filling out and gathering paperwork (we have to take NEW employment letters, just in case we lost our jobs this week, a copy of our taxes, a gazillion immigration forms, etc. etc. etc.) buying baby food and formula, sterilizing bottles, packing bottles, trying to anticipate the needs of two virtual stranger infants for a 16 hour flight and pack accordingly (ha, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!), cleaning our house, hiring our pet sitter, getting them on our insurance, making their pediatrician appointments, installing car seats....you get the drift. We've been busy.

About that long flight....God help us. But, our lovely friend Bea made 50 (fifty!) airline treat bags to hand out to passengers (picture below). In them, there are snacks, gum, ear plugs, and a lovely little poem that says the following:

We're becoming a family of four,

With two children we greatly adore,

Our daughter and son

Bring joy and such fun.

We feel more complete than ever before.

Please forgive their fussing and crying.

You see, it's just their first time flying.

We're now homeward bound

And til we touch the ground

This mommy and daddy are trying.

Isn't that the greatest! Hopefully it will engender some goodwill from the folks nearby as I'm sure we will have some less than beautiful moments on that long flight....

So those are the details as they are. Scattered, unorganized, but I wanted to get these thoughts and these activities down. We're so close.

So close.

Babies, you're coming home!

Yes, it's true.

We got approval for both babies, they have been cleared by the US Embassy!

Babies, we'll be there.

More details later....my mind is a spinning mess of good stuff!

I was this.close

I was this close to posting fantastic news today.
Fantastic news that would help make June 10th not such a horrible day.

June 10th, 2008...the day my sweet friend Gail lost her beautiful twin girls, Caroline and Samantha at nearly 20 weeks. A loss so unspeakable, a type of pain I didn't even know existed, and I say that as someone who witnessed it from afar, not lived through it.

June 10th, 2009...the day my sweet father had his massive stroke. The day that half of his brain died and he became paralyzed and unable to care for himself. The day my mom's life changed forever. All our lives did.

And then last night, although not technically June 10th, I read about sweet Lis, who lost her twin baby boy and girl at 21 weeks. This was after losing her sweet twin baby girls at 20 weeks in 2009.

This morning we woke up to an email...the email we had been waiting for. The email that said our case had cleared the US Embassy, that we could travel and go pick up our babies.

Except wait...it said we could travel to pick up our baby. One. Singular.

They have not completed our daughter's case. We have no idea when it will be completed. We were never prepared for this possibility. And of course, this happens on a Friday, and the Embassy is long since closed in Ethiopia.

"Are you willing to travel twice?" our agency wants to know.

Um, no. We cannot. We do not have that kind of money. Adoption shouldn't be about money, but let's face it, it's expensive. Traveling internationally is expensive. Buying airline tickets with only a week's notice is expensive. So no, we cannot travel twice.

The agony--to know that our son is available to unite with us but not our daughter. Leave him there? Wait? The unknown smacks us upside the head, yet again.

But none of this compares to the loss of babies. None of it. I know that.

I just wanted this June 10th to be different. But instead, I find myself sitting here, staring out our giant picture window wondering why? Why does any of this happen? Why does it seem like nothing is easy for those of us with infertility? Why do some people have two, three, nineteen babies without a hiccup and some lose four? Why am I faced with another agonizing decision, complicated by finances, powerless yet again.

To Gail, my heart will always break for the loss of Caroline and Samantha.
To Lis, my heart is breaking today for the loss of Thomas and Bayli. For the loss of Ayla and Juliet.
To my Dad, I am so sorry this happened to you. You deserved more.

And to me and Mr. MTL...we'll get through it, we always do.

6

Warning: this post is very "same song one millionth verse." I'm sorry for that, because if I could sing a new song I would-- in a heartbeat.


Today my little girl turns six months old.

So make that six months of her life that I have missed, save five precious days back in March. Our little boy is six and a half months old.

I have so many posts roiling around in my head but most of them are so depressing, or so raw, and I want to put them out there but sometimes when I overspeak my mind I get into trouble so I need to tread carefully.

There is another reason the number six is significant to me but I'll leave it at that.

We started this process over two years ago. I remember telling my parents about it, in the neuroICU at the Texas Medical Center, where my Dad lay suffering from his massive stroke. I told them to bring something good into the space, into a room that was so heavy with despair. His stroke happened two years ago on June 10th. He's a sliver of his former self.

I am, too.

How many ways can you feel foolish?
Why did I wash their little crib sheets a month ago? Why did we race out and buy diapers a month ago, thinking that at any day we'd get the call to travel and wouldn't want to be purchasing last minute items? Do you know how many clothes I have that say 6 months? That they will not even get the chance to wear?

I guess there are a million ways to feel foolish in this process.

The Embassy is already closed in Ethiopia so we won't get any news today.
Which means we go into another weekend with nothing. No news. No frenzied travel plans to make. Nothing.

We get to lace up our shoes and go for a long trail run. For weeks we had been saying the words "We should do this now while we still can..." but the last time I started to say it Mr. MTL interrupted and said "Stop. Please don't say that anymore. It's just too hard."

He's right. I don't give a fuck about being able to go on a long trail run, about being to sleep late (even though I don't/can't), being able to lazily watch the day slip by. I don't care. June was not supposed to arrive without my family on the same continent.
Sometimes when I hurt so deeply I can only exercise so hard I think I'm going to die of a heart attack. Because when you can barely breathe, when each step brings searing pain in your lungs and chest, at least your brain can't think about the issues that really are breaking your heart.

But that only lasts so long.

And then you're right back to the empty nursery, the birth announcements, the daily tasks of existing, the volunteer duties, the pregnant coworkers and their birth stories, the sinking into exhausted sleep only to be awakened with dreams that they are here. And then to realize in a fog that no, they are not.

Infertility was hard.
Three surgeries was hard.
Five IVF cycles was excruciating.
Dealing with others' pregnancies and babies during infertility was hard.
Filling out paperwork for adoption was hard.
Being interviewed and prodded and investigated and fingerprinted....all hard.
But this wait...this wait is the hardest by far.

See? I told you it was the same verse again.

There is no relief.

Too many tears today.
Bad news from our agency.
Nothing is happening.
We are powerless.
All we can do is wait.
And look at the two high chairs.
And close the door to the nursery.
And go to sleep, and wake up, and go to work.
And wait.
Day turns into night and night turns into day and nothing seems to change.
The powers that be do not care about my heartache, not at all.
We came home from work and climbed into bed.
We both crave sleep or a coma.
Escapism for sure.
We don't drink.
Maybe we should?
Exercise helps?
Nothing helps.
Work continues.
We're both so busy and under so much stress.
We're both about to crack.
My Dad barely recognizes me anymore.
My heart hurts.
My head hurts.
I cuddle my tiny dog closer and closer, nearly smothering her.
She is small.
My babies are no longer small.
They are not here.
They are not here.
They are not here.
I am here.
But they are not.
Another evening spent, wishing and hoping and praying.
We are lonely in the worst possible way.
Our hearts are broken right now.
I know it's part of the process, this interminable waiting.
But right now I hate certain government offices.
This is not the difference between a child who is three years old and one month vs. three years old and three months.
This is the difference between a five month old and a seven month old
Changes happen. I will not witness them.
I am seriously contemplating flying to Ethiopia and camping out at the foster home until the Embassy finishes.
What if they won't finish?
What if they can't finish?
It's happened before.
I'm being dramatic.
Am I?
Right now, it feels like there is no relief.

The names, and other updates

I am dying over here.

Dying.

I never imagined how hard this would be--could be. Every day without them is agony. It has now been two months since we first boarded that flight to Ethiopia, our stomachs fluttering with butterflies, our hearts about to be opened in a way we didn't even know was possible.

Two months.

Two months of going to sleep praying that someone is picking them up when they cry, that someone is feeding them when they are hungry, that someone is cuddling them close, and singing them songs, and nuzzling their sweet baby necks, and patting their soft baby backs.

Two months.

Our case has hit another snag at the Embassy earlier this week. We spent Monday night near tears as we ran through worst case scenarios, ones we cannot even really allow our hearts and minds to consider. Yet again we're at the mercy of other people, there are circumstances we can do nothing about.

I never thought that at two months post-first visit we'd still be sitting here, waiting, watching the calendar as the days tick by, not slowly, but at rapid-fire pace, another week gone, anther week passed in a flash without them here. Another week (in theory) that brings them closer to us but at the same time another precious week of their lives that we are missing, that can never, ever be recovered.

If you pray, please direct your prayers to the U.S. Embassy, that they work swifty and only in the best interest of our babies, and that we do not disintegrate into madness while we wait for news to travel.

In the meantime, you can add their real names to your pleas to the universe on our behalf, stitched so lovingly onto two beautiful Curious George quilts handmade by a wonderful fellow IF friend and IRL friend from my childhood. First names given by us, second names their beautiful Ethiopian names that will forever be a part of them.

I hope you can read them. I was playing with a camera app to blur out the edges (so I certainly wasn't trying to blur out the details of their quilts, just trying to put the focus on their names).

Two months.

PS Please don't type their names into the comments section--I don't want their names to be searchable, that's why they're presented in a photo format (idea stolen from Claudia!).



At last...


I am finally posting. I wish I were so delinquent for a good reason, like, say, traveling 7,000 miles across the globe to bring my babies home but not so. We're still waiting.

Thank you to those who checked up on me. I'm sorry I've been absent. It's been a strange time to be blogging.

OK. Where have I been and what have I been doing?

The shower.

It was amazing. It was surreal. It was emotional. The love and support I felt in that room was intense and there is not much more I can say about it other than that. Thank you to those who were there, physically and in spirit. I never thought I'd have one, and now I have. I have to look at the pictures myself to see the proof.

(Sister, Mom, and then there's me--the shower was at my house. Check out all the desserts!)

The living room right before everyone got there. You can't see all of them but there were fresh flowers (tulips and gerberas, my favorites!) everywhere. I loved them and wish I was wealthy enough to have fresh flowers all the time!

My sister gave me lots of Curious George stuff, including this adorable onesie for the little man. But when she said she'd been holding on to some of it for six years, well, it brought on some ugly crying on my part (no pics will be shared of that, sorry to disappoint. Just imagine my face, all red and scrunched up and contorted and there you go.)

The nursery:



The nursery.is.finished. We here at the MTL house like a modern aesthetic, but we also wanted to incorporate Curious George. So there you go. It's tough to go in there but I do. I love it as a room, but it hurts right now. Every single day they are growing and changing and I'm not witnessing it. I get my weekly photo update if I'm lucky, and they (of course) continue to be beautiful and gorgeous and perfect and they are growing growing growing. But the truth is, they won't be little babies when we bring them home. I guess I just have to be content with the five days of holding little babies that I had nearly two months ago.

My favorites are the tree on the wall, the modern little rockers, the zig-zag shelf (bought four year ago, sheesh!) and the red polka dotted rugs, which didn't really show up in the pictures.

Mother's Day.

You know how there's that old saying you can't  be a 'little bit pregnant?' Well, it turns out you can be a "little bit of a Mother on Mother's Day." I mean, people kept whooping it up and giving me big Happy Mother's Day wishes which was super nice--don't get me wrong--but without them here it just felt empty. I realize I am closer than I have ever been and believe me when I say I am grateful beyond words to have the privilege of adopting my babies, but it wasn't like I got any sloppy sugars or cuddles with anyone other than my furbabies.  I wasn't in a dark state of despair like previous years, and that is something, but it wasn't exactly the most joyous of days.

I don't want to sound like a broken record but it's just tough right now. We're so close--so close--but yet still, literally so far away. They are legally ours but yet we have to go through a third party to get anything done--to get an updated height/weight takes an Act of Congress sometimes. To arrange for an extra doctor's visit took over three weeks. Three weeks! If they were here, if we were a family together here, I could have had it done lickety split. It's wearing on us both. We're trying to enjoy the last 'free weekends' and so we've been doing lots of running and enjoying the outdoors, and seeing friends and family, and zipping here and there but we're tired. We've been running this ultra-marathon for years and it's time to retire those shoes. I've got blisters on top of blisters on top of calluses. But my heart has gotten one million times stronger and bigger, it's just waiting to share itself with the babies.

Up next, their names. I promise I won't take so long this time.