adoption delays
We are running into more delays with Haiti. This one really felt like a punch to the gut. I'm not sure why - by this point I should be more prepared for the insanity that is adoption from Haiti. The only thing that is predictable in this process is that nothing goes smoothly.
We are now almost two years into this process. When we first started out, I thought Keanan would certainly be home by now. I had his name on the waiting list at the preschool India starts at in 22 days. I have his bed ready for him in the room he shares with Jafta. And yet we find ourselves spinning our wheels again, with no real understanding of when he may come home. But it definitely won't be this summer. The little baby I met in May of 2007 is now almost 3.
It's hard to explain what is going on, so I'll offer two sets of explainations:
for those not familiar with Haiti: to be approved to adopt, there are three government agencies that must approve our adoption. They all work as slow as molasses and can take anywhere from 6-18 months in each stage. We were ready to leave the 2nd stage, but found out this week we got bumped back into the first stage.
for those who know the Haiti system: Parquet just sent our dossier back to IBESR to have presidential dispensation redone.
Now as to the inevitable WHY question - that's where we just have to go a little "numb+dumb" about the whole thing. Because there is absolultely no logic or rationale to this stuff. And to answer the constant question I get from caring and indignant friends: don't these people in the Haitian government care that they are keeping kids from joining a loving home?
The answer, sadly, is that I'm not sure that they really do care. Haiti is a hard and heavy place, and everyone is in survivial mode. I don't think international adoption is high on the priority list when your country is recovering from a year of natural disasters, famine, kidnappings, violence, and political unrest. I know that there are people at our orphanage who care very much, but there is nothing that anyone can do to make the "powers-that-be" move any faster at signing papers for the hundreds of children who wait.
Which leave us with this fact: We have a son, who continues to live in a different country, without the presence of his family. This is a fact that is so painful for me that it sometimes takes my breath away. It is painful for me, but how much more so for a child. I worry all the time about Keanan growing up without us. He is loved, and cared for, and I know he has a lot of fun. But he needs a mommy and a daddy.
Sometimes I wonder in this process what I would do if India or Jafta were forced to live in an orphanage in another country. I can't imagine I would sit idly by. I would probably pack us all up and move there to be with them, because they are my children. And that's really how it feels with Keanan, too. Mark and I both have a constant tug that we need to just pack it up and move to Haiti for however long it takes. But then the practicalities and anxieties of that plan overwhelm us, and we passively choose not to act on it, because we drop the subject for another couple of months. It's a conversation that is always on the table, and yet never really on the table. It becomes a sort of nagging guilt: I SHOULD BE WITH MY SON, BUT I'M TOO SCARED. And really, that's the truth of the matter. Fear.
So we go on with our busy lives and amp up the sarcasm a notch to hide the fact that we are in continuous pain over not being whole as a family. It is a seperation that is palpable, and even Jafta feels it. It has a weight like depression or grief, and we feel so utterly helpless to change things right now.
We have met other friends along this path, and they are going through similiar things. There is so much pain amongst waiting families, and there is pain for the waiting children, too. If you never have, go read Jamie's blog. She articulates so many of the feelings that I have, but don't have the energy to even speak.
Adoption is hard.
why it matters
sisters in matching outfits
cousins playing at grandma's house
Jafta playing t-ball
Pro-Lifers, Make Yourself Useful
There has been quite a bit of press this week about the abortion debate. It prompted me to write this article over at Conversant Life, suggesting the Pro-Life Movement re-think their tactics. I would love to start a dialogue on how those who oppose abortion can use that energy in useful ways. Have a look, leave a comment, and let me know what you think.
the happiest place on earth
We went to Disney on Saturday. I've had many a friend ask why in the world I would venture to Disney with a not-quite two-week-old. And I only have one explaination: free tickets. Disney was offering a pass for families in our fostercare agency, and they could be converted into annual passes, but only on this day. All of Mark's family has passes, as do many of our friends. We have felt the pressure to get passes for years, and this weekend we yielded.
Honestly, I'm not much of a Disney person. I hate crowds. I hate tourists. I grew up right by the other Disney (the one with more mosquitos), and I've been so many times that the appeal was gone long ago. I think most of the rides are lame, and I want to punch those Jungle Cruise hosts and their annoying commentary. Also - I am a totally lazy mom. The idea of packing up the diaper bag, stroller, sunscreen, change of clothes, food . . . oh my gosh I am tired just thinking about it. Why go to all that trouble when they can play at McDonald's for free?
Okay, so maybe my nickname "The Crappiest Place on Earth" has been a little harsh. We actually had a lot of fun.
ketchup
Things are rolling along here. The mastitis of the boob (or mystery lady part infection, as Mark likes to call it), is mostly done. It went away pretty much as quickly as it came. THANK GOD.
Life with a newborn often feels like a time vortex, where I have no idea how the hours pass by and how I am unable to complete simple and seemingly reasonable tasks. Today, my goal was to take a walk, to go grocery shopping, to send a fax, and to write one product review for my mama blog. I did none of those things. I should be doing other things right now, in fact, but blogging is seeming even more therapeutic in my current stage of life. I had immediate sharer's remorse after blogging about my boobs a few days ago. But after I got numerous comments (and even more private emails) of others with their own similar story, I felt so much less alone. Somehow the blogging makes the day feel a bit less mindless and menial.
Speaking of, I am ridiculously behind on emailing, returning phone calls, and have pretty much given up on trying to comment on other blogs for now. I am still reading, and I still love you all. Heather, been meaning to tell you how much I love your new layout. Corey, had lots of ideas for your pantry items. Jamie, had lots of witty comebacks for Old Navy lady. There are a million things I want to say to you blog friends out there, but usually I have one hand to scroll down and read, while the other cradles a baby. So . . . I lurk, and don't comment. I still love you.
Karis is doing well. She is an easy baby as long as she is held. But wowzers, she is pissed when I put her down for a moment to do something self-indulgent like using the bathroom. It's a wee bit tiring, and by the time Mark comes home, I am usually begging him to hold her. I try to wear her in the sling as much as I can, but I am hoping this phase passes and she will someday enjoy that cute bouncy seat I paid out the nose for and sits unused in the living room.
I've been struggling with anxiety a bit. Okay, a LOT. I know this is a part of the hormone drop/postpartum thing for me, and I am trying to keep it in check. But my baseline right now is pretty much DEFCON 5. I am a crazy mess of worry, and most of it revolves around Karis. Last week we had her second doctor's appointment, and she had not gained the expected amount of weight in the week since her birth. This is what the doctor said to me:
"I'd like you to keep an eye on her weight. Make sure she is feeding well. I expect she will catch up, so I don't want to make an appointment just to weigh her again. Just watch for signs that she is plumping up and call me next week if you think she's not gaining."
This is what I heard him say:
"Your daughter is grossly underweight and I suspect that it is due to a life-threatening illness. Keep vigilant watch on her every move and maintain a visual accounting of her weight to document the course of her disease."
Yeah. So I've spent a better portion of the week staring at her, and wondering if she looks like she's gained weight, and stressing because she looks exactly the same to me. I got so sick of myself this morning that I took India to the post office to weigh her, just to put an end to the matter. I hoisted her carseat up onto the scale, then I took her out, and calculated the difference. I think the other people waiting to weight their mail thought I was nuts, but it was worth it. I am happy to report, her weight is right where it should be. Unfortunately, my brain is still in crisis mode, and I'm sure I will be stressing about something new within a few hours.
It reminds me of my first few weeks with India, when she had a terrible case of jaundice. I was told repeatedly that jaundice was common, that it was treatable, and just a matter of time before her bilirubin levels evened out. Yet somehow I was sure she was dying, and would be one of the rare cases of children that actually dies from jaundice.
Oh, my brain is just a fun, fun party sometimes.
A Happy Mother's Day
Today was a great mother's day. I woke up at 10am!! (of course I also woke up to Karis at midnight, 3am, and 6am, but it was nice to sleep in and try to catch up). I also found breakfast waiting for me. What a great hubby!
We had a lazy morning and then went to Habana's for lunch. It's my favorite restaurant and we've gone there every year for Mother's Day since we got Jafta. I certainly wouldn't have thought on that Mother's Day that I would be back four years later with 3 kids in tow! It's not really a family-oriented place so there wasn't a crowd, and their outdoor patio was sunny and perfect. And cuban food . . . yum. I was excited to have a mojito for the first time in 10 months.
I really do feel so blessed this Mother's Day!
Here is the card Jafta made at school for me. I thought it was pretty funny. My hair is white? I thought I was doing a better job of covering that up. But it's flattering that he thinks I only weigh 45 lbs.
Mama Confessions
For a little mother's day laugh, here is a video of confession we made for Mama Manifesto last year. This may or may not have involved some late-night wine. You decide.
What are your mom confessions? I think it's always funny (and relieving) to share some of the ways we cope as moms.
Happy Mother's Day!
spoke too soon
I haven't had a lot of energy to blog lately, and more than a lack of time, it's really been trying to avoid talking endlessly about breastfeeding on my blog. I mean, I do realize that most people are not sitting around waiting to read a story about nursing, much less wanting to hear about things like engorgement or proper latching or leakage. Trouble is, this is leaving me very little to blog about. Because somehow, in the last two weeks, it seems to be the only thing I am doing or thinking about. I am tethered to the sofa by a very hungry newborn, and it is endless and mindless and OH MY GOSH HOW MUCH CAN ONE BABY EAT. And yes, breastfeeding is good for the baby and natural and all that. It's a great bonding experience. For like 10 minutes. And then 45 minutes in, I start feeling just a wee bit trapped, and like I might just out of my skin if I can't get up at that very moment and detach this parasitic being from my boob.
(A parasitic being that I love very much).
Well, since I seem to be indulging the breastfeeding stories, (Dad, if you haven't stopped reading yet, here is your cue) I supposed I will share that yesterday I woke up with a screaming case of mastitis. It was awful. It started out with just a painful boob, but by noon I was having the full-on chills, body aches, and a fever, and could barely walk around from fatigue. I did something I have never done before - I called Mark in a panic and asked him to cancel all of his clients and come home. I knew I needed to get in to see the doctor (even though, of course, I had already diagnosed myself thanks to the wonders of Google).
I was horrified to read that the cure for mastitis is basically EVEN MORE BREASTFEEDING. Awesome. Kind of like being told that you have a broken toe and the cure is to balance your entire body weight on said toe for several hours a day.
Remember when Bella got bit in the arm by James, the evil tracker vampire in the ballet studio, and she describes the pain as being the most intense, burning, terrifying pain that she had ever felt? Yeah, that's pretty much what breastfeeding with mastitis feels like.
(And stop pretending like you didn't read Twilight.)
So yeah, all that talk two days ago about the wonders of living pain-free and the beauty of not being pregnant anymore? Spoke too soon.
A few weeks ago, I wrote a post about "white people problems". It was mostly in fun, but I've actually been using it as a sort of mantra lately. It's been pretty useful as I've entered into the newborn phase, and transitioned into a mom of three young kids. This may come as a shock (hold your laughter) but I am a bit prone to panic, overexaggeration, and fatalism. I may have a tendency to blow things out of proportion from time to time. It's something I am working on. So in order to keep myself in check, I've been asking myself every time I feel myself going into panic mode:
Is this a white person problem?
(And of course I realize that many minority groups lead a similiar life of relative priviledge here in America. If it offends, we can call it "middle-class American problems".)
So when I start complaining about not getting any sleep with a newborn, I remind myself that millions of women have been through the same thing. When I start getting testy about my husband's work demands, I remind myself that my husband has an amazing and secure job with great flexibility. When I begin to whine about having two small children sharing a room, I remind myself that we have a beautiful home by most standards of the world, and that many children grow up sleeping in a home with only one room, period.
WHITE PEOPLE PROBLEMS.
Yesterday, however, my mantra was failing me as we headed to the doctor with my fever spiking. It started to further slip as, on the way to the doctor, our car started breaking down due to a fender-bender that happened two weeks ago, that we failed to report to our insurance because we didn't want to turn in a sweet couple with no legal documentation to be driving, much less living, in this country. Turns out the damage was much worse than we thought, and we had to turn around and drive on side-streets to get our lurching car home. I tried saying the mantra to myself. "This is a white-person problem. We are fortunate that we have two cars at all. Even if they are crappy".
And then Mark informed me that he had tried, and there was no way to fit all three kids into our Honda Civic.
Mantra losing effectiveness.
The mantra sort of floated away like a balloon when, after my appointment, we were presented with the bill from my delivery.
The mantra was all but gone when we learned that afternoon that a persistent leak in our bathroom was unfixable, and would require a basic home remodel to fix.
Still haven't heard from the mechanic about our car, but I'm guessing it isn't good.
All that to say, I'm in severe pain, I have a family of five with a car that holds four, and we have some big bills to pay this month. Yes, in the grand scheme of things, these are not insurmountable obstacles to my life.
But today . . .
Today I'm a wee bit overwhelmed.
P.S. Oh yes. And to top it all off, Mark decided that in an effort to protect my privacy, he would just elusively let people know that I had an infection. Rather than saying mastitis. So that everyone can think I have some sort of an infection (dun dun DUN) and come to their own conclusions about what kind of nasty afflictions a woman who recently gave birth might be dealing with. Thanks, babe. Way to spare me any embarrassment.
the photo shoot
Nancy and Sarah hooked me up with a photo session for Karis with Christine Hobson, an amazingly talented photographer. She came over on Sunday and turned our house into a photo studio. She is so good with babies and knows how to keep them sleeping while snapping all kinds of poses. Here is a photo of her doing her thing:
And here are some of the results:
the after-birth
Okay, I promise. No placenta talk. But if you really want to throw up in your mouth right now, check this out. Don't say I didn't warn you.
