The 150th Step

I started this blog (and foolishly let it lapse right just as things got interesting) to document the journey that my wife and I had started as we sought to adopt a little girl. The blog was kicked off shortly after a friend asked about the adoption process. I started to explain all the things we were doing and still had to do before giving up and saying, "If the adoption process has 150 steps, we're on step 6."

Now, almost three years later, we've reached and completed step 150.

Today, the judge finalized the adoption of our baby girl, making us legally and forever a family. Over the last 6 months, she's captured such a huge part of my heart that I can't really remember what it was like before she dropped into our lives so suddenly. Actually, it's not that I can't remember. It's that I don't really care to. I can't imagine life without her, even the occasional barfing.

I'm actually having some difficulty processing that fact that the adoption is DONE. There will be no more paperwork, no more home visits, no more legal steps, at least not when it comes to ensuring that she is ours and we are hers. I fully expect paperwork and bills to keep coming for decades to come but that's the journey of parenthood and I honestly have no idea how many steps there are in that journey.

But I'm looking forward to finding out.

Oh wow!

Massive hurricane? Check. No light, power, phone, Internet or electricity for four days? Check. Switching to a new job? Check. Adopting a baby in the space of 48 hours? Sure! Why the hell not! Clearly, the Universe has a twisted sense of humor.

More details coming soon but the adoption journey is over and the journey as parents and a family begins today.

Welcome to the world and to our family, Esme Louisa!

Another Op'nin', Another Show

Another op'nin', another show

In Philly, Boston or Baltimo',

A chance for stage folks to say hello,

Another op'nin' of another show.

Another job that you hope, at last,

Will make your future forget your past,

Another pain where the ulcers grow,

Another op'nin' of another show.

Four weeks, you rehearse and rehearse,

Three weeks and it couldn't be worse,

One week, will it ever be right?

Then out o' the hat, it's that big first night!

The overture is about to start, 

You cross your fingers and hold your heart,

It's curtain time and away we go!

 -- "Another Op'nin, Another Show"

When it comes to the adoption process, I'm feeling like the stagehands and extras in Kiss Me, Kate faced with performance after performance of one show after another in city after city, hoping to finally reach the promised land of a big hit and the bright lights of Broadway.

I haven't written much in the last few months because, honestly, there hasn't been much to write about since the disruption and there's only so often that I can write (or anyone can read) about a lack of progress.

We biked into town today for the big July 4th parade and we were both thinking "another holiday, another month" without a baby. This is our third Independence Day since deciding to embark on this journey and it's feeling like it will never end, like there will never be a kid to clap and cheer with us for the marching bands, to cover her ears with her mom when the guys in Revolutionary War outfits fire their muskets, to run out into the parade route to hug the poor people walking in 95 degree weather while dressed as Elmo or Cookie Monster.

Intellectually I know it will eventually happen. Emotionally, I have trouble staying optimistic and so, instead, I'm just trying to ignore it now. I compartmentalize it. I don't think about it. The crib and the changing table, the glider and the baby clothes that we bought in February and March -- they are just background noise now and don't really register when I walk by our former guest room/future nursery. I get up, I go to work, I ride my bike. We read, we write, we go to museums, we visit with friends and family, we make plans for future events and we really don't take into account that we might have a baby at some point in the future. It's become an abstraction, which feels both like a loss as well as a necessary step to allow us to continue moving on.

Yes, it will happen in the future. It has, too. I need to believe it will. But until then, I just need to keep hoofin' it, making the trek to Philly, Boston, and Baltimo'. Eventually we'll get the Call again and the curtain will finally, finally go up on the next act.

The Dummies Guide to Adoption

In Jennifer's touching post today about moving forward, I was struck by this observation:

It's easier to wait now that just about everyone in our lives knows that our adoption placement fell through at the last minute. No more having to explain. No more saying "Chris and I will just move forward" or "I'm doing OK"  or "well, obviously the Universe has other plans for us" or "It is what it is" or any other hope-filled re-frame that I can think of to make others feel better about my pain. So many people have expressed their sympathy and asked their questions (for which I am really, truly, deeply grateful - even if I didn't sounds terribly grateful in that last sentence...) and heard the explanations. So, now it's a relief that I don't have to keep talking about it.

It struck me, as I read it, that there's an opportunity for us to find some small bit of humor and a bit of adoption education amidst our disappointment and our hopes for the future. 

I think I might begin sketching out an Adoption 101 guide for real people from someone who is going through the process. I remember in college that we joked about the fact that if we really wanted to leave college with marketable skills, they should teach a Life 101 class to help us understand how to deal with credit cards and health insurance and the myriad niggling details that make up our daily lives. I think we could create something like that with questions we wished we'd asked and thing we should have considered to help other people on similar journeys.

Of course, it won't all be dry text. I'm seriously considering an adoption-specific version of the scene on the bus in Bull Durham where Crash is teaching Nuke the most effective baseball cliches.

"The Universe has other plans for us."

"It's going to happen. It's just going to take a bit more time."

"It is what it is."

See what I mean? We'll be fine. We're moving forward and the Good Lord willing, it will all work out.

Thanks, Crash.

Supposed to be

It wasn't until late tonight, as I was making a salad to bring for lunch tomorrow, that either of us said it.

"How are you doing?" Jennifer asks me.

"Fine, I guess," I reply in a subdued tone. "Just trying not to think about what we were supposed to be doing today."

"Yeah," my wife replies. "Me too."

March 13th.

The due date.

I hope L had her baby today and that mother, daughter, siblings, and family are all happy. I wish them well and am keeping my fingers crossed that L made the right decision for all of them.

I'm just tremendously sorry that we weren't in a hospital in Glendale, AZ, today experiencing that same joy.

It will happen. I do believe that. But until it does, I won't look at March 13th the same way for a long time.