Is there such a thing as "adoptive parenting"?

We were out at a fair the other day as a family. It was a school fair and we knew most of the people there and so we had a great time catching up with everyone and showing off the newest member of our family, who spent most of his time asleep.

J was having a lovely time too. He is a very social little guy and he enjoys playing and dancing with older children, and so he was up on stage busting some moves with some of my ex-pupils when I was approached by one of their parents.

This dad urged me to go away, go sit down and rest, or get a drink. I told him I was OK, plus I wanted to keep an eye on J. He insisted that J was fine where he was, dancing with the girls and that they would look after him. I explained to him that he was still little and I wanted to be close where he could see me. What followed caught me a little by surprise...

It was a whole tirade on overprotective Greek mothers, on helicopter parenting and many things besides. He was almsot angry at me for not leaving my son to play on his own. I was very taken aback and to be honest would not have had the courage to reply, even if I'd had the opportunity, but at that point J tripped a little while dancing. He fell onto his knees and his reaction surprised the dad and stopped him in his tracks.

Within seconds J had gone from laughing toddler to a wailing mess. Tears streamed down his face and he struggled to catch his breath. The dad was further surprised by my response, and had he been given the chance, I have no doubt that he would have given me another piece of his mind. I scooped my little boy up and cuddled him close. I dabbed his tears as he wailed 'Mama' and clung onto me. I held him and rocked him and held him some more. 

I know my response was over the top, especially as J had not really hurt himself. But with J, who grew up in an orphanage, a lot of my parenting IS over the top. That's because we are still at the stage where he learns what mum and dad are there for. And sometimes it requires explicit teaching.

For example, I am sure the dad lecturing me on being overprotective didn't have to teach his daughter to call for him in the night when she woke up. In fact, my guess is he had to do the opposite. I'm sure he didn't have to teach his kid, like I had to, to look for him when he gets hurt and that comfort can be found in mummy's hugs, not only by sucking your thumb and rocking all by yourself.

J is a fantastically clever boy who has been learning very quickly all these family skills. He now looks for me when he gets hurt and he calls for me or D when he wakes up at night. He asks for his nappy to be changed and he is finally figuring out that it's ok to not want to eat right now - there will be more food later.

Kids who have not grown up in families exhibit a lot of behaviours that need to be left behind once a loving family is there. But these family skills that take their place need to be practised a lot! And so, in a way, we parent them slightly differently. We play more, we hug more, we encourage dependence before we move towards independence. 

With my biological son my job will be to "cut the umbilical cord" bit by bit. For J we first need to create an umbilical cord- he needs to feel safe, connected and to know that we've got his back, no matter what. Once that happens, we can start moving towards independence.

Adoption myths - The Miracle Pregnancy Part 1

Those of you who are fellow adoptive parents must have heard it. Those of you who are not, might have thought it or even said it. The "You are sure to get pregnant after you adopt" comment. It actually comes in many different versions but the essence is always the same: Once you adopt, you will also get pregnant.

Now, I know that it happens. It, sort of, happened to us (but not quite - read on). I don't want to talk about our case specifics so much as I want to tackle some of the thinking behind the phrase. So, if you are one who has uttered it, please think of the implications. If you are one who hears it (don't all adoptive parents - maybe not, maybe it's just Greece) you can thoughtfully direct the person who comments here.

There are several assumptions behind the phrase.  

First, that you, as a couple have not been able to get pregnant. When people say "you will get pregnant after you adopt" they automatically assume that you have not been able to. Although that is certainly true of some adopters, not all adoptions come at the end of a long road of infertility (and if/when they do that's also fine).

Second and linked to the above is the assumption that adoption was your plan B. Again, for many people it is (or even plan C or D, and again that's also fine) but for some people it is plan A. Or it is a plan B that comes before plan A has been shelved. Or many other variations on that theme.

When someone utters the phrase "you wait, now you've adopted you'll have one of your own" there are a few implicit messages there too. Maybe people don't mean it that way, maybe they don't even think about it much, but there is a message that an adoptive child is somehow less yours, and that your ultimate aim is "one of your own".  I know many adopters and I can say that that's certainly not the case: our adopted kids are every bit ours, as our biological kids.

A favourite of anyone who's ever struggled with infertility is the phrase: "Just relax and it will happen". Sometimes the "miracle pregnancy" is a substitute for it; in fact, if I had a euro for each time someone has implied that my pregnancy was a result of "relaxation" after our adopted son arrived, I could probably buy that new pair of running shoes I've been lusting after... 

I have to gently remind people that I was 4 months pregnant when J joined our family! In fact, this particular phrase might warrant its very own follow-up post.

There is sometimes also another implicit message (and in fact in my case it has been said explicitly at least half a dozen times): "Now that you have done your good deed, God will reward you with one of your own". Where do I even begin with that one? This  post here is a good start. Just don't say it in front of my kids, or you may get to see this mama get very angry!

Finally and let me say this here once and for all: Our adopted son was not our last-ditch attempt at infertility treatment! 

There, I've said it. Have a good week all!

to be continued (with some numbers, next time)...

Adoption is not charity

Here's something I want you to know: when I'm out with my 21 month old please don't stop me to congratulate me, it really bothers me. 

In case you've missed it my eldest, J, is adopted. It is fairly obvious even if you've only just laid eyes on us, especially when we are out as a family. 

People stare. I don't mind that and I hope neither will J when he grows up, it's part of being different in quite a homogeneous society like the Greek one (his dad also gets stared at for being taller than normal and ginger...).

I also don't mind people asking questions, provided they are being tactful and genuinely interested. And if I nod and smile politely that means you overstepped the mark... 

But I do object to people congratulating me for my choice to adopt. Especially when this is done in front of my son. I don't deserve congratulations any more than you do for deciding to have a child. We did not adopt to save anyone, we adopted because we wanted to be parents; that's all adoption is: an alternative way to have a family. 

What hurts me and worries me more is the message that is implicitly passed onto my son. The message that he is a charity case, that we adopted him to save him and that he should somehow be grateful to us. That can't be further from the truth. If nothing else, and this is something that we should all keep in mind when talking about adoption, there are waiting times for both domestic and international adoption. Contrary to urban mythology, especially here in Greece, those waiting times are not because the state is making us wait, or keeping available kids from being adopted. The truth really is much simpler: there are more parents waiting to adopt than available children. That means that if we hadn't adopted J, someone else would have! 

I can't imagine my life without him- he has brought so much to our lives and being a mum to him is simultaneously my biggest challenge and my biggest joy. Celebrate us, our multicultural family, but please don't congratulate us. All we wanted was a child to love! 

A few things I've learnt

We have now been waiting for 9 months. For those of you who have not been following, that is 9 months post- match. Normal post- match wait is between 6 and 8 weeks, though for some it's faster and for others slower. 

It is now clear that things have not gone well. We are coming to terms with the fact that this story might not have a happy ending. Seeing everyone come back with their kids, after 5-6 weeks of waiting, seeing people matched well into our wait period and now have completed families sucks. SUCKS. 

Yet, I am also learning so much in this period of my life. So lessons useful, some interesting, some annoying... Here is a small list of what I've learnt, while waiting for our court date.

1. People are different

The same people in the same situation can still have a different reaction. In fact, most do. People have different tolerance levels, different reactions: some close down, some remain unreasonably positive, some get angry. Some offer help, some ignore and go on, some stew. Judging these reactions is not for me, we all do what we can to survive through another day. 

The first point bring me to my second lesson:

2. I have an unusually strong reaction to stress

It could be because of my past: of the trauma I haven been through the last four years. It might be because I was made this way. It might be because I think too much. Whatever it is, is is what it is... I am finding ways to cope with my reaction day by day, with the help of those around me. I cannot change my reaction at his point, I can temper it, accept it and try and learn from it.

3. No matter how bad a day is, tomorrow might just be better

No guaranties with this one. But chances are some sleep and some TLC will make it better. Sometimes it won't, but hopefully there will be another day.

4. It' s ok to be angry...

5. ...but it's not ok to be take it out on your nearest and dearest.

Or on your colleagues. Or the children you work with. Or while driving. Or on the dogs. Basically, you need to find a anger-busting activity to engage in. (Confession: I sometimes write angry emails... And never send them...)

So... I might be full of wisdom (not) but I still struggle a lot as I wait. As I reshape my expectations once more. As I wonder if we will ever become parents...  

Marathon

D and I are keen long-distance runners. He is fast and I am not, but we both enjoy the training for races the preparation, the anticipation, the pain and the pleasure of starting and of finishing. Not of winning, but of being part of the process, of the communal experience, of, what I see as a huge celebration of life. This might be the reason why I have likened our journey to parenthood to a race.

When we first started thinking about trying for a family we expected it to be a sprint. Many people around us (most it felt like at the time, and feels that way often) would decide to start a family and then, usually around a year later, would have a healthy, bouncy baby in their arms. In fact most of the people who got married around the same time as we did (5 years ago) or even after us, now have one, some even have two, babies.

And so we thought it would be simple. While trying to get pregnant, it started to dawn on me that maybe not, maybe it would not be a 100m sprint – maybe it was a hurdles race, but that too was OK: we had already learnt that we were good at hurdles, D and I.

After getting pregnant and losing the pregnancy at three months we had to re-evaluate. Most people, my doctor included, simply saw this as a small bump (pun wholly unintended) on the road and that, in fact, we would be pregnant again in no time and we’d have our very own baby soon.

They were right, in part. I fell pregnant again shortly after, barely two months after my first pregnancy. They were not right about the second part, though. I miscarried again at 11 weeks.

Things were looking bleak. The race was getting longer and it was becoming clear, to me at least, that nobody knew quite how long it would actually be. Especially as, after some surgery to remove the defunct placenta from my uterus, it seemed unlikely that I would ever be able to get pregnant again.

The race was evolving from a simple 400m hurdles, to the gruelling 3000 metre steeplechase. And the sad fact of the matter was, I had not prepared for it, I had not trained, had not expected to be running so far and was feeling pretty knackered already.

A year later and several surgical procedures, some complications, a post-operative infection and quite a few weeks spent in a hospital setting, I got pregnant again! The race seemed to be nearing its end – I could see the finish line and I thought all I had to do was sprint to the end.

It was not to be, the finish line was to be moved once more and I was to be informed that actually, this was not a simple track race after all – this was turning into a road race – possibly a marathon.

Marathons take grit and determination, they take commitment and preparation and they take the unwavering belief that you are doing the right thing – no doubt can creep into the preparation for a marathon. Adoption was definitely a marathon and we entered prepared. At the same time, all around us, people entered parenthood with what seemed like minimal effort.

But as our marathon unfolds, as we run through the mile markers it is becoming obvious that this is no ordinary marathon. That even in this path that we have chosen, the route is unmarked and, in fact, it is not a simple road race, but a trail marathon, the length of which is undisclosed.

We are somewhere around mile 23, somewhere high in the clouds, led by a compass we are not sure is working, with a map that has several holes in it, but always, always maintaining the belief that somewhere out there is a finish line for us. That, if nothing else, our path to parenthood has challenged us in so many ways that it has made us stronger. That our unwavering belief that we want to be part of this race will carry us through the darkness after:  the tough days of parenting. Because the finish line is not the goal at all, in the end. Because the finish line is also a start line to the rest of our lives. 

A Big Day

Today was a Big Day. Not ours, alas, but of some very good friends with whom we have been through most of this process: the road to adoption. 

We met P and A on our fourth night in Ethiopia, a Greek couple who had gone through the paper trail, the home study and who were there, at the same time as us, to be matched with their kids. 

We gelled instantly - they were warm, on our wave-length, with the same concerns regarding ethics, with the same worries and hopes regarding transracial, international adoption. We enjoyed their company and kept in touch, and P has been my rock, the voice of reason and my help in all of this. I hope that I too, have helped her on some level. 

The long road to adoption came to a happy end today for them, as they return home with their precious children. A new journey, infinitely more exciting and rewarding has already started for them: the life-long adventure of parenthood. I wish them all the best - they certainly have the love, patience and energy to be wonderful parents. 

And we wait... but feel like our time is coming too. Somewhere out there, in the future... maybe soon. 

Taking things personally...

...and letting go!

I am guilty as charged. I am one of those people. I do take things personally. I read this post on Agnostic Adoption's blog. (I think it needs to make it into my adoption resources page!) and it made sense! 

I loved the graph, I loved the advice and I sorely needed it. But what really resonated was one phrase. Here it is: " If your referral/match doesn’t work out I recommend thinking of the event as “what happened” as opposed to “what happened to me”."

Oh my goodness this rang some bells! That is exactly how I think. Not just in the adoption process, but in everything in life (here is a link to the insanity in full swing in my post The Queue of Life). Everything is personal. My dad's illness and death. D's two years of unemployment. The losses we suffered while trying to become parents. The adoption wait. At some point, it has all become personal. At some point, however, I have also had to let it go and move on.

The main way for me to move on seems to be to get away from the personal, get away from this "what happened to me" and see things simply as they are: "what happened". 

I had one of those moments a couple of days ago. After more waiting and phonecalls with out lawyer, and with adoptive parents in-country, after yet another setback and moving of our court date further into the uncertain fogginess of the future, I broke down. The thinking was just that: "Look what has happened to us!"
Sensitised further by our prior losses, carrying our baggage firmly on our backs, we questioned whether we are "meant to" become parents. Once more. 

D spoke to me with more patience and more wisdom than I have ever possessed (and this is how I know he is meant to become a parent...). He soothed me and presented the facts, just as facts, taking the ego out of it all. This is simply what happened. We move on.

I feel lighter. I have admitted to myself that I have no control, apart from taking my response to this and "fixing" it. I wait and I march on. I have taken the personal out of it! I, at least for now, have let it go!

The "Just Adopt" comment (Part 1)

It is common, I am told, while going through infertility to be told to "just adopt". It is a suggestion that is often banded around, as if referring to going down the supermarket and buying some milk. It sounds like the simplest thing: "Why don't you just adopt?" It makes it sound simple, and easy and devoid of complications. It makes it sound great, almost like an impulse buy. ("We just decided to adopt a few weeks ago. Isn't she great?")

The reality, of course, is much, much different. Paper-chase and home-study aside (they deserve their very own post) the process is most often much longer than a pregnancy, full of decisions that few bio parents need to make. When entering the adoption process my husband and I had to fill in a form that outlined the sort of disabilities we could cope with in our children. The list went from the relatively simple, such as a hearing difficulty or partial eyesight, to the downright complicated like cystic fibrosis and celebral palsy. For two people who had not parented before, the academic choice was astounding, crippling and anything but simple. 

And then it's the time. It's not that it takes long: most people who go into adoption are aware of the longer time frames. It is the uncertainty of it all: it could take a year, or it could take four. Not to mention that in most cases you don't even know the sex or age of the child you will parent. This can, of course, be a delightful surprise when the time comes, but it does make preparing for the little one (or little ones) a little harder. 

Speaking of preparations: we have started none! We still don't know when (or some days "if") the little ones will make it into our house (because they have certainly made it into our lives already!) and so we have decided to not prepare a room just yet. Some friends who are in the same process found out last Friday that they have a court date next Monday and now have one week to get a room ready, buy bottles and clothes, dummies and toys. Not to mention plan a trip, book hotels and find a cat-sitter. 

I realise full well that pregnancy is not a walk in the park. In fact, I have been there, albeit not at the end of it all. I understand that child birth is no field day either, for most people. Yet, there is a certain predictability in it all that I am deeply envious of. 

As we wait to "just adopt" these thoughts are with me. And with my friends who are awaiting to become parents, both pregnant and paper-pregnant. Good things come to those who wait. 

 

The Weight of the Wait

Days pass. The kids are growing up. Away from us. Growing older, but without getting what children need: love, warmth, attention, stimulation.

We talk quite a bit about the orpahange where they are, because it is a place of contradictions. For our western eyes it looks incredibly poor. I was shocked to see they only had one toilet, for about 30 children and 12 staff. I also noticed that there was only one tap in the whole orphanage, connected to one of those plastic water drums on the roof. It was outside and it was used for everything: from washing babies and making formula, to cleaning your feet and face after you come back from school every day. The water from the tank is used for drinking, personal hygiene, as well as handwashing clothes and plates. Rows and rows of freshly washed clothes line the small yard. 

There is no kitchen as such, but a little portable barbecue-like contraption that gets lit twice a day and where the food is cooked. We watched the ladies cook one day and it was fantastic, yet so different from what one imagines you would need in order to cater for 30 (I guess a lot of the babies only eat formula, but still...)

This poverty of the surroundings starkly contrasted with the emotional wealth of the ladies there. These women, 12 altogether, though in shifts, seemed to genuinely care for the little ones. However, and this is what I try to explain to my friends and relatives who do not get institutionalisation: this is not what kids need! It is simply not enough. One carer for six babies below five months is not enough. The children learn day by day that their cares will not be met, that no matter how much they cry no one will come for them, comfort them, pick them up, change their nappy, feed them. The silence of the baby room is deafening!

And so our baby too is growing bigger and older. He is learning to smile and sit up. He is still sucking his thumb. He is learning, every day, that no one comes when you cry. He is learning that he is alone in the world and that the world is fundamentally an unsafe place. And if you think I am exaggerating, read this study on the neurodevelopmental effects of institutionalisation in infants and this on some of  the emotional effects (also this if you want to read more). And all of the above compounded by the trauma of losing your first family...

So when I whine about the wait, when I moan about the numerous delays, about the paperchase, about the endless "next weeks" (because right now it does feel endless) it is not because I want to be a mum tomorrow (though that would be nice). It is because I know that with everyday that passes changes occur, that will be hard to fix...

And I fully realise that the additional wait is there because there are new proceducers, procedures which are meant to safeguard children and I applaud that with all my heart. On the other hand, a big part of me mourns for the little baby who will spend one more day in the silent baby room. The wait for the weight is knowing that these kids are leaving a precious part of their childhood in the soiled sheets of an orphanage. 

Limbo

As we had a week off last week, it was our plan to start re-organising our home for the arrival of the little ones. 

A bit of background. We were matched back in late September. We visited them in late October. He was 4 months, she was around 3 years old. We fell in love. 

Local offices closed, preventing new referrals from moving onto court dates. Then local offices opened. Then MOWA (the Minsitry of Women's Affairs) changed several bits of the process of adoption, making the process less prone to corruption. Great! Also longer. Not so great. 

We have been waiting for a court date. Others who got referrals around the same time had their court dates last week. Turns out there's a discrepancy between what MOWA wanted on one of the papers and what the local authorities wrote. More waiting. And more uncertainty. 

We are tired. We are worried about both of them. Yes, we know that adoption is never predictable, but the last five months of not knowing what to expect have been tough. I am not sure what I should be doing, and what I shouldn't. 

Should I start getting their room ready? Should I be buying things, borrowing from friends (who keep offering)? How much of my reluctance to prepare is simply my own fear, the deep part of my brain that remains superstitious, that keeps connecting unconnected events and reads causality in random happenings? 

We did nothing. The room that will become their bedroom is still our office. A million books still occupy it. (It really does feel like a million books...) I keep asking myself daily whether we should be moving them, whether I should get the cot from this friend, whether I should start child-proofing the house. 

Yet I don't. We wait...

Thorny Issues

I was delighted to get my first comment today! Unfortunately, I felt I had to delete it, as it was a virulent attack, which included several ill-wishes towards me and my family. 

It did, however, give me a chance to talk about the thorny issue in adoption, and especially international adoption: that of corruption. 

It is an issue that occupied mine and my husband's minds as we considered adoption from Ethiopia. We put a lot of research into ethical adoption and we read, listened to and researched corruption and ethics in Ethiopia. 

One of the steps that we took included going through a not-for-profit organisation, like International Social Services (whose job is to safeguard the rights of children worldwide). As to the amount of money our adoption cost us I would like to mention that it was nowhere near rge number that the comment suggested. 

Here are a few of the resources we looked at while preparing to make a decision regarding adoption:

Ethica

Claudia Chapman on adoption ethics

Creating a Family radio show on corruption in international adoption

Another podcast on corruption, The Hague treaty etc

Ethical International Adoptions Blog

The Creating a Family podcast makes an interesting point, in that the fact that there is corruption does not mean that there might not also be need for orphans to find homes. The solution is not banning international adoption altogether, but finding ways to safeguard families, find and uproot corruption and commit to ethical practice. She mentions, though please don't take my word for it and listen to the podcast yourself, that often after international adoption shuts down, children still flood the orphanages (she talks of Guatemala, if I remember correctly, where corruption was very wide-spread) yet there is poor care and no hope of in-country adoption. 

The thorny issue is this: corruption in international adoption exists. It is our responsibilty to make sure, to investigate, to the best of our ability, our agency, our adoption provider, the orphanages, their social workers, the stories of our children.

I have not written about it because I genuinely feel that there are people way more qualified who can say it better than I ever could. But I wanted to say that we have been aware of it, acutely so, during our decision and during our adoption. 

On Silver Linings

We have had unusually cloudy weather for the last couple of weeks. Spring does bring its showers, but this year the clouds that have come have really been so impressive to behold. This, coupled with my fourth anniversary of my dad's death and the difficulties in our adoption process has really got me thinking about clouds and their silver linings. 

I am slowly realising that the often-used saying about every cloud having a silver lining, is in fact true. And it seems to me that often, the darker the clour the more shiny its lining too. Here are the "darkest clouds" of my last few years and their silver linings...

1. My dad's illness

Cancer is ugly. It can suck the life out of a person, it can reduce their physical body to something still alive, but fundamentally dead. That happened to my dad and in a way, looking for a silver lining here is not easy. It did, however, show me that the spirit is much more resilient than the body. My dad remained strong and full of life, in spirit, until the end. 

My dad's illness also brought us to Greece. Although that journey seemed (and was) hard at the time, here we are now. And being in Greece has facilitated, through its own difficulties, some of our biggest successes. 

2. My dad's death

My dad's death taught me to value life. Here's one of my posts about it, on my old blog, the day after my dad died. Life goes on. Life is short. Life should be full of the things that matter. Those lessons were my silver lining. 

3. My miscarriages

At the time they felt like the biggest, greyest cloud. It felt like we would never resurface. And yet we did, and now we are waiting to be parents for the first time, through adoption. Adoption is not the only silver lining for us. Those losses have made me hugely more empathic. They have made me think about the magnitude of the losses my future children will have felt by the time they come to us. I am a different person for having lost and gone on. For having learnt to adjust the sails. 

4. D's unemployment

One of the obstacles we had to face after moving to Greece, back in 2008 and in the midst of the crisis, was that D was not able to find a job. He had been a banker for 12 years and the crisis, coupled with a lack of Greek and a lack of connections, meant that he could not find a job. He kept looking, with undiminished energy, but I could see, in the way he was, in his demeanour and enthusiasm (or lack thereof) that each month of unemployment was taking something away from him. 

I guess unemployment can be partucularly difficult for men, especially if they have been working ever since their late teens and D was no exception. The cloud was large and unmoving, lingering over our lives and casting its shadow on many areas. 

The silver lining: D decided to follow his dreams and change careers. He took a year our where he retrained as a teacher, and in 2011 he started teaching at an international school in Athens. Again,  adjusting the sails was needed, but fortune favours the brave... and it worked out in the end. 

5. The difficulties in the adoption process

Anyone who has adopted, or has even considered adoption is aware of the difficulties of the process. They know about the endless paper-chase, the doctors and social workers, the lawyers and other professionals that are involved in creating a family through adoption. They know of the painful wait before the match, and what feels like the even more painful wait after the match too. They can imagine the difficulties when laws and regulations change, when unexpected obstacles appear in your way. 

But here's something I am convinced of, which I also heard on a podcast I was listening to the other day from Creating a Family (an amazing resource, if you are considering adoption). 

They mentioned, on the podcast, that people who have experienced infertility or other dfficulties in creating their family (and I guess adoption fits in well here), those people who have had to really struggle to become parents, tend to have a more positive experience when they do eventually become parents. I call it Conscious Parenthood and I hope to write about it soon. 

I look forward to this silver lining!

Finally... here is what I have learnt about clouds and silver linings:

It takes time for silver linings to appear. They are there, no doubt about it, but while you are under that dark cloud, everything looks unbearably grey - you cannot see the silver lining, sometimes because you simply cannot look up to find it, and sometimes because the darkness is overbearing. But the silver lining comes... eventually... even if it takes four years and a lot of tears. 

On Becoming a Mum

I wrote a post a a couple of weeks ago about the 10 things I like about not having kids (yet) and it has  been on my mind a lot lately. It was the idea of having kids, coupled with the idea of becoming a mum that a friend of mine were discussing. 

She is 7 and a bit months pregnant and she was talking about how being a mother already has changed her life. The decisions she makes, her habits, the way she looks at her future. I can completely understand that. It did, however, bring this question to the forefront of my mind: When does a woman become a mother?

For some it's easy - I'm sure there are women out there who are certain they became mothers the minute their children were placed in their arms. I am referring to bio mums here, of course, the ones who gave birth to their babies. Some will claim they felt like mother the minute they saw the two blue lines on thep pregnancy test. Others will say when they first saw their baby in an ultrasound, or heard his heartbeat. 

In adoption, still, things are even more complicated. Is it when you accept a match? Is it when the court pronounces you a parent? Is it when you meet your child for the first time, when you feed her, hold her, change her nappies? Or does this kind of motherhood need more time to grow? 

I don't know the answer - in fact I have a sneaky feeling there is no one answer, no definitive right or wrong. I am sure that there will be people out there who will never consider me a "proper" mum because I did not give birth to my kids. I guess that is their right. On the other hand I have carried children, albeit not to term. Does that make me a mum to them? Was their a switch flicked when I saw my baby in the ultrasound, when I heard her heartbeat? 

I am becoming more and more of the opinion that motherhood is more like a seed, rather than like a switch. It is a seed that is planted when you begin to think about motherhood, biological or adoptive. It sprouts when you fall pregnant, or when you file your paperwork. Development might stop, but the seed is there, waiting to grow, when watered properly again. 

The seedling grows when you see your baby, it starts getting leaves when you hold it, the roots get bigger and stronger each time you hold him when he cries, each time she looks into your eyes. 

I definitely have a seedling in me. It is slowly growing, even without the kids being here. It's asking for more water and sun and I'm mot sure I can let it... because I am still not sure that all will go well with our adoption. 

We wait...

The Wait - Part 2

I wanted to write a post about surviving the wait. I wanted to give advice on it. But in reality it might be better if I ask for advice... We are still very much in the midst of it all and we have by no means survived it.

We have done well. We have waited 4 months (post-match) for various reasons, mainly to do with bureaucracy, procedural changes and general international adoption waiting. We met our (prospective - argh, what a word!) children in late October. Now, in mid-February, we know that we are close, although we don't have a court date yet. So we wait...

How do I cope with it? Not very well, I think. I have good days and bad days. I keep busy. Very busy. I think if I can be so exhausted that when my head hits the pillow I fall asleep instantly, then that's a good day. 

My list on how I am surviving the wait. It is personal and I am in no way advocating that it's for everyone. But here it is:

1. Keep busy. 

That is my number one strategy. I work full time as a teacher, in a primary school with 37 teaching periods a week. For anyone who knows teaching, that is a lot! On top of that I am also the school's curriculum coordinator, which adds a bit of time on top of it all. Since January I have also taken on several private pupils, something I am hoping I can continue once the kiddos join us. It is only 5 teaching hours in the evenings, but also involves some preparation and commuting. To top it all off, I do freelance translations, for five or six hours a week. In total, I think I work around 60 hours a week. 

It is certainly not sustainable and when I started I hoped it would only be for a few weeks or so. The weeks have turned into months and here I am, a little exhausted, but having made some extra money to put towards the adoption and to have afterwards once the kiddos are here! The upside is that it is giving me less time to think about the adoption, and all the things that could potentially go wrong (I am an expert at worrying and finding potential disaster scenarios)!

2. Build a support network

Some of my support network is online, in the forms of blogs and forums (fora?). I really enjoy reading about other people who have been through this and have come out of it unscathed. It really gives me a boost to read about other couples' waiting periods, how they coped with them and how they eventually managed to bring their prescious, longed-for children home. 

Some of my support network is real, although none of them (bar my family) are face-to-face contacts. We have met some other families through our social worker and from our trip to Ethiopia in October and we spend a lot of time on the phone. It helps!

3. Take up writing

I write a lot. I have written a lot about the adoption and have relished every single word of it. I am even hoping to publish one day, although I wonder if anyone would actually want to read it... I keep this blog. I keep a journal. Generally writing keeps me sane and keeps things in perspective. It helps me see that, no matter what, this period is but a chapter of my life...

4. Run

I have always been an athlete and I have been running for the last 10 years or so. Despite a chronic injury that keeps me from running as much as I would like, I still try to keep to two-three runs and week. Most are up the mountain with my dogs and husband - there is aalways perspective to be gained up on the mountain.

A couple of races also keep things interesting...

5. Do the things that I will not have time for once I become a mum

Like having coffee with my husband. Lying in on a Saturday morning (fine, until 8, but still...). Have long baths. Write in the middle of the day. Go mountain biking with D. Go to the cinema. Have a meal out. All these things that will become a challenge once there are two little people in our life. 

6. Eat crisps and drink wine

Nothing profound here... Just a coping mechanism. Comfort eating and the odd glass of wine. Surely that's normal.

There are a couple of things I wanted to do, but have not got round to:

1. Learn Amharic - my loaded schedule has not allowed me to find the time to meet with the teacher I had found. I will have to make do with awkward phrase-book Amharic. 

2. Decorating the kids' room - the uncertainty over when and sometimes if this adoption will go through has kept me from buying anything kid related. Yes, we run the risk of having the kids sleep in a box for a couple of weeks. (I am joking here. Mostly...) But at least I do not have to look at an empty crib every hour of the day... Swings and roundabouts. 

3. Making the photo album that I wanted - with all the pictures of the children we have, from our referral pictures, to the ones we took while we were there, as well as the ones we get sent periodically from the orphanage, or when people visit. Hmm, maybe I should get a move on with that one...

4. Clearing out my wardrobes - Yes... that is still on the to-do-list... I've done the odd bit of throwing away that jumper that I have not worn since I was 17 (yes, I had one of those, doesn't everyone?) but I have not had that brutal one-on-one with the wardrobe yet. It's inevitable, but I am putting it off...

I hope the wait will come to an end soon. I hope we get our court date, so that we can start all the preparations on the way to becoming a family of four! In the meantime I am off to have that glass of wine...

The wait

We have been in a weird period of limbo for a very long time. We have been waiting for our lives to change for a very long time. I cannot remember the last time we could make plans about an upcoming break or a holiday without having to think about children. 

The funny thing (funny strange, not humourous at all) is that we don't have any children. Not legally or physically, at least. We have been in the process of trying to start our family for the last five and bit years, but we are still, for all intents and purposes a childless couple. And so it is ironic, very much so, that our life has been dominated by children to this extent. 

Since last October, five very long months ago, D and I have known who our children will be. In fact, we spent a week with them in late October. Not the most common path to parenthood, but it certainly feels like a wonderful one. 

We are waiting to adopt two kiddos from Ethiopia. It feels like, in some ways, we have been waiting all our lives. In reality though, it has been since October. Complications in-country, closed regional ministry offices, a heart-stopping announcement about the end of intercountry adoption in Ethiopia and some changes in procedure later, we might be getting close. 

What has got to me, what has made me really nervous in this whole process (personal anxiety issues aside) is the uncertainty of it all. The fact that, until I have the children in my arms and the plane doors are closed, until that very moment (oh, and how I dream of that moment!), until then we cannot be certain that it will all go through. 

It is not unlike a high-risk pregnancy, I guess. You cannot relax and enjoy it, as many people have suggested. I cannot think of other things, or enjoy my last few child-free months, because at the end of the day there are no guarantees. The process is fraught with uncertainty. (And it does not help, that I am, by nature, fraught with anxiety...)

But we are waiting. And we have good days and bad days. Anyone who has been through this process knows what a roller coaster it is. How attached you become to your phone. How one email can make your day. How a piece of news can ruin your Christmas. 

We are still in that wait. One day closer to bringing our kiddos to their new home. One day closer to becoming a family. We hope. We wait...