A Poem

An Orphan's Life

I will never know the warm embrace of a mother.
I will never know a place called home.
I will never be tucked in at night.
I will never know all is right with the world.
 

I will never play catch with my dad.
I will never feel the ocean breeze in my hair.
I will never see the sunrise from the window of a plane.
I will never own the clothes on my back.
 

I will never eat popcorn in a darkened theatre.
I will never run barefoot in a spring rain.
I will never have someone to catch me when I fall.
I will never watch fireworks explode in the sky.
 

I will never eat until I’m full.
I will never sit in a candle filled church.
I will never see a look of pride on my Dad’s face.
I will never ride a shiny new bike.
 

I will never dance at my prom.
I will never graduate.
I will never have someone to call for advice.
I will never make it on my own.
 

I will never stop wondering how my life could have changed 

                                        ~ if someone had taken me home . . . for always. 

File Update!

We're getting close. So close.

Our file is back from the Russian Consulate and was couriered to Vladivostok yesterday. 

Next steps:

1. Dossier Translation,
2. Translation gets notarized,
3. The English and Russian copies go to the Ministry of Education, and
4. We get registered!

And that's when we wait. We wait for a call. We wait for an email. We wait to hear that Russia, dear Russia, has found us a child.

We are so very, very close.

Russia, I can't wait to meet you. Soon.

Candice's Little Girl

Allow my to introduce you to a new family:

Candice and Zenya: A New Mother-Daughter Team!

Welcome Zenya!

The Road To Adoption

The road to adoption has some bumps. There are hills and obstacles. Some parts are paved and smooth while others are gravel, rough and unforgiving.

The smooth and frequent roads have their flaws. People who have long maintained the well-travelled path are there to help you on your way to help you may be weary. People who are there to cheer you on are eager and excited and oh-so-welcome, but don't understand the weight of the task at hand.

The rough road. The rough road is hard. It has gaping holes in it that catch you and hurt you. It causes you to bounce and jar.

Approaching the adoption journey is daunting. You need to fill your emotional reserve to get by. You need to borrow strength from others to carry your baggage. You need to redirect all your resources and make a firm plan of approach. You need to quiet the voices of those that offer direction and counsel and find a rhythm that is right for you. You know that once the wheels are set in motion they are rarely stopped, as slowing and stopping causes the onlookers to question your trail.

The road to adoption jostles you and causes you to hold on for safety. You strap yourself in grab on tight. You wish for more security and contemplate the repercussions of a journey-gone-wrong. You hold on to everything you can and try to steady yourself through the terrain.You get tired and you get sore. You are fatigued before you start and the fear wears you through with each added kilometre.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Our journey is ongoing. We don't know what will happen next, but we're travelling our road. 

Today we travelled the rough road. And it's days like these that make you feel lost. 

Still Waiting

No change on our file yet. We are still waiting for it to be done at the Consulate.

We'll keep you posted.

Mr. Sandman

I had the most beautiful dream last night. I dreamt we got a referral for a 19 month old little girl.

The details and the succession of the dream are hazy, but I remember running across a dirt and grass yard and sweeping her up into my arms and breathing her in.

I felt like a Mom. If only in my dreams.

Russia by Proxy

Our file is at the Russian Consulate!!!!

Our file has been through Canada's Foreign Affairs office and is at the Russian Consulate in Ottawa being legalized.

In honour of this WONDERFUL fact, I wanted to do a post about Russia, and share a few facts about the country that will make us parents.

#1: Red Square, in Moscow, is neither red nor square.
It's more of a triangle, and the word square is akin to the the meaning Canadians attach to plaza.

#2: Baikal lake is the deepest lake on Earth.
It would take all the rivers on Earth almost a full one year to fill.

#3: The Russian language does not have equivalents word to the English 'the' and 'a'.

#4:The Mir Diamond Mine
The hole is so big that airspace above the mine is closed for helicopters because of incidents in which they were sucked in by the downward air flow.

Education . . .

Next, our file will be sent off to Foreign Affairs, and then to the Russian Consulate in Ottawa to be legalized.

We're moving forward!!!!

Dear Moms Of Adopted Children

Do you remember my friend Mrs. Slick?

Yesterday, on her blog, she shared a link to another blog, that has the most wonderful passage in it.

When I finished reading it, I was beyond moved by the sameness that I felt for the words. It's unlike any other feeling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Mom of an Adopted Child,

I met you in adoption education class. I met you at the agency. I met you at my son’s school. I met you online. I met you on purpose. I met you by accident.

It doesn’t matter. The thing is, I knew you right away. I recognize the fierce determination. The grit. The fight. Because everything about what you have was a decision, and nothing about what you have was easy. You are the kind of woman who Makes.Things.Happen. After all, you made this happen, this family you have.

Maybe you prayed for it. Maybe you had to convince a partner it was the right thing. Maybe you did it alone. Maybe people told you to just be happy with what you had before. Maybe someone told you it simply wasn’t in God’s plans for you to have a child, this child whose hair you now brush lightly from his face. Maybe someone warned you about what happened to their cousin’s neighbor’s friend. Maybe you ignored them.

Maybe you planned for it for years. Maybe an opportunity dropped into your lap. Maybe you depleted your life-savings for it. Maybe it was not your first choice. But maybe it was.

Regardless, I know you. And I see how you hold on so tight. Sometimes too tight. Because that’s what we do, isn’t it?

I know about all those books you read back then. The ones everyone reads about sleep patterns and cloth versus disposable, yes, but the extra ones, too. About dealing with attachment disorders, breast milk banks, babies born addicted to alcohol, cocaine, meth. About cognitive delays, language deficiencies. About counseling support services, tax and insurance issues, open adoption pros and cons, legal rights.

I know about the fingerprinting, the background checks, the credit reports, the interviews, the references. I know about the classes, so many classes. I know the frustration of the never-ending paperwork. The hours of going over finances, of having garage sales and bake sales and whatever-it-takes sales to raise money to afford it all.

I know how you never lost sight of what you wanted.

I know about the match call, the soaring of everything inside you to cloud-height, even higher. And then the tucking of that away because, well, these things fall through, you know.

Maybe you told your mother, a few close friends. Maybe you shouted it to the world. Maybe you allowed yourself to decorate a baby’s room, buy a car seat. Maybe you bought a soft blanket, just that one blanket, and held it to your cheek every night.

I know about your home visits. I know about your knuckles, cracked and bleeding, from cleaning every square inch of your home the night before. I know about you burning the coffee cake and trying to fix your mascara before the social worker rang the doorbell.

And I know about the followup visits, when you hadn’t slept in three weeks because the baby had colic. I know how you wanted so badly to show that you had it all together, even though you were back to working more-than-full-time, maybe without maternity leave, without the family and casseroles and welcome-home balloons and plants.

And I’ve seen you in foreign countries, strange lands, staying in dirty hotels, taking weeks away from work, struggling to understand what’s being promised and what’s not. Struggling to offer your love to a little one who is unsettled and afraid. Waiting, wishing, greeting, loving, flying, nesting, coming home.

I’ve seen you down the street at the hospital when a baby was born, trying to figure out where you belong in the scene that’s emerging. I’ve seen your face as you hear a nurse whisper to the birthmother that she doesn’t have to go through with this. I’ve seen you trying so hard to give this birthmother all of your respect and patience and compassion in those moments—while you bite your lip and close your eyes, not knowing if she will change her mind, if this has all been a dream coming to an abrupt end in a sterile environment. Not knowing if this is your time. Not knowing so much.

I’ve seen you look down into a newborn infant’s eyes, wondering if he’s really yours, wondering if you can quiet your mind and good sense long enough to give yourself over completely.
And then, to have the child in your arms, at home, that first night. His little fingers curled around yours. His warm heart beating against yours.

I know that bliss. The perfect, guarded, hopeful bliss.

I also know about you on adoption day. The nerves that morning, the judge, the formality, the relief, the joy. The letting out of a breath maybe you didn’t even know you were holding for months.

Months.

I’ve seen you meet your child’s birthparents and grandparents weeks or years down the road. I’ve seen you share your child with strangers who have his nose, his smile … people who love him because he’s one of them. I’ve seen you hold him in the evenings after those visits, when he’s shaken and confused and really just wants a stuffed animal and to rest his head on your shoulder.

I’ve seen you worry when your child brings home a family tree project from school. Or a request to bring in photos of him and his dad, so that the class can compare traits that are passed down, like blue eyes or square chins. I know you worry, because you can protect your child from a lot of things — but you can’t protect him from being different in a world so intent on celebrating sameness.
I’ve seen you at the doctor’s office, filling out medical histories, leaving blanks, question marks, hoping the little blanks don’t turn into big problems later on.

I’ve seen you answer all of the tough questions, the questions that have to do with why, and love, and how much, and where, and who, and how come, mama? How come?

I’ve seen you wonder how you’ll react the first time you hear the dreaded, “You’re not my real mom.” And I’ve seen you smile softly in the face of that question, remaining calm and loving, until you lock yourself in the bathroom and muffle your soft cries with the sound of the shower.

I’ve seen you cringe just a little when someone says your child is lucky to have you. Because you know with all your being it is the other way around.

But most of all, I want you to know that I’ve seen you look into your child’s eyes. And while you will never see a reflection of your own eyes there, you see something that’s just as powerful: A reflection of your complete and unstoppable love for this person who grew in the midst of your tears and laughter, and who, if torn from you, would be like losing yourself.

Our Furniture Has Finally Arrived

It's been 1 month and 2 days since we ordered our furniture. We were lucky enough to have our crib available right away (and delivered 2 days later) but we had to wait for the rest of it.

So now everything else has arrived, which includes: the dresser, the toddler rail, the conversion kit (which turns the crib into a double bed) and the nightstand.

Today we picked up both rail sets and put them directly in our storage locker. Tomorrow we'll pick up the dresser and the nightstand (we are borrowing a truck).

We've been slowly cleaning out our spare bedroom and transforming it for our LO. Whatever we can't get rid of goes into our storage locker.

I just can't wait . . . . Decorating will be so much fun!