So, I have been particularly stressed out lately and, let's face it...I'm kind of an emotional wreck! I apologize to my co-workers in advance as I'm sure they have experienced my moodiness in full throttle lately. We were informed that we needed new medical letters this week. Korea requires that you maintain a certain BMI - Body mass index. When we completed our medical letters in 2011 (that's right folks, we've been in this process for 2 years) I was good to go with BMI and well under. Nevertheless, 2 years later and I've gained a few pounds and now I must lose said pounds in a week in order to make sure my BMI is similar to what it was in 2011. I've got a plan to shed the pounds thanks to the health food store near my office, however, it has made me super grouchy and irritable. I guess this is the kick start to dieting I needed, but the pressure to lose weight is such a short amount of time is overwhelming. Wheewww - I'm glad to get that off my chest!
I was also perusing Facebook this morning and came across a great blog post I had to share. It comes from
Wonderment, etc. and the post is titled "dear friends of waiting adoptive moms: some things to know (also, we're sorry). You can read the full post on this blog, but I wanted to share a few points that I couldn't have said better myself. Thank you
Wymsel in Adoption for your wisdom!
1. Your friend is not crazy. (She is adopting.)
There is, I will admit, a fine line between those two but still it’s good to remember. The international adoption of a child requires enough paperwork to kill a small forest. And more governmental red tape than you can believe. Imagine your longest, most frustrating trip to the DMV. Now quadruple that, add in twelve more governmental agencies in two countries, and remember it’s not a driver’s license you’re waiting for but the final piece of paper that says this family you’re creating can finally, finally be together. Yeah. Not crazy. But close.
2. She loves a child she’s never met.
It’s possible. So possible. It’s irrational and crazy but it’s reality. Does she love them like she will once she gets to know them? No. But she loves them. She wakes up loving them and goes to sleep loving them. She drives to the grocery story and aches to have them safe and snug in the carseat waiting for them. She pushes her cart around the store and hears a child cry and her heart pounds wondering if her child is crying? Alone? Hungry? She might even have to leave an entire grocery cart full of food in the yogurt aisle to go home and cry because it just is too hard. Way too hard.
3. It’s difficult having your heart on the other side of the world.
To people on the outside they don’t look like our kids, on paper they might not be our kids yet. But in our hearts we love these children like they are and yet we’re not together. We’re moms without children. It’s an ache that doesn’t go away. It starts before we see their faces and only ends when they’re in our arms. So we walk about with half our heart missing. It’s hard to breathe, to think, to speak. Something always feels missing. Because they are.
5. Her child has been through trauma.
If she’s like a lot of moms she won’t be advertising that fact everywhere because she respects her child’s privacy. But children don’t come to the place of needing a second family because they were placed in a cabbage patch by unicorns and leprechauns. Adoption comes from loss. Loss she will see in her child’s eyes and in their heart. Loss that as a mama can make your soul curl up in a ball for an ugly cry. So don’t tell her the kids are lucky. You wouldn’t tell a person who lost an arm that they’re lucky to have a prosthetic one would you? I mean yeah, they are lucky to have that replacement. But you know what would be luckier? Not losing that arm in the first place. So please be understanding. Also, maybe instead of asking for her child’s story outright ask “are you sharing about his history before you?” That gives her a chance to either answer you or bow out graciously.
6. Adoption isn’t pregnancy.
It just isn’t. Well, it is in that at the end of it the hope is to have a new son or daughter in your arms. But I’ve yet to meet a pregnant woman who wonders how old her child will be upon entry into the family. Adoption is different. There is no due date for us. Let that sink in. No due date. And even given preemies and late arrivals with the baby by stork method you have a narrow months-long window of time in which the baby will arrive. That brings us to point number seven.
7. She probably doesn’t know when the child is coming home.
And she has probably been asked this approximately twelve times that day. Because you, her awesome friends, care about her! (And also you secretly worry she’s going a little nuts, see point #1.) And I get it. It’s hard with adoption because you don’t know what to ask. I feel that way with pregnant ladies, like what am I supposed to say? “Your ankles really don’t look that bad do they?” Recently I learned the always safe phrase “you look great – how is baby doing?”, the adoption equivalent is “I know you must miss your kiddos, how is the adoption going?” Or, if you don’t have time to have her break down and cry all over you try the even safer “can I see your latest update pictures?” and then ooh and aww over their cute faces. Even if the pictures are horrible say something positive. I mean I don’t tell people that their sonogram pictures sometimes look like aliens made of bread dough. (Except yours Amy B. Yours is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.)
8. She isn’t sure they’re coming home.
This is the part of the adoption process that makes you want to crawl under your bed and not come out until it’s safe again. This is the part that tears you soul in two. This is the part that you wake up in the morning remembering and going to bed at night fearing. Because there are no guarantees. And that’s hard. No, not hard. It’s gut-wrenching. It’s not just the fear that your child might die before having a family, it’s that this child you love with every ounce of your being might grow up in an orphanage, on the streets, or worse.
9. Your friend is kind of stupid.
I know. That’s harsh. But it’s true. You try operating on a daily basis with only half your heart and half your brain, because that’s what it’s like. ‘Cause they other half of you is wrapped up in a tiny person who is half a world and what feels like a lifetime away. Also, because of the time zone difference it means that half of you is awake pretty much all the time.
Thank you to all those who have helped me and put up with me throughout this process. I hope this better explains where I'm coming from!
A
