We approached the Preadoptive Counseling (PAC) training with uncertainty, excitement, and wonder. Will we hear daunting things? Will we get the 'roadmap' to bring a child home? Will Children's Home Society & Family Services encourage us to hold hands with other PAC attendees and share intimate stories of infertility, doubt, or disappointments? Those two days were powerful, indeed. Thankfully, there wasn't forced hand-holding. We learned a lot. At times the information was overwhelming. I admit driving home after day one, I was mad. Why so much scrutiny, red tape, and auditing? For friends, baby-making was as easy as breathing. My husband said, "Just get through it, honey. Don't over think it". He was my voice of calm reason. (He still is).
The paperwork seemed easy. We had no problem filling out our full names, address, birthdates, and other obscure facts. It didn't bother us to fill out one form for our state, another for the Federal Government, and yet two more for Russia. Paperwork was a kind of a game! Us vs. Them. We felt powerful until we got to the homestudy. Getting introspective about our entire life's relationship to parents or how we speculated we'd discipline our future child was tough. We didn't like it. Further, we didn't like the notion of our entire life examined by groups of strangers at Children's Home Society or at a state agency. I concocted visions of an under-paid state worker laughing their head off over our summary of how we hoped for a child. We felt vulnerable.
The waiting was hard. We were jumpy, nervous, and edgy. We quickly tired (and were frankly poor actors) at happily telling curious friends and co-workers, "No, we haven't heard anything yet". "Yes, you're right, it's sure hard to wait". "Yes, we sure are anxious to hear something".
When the phone call came time stood still. We forgot to breathe. Each time we had a conference call with our Social worker as she described our children. We hung on each word. Did we tell you we forgot to breathe? I thought my heart would jet right out of my rib cage. It was scary, great, amazing, and terrifying. It's the moment where you remember exactly what you were doing when it came. Life is never the same after "the call".
Making travel reservations, visa arrangements, getting pristine cash, and packing suitcases was a blur. It's a welcome chaos that puts all other priorities on the back burner. Our co-workers, employees, and bosses were so kind and flexible. People in every facet of our lives would say, "Don't worry about that". "I'll take care of it". "It's not important, just go to Russia and meet that baby". "We'll just make it work". "We'll work around that". It was like that Coke commercial from the 1970's where everyone seems loving, generous, and genuinely happy. Joy and optimism seemed omnipresent.
Flying to Boston to Newark to Prague to Moscow to our region was easy yet exhausting. At some point bodies and brains slipped into a comfortable auto-pilot. I knew that a greater power than me would just get us there; We had no other purpose on earth than to get to that baby hospital / orphanage and to meet our children. There's a book out there right now called "The Purpose-Driven Life". For these few days, we knew that nothing else mattered. Global political strife, weather, threats of terrorism or worse were trivial. A baby was waiting for us.
Meeting our children for the first time was another time-stood-still-heart-stopping moment. Our throats choked up. It was unbelievable that we'd traveled nearly around the globe and could be together in the same room in a remote Russian city. We couldn't take our eyes off of our children yet we didn't want to frighten them by rushing, grabbing, or hugging too hard. There would be time for that later. Inside my head, I said "there you are" as if we were finally finding each other. It was the most natural feeling in the world.
So, there you have it. How do we feel about adoption? Excited, full of wonder, mad, loving, exhausted, and complete. My husband and I loved our first child (who came home in 2001) and the experience so much that we just added a sibling in the summer of 2004. Neither of us is willing to admit to the other that we won't go back to Russia for a third child. We're both not-so-secretly cutting back on eating lunch out and buying lattes, and I'll bet you that the family financial plans might be getting close to ready.
We remain convinced that the entire adoption experience is rich, uncharted at times, yet random and meant to be. It is unlike any wild adventure we have ever been on. We love the ride. Better than the ride however, are our two darling kids. They are better than any biological children that we could have had. They bring along with them a global view and unique journey that we never would have discovered without them. Because of them, the world is forever changed in our eyes, and it's awesome.
