Step 10: Crafting a strategy to cope with the long wait for LOA

Today is day 46. Our dossier was logged in on July 17, 2014, and translated two weeks later. We have been waiting for our letter of acceptance (LOA) for forty-six days. I'm starting to think we will never get our LOA, but I just keep telling myself to be patient. Any day now...any day now...any day now...this wait is interminable!

How then to fill my time? Work takes up most of my week, yes, as well as most of my weekends. Family obligations also use up many hours, especially now that Bean is back in school. And, of course, there is cooking, cleaning, exercising, reading, ballroom dancing, volunteering, church attendance, competitive restaurant dining (i.e. - eating out), internet surfing, bathing, shopping, and sleeping. However, even with all those activities, there are still large blocks of time that stretch unfilled before me.  Unfilled time is not my friend. The quiet hours are when I obsess:

When will that LOA arrive?

What is Pearl doing right now? Is she happy? Is she healthy?

What will it be like when we travel to China?

What will it be like when she is home with us?

What if the LOA comes when we are out of town?

What if China declines to match us with Pearl? I know we have PA, but still...

Will we be able to travel before Christmas?

How much is all this costing us?

When will that d@*n LOA arrive?

I think you get the picture. In an attempt to minimize the constant ruminating,  I have turned once again to crafting.

Fact: I am not an artistic person.

My posts thus far may make it seem as though I am reasonably good at arts and crafts projects, but my skills are really more along the lines of "Nailed It" than "Pinterest":

courtesy of http://justsomething.co/the-34-most-hilarious-pinterest-fails-ever/

Fortunately, I am nothing if not determined and so I persevere. Angry Driver has exhaled many an exasperated sigh, but he nevertheless continues to support me in these efforts.  I guess that makes him my enabler. Perhaps he figures that if I am obsessing about some art project, I won't be obsessing about the dust on the furniture or the ridiculous amount of television he watches.

A few nights ago, I was looking online at adoption gifts - both gifts to give adopted children and gifts for family members of adopted children - and I came across some pretty necklaces with the simplified Chinese characters for various familial relationships (such as "grandmother" or "aunt"). At that point, I could have done the sensible thing and ordered the custom necklaces, but if you know anything about me by now, it is that I rarely do the logical thing.

As my mother told me once: common sense is for common people.

(I'm pretty sure that particular nugget of wisdom is absolutely meaningless, but it sounds good so I continue to use it while congratulating myself on being delightfully uncommon.)

I decided right then and there that I would make these necklaces myself rather than purchase them.

I think it is important to point out here that the necklaces I saw online were well crafted and reasonably priced. I also feel compelled to state that I have no experience with jewelry making beyond stringing plastic beads on lanyards years ago at summer camp.

One trip to the local craft store later, I got started. I launched into production mode this morning, but quickly realized that I was missing several necessary supplies (such as any form of credible adhesive), so the family got dragged to a second craft store.

Here are the final products:

"Mama" pendant for me

"Maternal grandmother" pendant on left, for my mother

"Grandmother" pendants (simplified characters and Pinyin) on right, for my stepmother and my mother-in-law

 

Once again I am hoping that Google Translate has come through for me. If these words do not mean what I think they mean, it is probably better not to tell me since there is a 95% probability that I would burst into tears.

 

Naturally, I did not think this through well enough to determine just how I will get these pendants onto necklace chains, but I figure that will be a problem for another day. 

 

Actually, the more likely scenario is that I will enlist Angry Driver to finagle a solution. I "make it" and he "makes it happen" as it were.

My final project on this aptly titled Labor Day was a keepsake for Pearl. Since we will not be keeping her Chinese name, I thought it would be nice to honor her orphanage name by making a necklace with the characters. She can wear it (or not wear it) as she sees fit when she is a bit older.

Note how this one actually went onto a chain. That was pure blind luck and in no way represents any kind of actual talent on my part.

And that is how I filled yet another day of waiting. Day 46 is in the books. I really hope the wait for LOA is nearly over since I'm not entirely sure that my wallet (or my husband's patience) can handle too many more art projects.

Step 9: Putting the "care" in care package

Our dossier is logged in and translated, so now there is nothing to do but wait until we receive our Letter of Acceptance (LOA) from CCCWA. Once we sign and return the LOA, our match will be official and we can share details like pictures. We will also be able to send a care package if we choose. Until then, I continue to obsessively read and plan.

The interweb is rife with editorials regarding the ethics of sending or not sending a care package to a soon-to-be adopted child. I'm pretty sure that I have read every single comment on the topic. I've also queried my Facebook groups and the China Adopt Talk forum parents to solicit more advice.

I'm a firm believer in data. As in, the more the better.

Why is it controversial to send a care package to a child in an orphanage? First, care packages are apparently not practical in an orphanage environment. This is only logical, since clothing or toys can get dirty or lost. When many, many kids live in one institution, it can't possibly be practical to keep a particular item with a particular child. I'm sure caregivers don't appreciate more work: more laundry, more hassle, more tears from children who don't understand the concept of personal belongings. I once visited an orphanage in Honduras on a medical mission trip and found over fifty children and no toys. Clothes were washed in batches and rotated amongst children without regard for fashion or preference. In fact, there was little regard even for accurate sizing. Childcare is enough work without that kind of hassle.

Also, a care package singles out one child as different. This is not always a good thing, as I well recall from my own childhood. A little girl who has a family waiting for her can become a target for those who have not yet been chosen, or for those who may never be adopted. My grandparents often accused me of being a "Selfish Sally" when I was little and, sadly, I must admit that I was not keen on sharing. I was also not always happy for other children who had nice clothes, fancy toys, pretty houses, and both parents. Jealousy and I were no strangers. I can't even imagine what a child who has been passed over for adoption thinks and feels. I cried during the scene in "Annie" when the other orphans beg to be adopted with the red-headed moppet - and that was just a musical.

I have read tales of children in Social Welfare Institutes who were not given the care packages at all, or they were given the package the day the parents picked them up. In some cases, the child was told that the package came from the SWI caregivers and not the adoptive parents. There certainly is no guarantee when you mail an unsolicited package to strangers in a foreign country.

So why send a care package?

First, because it makes me feel like I am doing something for my child. I missed out on pregnancy, delivery, first words, first smiles, first hugs, first steps, and a host of medical procedures and opportunities to comfort and enjoy Little Pearl during her first few years of life. Selecting and mailing small items makes me feel close to her and makes the adoption seem more real. Also, whether they choose to give the package to her or not, these small gifts send her caregivers the message that there are people who truly want and can provide for this child.

A care package also gives us a chance to introduce ourselves to Little Pearl and her caregivers. By including a letter and pictures or a photo album, we let our almost-daughter and her nannies know a bit about us and how we are preparing for her arrival.

A small comfort item like a lovey is supposed to familiarize Little Pearl with our scents and the smells of our home. I have to admit, I am a bit skeptical about this one. The attachment books all talk about the importance of such items, but I'm used to thinking about  de"scent"sitization as being beneficial for dogs and cats, not humans. I guess we shall see if the theory has any merit.

We thought about using a care package service to send the items directly from within China, and many such services exist. They seem like a great idea, but I was concerned that this would violate CCCWA's regulations. The rules state something to the effect that no third parties can inquire about or contact the child on our behalf while the adoption is in process. In my online research, I've found many adoptive parents who used care package services without any adverse effects, but we ultimately decided not to take the risk.

Angry Driver and I have already selected some items for Little Pearl's care package, which will have to be approximately shoe-box sized or smaller. We had a code for a free hardcover Shutterfly book, so we created an album containing her referral pictures along with pictures of us, Bean, a few of our pets, and our home. We then attempted to create labels with Mandarin simplified characters to caption some of the photos.

 

Hopefully, the translations are sound since we were at the Mercy of Google Translate. 

I thought about adding a Mandarin translation of "playroom" to accompany the photo of our toy room, but then I worried that I would inadvertently end up with the Fifty Shades of Grey version of "playroom". This may seem like an irrational fear, but a similar thing actually happened years ago during a presentation in my college French class. Every student in my class accidentally used the wrong French term for "excite", causing much embarrassment for us students and resulting in much mirth for the professor.

Anyway, one nice thing about Shutterfly is that the albums are all saved under my profile. That way, if the book gets lost at the SWI, or if they decide not to give it to Little Pearl, we can always reprint it for her as a keepsake.

We then turned our attention to finding a suitable comfort object. We hoped to find two identical loveys. One would go in the care package and the other would be a spare that we take with us to China in case the original is lost or damaged. After searching multiple stores and online purveyors of goods, I was unable to find two small identical loveys that met my obsessive standards. What obsessive standards, you ask?

First, the objects had  to be identical. I found that it is not easy to find two of anything unless quality is not a concern or I want to spend a lot of money.

Second, the lovey could not be made in China. It seems silly to me to send Little Pearl something that was manufactured in China, shipped to the United States, and then mailed back to China.

Third, the color of the lovey had to be one that would not show every stain possible. Few things are worse than a stained and dingy lovey, IMHO.

Finally, the lovey had to be special. Meaningful. Personal. This condition proved to be the most problematic.

As I am not known for doing things the easy way (or even the less difficult way), I ultimately elected to make the loveys myself. For those of you who sew, you are probably at this point thinking, "Big deal. Sounds like a piece of cake".

Well, it is a big deal for me because I do not know how to sew. At all. Not even a little bit. I can't even sew a button. Yes, I am one of those horrible people who loses a button to a shirt and either wears the shirt without all of the buttons or disposes of the shirt altogether. My last real attempt at sewing was a pillow in sixth grade Home Economics, and that was an unmitigated disaster. If that teacher is still living, she is probably still shuddering at the memory. When our sofa ripped a few years ago, I repaired it by stitching a horizontal mattress suture with dental floss.

Amazingly enough, given what I just confessed, we actually do own a small sewing machine. Angry Driver bought a basic machine a few years ago, but neither of us knows the first thing about sewing so the beast has lurked untouched in our laundry room. Firm in my belief that all things are possible with Google, I pulled the sewing machine out of storage, found a Simple Boutique Baby Lovey pattern online, hit the fabric store, and set to work.

One side is purple elephant flannel and the other is white minky. Minky is, I learned, that super baby soft blankie fabric that feels so warm and nice against the skin. The edging is purple blanket ribbon that was, alas, fabricated in China. One truly cannot have it all.

The end result actually isn't half bad, just so long as one doesn't examine the stitching from a distance of less than about 18 inches. On close inspection, my complete lack of anything approaching actual skill is obvious, but it's the thought that counts, right?

I would like to say that these were made with love, and they were.

 Love, and lots and lots of profanity. A few tears as well.

In terms of other goodies for the care package, we plan to include a disposable camera in the hopes that Little Pearl's nannies will snap some photos for us. We will also include some Crayola crayons (still proudly made in the USA!), a small outfit, and some candy for the nannies and other kids. Finally, we will add a short letter in English and Mandarin explaining the package. We plan to actually have a person who speaks Mandarin translate the letter since I doubt highly that Google Translate is up to the task.

If all goes well, we should have LOA in the next 4-8 weeks. Then we can mail the care package and begin the countdown to travel. Hope springs eternal! Or, as Angry Driver is fond of saying, Spring hopes attorney!

Step 8: A case of the guilts

A few members of our agency's China Team just returned from a trip to China and they brought us an unexpected treat: a video of our soon-to-be-adopted child! We don't have official approval of the match (LOA), so I can't post pictures or video or give any identifying information. Since she will be a treasure to us, why don't we refer to her henceforth as "Pearl"?

Aside from the rash that looks alarmingly like scabies, she is so adorable. The video shows Pearl seated on the floor next to her caregiver, happily pouring small beads from a bottle into various bowls. As an aside, apparently Chinese children do not choke on small objects the way we all fear that American toddlers will if we give them tiny beads. She looks so much more grown up than she did in the referral video we received a few months ago, and in fact, we initially thought the agency made a mistake and sent us footage of the wrong child. However, after several viewings, we were able to identify features that this older child shares with her younger self. To think, adoptive parents used to receive one grainy photo prior to picking up their child. It is indeed a brave new world, one in which video updates can be uploaded and e-mailed around the planet in moments.

Little Pearl is wearing a sweet red shirt with cute little matching shoes. Her caregiver appears to be the same one who accompanied her in the first video, and I have to wonder whether she is our (almost) daughter's foster mother; we still don't know whether Pearl lives at the SWI or in a foster home. She looks well fed and her clothes match. The matching clothes thing seems self-evident, I'm sure, but most videos and photos we see of Chinese orphans show them bundled in layer after layer of mismatched clothing.

I've viewed the brief video several times over the last 24 hours and each time I watch her playing contentedly with her makeshift toy, I become more and more excited. This is really going to happen! Unfortunately, now that our future daughter has a face and a name, each day that passes is a day without Pearl, and my admittedly great and fulfilling life suddenly seems dull and incomplete because she is not in it. Angry Driver and Bean are excited and anxious too. Hardly a day passes without a discussion about "When we go to China" or what we will do when Pearl joins our family.

As excited as we all are, the experience is not without an element of dysphoria. This child is blissfully unaware of our existence. No, she doesn't have a family right now, but she has adults who dress her and feed her and worry about her and care for her. I'm sure she has friends and favorite activities. We are preparing for her, but she knows nothing about us. There will be a huge seismic shift in her life, and no one has even told her to prepare for the earthquake.

I feel for this sweet girl when I try to look at this impending adoption through her eyes. What seems so wonderful to us will, in all likelihood, be frightening and overwhelming to Pearl. When we finally hold her for the first time, I imagine that we will smile and shed happy tears. How will Pearl feel? How will she react?

What will our first day as a family be like for her? What will the first year be like? Will a grown-up Pearl look back on the day of her adoption with happiness? With bitterness? Will she remember the day at all?

I feel guilty. There. I've named it.

What right do I have to remove this child from her world and deposit her in mine? Is this what is truly best for her? I tell myself that even if we did not adopt Pearl, another American family most certainly would. There is no reality in which this child grows up with her birth family and, in fact, we know nothing of her birth family. That disruption happened long before we even decided to adopt a child from China. In an ideal world, children are raised within their biological families with a strong sense of identity and belonging. This is most certainly not that ideal world.

Here is the moment in which I must practice a concept known as radical acceptance. It is what it is.

The situation is that we made a decision to adopt a child from China, a child is living under the care of the Chinese government and has been made available for international adoption, and our family has been matched with this child. I don't really believe in fate, but perhaps a conglomeration of circumstances congealed in such a way that this is the final product. Gosh, doesn't that sound like an appealing concept?

My pledge is that I will always try to see the world through my children's eyes. I will strive to be their soft place to fall. I can't prevent all the earthquakes in their lives, but, to the best of my ability, I will shield them, protect them, and prepare them. My hope is that a strong foundation of love and support will prevent crumbling later in life. And a little maternal guilt won't hurt that foundation too much, right?

Step 7: Purchased for self

The dossier made it out and is currently in translation. One piece of good news is that we received preliminary approval of our match with our soon-to-be daughter on June 19th. This approval comes from China and is known as "PA". We can't openly share any information about her until our dossier has been logged in (a step known as LID) and we have a signed letter of acceptance (LOA), which is formal acknowledgement of our match.

At this point, all I can do is wait. I am not a patient person, but this whole process has been an exercise in accepting how thoroughly most events in life are beyond my control. So what does one do when she can only wait for the governments of two nations to unite her with her longed-for daughter? I don't know how other people cope, but I shop.

I also do a lot of reading and research, but those things aren't as exciting for me to discuss. The book "Parenting Your Internationally Adopted Child" is excellent, and I'm quite fond of my new copy of "Simple Chinese for Adopted Families" (complete with audio CD), but there is just something fabulous about strolling the aisles of TJ Maxx and Kohls in search of adorable little girl outfits. My supreme guilty pleasure, though, has to be American Girl.

A little background here: I grew up poor. I was vaguely aware of the American Girl brand as a child, but I didn't really play with baby dolls and they were never something my family could have afforded anyway. My favorite toy was my three story cardboard and plastic 1980s Barbie Townhouse. Many a dinner party ended in Ken being poisoned and flung down the elevator shaft...

What can I say? I was an odd child with a vivid imagination and a penchant for reading Nancy Drew and other mystery novels.

At any rate, I came across a reference to a Chinese-American doll in the American Girl collection, a sidekick to some blonde named Julie. Apparently, the Chinese-American bestie, Ivy, is being retired, and this was a hot topic of discussion in the China Adopt Talk forum. Curious, I went to the company website. Depressingly enough, American Girl dolls are not made in the United States, but they seem to be of good quality, and they are quite popular. They are exactly the kind of expensive and elitist status items that my 22-year-old self would have hated, but my mid-30s, about-to-finally-have-a-little-girl-of-my-own self is entranced. I can't be with my daughter. I rarely receive updates about her. I can't even send her a care package until we have LOA. But, by Jove, I can buy precious little matching girl/doll outfits for her!

I justify shopping for a child I don't have by repeatedly insisting that I am only purchasing things that are on sale or that are great bargains. And, let me tell you, when that big box of impossibly sweet little outfits arrived in the mail, I was hooked.

Like this isn't the cutest thing ever.

Angry Driver was patient enough at first. But by the time I bought the seventh dress from Kohls and the third swimsuit from Crazy 8, I could tell that he was not enjoying my attempt at assembling a very premature layette. It started with not-so-subtle huffing, and escalated to outbursts of "But you don't even know her size!" and "We don't even know for sure that we will get her!"

I kept telling him the following:

1) I feel helpless. I can't speed the process up. I can't influence her life in any way or show her the love that I want to show her. All I can do right now is prepare for her arrival.
2) Angry Driver has had six years of buying Lego sets and geeky matching t-shirts for himself and Bean. The best I can do is a fair attempt at color coordination so that I don't clash with their outfits. He has had countless opportunities to relive his childhood in a more expensive and spectacular fashion with Bean. This is my chance to have a Mini Me of my own.
3) Kids need clothes. Yes, most of this stuff is manufactured in China and, yes, we can shop for her when we are in China. However, we will be so busy in China that I hardly think we will have time to search for such lovely purple kitty cat pajamas and little ruffled socks.
4) These things are on sale. Heck, most of these are on clearance. Clearance, man!
5) Don't you judge me.

Angry Driver did not seem moved by my rational arguments. However, I knew that the battle was won when he started looking at items on the American Girl website with me. We even laughed together about the adults who buy doll stuff, compose in-depth, serious online product reviews, and blatantly admit that these children's playthings are "Purchased For Self", rather than for a kid.

And so it was that, two weeks ago, we were driving home after visiting relatives in a nearby state when I spotted a billboard for an American Girl outlet store. Angry Driver didn't complain once when I asked to stop, although Bean grumbled a bit. They ended up not hating the experience, and they even helped me select a Bitty Baby book with an Asian protagonist. If a book light on plot can be said to have a protagonist.

Here is an example of one of our coordinating girl/doll outfits:

Fabulous!

Lately, I've been trolling Craigslist and E-Bay in search of more great deals. Today, I won an auction on an Asian Bitty Baby doll. Life is good.

This is what I've become: a grown woman who enthusiastically seeks out and purchases items for a child who lives thousands of miles away and who doesn't even know I exist. I know that she doesn't need fancy clothes or kiddy cult dolls or a ladybug swimsuit with matching robe or a princess bed with a slide, but to just wait and do nothing is impossible. This is how I build an adoption nest.

I've finally admitted to myself that this craziness is for my own benefit. I can make fun of middle-aged adults who buy expensive dolls and accessories all I want, but in my heart of hearts, I know it's true. All of these things are "Purchased For Self".

Don't you judge me.

Step 6: Snail mail moves at a snail's pace

For about ten weeks now, I have been preparing our dossier. The dossier is our official application packet that will go to China. As is the case with pretty much anything having to do with the international adoption process, this is an exercise in trying not to express exasperation.
Here are the documents that are required, as outlined in our agency's ever-practical 22-page "China Dossier Packet":
1) Application letter. There is a sample for our reference. We should base our letter on the sample, but not blatantly plagiarize it. Of course, certain phrases must be included verbatim, so in that case, plagiarize away. This letter basically introduces our family to the China Center for Children's Welfare and Adoption (CCCWA) and outlines our request to adopt a special needs child. The letter must be signed, notarized, and state sealed.
2) Current certified copies of my birth certificate and Angry Driver's birth certificate. This cannot be more than 6 months old at the time of authentication. Even though they are "certified" copies, they still need to be state sealed in the state(s) in which the certificates were issued. Fortunately, Angry Driver and I were born in the same state. Unfortunately, it is not the state in which we currently live.
3) Newly-issued certified copy of our marriage certificate. Again, this must be state sealed in the state of origin.
4) Verification of employment letter from my employer. Also notarized. Also state sealed. Since Angry Driver is a full-time dad, we had to craft a letter verifying his non-employment status and - you guessed it - this letter had to be notarized and state sealed too!
5) Financial statement. This lists all or our assets and our liabilities as outlined in our home study. Signed by us, notarized, and state sealed.
6) Medical suitability certificates for each adoptive parent. These are different forms than we had to have completed for the home study. We also needed lab work. The forms had to be signed by our physician, notarized, and state sealed. Since I have health issues, my doctor had to write an additional letter explaining my medical conditions and attesting that she believes that I am healthy enough to adopt and parent. That letter had to be notarized but not state sealed (it's an arbitrary process, really).
7) Signed and notarized letters from our local police department verifying that Angry Driver and I do not have a history of arrests, criminal charges, or convictions. Of course, these have to be state sealed.
8) Our original home study, notarized and state sealed.
9) A copy of our I-797 USCIS approval with a signed and notarized attestation stating that the copy of the USCIS approval is true and unadulterated. State seal? Yes!

Then there are a bunch of documents that have to be notarized, but don't need to be state sealed:
10) At least 3 reference letters. Since Bean is in school, one of the letters had to be written by his teacher. Although one might think that obtaining these letters would be difficult, we have such awesome friends (and Bean has such a kind teacher) that this step actually turned out to be one of the easiest.
11) My psychological evaluation report. As stated previously, I've been certified SANE.
12) A signed and notarized agreement that we will comply with post-adoption requirements, such as regular updates to China.

Then there are more documents that need to be included in the dossier, but that don't require notarization or state sealing:
13) Copy of our passports. I'm so glad we already had passports!
14) New passport photos of Angry Driver and me. Not my finest photo shoot, unfortunately.
15) Recent photographs of our home and family. Sounds simple enough, right? Wrong! The instructions specify the types of photos, the required size, the placement of the photographs on the page, etc. No labels. No pets.
16) Copy of the certificates we earned through Adoption Learning Partners when we completed our online adoption training courses.
17) Our agency's license. Now, someone needs to tell me why it is my job to obtain the agency license to send to the very same agency? This actually turned out to be quite a challenge, since the agency sent me a certificate that expired within a month of them sending it to me. When I raised my concern about providing China with an expired agency license, I was met with befuddlement. Yes, befuddlement. As in, "Oh, wow. It's expiring soon? I guess we need a site visit." I still don't have that renewed agency license, but I am hopeful that the agency has a valid license.
18) A copy of our service plan. Again, I had to request this plan from my agency to give my agency.
19) A signed and original agency fee agreement. This was a fascinating item. A few weeks ago, I raised a concern about a charge that the agency billed to us. The agency's response was that the charge was clearly outlined in the fee agreement. About a week later, I asked about obtaining an original fee agreement for the dossier, and the agency's response was that they would have to send us the fee agreement to sign. If we never obtained or signed a fee agreement, how were we supposed to know about the fee agreement? I digress...

So, just a word about state sealing. This is the process by which a state authenticates the notarization of a document. The Secretary of State's office verifies that the notary public is real and had the authority to notarize said document on the date that it was notarized. Some states have big, fancy seals (as is the case with the state from which our birth and marriage certificates originate), and others have simple, boring seals (like the one in our current state. The clerk at the Secretary of State's office claims that our Secretary is very budget conscious and sees no benefit to using taxpayer funds for such frivolity as a gaudy seal).

Fortunately, one does not make it through 13 years of public school education followed by 12 years of post-high school education without learning how to complete forms and request documents. After many weeks of harassing people to complete forms, mailing birth and marriage certificates for state sealing, stopping in the Secretary of State's office to have a batch of documents state sealed, and faxing a request for state sealing of our USCIS approval, the dossier checklist was complete.

And then, a wrinkle. We received our "Home Study Addendum" at the end of May. Actually, we received a big manila envelope from our adoption agency that contained 3 original Home Study Addendum documents. The Addendum addresses our ability to parent a child with the specific medical and psychosocial needs identified in the child to whom we have been matched. The envelope contained no instructions. There wasn't even a Post-It note. Nothing. I immediately sent a message to the agency requesting guidance. I then called the agency and left a message. At long last, I was told that, yes, the Home Study Addendum should be included in our dossier. And, yes, it should probably be state sealed.

Aargh!

And so, I sent yet another fax to the Secretary of State requesting a state seal. This was on 6/2/14. We received our seal 6/5/14. Correction: we received TWO state seals on 6/5/14. Rather than issuing one state seal containing my name and Angry Driver's name (like he or she was supposed to have done), the person at the Secretary of State's office issued a seal under my name and a seal under Angry Driver's name. The problem with this is that ONE document cannot have TWO state seals.

I can't believe I even wrote that last sentence. It's as though aliens abducted me and replaced my body with that of some low-level government bureaucrat. I guess this is the kind of person one becomes when she spends months completing mindless paperwork and running the government agency gauntlet.

Naturally, since I was issued two seals, I was charged for two seals. I don't even care about that; I just need my seal so I can send out this dossier. No dossier = No child. The longer this takes, the slower the process becomes, and it is already so darn slow.

I called and the very nice woman at the Secretary of State's office (who, incidentally, is the very same nice woman who was working when Angry Driver and I stopped in the office on USCIS Fingerprint Day) typed up a new seal and informed me that it would be mailed the very next morning, i.e. - 6/6/14.

The Secretary of State's office is a two hour drive from Blahtown. I figured the seal would arrive by Monday (6/9/14) or Tuesday (6/10/14) at the latest. Nevertheless, I tried to convince Angry Driver to go and pick up the seal on 6/6/14, but he would not hear of it. I must have had a premonition of doom, because I really did try to convince him to JUST GO PICK THE STATE SEAL UP SO WE CAN MAIL THIS OUT AND BE DONE ALREADY.

Angry Driver claims that if I had seriously asked him to go pick it up, he would have done so. I told him that his experience of reality in no way corresponds with actual reality as experienced by everyone else in this particular dimension of space and time.

It is almost anti-climactic to report this, but the state seal did not arrive on 6/9/14. It did not arrive today. I have no way to track the envelope. I think that I could have hired an army of ants to carry me the letter and they would have delivered it in a more timely fashion than the US Postal Service. There may be 7 circles of hell and 50 shades of grey, but I guarantee you that there are at least 600 layers of rage. I am currently operating somewhere between "seething" and "mind-numbingly impotent".

It is so frustrating when I try, try, try to do everything right and I just can't seem to make progress. Our child is waiting for us and all I can do is paperwork. And yet, I'm dependent on other people doing their jobs and I have no control over how quickly or accurately they do their jobs, if they do them at all.

Yes, I know that this is an exercise in patience. I understand that I can't control everything, or anything, for that matter. I appreciate that there are many more bureaucratic snafus ahead in this process.  It is still irritating! Why on earth does it take at least 5 days to deliver an envelope from a city two hours away in perfect weather and with no encroaching federal holidays? Seriously, people, get it together!

Alas, there is nothing to be done but wait. For his part, Angry Driver just offered to make the two hour drive tomorrow in order to pick up a new state seal for the Home Study Addendum. He just stumbled upon Rage Level 142: Blind Ferocity in the Face of Too Little Too Late.

Step 5: None of my best friends are Chinese

Preparing to become a "conspicuous family" is a daunting process. I take it for granted that, when Angry Driver, Bean, and I are out in public, people immediately recognize us as a family unit. The only people who have ever asked Bean how he is related to Angry Driver and me are TSA agents at airport security checkpoints, and I suspect their questioning is only because they are forced to take a child trafficking awareness class, or something.

Bean looks eerily similar to my husband. If anyone possibly harbors doubts about Bean's paternity, Angry Driver's predilection for coordinating father/son outfits should quickly put those doubts to rest.

I guess Bean looks a little bit like me. At least, he doesn't look unlike me. Our little nuclear family could pass for one of those stock photos that come in a picture frame sold at Target or Kohls:

You know, come to think of it, I guess all three of us like to dress in coordinating outfits.

When we first made the decision to adopt a child from China, I don't think we ever really thought about how physically dissimilar our adopted child will be from the rest of us. Naturally, we figured that people will ask if she's adopted. I'm guessing just about every adopted parent thinks long and hard about how he or she will respond to acquaintances or strangers who are curious, ignorant, or just plain rude, and who feel the need to ask about our child as though it is their right to know the answer. 

To that end, I imagined myself responding to nosy fellow shoppers or curious bystanders with "What's it to you?" This would be completely in keeping with my personality. Knowing what I know about Angry Driver's sense of humor, his response to questions about our adopted child's parentage would probably have been a tongue-in-cheek "What?! She told me it was my baby!"

As much as those responses would give us an emotional payoff, we can't just think about our immediate gratification. Angry Driver and I have cultural identities. We have solid roles in our family and in our society. Although he is still a child, even Bean has a solid foundation in his world. He has spent his whole life with us as parents. He looks at us and can see bits of himself in our faces. We have yet to meet our adopted daughter, but I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that she too has an identity in her world. And we are about to turn that world upside down in order to push her into our lives. In China, she is an orphan and she has special medical needs, but she is Chinese among Chinese people. Her caregivers are Chinese. The children around her are Chinese. Once our family comes together, our identities will all shift, but her shift will be the most profound. She will become:

Adopted

Chinese

American

Daughter

Little Sister

Different

And probably a lot of other roles that I can't even imagine yet.

Fortunately, our pre-adoption training made it clear that questions about our adopted daughter will probably come up quite often, particularly since we live in the largely homogeneous American Midwest town of Blahtown. We used Adoption Learning Partners for our required Hague training, and I think the courses are excellent. The training forced us to turn a critical eye on our family, our neighborhood, our city, our nation - all the facets of our known world. And, whether well-intentioned or not, people are going to ask questions. In all likelihood, our daughter will ask questions. Even if she never struggles to find her own identity (a nice fantasy, since I'm reasonably sure just about everyone struggles at some point with his or her place in the world), she will bear witness to how her family responds to the people who ask about her. Glib responses might be tempting for people like Angry Driver and me who generally adore sarcasm, but we certainly don't want our daughter to think that she is some kind of punchline. Angry or hostile responses might give me satisfaction in the moment, being as I can't punch rude people in their rude faces without going to jail, but I don't ever want my daughter to associate her place in our family with negativity. Completing the "Conspicuous Families" training lesson and a lot of online reading (mainly adoption blogs, forums, and agency website information) led me to conclude that my responses to people's questions will depend on the person who asks the question and the situation, but the words that come out of my mouth will always matter because they will tell my children what I think of my family and what I think of them as human beings.

So, let's practice.

Question: "Is she adopted?"

Response: "We are an adoptive family."
* Of all the possible responses I've read about or thought about using, I like this one best. It takes the spotlight off of one family member and puts us all in one boat, so to speak.

Question: "She's not your real child, is she?"

Response: "Why do you ask?"
* I like this one because it is passive aggressive, but subtly so. Anyone who isn't completely clueless should immediately realize that he or she is being incredibly rude with that question and back off.

Question: "How much did you have to pay to get her?"

Response: "Why? Are you interested in adopting?"
* Again, perhaps a bit passive aggressive. Seriously, though, what a horrible thing to ask someone.

The other major lesson I learned from our pre-adoption training was that Angry Driver and I needed to shift our paradigm. We are as Caucasian as Caucasian gets. When we go to the beach, I never lose sight of my family because we are the palest people there. We have a multicultural group of friends, but when we looked at our circle, we quickly realized that very few of our friends are of Chinese descent. I have an aunt who is from Japan, and cousins who are half-Japanese, but that's about it for Asian influences in our lives. We leaped into the notion of adoption from China without really thinking about how little we actually know about Chinese history, culture, food (real food; not the Panda Express version), and language. Granted, our daughter will more than likely be ethnically Chinese without being culturally Chinese just by the very fact that she will be adopted into an American, Caucasian, Midwest family at a young age. Be that as it may, we want to at least give her some link to the culture of her birth, if that's possible.

One of the ways that our adoption agency helps us prepare for the arrival of our child is through the creation of a "Family Care Plan". The idea is that we identify resources that are available to assist us after our daughter comes home. We find healthcare providers - a primary care provider, medical specialists, dentists, physical therapists, etc. We identify educational resources, mentor families, and cultural resources. While researching local resources, I came upon the website for the local Chinese School. I e-mailed the principal and, to my surprise, she quickly responded with a warm invitation to tour the school and attend a potluck dinner.

The school meets once weekly on Sunday afternoons. Most of the families have at least one parent of Chinese heritage. In fact, the schools are known as "heritage Chinese schools". This particular school teaches traditional characters, which I learned are used in Taiwan, Macau, and Hong Kong. Since our particular child will be from a part of mainland China where simplified characters are taught, she would be unlikely to encounter traditional characters in the local education system if she remained in China. There is another Chinese school close to Blahtown that teaches the simplified characters. However, Angry Driver and I were impressed by the warm response of the principal to my e-mail, and we decided that a tour of the school and a potluck would be a great way to learn more about Chinese culture and meet some Chinese families who are trying to balance an appreciation and understanding of Chinese heritage with a Midwest American lifestyle.

English word: "Mother"
Traditional Chinese characters: 母親
Simplified Chinese characters: 母亲
Pinyin (phonetic):  Mǔqīn

See? Similar characters, but different.

And so it was that we found ourselves driving 30 minutes on Mother's Day to join about 20 families in the fellowship hall of a Congregational Church to learn more about Chinese culture. There were a few Caucasian parents, but most of the adults were Chinese professionals and entrepreneurs. A few of the children seemed enthusiastic about their foray into Chinese linguistics and culture, but most of the kids looked like any children anywhere who find themselves "enjoying" an extra day of school on a weekend.

Since it was the last session of the school year, the kids put on a show for their families and the guests. It was a strange sensation to be watching a production and not understand a single word, but a few of the teachers helpfully explained some of the high points. A few of the idioms were beyond my grasp, but, with their help, I was at least able to appreciate the essence of the story line.

The potluck was awesome. Bean devoured a plate of food and a bowl of soup that looked a bit too exotic for my plebeian tastes. To my credit, I did sample a very tasty dessert that, under usual dining circumstances, I would have left on the buffet: glutinous rice with red beans and sugar wrapped in a banana leaf:

Here is a representative picture of a similar product:


Photo courtesy of Serious Eats

I did show my naiveté (like it hadn't been readily apparent anyway) when I verified prior to taking my first bite that one does not, in fact, consume the banana leaf.

All in all, a great experience. Will we enroll our daughter in Chinese School? The jury is still out. I think the final decision will be made once we know her - her personality, her temperament, her ability to sit still long enough to learn, etc.

For what it's worth, Bean begged us to let him learn Mandarin. So there is that.

No, none of our best friends are Chinese, but at least we are making inroads. Our world view is shifting slowly but surely.

My mind must continue to expand, so that it can catch up to my heart. After all, a piece of my heart has already leaped the ocean and is waiting for me in China.

Step 4: Happy families are all alike

I've been putting off writing this for a while now, but I think it would be dishonest for me to discuss my family's adoption journey without a candid discussion of the feelings behind the events that put us on this path. A preface here: emotions have always been difficult for me. On an intellectual level, I can discuss complex emotions and relate episodes from my past that are quite upsetting. However, it has always been difficult for me to just feel the feelings. I tend to revert to medical student mode and present the case, leaving the emotion out of the story altogether or else naming the emotion without giving it any power.

For instance:

A 30 year old married woman, Gravida 1 and Para 1, with a ten year history of endometriosis, had a complicated pregnancy and delivery of her biological child. She had progressive pelvic pain and dysmenorrhea despite multiple pharmacologic interventions. On the recommendation of her gynecologist, she underwent an elective laparoscopic-assisted hysterectomy and bilateral salpingo-oophorectomy to alleviate pelvic pain. Relief of physical pain was nearly immediate, but her post-operative course and recovery were complicated by a struggle to accept the reality of infertility.

All of that is true. The pain was terrible, and I felt better the day after the hysterectomy than I did the day before the hysterectomy. In fact, I took only two days off of work after the operation. It was easy for me to do, since I physically felt so much better.

And, of course, I was aware that a hysterectomy would be a permanent form of sterilization. I knew that I would have to take hormones to replace something that my body had produced naturally before the hysterectomy. I knew that I would never menstruate again (yeah!) and that I would never be pregnant again (um, yeah?!). I thought that I had weighed all the risks and benefits before having the procedure. Angry Driver and I talked extensively about the options beforehand, and his input was basically along the lines of "I would love to have one more, but I want you to feel better and we can always adopt".

I knew the consequences of the decision. I knew. I really did. However, that meant nothing in the weeks and months following my hysterectomy.

I started out happy enough. "No, really. I'm ok" became my mantra.
"It's fine. I'm lucky to have one child".
"I'll never have to buy tampons again!"
"There were no guarantees I would get pregnant again anyway".
"We are happy with one child, but we have always talked about adopting, so we can adopt if we want more children down the road".

Once I grew used to feeling physically so much better, I think the magnitude of the consequences of my decision started to become more apparent.  First, I resented my gynecologist. Looking back, it felt like I had been put in a no-win situation. I could continue to have terrible pain in the hopes of possibly having another biological child at some point, or I could remove all of my internal female organs and have pain relief. He hadn't wanted to prescribe pain medications. I had asked him to remove my IUD, but he told me it wouldn't help the pain. I asked about laparoscopic treatment for the endometriosis (I'd had the procedure years before with some improvement in pain) and he said that what I needed was a hysterectomy. When a two year old boy stands at your bedside day after day and says in his sad little voice, "Mommy hurt?", you feel like you are being herded down a chute with only one opening. I felt like my only option to be able to continue working, be a mother, and be a wife was the hysterectomy. So I had the hysterectomy. And, boy, did I resent it.

My seething anger toward the gynecologist gradually spread outward. It didn't really help that we had moved back to my hometown and it seemed like everyone I had ever known was pregnant. I kept telling myself that my pregnancy had been miserable, that I didn't even want to be pregnant, that I had no guarantee that I would have even been able to become pregnant, deliver a healthy baby, etc. There are no guarantees in life. The past is the past. It's done. Move on. I told myself these things, but I didn't believe them. Everywhere I turned, friends were pregnant. Colleagues were pregnant. People on Facebook were pregnant. I eventually concluded that Facebook is only for two types of people: happy people, and people who desperately want everyone to think that they are happy.

I was not happy. Of course, I couldn't lash out at Facebook friends or high school/college/residency friends. And, really, I wasn't mad at those people anyway. I was just pissed off in general. I don't know that I ever regretted having the hysterectomy, but I do think I regretted not insisting on having the IUD removed, insisting on a second opinion, insisting on an alternative procedure before doing something so irrevocable.

Since the deed was done and I couldn't really be productively angry at my friends or my gynecologist, I subconsciously directed my hostility and resentment to the one person who I knew wouldn't reject me: Angry Driver.

I'm not proud of this, but I found myself saying things like, "Well, you can always have more children if you want".

When that didn't get a rise out of him, I threw another, more powerful grenade: "If I die, you can get remarried and have ten more children. What about me? What do I have?"

Angry Driver refused to play into this, but I kept up the assault. It didn't help that my own parents married and divorced several times when I was a child, and I really did worry on some level that our marriage would fall apart and I would have to watch my husband cultivate a new family with someone else while I would never be able to have another biological child. No matter what I said, though, Angry Driver never did take the bait. He did nothing but reassure me or, if I was particularly vitriolic, ignore me.

Eventually, the resentment and hostility flamed out. Pseudo-acceptance was gradually replaced by a real acceptance that I had made the decision to have the hysterectomy, and it was up to me to live with the consequences - both good and bad. In my work as a physician, I frequently find myself counseling patients and families about treatment options. I tell them that all they can do is make the best decision possible with the information available to them at the time. Whatever decision they make is the right decision, since it is right for them and their family.

Those are easy words for a physician to say, but they are hard words for a person to live. Regret is the whisper that came when I saw pictures of an exhausted family holding a squalling newborn, or when I saw grinning siblings who were the spitting image of each other... and their parents. "What if?" was the voice that nudged me when I imagined a petite blond-haired, green eyed daughter who loves to read like I do and who inherited a passion for philosophy and cinema from Angry Driver. That little girl won't exist. She won't ever exist. And that made me so sad. At times, it still does make me sad.

Adoption could never happen for me while I was feeding that little festering monster of resentment and regret. Eventually, though, I stopped feeding it.

I knew that adoption was right for me when I found myself thinking about a child who looked nothing like me. In fact, I couldn't even picture the child well enough to know if it was a boy or girl. I imagined a child living without parents, without a solid foundation of love and support. I imagined that child jumping on the trampoline with Bean, snuggling in to watch Harry Potter (again!) with Angry Driver, and reading The Poky Little Puppy with me before bed. "I regret..." evolved into "What if?", and "What if?" became "Let's try".

When I started the discussion with Angry Driver, he embraced the idea, leaving me no doubt that he would love our adopted child just as much as Bean. I realized (I finally realized!) that he has dreams for his family too, and he had to come to terms with the consequences of the hysterectomy just as I did. I will forever be grateful that he was there for me when I needed someone to absorb my emotion. He was probably going through so much, but he lovingly carried my burden with his own. He loves me and he will love me. I am not an incubator for a baby; I am his wife and the mother of his child. When we adopt, I will be the mother of his children. As our discussions continued, we agreed that we both want a daughter. And we are lucky enough to be able to pick our child's gender this time!

Bean's first concern, of course, was that he would lose his playroom. When we assured him that the playroom would not be his sister's bedroom (but they would have to share his playroom), he was surprisingly amiable. I witnessed my son's own transformation as the process progressed. Initially, he said, "Will I marry my sister when we grow up?" Later, he said, "I won't go to China if it means getting shots". Lately, he chatters on and on about "When we get my sister..."

I think maybe Tolstoy got it wrong when he said, "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." It is rare that life can be condensed to black and white, good and bad, all or nothing. There are certainly dichotomies, but black and white eventually bleeds into shades of gray.

All happy families are unhappy at times. Happy families are those that carry each other through those unhappy times.

Mine is a happy family...and it is growing.