Things here in packing central are almost done with less than twenty four hours to go. All is strangely calm before this baby storm. I think it has to do with the last minute consumer frenzy we've entered into. I may have single handedly saved the economy from what I've pumped into it the last few days. I bought those "space bags" that I always regarded leerily during late night TV watching. But oh my god, they're fantastic! My entire closet has been pumped into a carry on. Who knew?
And, for those of you who read the earlier entry re: Babies-R-Us, I actually went back in. That's right, the Babies-R-Us folks actually have....wait for it....alot of baby stuff! Who knew? I found baby accoutrement there that I had given up on finding. However, I did wear full combat gear and took a shot of whiskey before entering, but I was pleasantly surprised by the success of the mission. God bless B-R-US, and that loveable little giraffe.
And now for the real point of this post, thank you to Amy and Amy; two wonderful adoptive moms who took the time to send some wonderful tidbits about the mysterious Mr. M. Amy is proud son to Baby A., and Indiana Amy is host to a beautiful set of triplets! God bless them for finding the time to send me these wonderful words:
From Indiana Amy:
"I saw your gorgeous son and his easy, amazing smile while we were in Ethiopia bringing home our babies. His "crib" was very near theirs, and they seem to all be very good friends Someone sent me an "I saw your kids" email, and I memorized it during my wait, so I hope that knowing that someone closer than a million miles from here has seen your astonishingly beautiful little boy helps make the next few days fly. He has an absolutely CAPTIVATING smile -- so alert and endearing -- and he plays beautifully with others Take care, and have a wonderful trip. You won't be able to help it!"
From the Amy who lives 8 blocks from us:
"He was asleep when I went in to see him, but the nanny held him up so I could see his face. He looks so amazing!! He has really filled out--you almost won't recognize him. He has beautiful, creamy skin and the sweetest little mouth. When I saw him today, he was wearing an orange hoodie and black track pants. As I was leaving, the nanny whispered to me (in english), "I love him so much." It was such a sweet moment."
These messages practically killed me. So, to celebrate, here is Lauryn Hill and the Fugees, Killing Me Softly (one of me fave tunes).
So dear friends, we're almost there! Thank you for all the love and support. I hope to be able to update the blog via email, so be on the look out for updates and photos!
Bon Voyage!!! (Edit: can one "bon voyage" oneself? - because, well...I just did)
It's happening! We're packing. And let me tell you, it is quite the camel caravan. As many of you international adoptive families already know, packing for the pick up is quite the scene. We're bringing our own gear, Baby M's gear, and some donations for the care center. It's like a geometric puzzle trying to squish in diapers, tolietries, shiny baby objects, ten bottles of hand sanitizer (donation - we're not that germophobic) and an IPOD.
I would love to figure out how to pack things in another dimension, and then access them through some wormhole when I get there. Could happen.
I think I'm halfway done with Baby M's suitcase. I might even bring him a little baby fanny pack where he can store his passport, Eurorail pass, and clove cigarettes. Frankly, its like packing for Cher. But I don't think Cher's costume changes have to do with pooping oneself. I'm picking some rather bold outfits. For most of the time, he will be covered with a modest baby blanket, but underneath, a fashion plate burps.
The bottle thing has me flummoxed. Many different bottles. Different sizes. Different nipples (stop laughing 12 year olds!). And then there's that poison plastic emission stuff I need to avoid. Now, I lived in California and considered myself rather up on the environmental forefront. I cut the six pack plastic tabs so the dolphins wouldn't be censored. But I'm not sure which bottle is the right bottle. So, I'm bringing them all. One camel in the caravan (named Jeff) is assigned solely to hauling a full inventory of different baby bottles.
It's the Ethiopian New Year! Greetings and best wishes to all! We will definitely be sticking this date in our yearly calendar of reasons to have family and friends over to celebrate in messy and inappropriate ways.
This year, it's me and the dogs.
We're laying on the floor, contemplating our Enkutatash resolutions.
Daisy promised to not lick the furniture so much this year.
Ulysses committed to peeing only on the outside of the house, and to read more fiction.
I commit to being the best mom I can be for Misho. I don't know what that means yet being so new to the job. But, I 100% commit to Misho that I will love him unconditionally, always be present, hear his true self, and give him the space to be who he wants and needs to be.
Happy Enkutatash Misho! See you in three weeks!
Now, for no reason, here's a gratuitous celebratory video from the 80's, with the mandatory 80's champagne cork shot.
I heart Siouxisie and the Banshees, and so should you.
Fabu update from the Ethiopian home office. My boy - Misho the Magnificant - is now clocking in at over 13 pounds! The sumo-wrestler visualization techniques are working! To celebrate, let's call in the professionals. The sexiest, most charismatic video ever. Waterloo.
Today for the first time, reality set in. They, them, those people, said I would one day wake up, probably a couple of weeks before travel to pick up Misho, and truly realize just what we’ve done. I stayed home today due to some uterine issues (no need for details), and as I lie on the couch innocently enough watching The View (official public excuse: in too much pain to turn channel), it hit me like a dump truck full of play dough.
Holy hell. I’m going to be a mom.
This child will be with us for the rest of our days. We are irreversibly attached to and reconstructing our lives to accommodate another living breathing thing. And not a living breathing thing that can rest comfortably in most cases on the floor, pee on outdoor objects, and seem somewhat satisfied with a bowl of kibble. But rather a living breathing thing whose needs will be complex, mulit-layered, and perhaps even a little weird. I will be the primary caretaker of this human being. Or my “son”, as we’re now calling him.
Misho will stare at me and expect things. Holy shit. I’m going to have to know things. Mom things. Where to wipe and what to stick into his mouth. We have to hang out, A LOT, with no option to not. He might think I’m rather odd and smell funny, but whatever buddy, no changing cliques this time. I may be driving down the road, singing my favorite disco hit, and bam, realize that there is a baby in the back seat, and I’m not dropping him off somewhere.
Now, this is not the charming and heartwarming welcome letters that mothers put together for their children on their blogs. This is a declaration of panic. We’ve been trying to start a family for upward of six years now, and boom, we’re finally here. Almost. And will I let him read about my panic? Of course. Just to demonstrate how friggin seriously I took this mommy enterprise. How life altering. How ginormous. How seriously I took the job that I had a panic attack in my dark basement and almost ate an entire jar of peanut butter while the dogs looked helplessly on.
I’ve also noticed that my pants seem to have crept higher up my torso. Even my super hip-hugging pipe jeans seem to be on a journey toward my chin. How did the zipper and button crawl their way up past my belly button? Oh yeah, crap. I’m a mom.
David and I live in the big cold blast known as Chicago. We have two delightful doozers, Daisy and Ulysses. David is one of those lawyerly types, and I muddle around in the non-profit world. We are in the process of bringing home a delightful baby boy named Misho. Welcome to the Big Woo!