Yesterday was a crazy busy day at home. I'm nesting. I don't understand why, but I have this urgent need to get ready for her. We have a modest house by US standards. (A mansion by Haitian standards.) Only 3 bedrooms. That means the little girl will be sharing a room with someone. Since she's currently in a room with all boys, and Henry is closer to her age, it's only logical that she'll share a room with him.
I started cleaning Henry's room yesterday. Organizing toys, removing the diaper Genie we haven't used in ages, clearing out a corner. I told Jason I want to buy a toddler bed and get her part of the room set up.
"It's too early. We don't need a toddler bed yet."
My heart wants a toddler bed set up. With cozy warm bedding and lots of stuffed animals. I just want...something.
Along with cleaning yesterday I also finished the second panel of the blanket I'm knitting for her. Don't be impressed at all. I'm using a loom so it's total cheater knitting. But it's something I made with my own hands for her. I can see her wrapped up in it. I want to put it on her bed.
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I love connecting with other adopting mothers. No offense to anyone else out there, but they are the people out there who 'get it'. They too have waited/are waiting for their child to come home. They too understand what being paperwork pregnant is like. They too understand how crazy, emotional, neurotic and confused I am - and they don't judge me for it.
A dear friend Kara shared a blog with me. As I read it I almost shook my head off my shoulders. If you want to understand a little more the crazy person that is Karen, please read this: How to be the Village. (Full credit given to Jen Hatmaker whose blog I will be stalking daily now.)
I'll post a couple of points just in case you don't click on the link. But I hope you do.
How can you help? By not saying or doing these things:
1. “God’s timing is perfect!” (Could also insert: “This is all God’s plan!” “God is in charge!”) As exactly true as this may be, when you say it to a waiting parent, we want to scratch your eyebrows off and make you eat them with a spoon. Any trite answer that minimizes the struggle is as welcomed as a sack of dirty diapers. You are voicing something we probably already believe while not acknowledging that we are hurting and that somewhere a child is going to bed without a mother again. Please never say this again. Thank you.
4. We’re happy to field your questions about becoming a transracial family or adopting a child of another race, but please don’t use this moment to trot out your bigotry. (Cluelessness is a different thing, and we try to shrug that off. Like when someone asked about our Ethiopian kids, “Will they be black?” Aw, sweet little dum-dum.)
5. Saying nothing is the opposite bad. I realize with blogs like this one, you can get skittish on how to talk to a crazed adopting Mama without getting under her paper-thin skin or inadvertently offending her. I get it. (We try hard not to act so hypersensitive. Just imagine that we are paper-pregnant with similar hormones surging through our bodies making us cry at Subaru commercials just like the 7-month preggo sitting next to us. And look at all this weight we’ve gained. See?) But acting like we’re not adopting or struggling or waiting or hoping or grieving is not helpful either. If I was pregnant with a baby in my belly, and no one ever asked how I was feeling or how much longer or is his nursery ready or can we plan a shower, I would have to audition new friend candidates immediately.