time flies

Exactly one year ago, I was on my way to Thailand with one of my best friends. We each had free tickets, and with a referral looming in the near future, I realized that I would never be that free again.

Exactly six months ago, after spending the last 3 days of DINKhood (dual income, no kids) exploring Paris:

We got off a plane in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia and prepared to meet our babies for the first time.

Upon our arrival, we received an 11 page document filled with photos and information about our kids. The entire time that we were waiting for our referral and then for travel, we longed for any little tidbit about either of our kids. We only had their referral photos for the longest time, and we were thrilled when we finally got their birth certificates. They had grown so much bigger!

This new document detailed their likes and dislikes, and told us so much about their personalities. More importantly, it showed us that the staff at the care center not only fed, and clothed, and diapered our children, but that they loved these children enough to get to know their idiosyncrasies. Throughout the entire roller coaster ride that the adoption process had been, everything had felt surreal until the moment we read that report. Only then did I truly realize that there really were two nine and a half month old babies waiting for us to take them home.

Although we didn't take any photographs to document it, our first meeting is a memory I'll carry with me for the rest of my life. I remember feeling the butterflies in my stomach as we pulled through the gate of the care center complex. To the left hung the day's laundry, gently fluttering in the breeze.

I remember walking down the gently sloping path, past the potty chairs lined up and waiting for their daily deposits, toward the building that our children had called home for the past three months.

Down three steps, and then back up and into Mussie building. We had to change out of our street shoes, trading them for rubber soled clogs. On the wall above the line of shoes hung photographs of children who had gone home -- evidence of the role that the nannies and the care center had played in their past.

We each took a deep breath, ascended one more flight of stairs, turned left, and were let into a small room: Mussie A. This room housed the children who were "younger than the toddlers, but older than the infants". White metal cribs lined two of the walls, with children's names and measurements written on sheets of paper that hung above them. Tsege was sleeping peacefully inside the third crib on the left side of the room.

Against the far wall was a changing table that converted to a bathtub, and a chair. Large windows let in lots of sunlight, and the door to a small balcony was open, allowing the breeze inside. On the same wall as the entrance to the room was a large built-in wooden dresser that held clothing, diapers, and toys.

In the center of the room, two large mats made of interlocking foam pieces created a play surface for several children. When we walked into the room, all activity ceased, and all eyes were on us. After searching the faces of the children for any sign of familiarity, we saw our son sitting in the middle of the children, evidently the ringleader of whatever game had been going on before we so rudely interrupted.

He looked at us, realized that we were looking at him, and immediately burst into tears.

The nannies were quick to console him, lifting him up and saying "Gere, Gere, here's your mommy" as they handed him to me. I can't even begin to describe what it was like to hear those words. He was not placated, nor convinced that he should have anything to do with us, and he clung to the familiarity of the nannies. We settled ourselves down onto the floor, singing softly to him and trying to interest him in the toys. Just as he began to calm, he would take a jagged deep breath and begin to cry again. It was very overwhelming for him, and eventually he exhausted himself and fell asleep in my arms.

Meanwhile, Tsege began to stir in the crib next to us. Jon was the first to notice this, and as she lifted her head to look at us, a gentle smile came across her face. We lifted her out of the crib (she was soooo tiny!) and set her in Jon's lap. From that very first moment, she was roses and sunshine.

It's hard to believe that it's already been 6 months since we first met, and even harder to remember what life was like without these amazing little people in our lives. Never in a million years could I have imagined what was in store for us. And never in a million years would I want it any other way!