Dreams deferred

YH at 13 months old, wearing his cupcake jacket.

I hope you all really enjoyed those last two upbeat posts, because it's about to get gloomy in here again. It is now 15 months since we accepted YH's file and just under 14 months since our acceptance paperwork was sent to South Korea (this date, called "ATK", is what offically starts the countdown to travel clock).

Never in my wildest dreams did I think we would still be waiting to take custody of him. Never.

We have entered the season of dreams deferred. The girl scout camping trip that I didn't register Miss A for (because surely we'd be traveling!) is this weekend. Summer camp brochures languish on the kitchen counter, I declined a ladies' weekend at the lake, plans for our annual trip to Maine are left unspoken... every potential event is an opportunity to have my heart shattered twice. Once because I decline it and twice because it turns out we are STILL here without our son.

It physically hurts me. My legs are sore, my heart aches, it feels like someone is sitting on my chest.

There is information floating around the internets that claims the Ministry in Korea will accept the next batch of emigration permits in early April. The first batch has yet to be approved, and due to its large size travel calls will likely be spread out over several weeks. Which means travel calls for the second batch won't come until after the first batch have all traveled and dear god it all makes me want to cry.

My friends are having a toddler shower for me soon and I cannot thank them enough for making some happiness for us. It sounds weird but it means so much to me to know that people will be picking out gifts *just* for YH. Up until now I am the only one who has ever purchased anything for him and sometimes it feels like I am buying things for a child only I can see. But my friends are saying "We see him too, we want to love him too".

I am disappointed that not everyone can see the huge wound I am wearing. In the wake of my loved one's crisis it is painful to recognize that caretakers don't get taken care of in their own time of need.  When you are a caretaker it can make you feel vulnerable and weak to ask others to tend to you--it takes a lot of courage to say "I am faltering, please support me. Please treat me gently, please acknowledge my son-to-be, please. Just, please."

Sometimes I don't ask for help when I need it, but this is not one of those times. I have asked, and my friends answered with love. And I am grateful.