And now we rest.

Whew.
Now that I know we will be traveling, that YH is legally able to join our family in the US, I am feeling all kinds of relief.

And all kinds of panic. But the panic is over the little, easily remedied stuff: travel details, packing, forgetting to register Miss A for swim team...and so on.

This kind of panic is far preferable to the deep and wounding panic of our wait. And I am more than aware that my relief comes at the cost of other families' despair. Because you see, it turns out we were rather lucky amongst the families in our batch of Emigration Permit approvals. My program specialist had told us that we would likely be in the middle of the travel calls due to our ATK date. I thought for sure that meant at least a week after the first calls came out.

Instead, we were one of the first three travel calls for our batch. From what I know, it looks like our placing agency moved the "waiting children" (the ones with medical needs) to the front of the line. Now there are rumors that the US embassy will only be scheduling 9 VI appointments per Korean placing agency, per week. This is in contrast to the "normal" schedule of 10 VI appointments per day total, with no specific days for particular agencies. If this rumor is true it has the potential to really slow things down for families waiting for travel call.

And I feel sick knowing that my happiness comes with the collateral damage of someone else's disappointment. When we were mired in the muck of our wait I was quick to brush off the sentiments of families already untied with their children. Sentiments like "I know how hard it is. Believe me it is all worth it when you hold your child. You won't even remember the wait once you're home..."

We are the first families to EVER endure a wait to take custody that is this long. While I am sure the anxiety is at core the same for families waiting 2 months or 12 months, the reality of such a prolonged wait is that it drains the adoptive families of hope/enthusiasm/joy. We dare not celebrate any movement for fear the next news to come out will rob us of our expectations. We live on edge for over a year. It *is* hard and it *is* unfair. And if you are reading this and you are still waiting, please know I am rooting for you and your family. I will not try to placate you now that my wait is close to the end. You have a right to be angry at the circumstances and a right to mourn your expectations.

The other day, before our travel call came, I had coffee with a friend and fellow adoptive mother. She asked me what kind of "self-care" resources did I have lined up. Huh. "Self-care". Yeah--that would be a good thing to do... Of course I hadn't thought a lick about how best to take care of myself during our transition, so that I can be the best me I can be for YH.

We came up with a list of items: schedule a massage for a week after our return, schedule an hour or two for drinks with my ladies within 2 or 3 weeks home, make sure to move every day, make sure to write...

Little things. Little things that replenish the spirit and body. That strengthen my tie to the outside world.

For my waiting family friends: I encourage you to think of your own self-care list. What makes you feel like yourself? What can you plan or schedule now, before you're in the thick of parenting?

My next post will have some practical travel details, and some thoughts on "the airport welcome" and our plans for our first weeks home. 

Give me an E! Give me a P!...E! P!...E! P!

Yesterday morning I was in a funk. Wallowing in apathy, as I am wont to do when things aren't progressing on pace with the imaginary timeline in my head. I was distressed that we hadn't heard news of YH's emigration permit being approved yet--we had hotel and pet care reservations lined up for mid-May and it looked like we would have to cancel them. The darkest corner of my brain was convinced there was another unexpected delay and we wouldn't be approved for months.

Adding to my despair: over the weekend our elderly tripod beagle developed sudden paralysis. He has since regained some use of his back right leg but his back left leg is useless. This is particularly challenging for him because he is missing his front left leg--so in essence he can only support himself with the legs on his right side. We've had to carry him up and down stairs and outside to relieve himself. He's not in pain, but the prospect of having to determine how this impacts his quality of life completely drained my emotional reserves and filled my stress cup to the brim.

I dragged myself through the morning preparations (packing lunches, putting socks on tired little feet, filling dog bowls with organic kibble, loading the dishwasher). I checked email 4000 times. I checked the facebookery 5000 times.

I decided to wash the windows.

Then a friend and former student came over for a perfect diversion. My friend is a finalist for a very prestigious fellowship and had an out-of-state interview later in the week. She had a new suit that needed a blouse; so I got to dress her up in my clothes, trying our best to transform her into Hillary 2.0

We finished our sartorial labor quickly and moved on to giggling over things on the internet (word to the wise: never try to freak out a college student with creepy videos on the interwebs; the college student will always one-up you).

And in the midst of our giggling my phone rang. It was my program specialist. I warned my friend I might cry and hastily grabbed the receiver.

J*** said, "Hi Nora. I have good news for you--YH's emigration permit is approved. You can expect your travel call within 1-3 weeks."

And I died a thousand deaths from happiness.

And then I spent the rest of the day in a fog. We went to our favorite Korean restaurant for dinner, to celebrate, and my daughter asked many insightful questions about what things will be different/same when we travel. Questions about food and drink, about bookstores, about building height, about public transportation--she's a traveler at heart, that one.


My son matter of factly said "I'm pretty sure I'll be the one who comforts YH when he's sad. Pretty sure he'll need me for that."


Final stretch. We're finally in the final stretch.

Expectations

Internet friends.

I am doing my best to sit serenely on my sofa, a cup of coffee and a beagle by my side. But instead I am kind of nervously clicking from one adoption forum to another trying to ferret out any new information about the current batch of emigration permit submissions.

We have been led to expect that the second batch (OUR batch!) will be processed within 4 weeks from submission date. 4 weeks from submission date is NOW. My phone is not ringing (yet).

Once we are notified that our emigration permit has been approved YH needs to have an embassy appearance and a visa interview and all kinds of other procedural boxes need to be checked. In the best case scenario that all takes a week or less.

And then the BIG phone call will come. The one that says "We invite you to come meet your son."

Sean and I have recently turned a corner in our travel plans. We decided to just take a risk and plan to travel in mid-May. We have reserved a hotel and were really close to buying tickets on crazy sale last night (alas, our return date made the whole thing invalid--boo!).

But, tickets on our preferred airline are still within reasonable range. Of course my definition of "reasonable" is based on what I've paid in the past to fly to South Africa/Mongolia/Madagascar so it's probably a bit skewed compared to most other travelers.

We finally put YH's room together. Sean converted the crib to a toddler bed and sweetly arranged the blankets I sewed  for YH last summer. During a commercial break on "Dance Moms Miami" (don't judge) he called me in to see his work.


And I burst into tears. YH's room (really a small nursery attached to our bedroom and closed off with french doors) looks so beautiful and cozy. There is enough room for his bed (although we anticipate co-sleeping for a while), a small plush bean bag to flop on, a bright rug to play on, and a cozy spot to look at books. We need to finalize the lay out and hang decorations--but his belongings are organized in bins on the built-in shelves. All it needs is the little boy who will *very soon* call the space his own.


Ring phone, ring.

What Happens Next

I am still over the moon excited that our emigration permit has been submitted!

This is a big step in the Korean adoption process and it signals that after 14 months of our acceptance paperwork sitting on a desk somewhere, the Korean government is finally ready to make progress toward YH joining our family.

Many people have asked: what happens next?

In short, we spend the next three to five weeks in a frenzy of "getting ready" activity waiting for our phone to ring with the official travel call. This call will come from our US agency and it will tell us that YH is paper-ready to join our family. We will have one to two weeks to get to Korea and officially take custody of him.

The plan is for all four of us, plus my mom, to travel. We will need about 7 days to get everything in order on the home front--pet sitter, a sub for Sean at work, letting the kids' school know, packing...and so on.

We hope to travel on a Thursday, arrive in Seoul on a Friday, and spend the weekend exploring/recuperating. On Monday we would have our first meeting with YH and Mrs. S., hosted at our Korean placing agency. The kids will spend time with my mom while Sean and I go to the meeting. We will dress nicely and do our best to assure Mrs. S that we will parent this child with all the love that we have. There will be tears--so many tears.

Depending on how the first meeting goes our social worker may arrange a second meeting later in the week, or she may recommend that we take custody of YH the night before our scheduled departure.

We hope to return to the US on a Thursday or Friday, after spending a full week in Korea.

It all feels surreal right now.
Our friends threw the most amazing and fun and fantastic toddler shower for us (that gets its own post!) and so now I sit surrounded by YH's things--his things--and try to imagine the little boy who will soon be playing with/wearing all this cuteness.

Emigration Permit submitted!!!!!!!!

Yesterday morning at 9:30 I saw the first post on facebook. Someone with another agency was submitted for EP! The second batch was submitted in March!

My stomach clenched and my hands went numb. I hit "refresh refresh refresh" for twenty minutes--twenty unproductive minutes.

I decided to go for a run--grabbed the dog and her leash and hit the pavement. I ran like the wind. Whereas I am normally a slow and huffing runner, today I was a gazelle. A gazelle being pursued by a lion. The dog was confused--happy, but confused.

We got home an hour later and I looked at my cell phone--no missed calls. I looked at my email--no new messages. I logged on to FB and watched three people with late January ATK dates post that they had been submitted for EP. I started to sweat a little harder.

I wrote the following email to my (saintly) program specialist:

"Oh J***,

 

I feel like I'm going to throw up. Do you have bad news for me today re: the second batch?

 

Nora"

I hit send. I hit refresh for five more minutes.
My home phone rang and I leaped across the house to answer it. Caller ID said "Childrens Home"

I grabbed the phone and said "hello?" in a super shaky teeny tiny voice.

My program specialist said "Nora?'

I said "Hi J*** how are you? How is the weather? What did you have for dinner?" and on and on trying to fill the space.

J*** said "Nora, stop. I have something to tell you."

J*** told me the good news and I started to cry. Heaving sobs. SOBS.
I hung up and called my husband. I cried some more. (I am still crying.) I walked around the house and picked things up, and put them back down again. I took the dog for a second run.

THIS IS REAL AND IT IS HAPPENING!

Trudging forward

                                                 On a hike in Maine after big rains


I feel like I've been forcing myself to move forward every day this week. My heart and body want to stay in bed all day, but I will not allow myself the luxury of a good wallow. No. It will not happen.

So I get up and make lunches for my three loves (and wonder what my fourth love has for his lunch), and I help my two littles get dressed (and wonder what my third little is wearing) and I see everyone out the door with a cheerful smile (and wonder if I am fooling them).

I walk the dog--forever. We walk and walk and walk around the neighborhood. I take stock of every house with signs of a baby/toddler within. I stare at every stroller that crosses our path. I respond enthusiastically to every parent who says "Can he/she pet your dog?". I smile SO BIG at each toddler that I end up scaring most of them.

It's working. I am fighting the pull of blessedly-numb inertia and filling my days with forced cheer. I am checking things off my to-do list and resisting the urge to spend all day obsessively monitoring my internet information sources.

There have been MAJOR developments in the Korean adoption world this week. The first batch of emigration permits was approved on Monday and just 10 minutes ago I learned of a friend's travel call. The travel calls are coming! Hooray!

I am cautiously hopeful that next week will bring news of the submission of the second batch of emigration permits. I am even more cautiously hopeful that we will be among those submissions.

Forward. Onward. Upward.

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.

Pity party.

Well.

Good news: Several of my friends who have been waiting for so long to meet their children were submitted for EP today! This is wonderful! The process has started after months of no movement!

And if you were sitting across from me right now you would see how big my smile is and how many tears are coursing down my face.

Because: we were NOT submitted for EP today.

And I know-- I really, really know--that it was a long shot anyway. But it definitely sounded like there was a possibility. And I definitely let myself get excited about that possibility.

And now...now I am struggling to feel anything.
I am numb and sad and envious of my friends who *were* submitted--and feeling guilty about feeling envious.

I want to scream about how unfair it all seems. I want someone to buy me a drink. I want to take a nap with my cat. I want to be thankful for what I do have, and to stop feeling this way. I want to be able to get off my rear and go grocery shopping. I want to forget this is happening.

I heard from our program specialist minutes before I left to read a story to Sweet Bub's kindergarten class. Her email was sweet, and contained updated measurements and photos of YH. It wasn't all bad news.

But the bad news was what stuck in my throat. The bad news was what made my eyes fill with tears as I read "My Name is Yoon" to a classroom of bright, shining faces. The bad news made me hug Sweet Bubs extra tight on my way out and had me sobbing in the car on the way home.

The bad news has me pinned to the couch, trying to remember that this will eventually happen. It has to.

Wait...what?

(exciting news people!)

(i'm still going to whisper this part so that i don't jinx it actually happening: yesterday our agency confirmed that the Korean government will start processing emigration permits on monday, march 5 2012. the first few batches of permits are expected to be processed more quickly than normal; families in the first batch to be processed may be traveling to take custody by the end of march.)

Y'all.

This is happening. After over a year of waiting, waiting, waiting we can finally say with some certainty that we are in the home stretch.

It is unlikely we will be in the first batch of families to travel--we're hoping for the second. That would probably mean travel in April.

And in case you are wondering what my mental state is like in light of this wonderful news, allow me to give you a glimpse:

YES! I can't wait! Let us be in the first batch please oh please!

OhmygodIamsonotreadyforthisyet. We still have so much to prepare!

I can't wait to be home with YH and to start caring for him. I can't wait to hold him and smell his hair and tell him how much we love him.

Ack! The new dog starts obedience training in mid-March. We can't travel before April or she won't get to finish her class and she'll be untrained and then what will we doooooo....

The new dog will be so great with YH. She's so chill and even tempered. She loves kids and senses when to be extra gentle with them.

I have to finish raking the leaves out of the yard! I have to set up a water table and sand box! I have to spend one on one time with my oldest kids! I have no time!

I'm going to make a dog cart just like  Sweet Juniper did.

 I am so bummed that Davy Jones died.

*********
And so on.

Happy one minute, freaked the eff out the next minute.

Tomorrow I'm attending a parenting workshop ("Beyond Consequences" with Heather Forbes) at the invitation of my friend and fellow adoptive parent. I think it will be good to spend the day focusing on building parenting skills.

If you can--send out some extra positive energy on Monday.  Our agency will be calling families on that day to let them know whether or not their child's permit has been submitted. I have many friends who have been waiting for 15+ months to travel, whose children are about to turn 5 years old, who are READY to meet their child. I want their phones to ring with good news.

For SJ's mom

As I've said before the internet and its instantaneous access to information and rumor can be a blessing and a curse for those families pursuing international adoption.

It is a blessing to get frequent updates from your agency. It is a blessing to see a video file of your child-to-be waiting in your inbox. It is a blessing to connect with other parents the world over who are also adopting a child.

I have learned so much from the friends I have made through blogs and internet forums. SO MUCH.

But the dark side of the internet and these online friendships is that it makes it so much easier for rumours to fly. For frustrations to mount. For the words of one person's angry vent to crush the little hope remaining to another waiting parent.

It is so hard. So hard to get your hopes up and see them dashed again. To have no control over the process. To know intellectually what the *right* thing to do is, and at the same time have your heart screaming for decisive action.

Several families have joined together to lift their hearts in prayer for movement on the emigration permit front. I am thankful to them for harnessing their faith for all the children waiting to join their families. I am.

But--there are many of us who do not pray. Who do not share the same faith practices and who do not find comfort in scripture. And to these parents I want to say that I am putting so much positive energy out into the universe. For your child, for my child, for all the children. I believe the universe will come through for us. I really, really do.

I understand if your heart and your spirit need to take a break. If you need to rebuild the protective walls that will allow you to be the best parent you can be for your child. I want you to be strong.

I understand if it seems like this journey will end with your arms empty and your heart broken. I wish we lived in the same city. I would buy you coffee and we could weep and laugh into our cups while the Replacements played in the background. We could go thrifting and buy tiny little 70s sweaters for our sons.

I believe it will happen. I'm happy to believe for both of us. I'll carry both our sons in my heart. Take time for yourself and let me know when you're ready to believe again.

March-ish.

March-ish.

That's when emigration permit submissions are supposed to start for real. Understandably, those of us waiting to take custody of our children are a wee bit skeptical about this news. Some of us are even more than skeptical--some of us are angry, disbelieving, bitter.

I read a comment on the blog of an amazing advocate for Korea's children that really struck me. I am not judging this parent, as clearly he/she is in immense pain, but the main thrust of the comment was that the person had put away all pictures of the child they were waiting to take custody of. He/she had erased all traces of the child in the home because it was too painful to look at them and consider that this child might never join his/her family.

Ouch. Oh, friend.

I will not take down any of the pictures of YH that we have around the house.
No.

I love that little boy and I will wait as long as it takes for a decision about his future to be made. I hope that the decision will be for him to join our family but if it turns out that he is to remain in Korea I will continue to love him. And to wish him health and happiness.

My frustration with the process as it stands right now, with this "unexpected" delay, will not color my feelings toward my child or the country where he was born.

My fellow waiting parents are beginning to exhibit a most American trait: the willingness and desire to raise our voices in protest.  The belief that getting our government involved will quickly fix this "problem". The notion that if we are loud enough, go to media outlets, get congress involved, we can expedite the Korean government's process. (A process that, BTW, is actually not delayed--there was no "start date" announced by the Korean ministry. The US agencies and the Korean placing agencies *assumed* based on years past that emigration permits would be processed in early January.)

I am thankful that I live in a country where I am allowed to protest what I perceive as injustice. I am thankful that my voice has the potential to influence policies and procedures here, in the US. But I am in no way arrogant enough to think that my voice, my country's voice, should/could hold sway over another country's established process. Because that process is not moving fast enough for me.

Yes--I fully support advocating for the best interests of children who need homes. Of course.

But the desperate pleas and tantrums of waiting families are beginning to take on a strong tone of entitlement. Of cultural imperialism. Of judgement.

I am owed NOTHING by the Korean government.
My son-to-be however, is deserving of choices made in his best interest.

 Let's all take a deep breath. If you believe in God, pray. If you practice yoga, spend a few extra minutes in child's pose. If you play roller derby, skate extra hard.

If you can bear it, look at a picture of your child-to-be.

Good things come to those who wait.

Like clockwork.

It's Tuesday.
Tuesday=supercrazyskyhighanxiety day.

My fellow waiting friends are ANGRY. They are TIRED. They are NUMB.

The placing agencies now say the Ministry has indicated it will start accepting Emigration Permit submissions in early-March. I want to believe this will happen, but even our agency's official update sounds skeptical that this will be the case. We've gotten our hopes up several times before about a "for sure" date.

A family who has been waiting almost a year since receiving their referral got a phone call from their agency alerting them to the fact that their child's foster family wishes to adopt the child. The family in the US lost the referral. In Korea there is no age restriction on families adopting domestically. A pending international adoption can be dissolved if a member of the child's birth family (or any Korean family) wishes to adopt the child. This is true pretty much up until the family adopting internationally takes custody of the child.

Can you imagine how you might feel if at this moment in time, this raw and vulnerable moment, you lost the referral of a child you had loved for over a year? The mama in question has written a letter/blog post to her almost-daughter's foster mother:

A letter to Mrs. Chung

Beautiful. Heartbreaking. Terrifying.

Slightly less exhausted.

Last night we were fortunate enough to be invited to dinner at a friend's house. This friend is one of the people who should have nothing to do with me because the last couple of times we've seen each other I've been sour sour sour. But because she is gracious of heart and spirit, she reaches out to keep the friendship blooming. And for that I am so thankful.


And so my lovely friend and her equally lovely family took us in on a rainy night, shared their toys, fed us delicious lasagna, listened to our woes and offered support. And it was magical.

The grown-ups laughed over beers and diet coke. We shared stories from our youth, and listened to the wild rumpus of our own kids chasing and laughing and waging battle on one another.

The kids ranged in age from 10 to 2, and I don't know what was sweeter: seeing my son idolize my friend's eldest child, or seeing her toddler try to win my child's heart with stickers sweetly offered by the handful.

It was a good night; a much needed good night.

My friend also helped me realize that these exhausting weeks follow a pattern (perhaps my fellow waiting friends can relate?):
Monday is fraught with giddy anticipation. It could be THE day!
Tuesday is more anxiety-laden. WHY hasn't it happened? Is my agency update posted on-line yet? Let me hit refresh ONE more time...
Wednesday is filled with moments of negative thoughts followed quickly by moments of optimistic resolve. Clearly it won't be today. BUT it MIGHT be today! Refresh refresh refresh....
Thursday is the saddest day. I give up by 12pm because if the Australian waiting families haven't posted an update by then...Refresh. Half-hearted refresh. Refresh.
Friday I wake up with a weight lifted--nothing will happen over the weekend so I don't have to obsessively check all my information sources. I can leave the phone out of sight all day, I can BREATHE.

Knowing that this pattern exists make me feel slightly more in control of my emotions, and gives me a guide to scheduling activities. Social activities should be consigned to Fridays and the weekends--maybe Monday. They should be limited on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday.

What a relief! Now I don't have to worry about putting on a happy face--I can avoid scheduling gatherings/get togethers that would be most stressful on my bad days. I can take maximum advantage of the good days to shower my friends with love--because they deserve it.

Exhausted.

Well.

In the ongoing saga of absolutely NO MOVEMENT on the adoption process, there has been NO MOVEMENT. Well, except for the rapid plummeting of the hearts, hopes and dreams of those of us waiting.

The most recent credible rumor was that the South Korean government ministry in charge of processing emigration permits would begin accepting submissions from placing agencies in "mid-February".

"Mid-February" was Monday. It was Tuesday. It was Wednesday and it is today. And the ministry has not started accepting submissions. At this point families have been matched with a specific child, waiting to take custody of that child, for up to 15 months.

Our US agencies have no idea when the ministry will accept submissons. The Korean placing agencies have no idea when it will happen.

We are all losing our minds.

If you are my friend in real life, and you are still speaking to me, kudos to you. Because man, I don't even want to be around me.

The wait, the unknowns, the worry, the fear--we are exhausted. And we are exhausting. If you don't ask us about how our son/daughter in Korea is doing we feel like you don't care. If you do ask us about him/her, we start to cry or rant. When you make what you think is a light hearted joke about how buying new shoes/looking at getting a puppy/buying a house is a "replacement" for not having our waiting child, it feels like you punched us in the stomach.

Because at this point, it feel entirely possible that we will not get to take custody of these children.

We think of the empty strollers parked in our garage. Of the booster seat strapped to a dining room chair. Of the quilt we made by hand six months ago, waiting to cover a softly sleeping form.

We think of our toddlers in Korea, so attached to their foster families/caregivers. We think of how confusing it will be for them to be handed over to a new family. Or to leave the facility where they've lived their whole lives.

We think of the older children we are adopting. The child about to turn five who knows she has a family waiting for her but doesn't understand why they aren't there yet. Why it is taking so long? Did they change their minds?

We think of the foster families, who have cared for our children since shortly after birth. Who have slept with these babies on their chests, carried them on their backs, bathed them and witnessed their first steps. What an incredible burden to fill their hearts with so much love and then take it away.

We think of the children already in our families. Children who don't understand the invisible sibling. Children who don't understand why we are so quick to cry at the sight of a toddler.

This sucks. It just sucks.

Open letter to an adoption agency

Good morning Adoption Agency,

I imagine you are inundated with emails and phone calls from those of us in the Korea program who are anxiously awaiting news on the Emigration Permit front. It is my understanding (from a flurry of activity on Facebook/forums) that the much anticipated "February 1st" business day has come and gone with no EP submissions taking place.

In the wake of this unofficial "news" many waiting families, including my own, are teetering on the edge of despair. We pinned our hopes on February 1, 2012. We prayed and cursed and crossed our fingers that TODAY our phones would ring. We clutched pictures of our waiting children and glanced anxiously at the tiny winter coat folded on our dresser.

The phones didn't ring.

And so we are making statements like "I don't know if we'll ever take custody of YH". We are greedily looking one another over, trying to speculate who will be in the first batch ("I've been waiting since December 2010", "My child is turning 5!", "My son needs surgery"). I've been waiting longer, my child is more deserving, my PAIN is MORE.

We are scared and angry.

I know that you cannot control the information flow from Korea. I know that you cannot control the processing of EPs.

But I also know that you CAN do something very important:

You can make it a priority to send a daily email to the waiting families that says simply "We know you are anxious.There is no news yet." One email sent to an address book/group. You could copy and paste that same message every day for a whole week and it would make us all feel SO MUCH BETTER.

Because as it currently stands, we feel like we are shouting into a void. I don't *want* to send you  pleading, frustrated emails any more than you want to receive them.

Would you please consider this request?

Many thanks,

Nora (whose son in Korea needs surgery and who is too distraught over this situation to actually mail the birthday care package that *should* be there waiting for him on February 4 but won't be)

State of the Union Address

Oh hi there. So, yeah. Things were a little heavy around the ol'blog last week, no? Jeez. Apparently I had some thoughts and some feelings and I needed to spew them all over the interwebs.

Thank you all for your positive feedback and contributions to the conversation. This is hard stuff, and it can be uncomfortable stuff. In many ways I am grateful that our wait to take custody of YH has been longer than expected because it has given me time to learn more and grow more confident in my knowledge of issues and politics surrounding inter-country adoption.

It has also given me time to progress from the stage of feeling like I know it all. Remember when you first learned about orientalism or feminism and you suddenly felt compelled to tell everyone you knew about how they were appropriating another culture or how they needed to subvert the male gaze? NO? Just me? Ok, well I had a similar overwhelming need to unburden myself as I learned about inter-country adoption.

I remember being absolutely certain that we had found the right program pretty early on in our process. In this program we would sign on with a smaller agency, wait 6-9 months to be matched with a mother who had just given birth and then travel to the country of origin. We would spend 6 weeks in country. The birth mother would physically hand her child over to us early in the trip and maybe come by the hotel once or twice a day to nurse the baby. We would get to know her and her family and hopefully have an open adoption (albeit one where we were separated by thousands of miles). It seemed so perfect! We wanted an open adoption! It is so much better for everyone!

And then. Then it began to sink in that if the money we were paying for an adoption were invested in family preservation efforts this child, this nursing infant, might get to grow up in his/her home culture. With his/her cousins and aunties and uncles and birthparents.

In this scenario the concept of an "open adoption" is pretty misleading. The adoption would be "open" in the sense that the adoptive family could agree to sending updates and coming back for visits but because of the huge imbalance in adoptive parent and birth parent resources, it is unlikely that the birth family would have as much access to the child as the term "open" would imply. The adoptive family would always hold the upper hand.

I am not bashing this particular program (although the agency was investigated by the central adoption authority of the placing country last year and it did suspend its program--but good news! The agency just opened up a new program in another impoverished part of the world! hooray!). I am just illustrating how easy it is for us to see what we want to see when we start researching the options for growing our families.

After this particularly enlightening moment I felt the need to cry "corruption!" at every adoptive parent story/blog post. It was not pretty. It was a reflex driven by fear and panic that despite our good intentions we were actually making the world a not-so-great place. I'm over that now. I will proudly shout from the rooftops that I am ignorant, that I am a work-in-progress. That circumstances are rarely GOOD or BAD and that in fact they are almost always BOTH.

As it currently stands I think there is room for awareness, joy, and anger in the adoption process. All at once. I think these heavy thoughts all the time. But I am also eagerly awaiting the GOOD STUFF. The chubby fingers, the belly laughs, the first trip to the beach...all of it.

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My situational anxiety is at an all-time high. The latest rumor is that the Korean government will start processing Emigration Permits on February 1st. We don't know if YH's permit will be in the first batch or the second batch of permits to be processed. Chronologically it should be the second, but because of his age and medical status he may be moved to an earlier batch. Each batch takes about 4--6 weeks to process and then adoptive families get their travel calls.

Of course that's the way it usually works. So far this year nothing has gone "as anticipated" so I am wincing in the corner, awaiting the next devastating blow that will further delay travel for us.

Additionally, we received confirmation last week that YH does indeed need surgery. Due to schedule issues with the surgeon in Korea it is recommended that he have his surgery here in the US. We are gathering specialist names and researching recovery times and other things that as a parent you hope you never have to do. I am exploring websites with information about his medical need with my fingers splayed across my eyes--peeking through at pictures of other children who have walked this road.

It's not fair to be this consumed with worry so I'm trying to find some time each day to allow myself to be excited. To let myself organize his "room" (really a nursery/office space that is attached to our master bedroom). To look at his pictures over and over. He turns two this weekend. Two years old. He was 11 months old when we accepted his referral.

That's just the way it is.