Out Of the Mouths (and Noses) Of Babes
In the light of day, everything seems survivable. But last night, while in the throes of CrySnotCough Fest 2006, I honestly contemplated telling Sam that I was headed out for the proverbial pack of smokes. Seriously. I came dangerously close to needing a straight jacket and padded room. We put Ruby down for bed at six and she cried for almost three hours. Of course, we were checking in on her every ten to fifteen minutes but Team Parent had decided that it was being manipulated by this not yet 19 pound child (she was well on the way to recovery from her cold, wasn’t she?) and needed to be tough loved into slumber. Right. Shout out to Samantha: Flail Factor times 17 over here.
During the adoption process, Sam and I had many, many conversations about parenting and I distinctly recall that we didn’t subscribe to the let-the-baby-cry-it-out technique. So how we ended up getting sucked into that horror show I’m not quite sure; in reality, it was probably my doing but Sam was gallant enough to stand in solidarity. Oh how I love this man. At any rate, by 8:30 last night, we’d had enough and decided that we were proving nothing by letting our child shriek. So it was that Ruby fell asleep immediately (again) on my chest where, at a slightly elevated angle, the goo dripping ceaselessly from her nose to her throat couldn’t end up choking her into consciousness. Sam eventually moved her to her crib where she slept through the night and I was able to remove my make-up, brush my teeth and take Mama’s Cocktail: 4 Ibuprofen, a lipitor and a benadryl…thank GODESS for bendadryl.
Today was better, though the bodily functions remain. Ruby came to work with me but not before we stopped at Sam’s shop for coffee. Ever the AOE mascot, Ruby was in her usual, darling form save the boogers running down her face and smeared across her forehead. I tried to clean her up, repeatedly, but she protested loudly while twisting and thrashing to be free of my grasp. So I gave up and pretended like she was fresh out of the shower. Public parenting has the ability to make me very self-conscious if I let it. Fortunately, Sam came to the rescue with a smile, a reassuring kiss and his sleeve. What a MAN…he used his SLEEVE to wipe her snot! Not me. Nope. I didn’t even think to consider offering up my $16 faux suede Target jacket. There’s that maternal instinct not kicking in again; it gets stalled in first sometimes. Note to self: sleeve of jacket can be washed, child will view you with idolatry later.
After putting in a frenetic two hours at work, I brought Ruby home and did the often elusive Nap Transfer: move the sleeping child from car seat to crib without disturbance. I always have to reward myself with a mental end zone dance when I successfully complete this particular feat of parenting; the feeling is not unlike sticking a first-shot parallel park job. On the left hand side of the street. In rush hour traffic. Lucky me, I was able to grab an hour to myself; I inhaled a slice of veggie lasagna, since there is no other way to eat as a parent, and read a few chapters in my book before I was on duty again. Feeling refreshed and competent (last night was but a blip on my radar), I took Ruby and Ella out for a walk where I happened upon a group of 8 year olds playing in the park. A darling little boy ran directly up to the stroller and shouted in my direction WHY’S SHE BLACK? I swear I heard a needle being dragged across a record and all sound coming to a complete halt as 7 other kids stopped what they were doing and waited together, eyes large and blinking, for my answer.
I was stunned at first but answered honestly in my best voice for second graders: because her BIRTHmother and BIRTHfather are black and I adopted her and I’M her MOTHER and I’M WHITE! The music started again, birds chirped, wind blew, the girls carried on with jumping rope and the boy skipped off with his football, all apparently satisfied with my meager explanation. I stood frozen in my spot, whipping myself (stoopidstoopidstoopid!) for adding the part about being white, a fact which clearly didn’t necessitate explanation. My girls and I left the park and sauntered home, my confidence just a little bit dented but not permanently damaged. Ella chose to be exemplary at the end of her leash and Ruby kicked her little legs while chatting with the clouds. The rest of the day was peaceful and loving. Ruby went down without hassle and had extra big smiles for both Sam and me tonight. Which really makes everything so damn worth it.
All Systems Go
I sat down to write about my week and my daughter but have to take a slight detour due to the ongoing attitude of American moral superiority that George W. Bush and his zealous supporters continue to display to the world and, perhaps even more upsetting, the level of apathy exhibited by the greater American Public.
Today, as Americans across the country get blotto on green beer, we hardly remember that it is the 3rd anniversary of the start of this horrendous war. The war that I call World War III. The war that will end all wars. How ’bout a toast? So far, 2,314 American soldiers have been killed in Iraq…those are the “official” numbers which do not include any service members who may have survived long enough to be transferred to Germany and died after arriving at our military hospital there. They don’t factor in for some reason. We’ve killed (and continue to kill) thousands and thousands of innocent Iraqi’s, we torture people all over the world while turning our noses up at the Geneva Conventions (which we helped author), and yesterday, we launched what was reported on NPR as the largest air bombing campaign since the war began, against Samarra, where intelligence reports claim there is “insurgent activity.” Bush has been proven time and time again to have lied about the reason(s) for this war; has broken the law with his domestic spying program; left Amercian citizens to drown in the Gulf Coast; has done next to nothing to help these “refugees” or to rebuild the area. He has no credibility. Meanwhile, we’re spending billions of dollars each month in Iraq, the senate just increased our debt ceiling, approved more funds for the war and CNN’s top stories yesterday were 1) that Jessica Simpson loves Bush and 2) that we need to have a “Roe vs. Wade for Men”. WAKE UP SHEEPLE. We 1) are short sighted idiots with 2) the wrong priorities and 3) have blood on our hands if we continue to sit back and do nothing. Bush must be held accountable and at the very least, impeached for breaking the law (he should be on trial for war crimes). And this is hardly speaking to the aggressive erosion of our civil liberties here at home. Roe vs. Wade for Men…give me a fucking break. As if men don’t have a choice EVERY SINGLE DAY OF THEIR LIVES.
Believe it or not, all of this brings me back to Ruby. Somehow, when I look in her eyes, the problems of the world seem at the same time to be less awful and devastatingly hopeless. I try to be positive by focusing on her innocence and her beauty and not think about the kind of world we will be handing over to her someday. Living in the moment, I shut out the news and concentrate on how intense it must be to discover the paw of a dog or the feeling of fleece against skin for the first time. My survival mechanism demands that I live consciously within the safety of my Family Bubble and relish each milestone. By doing this, I am reminded that there is, indeed, good in the world.
We’ve had a banner week in this house. Since last Sunday, Ruby has learned how to crawl, figured out how to pull herself to standing in her pack-n-play (or, less fun for me, from her changing table by leveraging herself on my nipples), and went tinkle and poop in the toilet. About the tinkle and poop, I am not bragging here. She was simply a victim of circumstance and ended up doing what she had moments before been trying to do in the bathtub.
I’ll spare the gory details here, lest any of this end up in a wedding day/commitment ceremony montage some time in her future. It’s fair to leave it as such with the only detail being that I held her slippery little body on the edge of the toilet seat and laughed until tears were running down my face. I hope that this doesn’t give her any potty issues but we’ve got the college fund going and it can always be diverted to therapy. Honestly, I had no idea that the poop didn’t come out looking like a ball of play-dough and was quite surprised at how adultesque it was. Opps…there’s one of those pesky details I was avoiding. As a gentle segue, I think it might be time to baby-proof the house.
Yesterday, I took Ruby to a playgroup organized by a woman in our adoption “support group.” I put quotes around that because I just don’t like the connotation of support group. I suppose that’s what it is but really, to me, it just seems like a bunch of people who share a common experience and like to hang out together. At any rate, Animal Crackers is the playgroup that has been formed as an off-shoot of the original group, Fortune Cookies, for those of us who have brought our children home. We’ve been gathering every two weeks for the kids to play and for the moms to chat. Yesterday was one of the best days yet; several new babies have come home and there was much to celebrate and share. Lisa, our gracious and lovely host, has her house decked out with all sorts of toys that I wish we had but hardly have the patience or stomach to seek out in the hideous “Toys-R-Us” (I ran screaming from that place during my one and only visit). I have to say, the house looked like an advertisement for Benneton. It was fantastic to see such a diverse group of children all doing their kid thang as the adults played with them while also engaging in abbreviated (interrupted) conversations with each other. I wonder if I was the only one who recognized that parenthood is really just a series of interrupted conversations and the foiling of near accidents. Whatever it is, the mojo was working at Lisa’s and Ruby and I had a wonderful time. As an adoptive parent, it is so refreshing to take my daughter to a place where she can just be a kid and I can just be a mom, rather than feeling like I’m in a question and answer session about the adoption process. Though most people who inquire about our family are nice enough, it gets to be very tiring always having to explain and justify. And we deal with this everyday, where ever we go since it’s quite obvious that Ruby is not of our loins, as it were. Of course, we have used the “Sam has Super Special Sperm” when we get the Super Special Questions….:)
Lastly on my agenda for the day, and speaking of sperm, I’d like to ask: where did my sex life go? I mean, last night, when I crawled into bed and said “night-night” to my husband, I did awaken to the reality that the baby-talk isn’t likely to ignight any triple X sporting events. I know that I’m partially in control of whether we ever have an adult relationship of any kind again. But SHEESH! I feel like we’ve been wandering in a desert for 40 days…(it’s not that bad but it makes for good story telling). Come to think of it, was it 40 days or 40 years? Hmmm…contemplating the bible now, which is where I think that cliche came from, 40 days seems but a blip in time and not really effective in terms of a metaphor. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, I didn’t give birth so I didn’t expect to have this particular side-effect. This parenting stuff is exhausting. Truly. Exhillerating but exhausting. I think we just need a nice, relaxing, Hawaiian vacation. 
Until that time however (T minus 7 days), I will be donning my most fierce anti-Bush gear and heading to Balboa Park tomorrow to go on record, once again, against the policies of the White House Squatter. We must work diligently to end this fiasco in Iraq, to prevent the imminent attack on Iran and to protect our beautiful, darling children from the real badness in the world. I’m crossing my fingers, visualizing peace in my future and hoping for better headlines (IMPEACHMENT) tomorrow.
Ruby Coming Home
My infant daughter cried out to me in the middle of the night. When I got to her, I found my beautiful smiling girl in a very leaky diaper. I scooped her into my arms, changed her, kissed her nose a dozen times and then brought her into my bed. Wedged between my husband and me, she found her thumb and curled into herself to sleep. Now, I lay here awake, listening to her coos and sighs, inhaling the innocent smell of her that I know will be gone well before I’m ready. Veteran parents tell me that this time passes quickly. During moments of vibrant clarity such as now, I am painfully aware of this truth. I breathe deeper, taking all of her in. I can’t believe that 5 months ago, I existed in a world where she didn’t.
I got the call on a Wednesday afternoon. I was shopping for a gift for my boss who had, just the day before, obtained a raise that I’d been trying to get for more than a year. While waiting in line to pay for some exotic scented candles, my cell phone rang. It was our adoption agency calling. I thought nothing of it, as we’d been communicating throughout the day about the seemingly never-ending bureaucratic hurdles that are par for the adoption course. My close friend Jennifer, who was with me at the time and understood that I couldn’t NOT answer, took my candles as I stepped out of line. I rolled my eyes and with perhaps just a smidgen of hope behind them, took the call. The familiar voice of Tish, our representative, calmly asked if I was sitting down (I wasn’t) and if I could (not exactly). She then proceeded to tell me that a birthmother in Chicago had chosen Sam and me to adopt her baby girl who was born six days earlier. Already born. This last part didn’t connect immediately because my mind was still percolating on the birthmother-in-Chicago part and was, on it’s own accord, formulating the when-is-she-due question. Now, looking back, I distinctly remember thinking to myself during that nanosecond that she was due in October and since it was only June, we’d have a few months to prepare.
In another instant, my fantasy collided with real time. An October due date disintegrated as the voice coming out of the phone was now saying words like TRAVEL PLANS, ASAP, and BIRTHMOTHER SIGNING IRREVOCABLE SURRENDERS. Suddenly, synapses were firing and I realized we were going to have a baby. Right in the middle of Cost Plus, not anything like I’d imagined it would be, I got The Call for which all adoptive parents wait. That’s when I found out I would be the mother of a daughter. I was dumbstruck, a deer in the headlights (cliché, but true) and can’t remember if I said much of anything in response other than “can I call you right back?”
To this day, I feel so lucky to have been with Jennifer at that moment; everyone deserves a girlfriend who will confidently, without question, take care of the business at hand and drive when you can’t. She had just finished paying for my things in addition to hers and I filled her in on what was happening. She loaded up the grocery cart and we walked to her car, both of us shaking with excitement. I had to call Sam. When I repeated the conversation to him, he was as shocked as I was. After all, we’d only been waiting 7 weeks, this couldn’t possibly be happening. We weren’t ready for a baby at all. We didn’t have a nursery. We didn’t own a single onesie. Or diaper. Or bottle. Or crib. We’d only just let out the Big Sigh Of Relief following months of paperwork and fingerprints and essays and interviews and inspections. We had decided to consciously live our child-free life to the fullest now: going to movies, staying up until dark-thirty, reading novels, sleeping late, browsing the paper and drinking coffee in bed. We’d spent six months on paperwork and profiles and were ready to shrug off adoption for a bit. It was time to hunker down for the long wait and we decided we’d give our marriage some undivided attention before baby made three. Seven years, four months and seven weeks. That’s how much undivided attention we’d given our relationship. Now it was time for a baby from Chicago to transform our union into a family. Little did we know, we had already had our last night of complete and restful sleep for months to come.
Sam and I planned to meet back at my office where we could have a conference call with our agency. We hung up but he immediately called me back. Surrounded by women Leo’s in his life, he wanted to know if this baby was a Leo like his wife and business partner. I reassured him that no, she was in fact a Cancer, and we shared a good laugh. Jennifer drove me back to my office where I waited outside for Sam. When he arrived, we hugged, kissed, cried a bit and then called Tish. In our stupor, we asked every pertinent question we could think of: is the baby healthy? How old is her birthmother? Does she want to meet us? When did she give birth? How much did the baby weigh? Where is she now? We couldn’t get enough detail and to think we had to wait another day, possibly two, to meet her was suddenly more excruciating than any other part of the process. Our child was no longer a hypothetical “it.” She was out there, breathing, living without us. We had to get to her. But it would be another 36 hours before we looked into her eyes.
That night, we had a late-night impulse shop at Target with our best friends. We went through the infant aisle, scooping anything and everything into our cart. Bibs and sippie cups and teething rings, things we wouldn’t need for months (if ever), ended up in our basket. I had no idea what the hell a receiving blanket was but was nonetheless convinced I needed twenty-seven of them. We were over the moon, elated with happiness, having a collective out-of-body experience in the middle of Target.
Once home, our neighbors stopped by with a bin of newborn clothing, a Baby Björn, an infant car seat and a snap-and-go stroller, all of which their young daughters had grown out of. Privately (snobbishly), I told Sam that although it was so nice of them to bring us clothes, I refused to bring our newborn adopted daughter home in hand-me-down clothing, lest she think she’s not good enough for originals. That was my feeling until I opened the bin and saw how tenderly and lovingly these tiny shirts and pants had been neatly folded and stacked by size. Each item was like new and it was obvious they’d been carefully stored away by a mother sad to say goodbye to this chapter of motherhood. I could imagine the ritual that must have taken place as my friend sorted through and put away her daughters’ things; a ritual that culminated in my receiving such a beautiful offering. I was instantly ashamed of my attitude and humbled by the generosity of my kind neighbors. And it didn’t stop there. As we slowly, cautiously shared our good news with our close friends, we were the recipients of the most amazing love and support I’ve ever experienced.
I didn’t sleep at all that night, or the next. Sam and I spent all of Thursday tying up loose ends at work (here are your candles, thanks for the raise, I’ll be back in three months) and at home. We were able to get Sarah, one of Sam’s employees, to stay at the house with our new puppy, Ella. Since we didn’t know how long we’d have to stay in Chicago, we paid bills and cancelled appointments. A stream of people came and went that evening, giving gifts, words of wisdom and crash courses on how to change a diaper and swaddle a baby, neither of which we knew a thing about. We are thankful to so many people who helped us during this time. Already it was clear to us that it truly does take a village to raise a child and we hadn’t yet begun.
Friday morning, after another night of anxiety-induced insomnia, we boarded a plane for Chicago. We felt like posers, carrying an empty car seat through the airport. In fact, we got several dirty looks on the shuttle to the rental car depot when, thinking nothing of it, we set it on the luggage rack. A nice couple, who clearly couldn’t bear it any more, gently asked how old the baby was, as the car seat was being jostled from side to side. We laughed and explained that we were there to pick up our newborn daughter and could see the panic drain from their faces as they realized we weren’t complete idiots. Once at our rental car, we continued being Poser Parents as we strapped the car seat into place, each of us suspended in a state of disbelief. We drove with anticipation to the adoption agency on what was to be the longest 20 mile drive of our lives. It took so long that we called our social worker, Angel, 5 times. Every four or five blocks, we would call her to find out if we were getting any closer to our next turn. Sam and I began to bicker but tried to quell the anxiety for fear of ruining one of the most important moments of our lives. Funny how driving can do that to a couple. Finally, we arrived at the Family Resource Center. The purple door and violets planted out in front were a sign for me that our daughter should be called Violet, a name I’d been intensely lobbying for during the past two days. Not wanting to rush, we agreed again to wait to meet our girl before bestowing on her a life long label.
It was 8:00pm on Friday, July 1st. Sam called Angel one last time to let her know we were sitting in front of the agency. She said she would be right there, that she had our daughter and was coming from her apartment around the corner. We took a breath and looked deep into each other’s eyes. As the sun was setting, we kissed our last kiss as a childless couple. We held each other for a moment, taking deep breaths of the summer heat. And then we saw her. She came gliding down the street carrying a car seat draped with a blanket and a diaper bag over one shoulder. She had dreadlocks, tattoos and was absolutely radiant. “I think this belongs to you” she said as she handed me the car seat. I took it from her and was caught off guard by how light it seemed. We greeted but I have no idea what was said. We made our way into the agency apartment, which they graciously let us stay in during our visit. On our way up the stairs, I gently lifted the blanket and had my very first glimpse of my daughter, who we decided to name Ruby. It was a moment I will never forget for the rest of my life.
To be continued…..