Saturday, January 07, 2012

Holy Shit

December 3rd

Holy shit. We've been picked! Someone picked our profile book out of four families that were presented.
She's going to give birth either Monday (induced) or sometime VERY soon. Her due date is December 16. We're meeting her tomorrow and I'm a bit of a nervous wreck. It's our first meeting and I want to make a good impression. I don't want to get too carried away with excitement, because I'll get way too nervous, and I definitely don't want them to see me all nervous. Like I told Andrés, I want to have clean, serene, positive energy tomorrow. He's very excited too.
Just today I was reading the Peru Adoption Yahoo Group board and someone was saying how they were withdrawing because they've already waited for too long and spent too much money and they just can't take it anymore. That they had heard through the grapevine that the process is taking longer now for couples who want toddlers and they were talking 5 year waits. I freaked! We've waited a year and we're reaching our breaking point. I can't imagine hanging in there for another 4.
What if she meets us and doesn't like us? Everybody's fear, of course. I guess then we move on. That child was not meant to be ours.
But I want to think POSITIVE. That this CAN work out, that we WILL get along, and that we WILL have great chemistry.
Then I want to think that the child will be born healthy.
Then I want to think that our official proposal/approval process will be FAST.
Then I want to think that my mom will be here still when we bring our little one home.
Then I want to think that nobody will change their mind about things.
Then I want to think that the child will be a happy boy or girl and that we will be a happy family together: Andrés, me, the baby and Lucas.
And THEN I want to think that we will live happily ever after.
There.

December 4
We meet the birth mother and grandmother at a Pickle Barrel on Sunday. Turns out there was nothing at all to worry about. They are the two loveliest people one could ever meet. Conversation was easy and flowed from topic to topic. Summers spent at the cottage, her love of horses and dogs, our Lucas, our summers in Zapallar, growing up in Montreal, Santiago, Mississauga... All of a sudden, a question that took us aback: do we want the baby circumcised? Wow. Does this mean you still pick us? Is this really happening? It's a boy! Then another: do we have plans to keep the cord blood? Holy cow. Then: do we have any names in mind? We don't know... the question kind of took us by surprise. I've had so many names at the ready through the years, since I was little and dreamt of being a mother, and through all my pregnancies and miscarriages. Now that they ask me point blank, I draw a blank. Benjamin? She loves it. The social worker tells us that birth mothers traditionally pick the middle name. She can't think of one, but I'm sure it will come later. One last question: do we want to be at the birth? DO. WE. WANT. TO. BE. AT. THE. BIRTH. What a question! We eat and laugh. We laugh a lot. And not nervous giggles. Real belly laughs, like we've known each other since the beginning of time. We finish our meal and get up to leave. I stay behind with the practitioners and our agent, who I've grown to love so much over the last 3 years. I hug them each and whisper thank you in their ears. They hug me back. Tight. They too feel happy. It's their job, but it's the kind of job you do with your heart as much as your mind. We say our goodbyes and hug the birth mother and grandmother. Somehow, their bone-breaking hugs tell me that their minds are made up and that they can leave their unease about the pregnancy behind, now that they know where the baby will go after it's born.

December 5
She's having an ultrasound at 2 to see if she should be induced. Turns out her due date is December 19, not 16 as the social worker had said. The 19th is our wedding anniversary. Coincidence? Baby's growth has slowed down and it makes me nervous. I've heard those words before, and they have never preceded a happy ending. The ultrasound shows that the baby hasn't grown much, but is still growing, very active. Although she is 3 cm dilated, she won't be induced today. It's a good thing, too. Our proposal isn't ready yet, and it still has to be approved by the Ministry. If the baby comes before the approval, he will be in foster care until everything is ready. The birth mother doesn't want this, nor do we. We text each other through the evening and she asks if we'd like to be there for her doctor's appointment on Wednesday. Of course! Do they want to come over after to see our home and meet Lucas? Yes! It's a deal. Oh, wait. One last question: do you think Andrés will want to cut the umbilical cord? Honestly? I can't love her more at this moment. Though I know very soon I'll love her a whole lot more.
That night I deck my Christmas tree and listen to Lou Rawls. I think about our son and how this will be his first Christmas tree. Our adoption agent comes by to get our signature on lots and lots of documents. She needs to get the Ministry's approval ASAP, so we can avoid foster care. We're told it takes a few days for the case to be assembled and then about a week for the approval. Let's hope it's enough time!

December 6
I want so badly to speak to her, but I don't want to be a pest. I text her about tomorrow. Is her dad coming (we haven't met)? No, he's got the flu still. Would she like to come to our place afterward for tea with her mum, so they can see where we live. I confess I've been gathering things together: a car seat borrowed from a friend who bought it from another friend, a sleeping bag borrowed from a friend who got it from yet another friend. All my friends' babies who I've held and loved and watched grow over the years, all their energies in these objects that are now coming to me, for my son. A son! What a concept! I've been looking through my drawers where I've stored all baby things I've accumulated through the years and found little boy shoes and toys and diaper bags and pacifiers, a silver rattle, and a Baby Björn that I bought in 2000, when I was pregnant for the very first time. I gingerly open the box and take the carrier out. I've never touched it before. I strap it on and look in the mirror. I just cannot believe that this is happening.
All day I feel like I'm over caffeinated. I'm high on adrenaline. Andrés and I lock eyes and just know what the other is thinking. We hug a lot over the course of the day. We cry a little, we smile. It's intense. All of a sudden, I am asking Andrés where should the crib go in the nursery and he's not uncomfortable with the question. He embraces it, thinks about it and points to where our son's crib will go.
The birth mother has lost her mucous plug today. A sign that labour is progressing, but not actively yet. No contractions. It could be a few weeks before this baby is born. We text each other and giggle, like two girlfriends sharing a secret. She hopes the baby waits until the papers are ready. She wants him to go home from the hospital. She is amazing. She is our angel. We are blessed.

December 7
We wake up before the sun to interpret at a conference call in the far north end of town. We have so much to do at home before going to the doctor's appointment. I can barely concentrate on my job. I make endless lists and draw a plan of the nursery. This is all just crazy. We will be parents in a few weeks, possibly less, and just a few days ago we were planning anniversary outings and trips abroad.
Home, at last, we run around like headless chickens. Lucas needs to eat and go for a walk, the house needs to be tidied. And how on earth can I show them our basement in the state it's in?! I sweat and work, and in half an hour I accomplish more in that basement than in my last basement mission, which lasted a full day.
Finally we jump in the car and make the trip to Mississauga to meet them at the doctor's. Andrés has picked up a tart for tea and the house is perfect. Can't wait for them to meet Lucas.
Her sister is with her this time too, so we meet another member of her family. We wait for the appointment chatting away. Finally, she is called and we stand up to go. The doctor is very pleasant and bubbly. She greets us like she's had a million adoptive parents at her appointments before. She puts her doppler on the birth mum's belly and we hear him for the very first time, like a galloping horse. My own heart races as I ask if I can record it. 14 seconds of his heartbeat for posterity.
Baby has not been growing much, but seems fine. Her blood pressure is elevated, though, so she is sent to the hospital for a non stress test and – perhaps – induction. Andrés and I look at each other in disbelief. He might be born today.
The stress test goes well, baby is fine, but the doctor is concerned about her. They are going to induce. We sit and wait with her. What do you talk about in these situations? Hockey, of course.
Finally we are shooed out by the nurse. This isn't going to go anywhere tonight. We should get some sleep and come back in the morning. She needs to rest too. Also the cord blood kit is at home.
We leave. A part of me is relieved. I need to sleep badly. I need to process what is happening. I need to hug my dog.
We end up going to bed super late, dreaming about our son and talking about names. Benjamin? Oliver? Sacha?

December 8
3:00 am
Phone rings in the middle of the night. It takes me what seems to be forever to come to. I feel like someone has pulled me out from the bottom of a lake. She tells me she's 10 cm and about to push. We jump out of bed and run out the door. The drive there is frantic. The lights of the city rush past us. After tonight, we will never feel the same again. We will never look out our car window and see things the same way. I try and take it all in. A futile effort.
We park and jump out of the car, breaking into a run with our cord blood kit that will never get used. We locate her room and burst through the door. The first thing I see is a large bowl with a placenta inside. And then, her, radiant, proud, sitting up and eating, smiling. She congratulates us. We hug. Her mum and friend tell us how fast it all happened. So fast, that nobody was present at the birth. She pushed four times and he was out. But where is he? Oh, they took him to intensive care; he had aspirated some fluid on his way out and was having trouble breathing. The nurse comes in and whisks us off to the nursery. We go through the first door and she tells us to wash our hands. Then we walk through the second door and into a room full of cribs, each with a tiny baby inside. She tells us he's in the last crib. As I walk toward him, I feel all the anxiety of the last 12 years become a kind of joy I've never felt before. I let the tears come in all their abundance as I am finally in front of him, all swollen and tiny. I lean over to kiss him and introduce myself. Hi Benji. It's Mommy.
Over the course of the day we drift in and out of the nursery. His breathing is really bad and laboured. They put him on CPAP, which is a kind of ventilator. He breathes on his own, but this device will help dry out the fluid in his lungs. They X-ray him and find that the lungs are mature. They estimate that he is about 36 weeks gestation at birth, two less than the ultrasounds had estimated. He weighs 6 pounds, 2 ounces. Not bad. With every visit to the nursery, we see improvement. I could sit there for hours just gazing at him, rubbing one little foot and whispering sweet nothings in his ear. I love him already.
We leave the hospital to tend to Lucas and, quite frankly, to get our shit together. We have not a crib, not a car seat, not a diaper. We shop at the pharmacy for bottles and pacifiers. Then we get home, supposedly to sleep just a few hours, but end up doing a million other things instead before heading back in the evening, after traffic has died down.
The Ministry has approved our file in record time, so we can take him home as soon as he is discharged. He is much better now, but is still connected to the CPAP machine and has an IV and other tubes. I wish so much that I could take him home. We visit her too. Her blood pressure is still elevated, so she will be staying at least until tomorrow. She visits him in the nursery and texts us updates after we've left.

December 9
After a night of full and deep sleep, we get up and try and work fast on whatever is pending, so we can head out there for lunch time. As luck would have it, we've gotten more work than we can handle at the moment. Our minds are in Mississauga.
He's off CPAP and looking cute and peaceful sucking on his green soother. We're told we'll be able to hold him and feed him today. He "baptizes" Andrés during a diaper change, which gets everyone laughing. Finally, he's ready to be held. The birth mom is supposed to hold him first, but she wants us to be the first ones. She wants to see us in our new roles as Dad and Mom, make sure she got it right.
They put him in my arms, he opens his eyes and looks straight at me. I melt. We stare at each other for what seems like hours. I feed him and fall in love some more. Then it's Andrés's turn. I can tell the same thing is happening to him. As Ben looks him in the eyes, he is spreading out his love tentacles and clinging to his heart, tugging at it until it's his to keep.
Finally, she holds him too. We take pictures of him, of each of us, of the four of us, the three of us, the two of us... Then it's time for her to leave. She has been discharged from the hospital and is anxious to go home, sleep in her own bed, hug her dog. I know almost exactly how she feels. I think we have a lot in common, she and I. As she leaves the three of us behind, we start to look at each other and see the beautiful family that remains.
We stay as late as we can before we head back home to continue to get our shit together. We buy multifunctional items at Babies-R-Us, like a car seat-stroller combo, or a playard with an integrated change table and two mattress heights. We just cannot believe it. They give us a gift bag filled with diaper ointments and baby body washes and lotions. We are in total disbelief, going through the motions like two zombies.

December 10
We get taken to Ben. The nurses want to see us change his diaper, feed and burp him and change his clothes, re-swaddle him and put him to bed. They have a talk with us, trying to gauge our experience with newborns, welcoming questions. Every minute it feels more and more real.
We end up spending the whole day at the hospital. At 5, we kiss him goodbye and leave to go shopping for diapers, formula and wipes. Andrés tells me that now he knows he's a dad. "When you find yourself at a suburban Wal-Mart on a Saturday evening shopping for diapers and wipes, you know you're a parent."
We have dinner with good friends and head home for what will be the last night of uninterrupted sleep we will have for a very long time.

December 11
A week ago today, we were at the Pickle Barrel meeting a pregnant girl and her mother for the first time. And now, we are taking the baby she gave birth to home with us. It all seems wildly surreal. In the last twelve years, I've accumulated 100 weeks of pregnancy. I could have made three whole babies in that time. But now I had skipped pregnancy altogether and was holding my newborn son, all decked out in his "going home outfit" and about to be placed in his car seat. We've been with the birth mom all morning talking about how often we want to see each other, and how the visits will take place. Essentially, we want to see enough of each other that we are able to build a relationship that feels natural, that Ben sees her as a staple in his life and there is no awkwardness between them as he grows up.
When it's time to go, we walk down together, like a weird and wonderful family. We get the car seat into the car and she takes a picture of us. I get into the back seat with him and Andrés takes us home. We wave goodbye and we are finally alone, the three of us, no tubes or wires, no nurses, no social workers, no birth mum. Us. The family that we now are.
Later, we introduce him to Lucas, who at first doesn't give a damn, but quickly changes his attitude when he sees me feed him and hears him coo as he swallows his milk. He nervously approaches us, whining, and sets his chin on my lap, looks me in the eyes searching for reassurance. I tell him that I love him, that he has nothing to worry about, that that – at least – won't change. But everything else will.
Our first day together we learn to slow down. Our days and nights are now fragmented into chunks of time where we feed, burp and change him and chunks where he sleeps and we do everything else. Later, he'll stay awake more often between feeds, but right now, he goes into a milk coma and welcomes his bed.

December 12
Our first night, Andrés sleeps and I stay up. In my inexperience, I make the mistake of not sleeping between feeds and the next morning I'm knackered, while Andrés marvels at how refreshed he feels. Parenthood doesn't seem to be that hard after all... I hear him tell everybody who will listen how he slept through the night and secretly hate him a little. A quick reality check later, we split our day into shifts. He'll do the night feeds tonight.

January 2
Christmas and New Year's eves were quite different this year. I was up all night on both occasions and stayed in pijamas all day Christmas day and New Year's day (well, most of the day, because we've had a steady stream of guests pop in since we brought Ben home). Our shifts work well, and we basically see who is most tired at the end of the day and that person takes the 7 am feed. Mostly, Andrés does nights while I feed him through the day. We're becoming experts at changing diapers and avoiding getting soaked in the process. I feel tired, but not sleep deprived, thanks to Andrés's and my mum's priceless support. It's 7 am and I hold him, his face bathed in the blue light of the dawn reflecting off fresh snow. God! He looks so perfect when he sleeps. It makes me forget the ear piercing screams he can formulate when he's trying very hard to belch (still a challenge). I love it when he's happy and calm, staring out the window, staring at me... He's the beautiful baby boy I've been waiting for all my life. I can't wait to see him smile or hear him giggle. He does it already, but only in his sleep. It's almost as if he is more mature in his dream life than in his waking life. He's very strong. When he has crying fits, boy can he kick! And he lifts his head to stare at things when I lay him on his belly on my chest, or when I put him over my shoulder to burp him. His legs are slowly beginning to fill in and even his feet are looking plumper. I wouldn't be surprised if by now he's surpassed his birth weight by a few ounces. My mum and I are trying to figure out how to weigh him on the kitchen scale. Hahaha
Friday is the day that the revocation period lapses. This period of time starts when the birth mum signs consent, which can only happen a week and a day after the birth. Sometimes they take longer to sign, but in our case, it was right on the day and so the 21 days will be up on January 6 – both my mum's birthday and Epiphany.

January 7
12:30 am
He's ours!

1 comment:

Nicholas F said...

Wow, how beautiful, thank you for sharing this. So happy for you, Andres and Benjamin! Congratulations and enjoy the journey, savour every minute (even the ones you think you could never savour!)