150 Steps...In the Present Moment

"I don't know how you did that! Taking care of a newborn all by yourself in a hotel room! I couldn't have done it." Numerous people express these sentiments to me upon our return home with Esme. "Well...I didn't really have a choice," I reply.  I'm sure before all of this craziness happened if someone had told me that I'd be spending 10 days with an infant in a hotel room, the majority of those ten days alone with her, I probably would have fainted at the prospect. Fainted dead away.  But the truth is that once we get to the hotel and it's just Esme and me...I'm more relaxed than I have been in almost three years. After the insanity of our failed adoption in March, getting the news of Esme's birth on the heels of Hurricane Irene and the mad rush of getting myself to Florida, after the agonizing and waiting, making the final pact with K, nasty Nurse Stink Eye, the signing of the papers, the clueless attorney, and finally (p

I started this blog (and foolishly let it lapse right  just as things got interesting ) to document the journey that my wife and I had started as we sought to adopt a little girl. The blog was kicked off shortly after a friend asked about the adoption process. I started to explain all the things we were doing and still had to do before giving up and saying, "If the adoption process has 150 steps, we're on step 6." Now, almost three years later, we've reached and completed step 150. Today, the judge finalized the adoption of our baby girl, making us legally and forever a family. Over the last 6 months, she's captured such a huge part of my heart that I can't really remember what it was like before she dropped into our lives so suddenly. Actually, it's not that I can't remember. It's that I don't really care to. I can't imagine life without her, even the occasional barfing. I'm actually having some difficulty processing that fact t

My stomach is doing uncomfortable flip flops. I sit on one of the couches in the airy third floor hospital lounge, but it's impossible to get comfortable. From time to time I get up and walk around just to be doing something. When I'm not walking or glancing at the door, I'm sending text messages to Chris. 10:50 AM [ME]: I signed all the papers. The attorney now in with K having her sign everything. OMG. This is really happening. 11:01 AM [CHRIS]: I'm at my desk. Having a bit of trouble breathing. 11:01 AM [ME]: me too 11:20 AM [CHRIS]: Anything? 11:20 AM [ME]: Still waiting 11:21 AM [CHRIS]: This is nerve-wracking. 11:21 AM [ME]: What about this entire experience hasn't been nerve-wracking??? 11:22 AM [CHRIS]: Bonus wracks for being so close to it happening. I'm sorry I'm not there with you. 11:22 AM [ME] I'm sorry too. But you'll be here tomorrow and we will just get to hang out without anyone else around! Two hours earlier I

"I can't get her to wake up to eat," I say quietly to the night nurse, B. "She is sleeping so deeply. I've tried everything, but she just won't wake up." I'm very worried about this because the baby hasn't eaten in more than two hours. Nurse Stink Eye, upon returning the baby earlier in the evening after her tests are complete, looks at K and reminds her that because the baby is so small she needs to eat every two hours. No exceptions. She looks at me with the evil Stink Eye and says nothing before leaving the room to sign off from the day shift. I don't know if it's me personally that has her so up in arms or adoptive moms in general. Regardless, I'm relieved knowing that she won't be back this evening. "Ahhh, give her to me," says Nurse B with a big smile. It's obvious that she loves babies. It's late. 11 p.m. or so. K is sound asleep after taking a sleeping pill and I've been sitting with the baby fo

"Wow..." I say softly to the bundle in my lap, "you are a very tiny little person," The very first thing I ever say to my daughter. I'm sitting on the low, pink couch next to K's bed. The baby lays along the length of my thighs. One of my hands gently cups the back of her head (her little head barely filling the palm of my hand at all) while my other hand rests gently on her tummy. My hand covers her entire body she is so little (I learn later that she is 5 pounds 9 ounces...pretty much the smallest a newborn baby can be without needing to spend some time in the NICU.) A teeny face peeks out from between a pale blue/pink striped hat and the swaddling blanket. The face has dark skin (I'm surprised that her skin is more pale than I had expected) no discernible eyebrows yet, barely visible eyelashes, a broad-ish nose, and a sweet heart-shaped mouth. She is sound asleep. I look up to see K watching me with her daughter. Her face is unreadable. I ha

I don't understand how airplanes work. Or how skyscrapers don't fall down (I generally do not go into tall buildings.) Or how parking garages can safely hold hundreds of thousands of pounds of vehicles and not collapse (this completely freaks me out and I attempt to park on the street whenever possible.) Or how bridges remain standing year after year after year so that drivers can get from Point A to Point B over large bodies of water (these I cannot avoid as I live in a state riddled with bridges that I must frequently drive across. Usually I turn up the music really loud. I don't know why I think that this will prevent the bridge from collapsing beneath my car as I drive over it, but somehow it soothes me.)  But mostly it's the airplanes that terrify me. I just don't understand how they stay aloft. At all. Unlike some people who get over their fears as they get older, my terror of flying has only grown exponentially. However, I don't let it stop me fro