Baby Girl K

Around Thanksgiving, a little flurry of movement cropped up, and we were holding our breath while working through paperwork with our agency. We thought that we would soon have some exciting news to share, but now I regret not writing about that in the moment, because it has now been tempered by a more recent reality. 

Okay, let me back up a bit. 

If you recall last time I wrote, we were attempting to seek a referral for a little girl on a Waiting Children list. For ease of following in this post, I'll call her "K". Instead, another family was chosen to be presented as her match, and we were greatly saddened. It felt like a loss before we'd even had a chance. On the other hand, we were so happy for the other family, and for K. Complex feelings, yo. 

I also want to pause and thank our friends and family who have been so kind to us as we have processed our thoughts, complained, and cried. Part of me wonders what it is like to watch us swing through these emotions over and over, as the time passes painfully slowly. I imagine it is tiresome. There will be happiness to share too! We are grateful to you for you sticking by us.

So, two days before Thanksgiving, we received our agency's bi-monthly Haiti program email. In it, there was mention of two more little girls on the Waiting Children list that we wanted to learn more about. I shot an email off to our program manager, and tried to just put it out of my head, so as not to start to get my hopes up again. 

The response came back very quickly: "You've been on my to-do list...K is available for adoption again. Are you still interested in adopting her?"  My heart started racing and I couldn't get ahold of Justin fast enough to let him know of the update. Of course we were still interested! 

It turned out that after the other family was presented as a potential match for K, they learned that IBESR was already working on a referral for them. (This is fantastic for them, by the way. What a Thanksgiving blessing!) Once I confirmed that we wanted to pursue K again (YES! YES, 100 TIMES OVER!) our agency sent us two new pictures of K from their recent trip to Haiti. Here was a sweet, chubby little girl, with gleaming eyes and a gorgeous (very grumpy) pout. She was clothed in purple striped pajamas, propped on a small chair, giving the camera a very serious face. 

The next couple of weeks we set to work updating our home study and I800. If anything substantial in your family life changes (you move, you have a child, etc.), or if you make any changes to the characteristics of the child you're seeking to adopt (from one child to multiple; updating the age or gender requested; a change in medical conditions, etc.), you must update these documents. Essentially, they officially tell the involved government agencies of the changes in your life. It can be time consuming and is costly. (Surprise!) Fortunately, we only needed to make a small tweak to our home study, to capture K's medical condition, and our agency was able to help us update it without another home visit (which would incur a higher cost). This small grace took a big stress off of us. 

While waiting for our home study update to be completed, I waited (impatiently) to hear about next steps. After about a week, I reached out to the program manager to ask for an update. We anticipated it would take some time to hear back on the official referral, but I was hoping to get an idea of what that might look like. She quickly responded, stating our home study update was done and had already been submitted (hooray!) and also asked that we give her a call (that's never good).

I'll admit that any time we are asked to do something, I try to jump on it at top speed. My brain says "Hey! There's pretty much nothing controllable in this process. But this is a task assigned to you right now. So get it done! Don't  be the one holding things up!" I was in back-to-back meetings at work that day, so I asked Justin to give her a call. On the drive home that afternoon, he filled me in: things were not as we expected and we have hit another hurdle. We may not get K's referral. 

Feels like deja vu, eh? The same anticipation and similar dashed hopes. And here I'd thought I'd been guarding my heart better this time around.

To explain why this is happening, I feel I ought to add a short preface before continuing. Things in Haiti are ever-changing and I can't pretend to fully understand what is occurring between the creches and IBESR right now. What I do know is that there is a rift that they are working through. I'm piecing together what our agency reported to us, what I can find online, and what others are sharing in our online Haitian adoption group.

To clarify the "normal process" to match a child and family in Haiti:

• A child has to be"referral-ready", with their own completed dossier. As I understand it, this is often prepared by the creche the child is living in. This means a lot of document gathering and time spent. So, while we were working on our dossier, it's very likely our daughter's was being worked on too. 
• The creche also has a relationship with an adoption agency (or agencies) and may review the dossiers of families submitted by the agencies for potential matches to children in their facility. (This process has been explained in a few ways, and it's still frankly a bit muddy to me. I think that what I'm bulleting here is more applicable to Waiting Children, but I'm not 100% sure.) If the creche believes we're a suitable match, they might submit our dossier and her dossier to IBESR for review.
• IBESR, which acts as Haiti's Social Services or centralized authority for adoptions, is the government entity which reviews the dossiers and is the ultimate determiner of matches. 
• If IBESR agrees to the match, we receive word of an official referral. After this point, we will travel to Haiti for our two-week bonding/socialization trip, and this kicks off the long legalization process and eventual homecoming. There are many more steps to that, and we'll share more as we eventually work through them. 

There isn't currently a specific "Waiting Children" process in Haiti, as there are in some other countries. But, knowing that these children are in unique situations, our agency was anticipating that once the creche had agreed that we should be matched with K (which they felt pretty good about), it would be as "simple" (heh) as the creche presenting our dossier to IBESR, and IBESR confirming us as an official match with K. Then we'd be off to the races! It turns out, though, that there has been some contention building between IBESR and the creches across Haiti lately, for a variety of reasons related to the implementation of the Hague convention (and probably related to fees). As a consequence, many creches appear to be choosing to hold off on submitting dossiers to IBESR right now, or at least slowing it down substantially. If this is true, that means that families may not be matched with their children, and we may not be matched with K. 

Bumps along the way are expected as Haiti transitions into the Hague convention. When we started, were told in no uncertain terms that we would be guinea pigs as things were learned, adjusted, and stabilized. We agreed to this because we knew that our daughter was in Haiti. We will do what it takes. No one knew what the challenges would actually look like, but this was surely not what I had expected. The match with K is not truly off the table, but at this point we don't feel confident that it will come through quickly, if at all. I'll admit that I was holding out a little bit of hope for a Christmas miracle, but instead we'll hold an extra candle at Christmas Eve service this year, for K and for the other families marching along this journey. 

Love and hugs to you and your loved ones this season.

A Steep Drop Down the Roller Coaster

This has been a trying week.

I recognize that this is true for many right now, and I am personally still processing the impact of the presidential election on my family, friends, and this great nation. I am praying and trying to work through what we can do as individuals to be positively productive, loving, and impact change. 

And while this is relevant to our adoption, this is not a post-election post.
Instead, I want to share an update about the roller coaster ride we have been on over the last week. We chose not to speak about it with our family and friends while it was happening, because if there is one thing we have learned over the last year, it's that the adoption process is delicate and unpredictable. There were just too many unknowns at the time to feel comfortable sharing it. In the end, I think that was the right choice, as it allowed us to process each step privately as a couple, and to reflect and learn along the way.

Last week, Justin and I were fortunate enough to spend a long weekend away together. I surprised him with a trip to Boston, without Eisley, and we had a fabulous time. Highlights include: eating way too much (cannoli! lobster rolls! seafood, oh my!), enjoying a local craft-beer festival, and exploring the Museum of Fine Arts during a unique overnight event (which included the honor of hearing Madeleine Albright speak. She is a witty, amazing spitfire).  We reconnected as a couple and celebrated our eighth anniversary a bit early (it was on 11/9). We're so grateful to our families who took care of E while we were away; so thankful that you gave us the time and love her as much as we do.

Two days into our trip, while fighting the crowd at the beer festival, we received the bi-weekly email that WACAP's Haiti Program Manager sends to the families adopting from Haiti. I look forward to opening these each time they arrive; it's like unwrapping a small gift. They’re usually brief and include updates on families in the program and resources pertinent to adoption. Each time I read one, I feel closer to the children in the crèche and the other families also waiting for their family to grow. Since this process is so slow, I try to savor the emails and tuck away a bit of warmth each time.

This particular email included something I hadn’t seen before: a note about a few “waiting children” who were ready for a referral, but had not yet been matched with an available family.

A quick pause for context: a "waiting child" is a child who is "harder to place". This is typically due to a medical condition, "older" age (~6+), or because the child is part of a set or group of siblings to be adopted together. Also, these medical conditions tend to be defined differently in the adoption world than you may define it-- another topic for another time.

In this list was a child that caught my eye: an 11 month old girl with a medical condition that we know a bit about, but not much. I showed the email to Justin and both of our interests were piqued. I sent an email back to ask how we could obtain more information about her. We carried on with the day, heading off to get dinner.

We're buckled in on the roller coaster now. Here begins the slow tick-tick-tick upwards.

Later that evening, in the middle of wandering through the museum, we received an email that contained some basic medical details and family history, and one snapshot of a serious and sweet little girl. The picture was just a head shot; she clearly wasn't ready for the picture, and was clothed in a checkered shirt that was too big for her. She had glowing ebony skin and the most striking and bright eyes. (For confidentiality reasons, we can't share the specific identifying details or picture of her.) Also included was a stark caution from the program manager that if we chose to pursue her, there was no guarantee that we would get an official referral for her, as other families may also come forward for her. 

Now, I like to think that we're fairly pragmatic people, and we understood this caution. But here in the midst of hundreds of party-goers, I was completely drawn to her, and couldn't stop thinking about this little girl potentially coming home to us. For our remaining days in Boston, we slowly peeled back the lid of this hope together, and I sorted through my feelings. Sadness for the circumstances that led to her placement in the orphanage. Excitement at the potential. Anxiety as I got ahead of myself and began thinking through logistics.

Tick-tick-tick...nearing the top of the first hill...

Next steps included me relentlessly reading about her medical condition (not a recommended step in the adoption process) and applying for a medical consultation to better understand the scant medical information we'd received (a highly recommended step in adoption process). We are extremely fortunate to live close to the UW Center for Adoption Medicine and quickly scheduled an appointment. Later in the week, we had a long and detailed conversation with an incredibly kind and patient doctor. When we hung up, we both felt more prepared to parent this beautiful girl and I emailed the program manager to confirm "YES, we are seeking a referral." (Underlying sentiment: Please, please, pleeease tell us this will go the way we hope!)

She responded confirming that it looked like another family may also register their interest. She mentioned that they'd been in the program longer than us, so they may be closer to a "regular" referral, and might choose to wait for that. Another agonizing day passed, and I was thinking that another family couldn't possibly come forward; this is our girl. I kept turning her name over and over in my mind. Her last name is a name that is in my family; this must be a sign, right? Her birthday falls on Thanksgiving this year; another sign? I was searching.

The next day brought news that the other family had officially asked to be included as a potential referral. My heart dipped a little. The agency would present both of our files to their social services team, who would then decide which to forward to the crèche. We waited some more.

The following evening, something spurred me to check my phone as I went to bed. The email had arrived: both families were great, both were sent to the crèche for review. The crèche picked the other family. She was not to become our little girl.  

Here was the downhill drop; fast and furious and upsetting.

The last loop-de-loops this week were through a wide range of emotions: disappointment, sadness, and grief, but also extreme joy that this girl had found her family and these parents had found their daughter. In the end, this is what matters. I pray that the referral occurs quickly and that the rest of the process goes smoothly for them. 

So, we'll just keep ticking along, continuing to wait. In reality, we know that a referral doesn't seem to occur until ~12-18 months after entering IBESR, and we've only been in IBESR for 3 months. Based on what we learned from this experience, we're discussing potentially updating our homestudy a bit, in regards to medical conditions.  But, it looks like we have some more time ahead of us to endure the peaks and dips of this ride.

Hurricane Matthew

This has been a rough week. Hurricane Matthew slowly tore its way across Haiti, other parts of the Caribbean, and is now making its way towards Florida.
I've rewritten this post a few times now, because I've been struggling with articulating. So, here goes. 

How I've been feeling: 
I've been on a bit of an emotional roller coaster: I watched in horror as the predictions of the storm's path and impact were broadcast. My anxiety spiked as the storm shifted and seemed to be aiming straight-on for Haiti. I cried thinking of our child, and the fear she may have been feeling. The confusion or anxiety she may have experienced, watching her parents or caretakers prep and plan for safety. My heart broke for a land desperately unprepared for this kind of impact. For the people, who've had enough of this to last a million lifetimes. I prayed fiercely for the storm to slow and move. I prayed for safety of the country and the people. For her safety. And we waited. I have never felt so helpless, knowing that from afar there was nothing tangible that I could do. 

What's happened: 
Not being in Haiti myself, I can only share what I have read and followed through sources in-country that I believe are reputable. The following is a recap of what I have gathered.

First, some quick context: Haiti is often described as the poorest country in the Western hemisphere. There are still many areas rebuilding from the devastating 2010 earthquake, and some that will never be the same. Much of the terrain has been deforested, largely due to energy needs, which can create instability in the land, and greatly increases the risk of mudslides following high rains. I say this to illustrate that the infrastructure and terrain across the country cannot handle much in its current state. 
(To balance this, know that Haiti is also the world's first independent blac republic and was the second nation to earn independence in the Western hemisphere. This is a strong and brave country, capable of much.)

Hurricane Matthew, a category 4 (on a scale of 5 being the worst) moved over the country (which is about the size of Massachusetts, for scale) at an agonizingly slow pace, with winds of over 130 mph. There has been massive damage to some areas of the country--largely the South and the North. Reports are still being vetted, but there may be hundreds dead. And now that the storm has moved on, there is concern of flooding, catastrophic mudslides, and disease. The country has been fighting a cholera outbreak for years, likely imported by aid workers during the earthquake clean-up and spread through contaminated water. It is entirely possible that the standing water from the storm could exacerbate this.

I do believe that our prayers were heard. It appears that some parts of the countries experienced less devastation than expected. It appears that Port-au-Prince, the capital, is standing. We haven't yet heard any official reports from the Embassy, but the hope is that it is okay (and therefore, hopefully all of the adoption-related paperwork that so many families have poured their blood/sweat/tears into is okay). 
We learned today that our orphanage Fondation Enfant Jesus (FEJ) reported that all children and staff are safe. However, toppled trees and severe flooding caused major damage to structures and the health clinic. Temporary shelter is in place, but the flooding needs to stop and rebuilding must occur to get them back to the safe space they were previously in. All this to say that there is still much that we do not know, and we will continue to wait for news on what this might mean for adoptions--for other families, and for us. 

What you can do: 
If you are looking for ways to help Haiti, please think about contributing directly to organizations that already exist in the country. Large NGO's and organizations newly forming after the Hurricane often have high overhead and/or little transparency into where funds actually go. Here is a reputable page outlining various agencies inside of Haiti.  Also, here is a link to FEJ, our orphanage.
Don't buy a plane ticket and fly there to rebuild. This takes jobs away from the very capable hands of Haitian residents. (i.e., Why pay someone to do work, when this foreign volunteer will do it for free!) 
Don't buy supplies and send them to Haiti. Instead, consider sending funds to allow supplies to be bought in-country, contributing to the local economy and small businesses.

A last note to leave you with:  
Please, practice healthy skepticism when consuming media.
Pre-storm, some news sources were broadcasting images of Jamaica and calling it Haiti (and vice versa). Some news sources were showing historical footage of Haiti, such as from the 2010 earthquake. A newscaster at the Weather Channel stated that part of the reason that the country is so devoid of trees is because Haitians sometimes resort to eating them. (Uh, what? No.) Even an image that I saw after the storm of a child "stuck in a flooded alley" turned out to be a child playing in a ditch, unharmed. 
I don't say all of this to take away from the truth: life and communities have vanished. People have lost their belongings, their homes, everything. So much loss.
This was a horrific catastrophe. 
Media is important in keeping informed. However, it's important to be aware of when media is reporting flippantly (or too quickly, trying to be "first on the scene), or is relying on "click bait" tactics to draw in an audience. Try to seek out resources as close to the scene as possible, whenever possible. We've been fortunate to find good resources on social media, of missionaries and citizens who have been continued to share updates from their family, friends, and contacts living across the country. 

Dossier Registered in Haiti

In July, I talked about the waiting phase our dossier had entered. 

A quick recap, if you don't want to go back and read that post again: 

• Dossier was sent to Haiti on 6/20/16.
• We are told to expect it to take at least couple of months to be officially registered with IBESR. My brain says: "Oh, okay. 6/20 + 2 months = 8/20. (Mind you, there is no chance that this exact science works. This is just me trying to make sense of the nonsensical.)
• We also learn that work at IBESR slows to a snail's pace in August, due to vacations. My brain sighs, and recalculates: "6/20 + 2 months (-August) = 9/20".
• We vow to be patient.

July passed without a word, as expected. August inched by and I scoured blogs and Facebook groups for any reports of movement at IBESR. August closed without any news. I realized that I should stop holding my breath. September began. 

Okay, bear with me for a second while I take a quick detour. It is connected, I promise:

This last weekend, I was the Director of a camp I have volunteered at for about 12 years. For privacy reasons, I'll omit specific details, but suffice it to say that I think of our camp community as my other family. Here are kind and thoughtful people who face unique challenges every day, and do so with courage and grace. Many of the camp families have also adopted (most of them many times), and I am grateful to get to see these children and families grow, both through pain and through joy.

I was feeling pretty low before camp. A lot happening at work, stress about planning for camp, exhaustion due to E being sick, etc. I found myself slipping into some sad days thinking about our as-of-yet-unknown Haitian daughter. Missing her. 

As it usually does, camp filled me again. I was reminded to take stock of what is precious in life and give thanks for all that I have. I witnessed these beautiful and diverse families being--well--families! Unfettered. I have much to learn from them. 

I promise that we're getting close to bringing this tangent back around to connect to the start of the post. 

This year, I learned that one of the girls (who has been to camp for years) is Haitian. This had never come up before in conversation! In the last moments of camp, I also learned that the Executive Director of the camp grounds has a Haitian son. Again; I knew he had a blended family, with adopted children, but had no idea one of his children was from Haiti. As a Christian, I can't help but recognize that these slow revealings are a purposeful part of His plans (you know, the one that I can't control). And you better believe that I'll be holding onto these connections tightly, to learn from and lean upon. 

Of course, though, this brought my mind back to our dossier. Where was it? Was it buried in a stack of paperwork, not yet visible? Was it sitting front and center on someone's desk, next in line for review? Were we going to receive word that one of our documents was not acceptable, sending us off on a chase to correct it (and translate/notarize/authenticate it)? The lack of visibility into these processes is so frustrating. I essentially help identify, create, and implement process improvements for a living. I know that there could be a way to make this process automated, transparent, and efficient. Alas, that is not my place here. 

So, here we are, on 9/6/16, a day after returning from camp. I can't stop thinking about the adoption. 

This morning, as part of my usual routine, I pulled up my email and saw a note from our caseworker. She just received word that our dossier was registered in Haiti on 8/8/16! A MONTH AGO! I instantly teared up (erm, might be again now) and texted Justin to make sure he'd seen the news. The timing is just incredible, and we are overjoyed that one more hurdle has been passed. 

So, what's next? 

You probably know the answer. Say it with me now: more waiting. Since 8/8, we have been eligible to receive a referral--to be matched with our child.

When we started this process, last November, we were told it could take a long time for a match, but waits vary greatly. That is still the case. Many families I've seen have waited 18-24 months for their referral. As I've said before, it's challenging to find "like" families of to compare. We are essentially part of the I800 "guinea pig" group. There have been murmurs of a new matching process coming soon, and with this comes the hope that it may speed up. Who knows. In some countries, matches occur faster for children of certain ages (typically older) or children with medical or special needs. It is hard to see any discernible pattern of this occurring in Haiti, as of yet. We will just need to wait and see.

Thank you for your prayers, your encouragement, and your thoughts. Please, keep it coming.

Love and hugs

A Brief Non-Update Update

Quite a few of you have (kindly) checked in to see if anything has changed recently, so I thought I'd take a moment to add a short update to the blog. As the title states, it's essentially a non-update. In a nutshell, we are just waiting.

On June 20th, our dossier was officially sent to Haiti, essentially closing the chapter of our paper-chasing and gathering, the period of work that we had control over. We are now waiting for the dossier to be legalized in Haiti, and then handed over to IBESR. The loose estimate for this to occur is within "a couple of months", but as I've mentioned before, there is no true average length of time that we can expect for any stages of the adoption. Add to this the knowledge that the work unofficially  slows down or stops in the IBESR offices in August, as it's traditionally a vacation month, and you'll now understand why you haven't heard much from me in awhile.  
We're in a period of time (which may last for months or years) in which we have no control over proceedings, and that is so very hard for me. My patience is in a constant state of flux, oh that fickle creature.

Once our dossier is registered with IBESR, we are essentially in line for a referral. Technically, this means that we could receive the call that our daughter has been identified at any time. Realistically, it'll likely be anywhere from a few months to a year for this coveted day to arrive. 

I am a part of a few adoption-related forums and Facebook community pages, and have recently seen a flurry of movement for both I-600 and I-800 families (we are I-800; I-600 was the process in place before Haiti joined the Hague Convention in April 2014). This gives me hope, and I am overcome with joy to see these families unite and begin to move forward with their lives together.  

In the back of my mind, two competing thoughts swing back and forth on a pendulum of expectation. 
One: Remember, Jordan, there is no "normal" in this world of adoption. A trend of referrals and placements now is no guarantee for the same tomorrow or the next day. The only true norm is waiting.
Two: But, couldn't we be the exception? Couldn't we get a quick referral, experience a perfect bonding trip, and fly through the post-bonding adoption stages and bring her home in record time?  Maybe. But in all likelihood, probably not. 

Most days this suspension in time is fine. I am deliberately focused on soaking up every second with my little family of three; delighting in Eisley's growth and personality everyday, experiencing and enjoying life in the moment. 
But some days, a sadness sneaks up on me and snags my heart. In those moments, I miss our second daughter terribly, though we've yet to be introduced to her, and she doesn't yet know we are awaiting her. I pray for her health and well-being, and for that of those taking care of her. I pray for this waiting period to get a move on, so we can meet her. 

That's all for now. Love and hugs.

The Dossier, part 2

As I mentioned in part one of our dossier saga, when we began collecting the necessary items to complete our dossier, our agency provided us with a few resources to help us along—a packet really. This included three versions of a checklist, each laid out a bit differently, depending on how you prefer to organize. (I’m telling you, it’s like these people know me!) On top of that, the woman who runs the Haiti program spent time talking us through the process on two different occasions. 
I tell you this to highlight how complex creating the dossier can be, due to the multiple steps that must be done in just the right way. And although I feel confident that I followed the checklists to the letter, there is still a distinct possibility that something will not be quite to the liking of IBESR, we’ll receive notice of a mistake, and we'll need to scramble to re-order, re-translate, re-certify, and re-submit something.

But, I digress.

Picking back up from the last post, I’ll briefly outline the steps that are required to finalize a Haiti dossier. This process varies greatly from country to country.

Note: as a clarifying caveat, not all of the items gathered require these steps, but about 85% of them did.

Notarization

We had notarization completed by a multitude of people—the bank, a very kind partner at work, the police department, workers at the agency. These did not come at extra cost to us (one of the few steps in which we can say that).

For this, we received a fancy stamp and signature.

Secretary of State (SOS) verification of said notarizations, also sometimes referred to as Apostille

This step meant we had to send documents to the office of the Secretary of State in which the notary is authorized, for another level of approval. There is a per document fee. We were held up by about a week in this process because I forgot that one of our referral letters was notarized in OR, and sent it with everything else to the WA SOS office. Fortunately, a very kind lady at the WA office called me to inform me of the mistake, and even included instructions for the OR SOS process when she returned all of the documents. Bless her; she didn’t need to call or include these steps for us!

For this, we received a fancy cover sheet with a shiny gold seal and the SOS’ signature.

Translation of documents, including notarization and SOS verification

Our agency provided us a few names of people who translate official documents as a side-job, for a nominal price. We had been forewarned that because this was not their full-time job, it could take some time to be completed. By the grace of God, one of the women had something come up, and told the agency that she was open to receive translation work en masse for a short time. I quickly reached out to her and she finished our translations in a matter of a week and a half, for a decent bulk fee. We did this entirely over email, which made me just a bit uncomfortable, sine I was sending copies of highly personal documents a stranger that I'll never meet.
She was incredibly kind and patient as I sent her batches of documents, and then sent her the SOS cover sheets for translation. I sent her a thank you card when we were done, because her part of the process was undoubtedly the smoothest and least stressful for me.

Department of State and Haitian consulate verification-the last step  

Here we reach the most nerve-racking part of the dossier. While we did send all of the original documents to the SOS, I felt (perhaps with delusion) that it was just a few cities away, and that this meant there was less chance of the paperwork being displaced or damaged. Once we’d arrived at this step, it struck me that we had spent months with these documents, and now we had to relinquish them into no-mans-land (aka the United States government).  Oh, and of course there is a pretty hefty per document fee associated with this.

We were given a few options for getting our documents to these two agencies in DC.

1.  Send them ourselves—mailing the packet first to the Dept. of State, waiting for them to come back home, and then mailing them back to the Haitian consulate, and waiting for them to come back home. The longest, most stressful option.

2.  Deliver them by hand to each office, in DC.
We could do this (uh, if we were in DC, which we clearly are not); we could ask people we might know in DC (family, friends, etc.); or we could hire someone.
We opted for the latter option, which to us felt most secure, and hired a courier service that handles this type of work regularly. I will admit, I was picturing Joseph Gordon Levitt as a bike courier (a la Premium Rush), and that may have added to my sense of security. We mailed off our documents, a bunch of money, and a pre-paid return envelope and essentially held our breath for two weeks.  The couriers literally walked our documents into the Dept. of State office, returned to pick them up when they were done, walked them down to the consulate, and picked them up to mail back home to us when this was completed.  This is how our government works, people.

For this, we received from a fancy cover sheet on each document from the DOS, complete with old-timey language like “To all to whom these presents shall come, Greetings” (I couldn’t make that up), and John Kerry’s signature (by way of Matthew, the Assistant Authentication Officer).

From the Haitian consulate, we received a third and final fancy cover sheet on each document, written in French Creole, and affixed with a long red ribbon and a large gold seal sticker. Again, not even kidding. It’s like we won first place! First place in what? Who knows.

So, what’s next?

Our dossier arrived in Haiti the week of June 20^th. At this time, we’re waiting for it to formally accepted by IBESR, which could take a month or two. Then, we wait for an official referral, which is when IBESR lets us know that they believe they’ve found our match--our daughter. It’s very difficult to know how long until this time: it could be a few months; it could be 9 months, or a year. I am part of a Haiti adoption group online, which has about 1,700 members, and only a handful of I800A families on that page have received referrals, as the country continues to close out adoptions under the old I600 process, before Haiti joined the Hague convention. 

Please join us in praying for speed and accuracy into the next steps ahead of us, on this journey (or sending good vibes, or whatever suits your fancy. Anything is appreciated my friends!) 

The Dossier

Over the last month, we've been incrementally checking things off of our last list, and I am overjoyed to share that we have closed out an integral stage in the process: our dossier is done. 

The paperwork has been chased. The authorizing stamps, gold seals, and red ribbons have been gathered (not even kidding). Pictures of us in our "natural habitat" have been collated. All of this has been put together into one, organized dossier, and on Monday, off to IBESR it will go.
IBESR is the Institut du Bien Etre Social et de Reserches, the central adoption authority in Haiti, and you'll see this acronym quite a bit, going forward.

My birthday is tomorrow, and this is one of the best gifts I could have asked for (aside from, you know, receiving the referral for our daughter or bringing her home. Alas, patience is the name of the game now) 

The creation of our dossier was the last big stage that Justin and I had responsibility over. I share that, because while this has been a slow, laborious, and stressful process for us to complete, at least we had an element of control over this work. Now that the dossier is out of our hands, we will need to trust (and pray, a lot) that everyone else is doing their job for us, as efficiently as possible. 

So, what is a dossier? 

A dossier is essentially a collection of specific documents that represent all aspects of our life. Some of the documents are a duplicate of what we gathered for our social worker to write up our home study, but the dossier requires even more documents and nearly all of the them must go through multiple levels of verification.

A snapshot of the documents required:

• Formal letters of intent (from us) and recommendation (from our agency)
• Power of Attorneys (for key players in Haiti to act on our behalf in country, when the adoption finalization draws near)
• Medical sign-off (complete physicals, including blood work)
• Police report (via Seattle PD)
• Psychological evaluation (more detail below)
• Letters of reference from non-family members
• Employment verification (Thank goodness I work in HR. This was the easiest one!)
• Bank attestation and copies of multiple tax returns 
• An official copy of our final home study report
• I800-A approval (more detail below)
• Birth and marriage certificates
• Copies of IDs (drivers license, passport)
• Pictures galore (The three of us at home! The three of us in various environments, to show that we do things! Separate pictures of each of us! With friends, to show we have them! I felt like we were gathering stock pictures for a cheesy catalog.)

Gathering some of these documents was more straightforward than others. Our agency provided us with a handful of tools to stay organized, and you better believe that I have a couple of well-worn and well-loved charts and check-off lists completed now.

Once the documents are gathered, they require notarization; verification by the Secretary of State (in the state in which they were notarized); translation into Haitian; verification by the Department of State in DC and the Haitian Consulate in DC. This was a fascinating stage of work, which I'll put into the next post. For now, I will share just a few of the challenges we faced along the document gathering process: 

Medical sign-offs

All but a few of the documents listed above require notarization (and additional levels of verification), including our medical forms. However, the logistics of having a medical document notarized when a doctor signs it is challenging. Yes, we could hire a traveling notary, but because the document required blood work, which takes a few days to be processed, there isn't really a way to have a doctor call the traveling notary to say "Oh hey, I'm ready to sign these medical forms now, want to come on by?"  So, our agency helped us to notarize official "copies" of the medical forms. Not ideal, and could be something that IBESR doesn't like either.

Then there was the debacle of my doctor's appointment. I took the day off of work, because the available appointment was at 11 AM, and I had to fast for the blood draw. I received a message at 9:30 from the doctor's office stating that my doctor was out sick, so my appointment has been cancelled. If I'd like to reschedule, I can call. Needless to say, I was hungry and LIVID. Doctor's can't call out sick! After calling and explaining my predicament, the receptionist took pity on me and searched until she found a doctor in a clinic not too far away that could squeeze me in that afternoon. The doctor was very kind, efficient, and even cracked jokes with me. He thought I needed a full physical, (like, you know, of the lady variety) and when I quickly said "Oh, no, not that today!" (Because that is not the kind of appointment you just mosey into, on a whim) he replied "Oh, good, because I was not planning on one of those today." Also, when I confirmed I was not a smoker, he confirmed he'd be happy to help with that, and prescribe a patch that I could use to slowly wean myself onto the habit. Hilarious. 

Psych eval letter

This was probably the most frustrating process of all, because it delayed the completion of our dossier by at least two weeks. Two precious weeks.

IBESR requires a basic evaluation of Justin and I, to ensure that we are prepared/"sound" enough to adopt. Our agency provided us with a few contacts that may be able to complete this for us: counselors and psychologists. We chose a counselor that works in a couple of locations in the area, as she specializes in areas of trauma, including adoption. She was also familiar with the letter we needed written, and charged a really reasonable fee. 

She didn't seem to answer voicemails, and responded to our emails very slowly, but this was manageable, as we had plenty of lead time, and other items were in various stages of completion. We finally secured an appointment with her (which she moved once), filled out a questionnaire about ourselves, and completed an interview at her office. To be honest, it was pretty awkward--we were only intended to meet with her once, and she needed to learn enough about us in that time to feel confident that she could write about our stability and our ability to parent and adopted child. The questions were innocuous (family history, relationship history, parenting experience, etc.), but probing. Come on lady, buy me a drink first?

After the appointment, she confirmed she'd have our letter done in just over a week. Sparing the detailed timeline, it took over a month, with me checking in multiple times throughout. In the end, she provided what we needed, and we didn't want to burn the bridge with her, because she may very well be a resource that we need to tap into for post-adoption support.

I-800A
Officially, this is the Application for the Determination of Suitability to Adopt a Hague Convention Child. We complete this for the USCIS (United States Citizenship and Immigration Services) to determine our government's opinion of our eligibility to adopt. We filled out (yet another) form, provided a copy of our homestudy, and sent it off. A couple of weeks later, we received a letter in the mail confirming that it had been received. Yep, a letter, just saying "Hey, we got this, thanks. This letter means nothing official, and your I-800A hasn't been approved yet."
Another week or so later, and we received four letters: two for Justin, and two for myself, duplicates of themselves, stating that we had an appointment for biometrics upcoming. BIometrics is just a fancy word for fingerprints. The appointment date and time were not convenient, but to reschedule, we'd have to mail the letter back informing that we could not attend the appointment. They would then pick a new date and time and mail that back to us. We would not get a choice of the new appointment.  And no, none of this can be done online or over the phone. So, we moved our schedules around, and made the appointment work.

The appointment was at the Department of Homeland Security in Tukwila, and was an amusing experience. We arrived early, and found that we were required to pay to park in the lot attached to the building. Uhh, okay. Then, after passing through security, we wound our way into a large waiting area and sat down to await our appointment time. We noticed that there was a stack of forms along the wall, and after watching other people, decided we must need to fill one out. There were no instructions to be found, and no pens. We watched a few people again and found that there was a jar of #2 pencils that we were expected to use for the form. Yep, an official form, completed in pencil. We got in line, handed off the forms, and were directed to yet another waiting area. The room was large and quiet (save for Madagascar 2 playing on a cordoned-off TV), and half of the room was blocked with a rope. There were not enough chairs on our side of the room, but plenty of chairs on the roped off side of the room. No one was allowed to sit on the roped off side of the room. Sure, makes sense.
Finally, we were called to have our prints completed, which was fast and painless. (The woman who did mine actually shared that they have metrics on how fast they get people through the process, and aren't really supposed to talk, lest it slow them down. She also asked if my first name was really Jordan, "Isn't that a guy's name?")

Fortunately, our I-800A approval letter arrived in the mail only 12 days later, which is apparently pretty fast. This means that the US is okay with us pursuing our international adoption; wahoo!

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In the end, I'm grateful for the stories we've gathered along the way. This work has taught us much about the workings of the government, tested our patience, and has given us a greater appreciation and connection to those who have completed this process before. And while I will not experience the physical pains of pregnancy and labor with this for my second daughter, I now understand why many refer to this as a "paper pregnancy". Right now, this is our labor of love. 

Up next: I'll complete my thoughts around the dossier saga, including the process of translation and verification, and share what's next in the process!

Mother's Day

Yesterday was Mother's Day and I awoke to Eisley trotting into our bedroom hollering "Hi mama! Hi mama! Book?!" She shoved the large book she was lugging onto the bed, grappled up onto the sheets with me, and anxiously awaited for me to begin turning the pages for her. As I started reading, she sighed sweetly and settled into me. My heart could just burst.

At risk of repeating myself, becoming a mom has been the most challenging and most rewarding job I've ever taken on. I've been required to draw on reserves of energy, patience, and silliness that I didn't even know I had. I have ached with joy and ached with worry. Since I learned I was pregnant over 2.5 years ago, my priorities (and I mean every priority) have drastically changed, and I can hardly recall how I made decisions or planned my days before E.  I wake up each morning looking forward to exploring with her and making her laugh. And I am so grateful that we have a day set aside to recognize the value of moms (and dads, next month!)

In the midst of all of the kindness and joy bestowed upon me yesterday, my thoughts kept drifting to another mom; the mother of our second child.

In all reality, we may not know much about our child’s birth mom, or learn her birth story. We may not know if she was sick or well, or the struggles she carried in life, or the full circumstances that led to her child’s arrival in the crèche. We may not know what her extended family looks like or the ancestral traditions they would want to pass down.  We won’t know the nicknames she gave her child, or if she liked to kiss the soft soles of her feet to make her giggle.  There is so much we will not know.

What we do know is that this woman carried our daughter for many months. She felt the joy of her kicks, and the pain of her labor, and bore the greatest gift that could be given. She has left an indelible impact on our lives, and in this we are forever tied. So while I don't know this mom, and may not ever meet her, I will celebrate her.

I pray that the circumstances under which this woman’s child becomes ours are not as painful as I fear they might be. I hope that she knows that I will love her daughter as fiercely as I love Eisley. And most of all, I hope she knows that I am honored to do so. 

The F-Word (No, not that one!)

The last few weeks have been especially busy--Justin has begun to settle into his new job, I've been in the crux of a project at work with a tight and looming deadline, and Eisley has been working hard on sprouting teeth and singing faintly recognizable songs in a high-pitched gibberish. 
In the meantime, we've just been chipping away at completing our dossier, and we're nearly at the point where it will be submitted to Haiti, which means we will be that much closer to being matched to our child. 

But, you're probably wondering about the slightly salacious title of this post. Forgive me for the mild clickbait. It's honestly not a topic I'm fond of bringing up, and I promise it will not be something we focus on in every post (you may notice I've not mentioned it at all yet). I'm stalling to avoid the word, but, here it is: fundraising. 
I'm not one who likes to ask for things, let alone for money, so this makes me feel more than a little uncomfortable. So, thanks for hanging with me.

We know that this journey we chose can be consuming and challenging, both emotionally and financially.
We also know that it takes a village to raise any child. A village chock full of resources: wisdom, spirituality, humor, monetary... We are already blessed to be part of a pretty awesome village. 

With that being said, many people have asked us about costs of adoption--how much? why?  I'll attempt to answer those questions below, but to be transparent, I also wanted to take a moment to share a couple of avenues that we are opening up to try and raise funds to help us cover some of the immediate costs. 

The main tool we created is a YouCaring crowdfunding page (you'll see a new widget on the right side of the blog that links to this, too). All of the funds donated there go directly to our adoption; the site doesn't withhold any fees.  We also have a few other plans in mind, starting with a pretty cool t-shirt drive via Chrome Buffalo that will run from May 1-10.
We know that not everyone can offer funds, so please know that supportive thoughts, words, and prayers are invaluable to us.

So, what's up with the cost?

I'll admit I still feel frustrated when I look at our list of impending costs, which may sum to upwards of $30,000. My heart says "We just want to bring our child home, and yet we have to jump through so many logistical hoops and pay so much money...why must this be so difficult?" It's not hard to imagine that the financial impact deters many away from adoption who would be amazing parents and families. 

In my previous post on our choice to seek International Adoption, I touched on some of the thoughts Justin and I have around the costs of this process--how we've been planning, the support available through work, the IRS tax credit, etc. We know that we don't have to pay all of the costs up front, or all at once, which allows us to space the impact out a bit, over the course of the process.
I'll also add that since day one I have been praying over the impact of adoption to our finances. In the past two weeks, these prayers have been answered in ways we never could have imagined--great blessings that buoyed my spirits. Then, this week, we received a bill for about 1/3 of the potential overall cost, and I'll admit, my heart sank. We knew that these costs were coming eventually, but this was just a stark moment that shouted, Hey, back to reality, you two! This is some heavy adulting going on right here!

What are the fees?

• Fees to the agency:  In general, our agency doesn't really make much money for the services they provide. Similar to many social service jobs, those working at our agency appear to work very hard for something they are passionate about, but which does not earn them a high salary. Costs here go toward things such as our application, our homestudy, and all the work that goes into working with USCIS and IBESR (in Haiti).
• Fees associated with the homestudy/dossier preparation: This includes fingerprinting, a police clearance, a therapist evaluation, translation of all documents into Haitian Creole, and having all documents authenticated by WA state, the Dept of State, and the Haitian consulate in DC.
• Fees to the US and Haiti: This covers items such as our I-800A application to adopt from a Hague convention country, Haitian government charges, funding given directly to support our child's creche, and obtaining a US Visa and passport.
• Travel fees: We'll take two trips to Haiti. The first is a socialization trip where we will spend time with our daughter for about two weeks. Then, we fly back home without her, and wait for our case to wind its way through the courts and be finalized, which can take time (often months). Once this is complete, we travel again, spend about a week in Haiti, and finally bring her home. 
• Post-placement fees: Lastly, we'll finalize the adoption in the US, and also complete a series of post-placement visits with our social worker, which are required after most adoptions. 
• Other: This is that murky potential of unknowns.What if there is a mistake in one of the process steps, and we have to redo it? What will medical costs look like, when she comes home? Counseling? What else?

All in all, I have to trust that we will make it through this. I don't believe we would have felt the call to do this, if it were not possible, but know that this may mean a couple of extra dose of patience, prayer, and humility as we plan and seek financing support. I recognize that this was probably not the most fun or uplifting read, but I hope that it was informative and shed light on why your support is so greatly needed and appreciated. THANK YOU.

Two Good Notes About International Adoption

Yesterday, J and I met with a therapist who specializes in adoption and trauma counseling in order to complete a basic psychological evaluation required for our dossier.

It was another instance of laying ourselves bare, sharing about our childhood, our relationship, our strengths and weaknesses. This is something I did not realize would be a common occurrence through these initial stages. Justin joked with the therapist that we have become pretty good at this: via our written autobiographies, home study visit, complete stranger's inquiries, etc. I suppose that is true, but it is still odd for me to reflect on the fact that many strangers now know more about me than many of my friends do.

I don't think it's necessary for me to go into the details of the actual appointment, but I did want to share two "a ha" moments that we both had during our conversation. 

1. Our child will come home having experienced things that we will never quite know. This will no doubt impact her in ways not visible to others.
As the therapist put it: When you have a child with a recognizable special need, such as being in a wheelchair, there are some 'societal norms' or typical responses that people tend to display: allowing more space to wheel by, adapting activities to encompass a wheelchair, or even acknowledging with sympathy (For the latter, I am not saying this is an appropriate reaction, at all, but realistically, is sometimes a response to someone with a special need or disability.)

However, our child, upon arriving home, will essentially have her "mind in a wheelchair". 

What does this mean?

Well, we know that our adopted child will likely not behave her "biological age", due to myriad factors. For example, she may not be caught up with typical developmental goals, may not react in ways expected for her "age", etc. We are learning about techniques to support her and to create a healthy environment for attachment, growth, and stability.

However, our a ha came with the therapist's note that because her "special need" (this term appears to be very encompassing in the adoption world) may not be visible to the outside world, outsiders often don't know how to react. Based on her behavior, strangers will make comments that are unnecessary, inappropriate, and not helpful. Friends and family may be confused or concerned. My gut reaction, as a mama-bear, is to snap, "well it's none of their business". And that's true. But it is reality, and all in all, there is no perfect answer or solution--it just is.

2.  We are at a kind of "disadvantage", already raising a biological child.
I'm sure I cocked my head to the right and either furrowed my forehead or raised my left eyebrow when the therapist said this; a knee jerk reaction, when I'd been working so hard to be open to listening and learning, and remaining neutral. 

What she meant by this is that we have come a long way in our last 21 months, raising Eisley. We have read books and sought advice. We have tried many things to support her learning and development, to connect with and engage with her, to redirect and scold her (appropriately), to praise and celebrate her. We have failed and we have succeeded, and we have learned SO MUCH. In some of this, we know what works for Eisley: generally what responses to expect from her, what might work/might not work, and can sometimes safely rely on auto-pilot to get through various parts of the day. We have become parents!

With our adopted child, the parenting we've currently mastered (let's all pause here and laugh at this phrase) will just plain not work in the same ways. I know what you're thinking: "Duh, Jordan. I have two/three/seven/twelve biological kids, and I didn't raise any of them in the exact same way, because they're just plain different people." 
Yes, that is true. 
However, what is also true is that parenting a child from a hard place, a child who has experienced trauma, institutionalized care, malnutrition, etc....well, parenting that child is just different, and we cannot rely on our current library of knowledge from parenting Eisley.  These differences range from how you handle food, physical touch, learning, discipline, sleep...the whole gamut. 
A couple of examples:
One we've heard many times already is that time outs are not a method of discipline that is successful for a child who does not have a secure attachment to their mom and dad yet.
Another example: when developing attachment, baby-wearing is very helpful, and it is a good idea to ask others to refrain from holding and carrying our child for quite some time, in order for us to establish our connection with her: to demonstrate that we are not just another one of a multitude of rotating caregivers, we are mom and dad, and we are here to stay. 

The final note we took away was simply a good reminder: we can read and learn to our heart's content, but we will not know what works until she is with us, until we know her and all her unique and special traits. And we just cannot wait for her to come home. 
 

Home Study

We are making incremental progress. Step by step, checking items off of our (long) list of to-dos. A few friends have asked us what a 'home study' actually is, so I thought I'd share a short post about our experience with this process. 

A home study is common in the foster and adoption world, and accomplishes a few things:
it creates a space for us to educate ourselves about what we're stepping into; allows our agency to evaluate our suitability as prospective adoptive parents, and ultimately ends in a formal document that will be included in our dossier to Haiti that highlights why we're a good match.
The requirements of a home study vary across states, agencies, and countries, so this is just a recap of our experience, living near Seattle, with our specific agency, preparing for our adoption from Haiti. (I feel like I am full of caveats when I write lately!)

Our agency is incredibly organized (I mean, they've been around this block a few times, since they've existed in some capacity since the '70's, and all) and provided us with an electronic toolkit that contains everything we'd need for our home study, and then some.
The key elements:

• The paperwork: If we've talked about the adoption process in person, you've probably heard me lament about the paperwork. It's...a lot. Documents we've had to gather or prepare for our home study include a complete overview of our finances/assets/debts/regular expenditures; tax returns; pay stubs; four detailed reference questionnaires from friends; a guardianship declaration; basic medical assessments signed by a doctor; birth and marriage certificates; proof of passports; pictures; fingerprinting for safety clearance... I'm sure I'm forgetting something here. Not to mention that much of this is also required for our dossier (another story, another day).
• Autobiography: We each separately completed a detailed autobiography.
  "How detailed?" you ask? Oh, just 87 questions detailed.
  Questions ranged from motivation to adopt; experiences growing up and the impact of primary caregivers; personal strengths and weaknesses; challenges faced in life; relationship history; physical and mental health history; parenting experience/planning/expectations.... We completed and shared this with our social worker prior to her home visit, to give her the ability to learn about us, and spark other questions she might need us to answer, in order for her to produce our home study document. Creating this was intense and deeply personal. We each chipped away at this over the span of 1-2 months, carving out time a few nights each week.
• Parenting Plan: This was another long and challenging writing assignment, also sent to our social worker prior to her home visit.
  Ranging from 35-65 questions (depending on if we are adopting an older child or child with special needs), the plan lays out topics that are imperative for an adoptive parent to be thinking about and planning for. This included things such as post-adoption logistics (time/pay when off work, insurance, childcare plans and contingencies, etc.); potential impacts of institutionalization and prenatal exposures; and the reality of life as a multi-cultural/transracial family. Essentially, this asked us to do our research, identify local resources, and think hard about some of the challenges we might face.
  We partnered on the task, and at times felt overwhelmed and emotional. When thinking through some of the challenges our child might face when she comes home, I could sense the mama-bear in me rising up, and a fierce sense of protection growing for her already.
• Training: We're required to complete something like 10-12 hours of training. This sounds like an inordinate amount, but I am incredibly grateful for the training and resources we've been provided thus far, and hungry for more. We spent a full-day training in-person at our agency's office, and completed the remaining hours through recorded webinars. Similar to the topics covered in the parenting plan, the training was honest and pulled no punches. For example, webinar topics included multicultural families (and the ignorance we may face), tantrums (and how to handle them when they last for an hour or more), and more. We spaced them out over several weeks, in order to digest, discuss, research further, and absorb. This is not something to take lightly.  And while these hours are just the "official" training requirement, we have scads of articles to read, and I plan to focus my efforts and energy here once our dossier is in Haiti and we are anxiously and impatiently awaiting next steps. While I quickly learned with Eisley that reading a parenting book/blog or listening to your grandma's-friend's-aunt's expert advice does not make you an expert parent to your child, I am one for approaching things as eyes-dwide-open as possible.
  In fact, if there's one thing we've already taken away from our learning, it's that we will have to parent this child differently--not just because she is her own unique being, but because she will be joining us with unique trauma and experiences that color her very existence.
• Home Visit: For the final portion of this process, our social worker came out to our house to interview us, ensure we have a safe abode for our child to come home to, and to also briefly meet Eisley (who simply mean-mugged her and then returned to sorting her beans). She asked us prepare for the interview to last about four hours. Upon arriving, though, she complimented us on our writing abilities, stating we'd answered many of her typical questions through our pre-work, and in the end she only ended up spending just over two hours with us.
  I will admit, I was nervous for this visit. Our social worker is kind and calm, and assured us that we did not need to clean the house top-to-bottom--in fact, it should really just reflect how we normally lived. Of course we didn't heed this (would you, if you had guests arriving?) and cleaned and organized. If anything it was a good, cathartic excuse to clean house; but it was the interview portion that created anxiety in me.
  Now, I should pause and clarify that the interview isn't a "determining factor" in proceeding with the adoption. Of course, if we waved giant red flags in her face, she might have concerns, but it's really to help her write a positively-toned overview of why we should parent a child from Haiti. "Sell us", if you will. But, I couldn't help but feel like I was interviewing for a job, and if I "did it wrong", she would just close her notebook right then and there, shake her head and say "thanks, but no thanks" and move along.
  (I know, if you know me, you're probably surprised. Me, who clearly has no qualms in presenting or public speaking, doesn't like interviews? Well, here's my little secret: interviews are my achilles heel.)
  Our social worker met with us together to discuss a few points from our pre-work, met with us separately to discuss our childhood and relationship, and that was it. Painless (aside from my poor attempts at brevity and levity).  

And now, we wait patiently for her to finish the document. She'll share a draft with us, so that we can review and correct any glaring concerns, and then we can officially close out our home study chapter and finish up the last bits of our dossier. 

Some people refer to their adoption process as their "paper pregnancy". It's a cheeky moniker, and I completely relate to it. This process is a labor of love. In some ways, it is not relatable to my pregnancy with Eisley, but it is highly similar in the most important way: at the end of this journey (which will, by all accounts, likely exceed 9.5 months) our daughter awaits.

Resource: https://www.childwelfare.gov/pubPDFs/f_homstu.pdf