I'm feeling ready to dive into writing about our bonding trip now. Let's see how far I get without writing a novel in one post (as I'm apt to do).
If adopting as a married couple, Haiti requires both parents to travel on both the bonding trip (also referred to as the socialization trip) and the pickup trip. The bonding trip is a minimum of two weeks, and pickup is a minimum of one week.
We knew that being away for more than two weeks would be challenging. I've never been in one place for that long, let alone one place with such high emotional stakes involved. We had been discussing whether or not to bring Eisley on the trip, and ultimately decided that it would be too much unknown for her, on top of it being a big impact on her routine. We are so fortunate to have two sets of grandparents nearby who adore her and we were able to put together a care calendar (literally) for her and Dublin the pug.
Looking back, I'm glad we made this decision. The experience living in K's creche was a fantastic experience, overall. But, the trip into Haiti, the drive to the creche, and the emotions we rocketed through would have been very hard for her little 3.5 year old body. Heck, they were hard on my over-30 year old body. I very much look forward to times in the future when we can take her to visit her sister's home country, but feel grateful we were able to spend this unique time together with K, and work through it together as a couple.
The drive
Upon arriving in Port au Prince (by way of overnight flight to Miami), we were met with heat, throngs of people hollering outside of the airport, and an incredible driver, who works for the organization who oversees the creche and a school a few hours away. The directors, a married couple that we'll call L & G, later told us that while they employ a few drivers, he is the only one they trust with families and the children. We soon learned why--the commute out of PAP and up into the mountainside was a maze full of honking and unbidden merging. We marveled at the novelty of the one stoplight we saw the whole time. However crazy it felt as a passenger, though, the large number of cars, motorbikes piled high with passengers or produce, and colorfully painted buses (called tap taps) were able to navigate it all in a totally cohesive manner. It's awesome.
We had been told the number one item to pack with us was our patience, and the first drive proved this advice to be accurate. My first image of PAP was of streets lined with rubble and street vendors on top of one another, selling wares ranging from westernized clothing, to brightly colored art, to produce, raw chicken, and shrimp (sitting in the sun). On the slow wind through the city (after a couple of stops at stores, because the organization is not able to run errands in the city regularly, so make the best of each trip), we soaked in the experience. Later talking to Director L, I mentioned that we still saw the impacts of the 2010 earthquake and other natural disasters, and asked if it was very challenging for the city to rebuild.
"No, not very difficult," he said, pausing, "It is impossible."
We learned that based on a lack of insurance on buildings and businesses, their organization had lost multiple buildings in the earthquake--flattened--and thus lost large amounts of income, which they would never recover. This is not an unusual story, and while I recognize that I've only seen a small sliver of the experience of this third world country, my heart aches for the trauma and unimaginable loss these disasters create. We come from a country so rich in so much, and in so many ways take this for granted. But, I digress; another topic for another day.
As we began to ascend the mountain, the landscape shifted to verdant green valleys, with farm land scattered throughout. Families lived in an eclectic mix of shacks, broken-down/half-built buildings, and large, gated homes. I could feel the air grow thinner, and about an hour and a half outside of PAP, we turned off onto the last mile of road, which was largely unpaved. Some of this was covered in chunky gravel, but overall, we bumped through winding pothole after large hole after giant divot until we reached the creche. It was one part hilarity, and one part teeth jarring. The directors recommended that we arrive before nightfall, and now we could see why: traversing these roads in the dark would be a whole new adventure! (Which, I should add, we did on another night. Oh, and we also rode the whole drive of PAP to the creche in the bed of a truck on another night. That was enough adventure for me for a few years, thank you very much.)
The creche
After pulling into the creche, we saw two other white people who waved hello and said they would introduce themselves later. (Side note: we were the minority our whole trip, obviously, and we stood out like sore thumbs. SO humbling!) We later learned this was K & J, a couple from the midwest, who was one week into their bonding trip with a spunky little girl.
The lead nurse came to greet us and took us to meet K. K's room, the nursery, housed around 15 cribs for kids ranging from infancy to about two years old. Many of the toddlers, all clad in cozy footie pajamas, were standing in their cribs, babbling, chanting, and rocking. K's "mama nanny" (whom she's been closest to since she came into the creche) lifted her from her crib and carried her over to us, they told K something like "Here is your mama and dada, they love you very much" over and over, and tried to put her in my arms. K promptly threw a fit. I was aching to hold this sweet child, but I did not blame her for her reaction, and instead sat down on the floor with her, allowing space. I cannot imagine the feeling of confusion and pressure for this sweet two year old, being told these two strangers are her mama and dada and being expected to understand and agree. We knew we'd have work ahead of us to gain K's trust and begin to connect with her, and our agency had even warned us that while trip is intended for "bonding", it is really an unfair expectation, when it's such a short trip (in the grand scheme), and we come home without our child. I think we sat on the floor with K for about half an hour, half-heartedly trying to dangle small toys and a soft book in front of her, and she eventually calmed down into a comfortable state of ignoring us.
All in all, it took about 3 days of taking her from mama nanny, handing her back in tears, making longer and feeding her (the key to her heart!) to break through the ice a bit, and begin to get eye contact and smiles from K.
Our sweet girl
I feel so grateful for the special time we got to spending learning about K and soaking her in.
Her skin is a smooth, dark cocoa. She has wide and expressive eyes, which flash with her mood frequently (and great brows!)
Her chubby cheeks and round belly are edible, and her little braids poked out of her head in the most adorable way. When undone, her tight curls haloed across her head in the most beautiful and delightful puff.
When she is serious, her eyes are pensive and her lip pokes out.
When she is nervous or sad or upset, she grabs a fistful of her clothing at the neckline, and chews on it until it's a soggy mess.
She has an adorable habit of standing in place and shifting her feet back and forth (almost waddling), which appears to be a comforting technique.
When she is silly, she might sing to herself or shout "NO!" and crack up.
When she is happy, she radiates light and wrinkles her nose with her smile.
At our best moments, in the later days of our trip, she would come jogging to me with her arms out and fall into me (whether I was ready for it or not) for a hug and to be lifted up.
Okay, that's all I have in me for now. I've been playing these moments over and over again in my head since the tearful moment we left the creche, but for some reason, putting pen to paper feels more draining.
renmen ak anbrase (love and hugs), J & J
If adopting as a married couple, Haiti requires both parents to travel on both the bonding trip (also referred to as the socialization trip) and the pickup trip. The bonding trip is a minimum of two weeks, and pickup is a minimum of one week.
We knew that being away for more than two weeks would be challenging. I've never been in one place for that long, let alone one place with such high emotional stakes involved. We had been discussing whether or not to bring Eisley on the trip, and ultimately decided that it would be too much unknown for her, on top of it being a big impact on her routine. We are so fortunate to have two sets of grandparents nearby who adore her and we were able to put together a care calendar (literally) for her and Dublin the pug.
Looking back, I'm glad we made this decision. The experience living in K's creche was a fantastic experience, overall. But, the trip into Haiti, the drive to the creche, and the emotions we rocketed through would have been very hard for her little 3.5 year old body. Heck, they were hard on my over-30 year old body. I very much look forward to times in the future when we can take her to visit her sister's home country, but feel grateful we were able to spend this unique time together with K, and work through it together as a couple.
The drive
Upon arriving in Port au Prince (by way of overnight flight to Miami), we were met with heat, throngs of people hollering outside of the airport, and an incredible driver, who works for the organization who oversees the creche and a school a few hours away. The directors, a married couple that we'll call L & G, later told us that while they employ a few drivers, he is the only one they trust with families and the children. We soon learned why--the commute out of PAP and up into the mountainside was a maze full of honking and unbidden merging. We marveled at the novelty of the one stoplight we saw the whole time. However crazy it felt as a passenger, though, the large number of cars, motorbikes piled high with passengers or produce, and colorfully painted buses (called tap taps) were able to navigate it all in a totally cohesive manner. It's awesome.
We had been told the number one item to pack with us was our patience, and the first drive proved this advice to be accurate. My first image of PAP was of streets lined with rubble and street vendors on top of one another, selling wares ranging from westernized clothing, to brightly colored art, to produce, raw chicken, and shrimp (sitting in the sun). On the slow wind through the city (after a couple of stops at stores, because the organization is not able to run errands in the city regularly, so make the best of each trip), we soaked in the experience. Later talking to Director L, I mentioned that we still saw the impacts of the 2010 earthquake and other natural disasters, and asked if it was very challenging for the city to rebuild.
"No, not very difficult," he said, pausing, "It is impossible."
We learned that based on a lack of insurance on buildings and businesses, their organization had lost multiple buildings in the earthquake--flattened--and thus lost large amounts of income, which they would never recover. This is not an unusual story, and while I recognize that I've only seen a small sliver of the experience of this third world country, my heart aches for the trauma and unimaginable loss these disasters create. We come from a country so rich in so much, and in so many ways take this for granted. But, I digress; another topic for another day.
As we began to ascend the mountain, the landscape shifted to verdant green valleys, with farm land scattered throughout. Families lived in an eclectic mix of shacks, broken-down/half-built buildings, and large, gated homes. I could feel the air grow thinner, and about an hour and a half outside of PAP, we turned off onto the last mile of road, which was largely unpaved. Some of this was covered in chunky gravel, but overall, we bumped through winding pothole after large hole after giant divot until we reached the creche. It was one part hilarity, and one part teeth jarring. The directors recommended that we arrive before nightfall, and now we could see why: traversing these roads in the dark would be a whole new adventure! (Which, I should add, we did on another night. Oh, and we also rode the whole drive of PAP to the creche in the bed of a truck on another night. That was enough adventure for me for a few years, thank you very much.)
The creche
After pulling into the creche, we saw two other white people who waved hello and said they would introduce themselves later. (Side note: we were the minority our whole trip, obviously, and we stood out like sore thumbs. SO humbling!) We later learned this was K & J, a couple from the midwest, who was one week into their bonding trip with a spunky little girl.
The lead nurse came to greet us and took us to meet K. K's room, the nursery, housed around 15 cribs for kids ranging from infancy to about two years old. Many of the toddlers, all clad in cozy footie pajamas, were standing in their cribs, babbling, chanting, and rocking. K's "mama nanny" (whom she's been closest to since she came into the creche) lifted her from her crib and carried her over to us, they told K something like "Here is your mama and dada, they love you very much" over and over, and tried to put her in my arms. K promptly threw a fit. I was aching to hold this sweet child, but I did not blame her for her reaction, and instead sat down on the floor with her, allowing space. I cannot imagine the feeling of confusion and pressure for this sweet two year old, being told these two strangers are her mama and dada and being expected to understand and agree. We knew we'd have work ahead of us to gain K's trust and begin to connect with her, and our agency had even warned us that while trip is intended for "bonding", it is really an unfair expectation, when it's such a short trip (in the grand scheme), and we come home without our child. I think we sat on the floor with K for about half an hour, half-heartedly trying to dangle small toys and a soft book in front of her, and she eventually calmed down into a comfortable state of ignoring us.
All in all, it took about 3 days of taking her from mama nanny, handing her back in tears, making longer and feeding her (the key to her heart!) to break through the ice a bit, and begin to get eye contact and smiles from K.
Our sweet girl
I feel so grateful for the special time we got to spending learning about K and soaking her in.
Her skin is a smooth, dark cocoa. She has wide and expressive eyes, which flash with her mood frequently (and great brows!)
Her chubby cheeks and round belly are edible, and her little braids poked out of her head in the most adorable way. When undone, her tight curls haloed across her head in the most beautiful and delightful puff.
When she is serious, her eyes are pensive and her lip pokes out.
When she is nervous or sad or upset, she grabs a fistful of her clothing at the neckline, and chews on it until it's a soggy mess.
She has an adorable habit of standing in place and shifting her feet back and forth (almost waddling), which appears to be a comforting technique.
When she is silly, she might sing to herself or shout "NO!" and crack up.
When she is happy, she radiates light and wrinkles her nose with her smile.
At our best moments, in the later days of our trip, she would come jogging to me with her arms out and fall into me (whether I was ready for it or not) for a hug and to be lifted up.
Okay, that's all I have in me for now. I've been playing these moments over and over again in my head since the tearful moment we left the creche, but for some reason, putting pen to paper feels more draining.
renmen ak anbrase (love and hugs), J & J
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