Our Bonding Trip: Part Two

Bonjou zanmi!

We're settling into the swing of a hot and busy summer here. May brought Mother's Day, June brought my birthday and Father's Day, July will bring Eisley's birthday, Gloria's Haitian Creole boot camp, and a trip to see K again! We are missing our little love like crazy, so have booked a (very quick) trip back to Haiti at the end of July. We'll again stay at the creche, wake up with the roosters, and spend the days playing, cuddling, and feeding K snacks. (This is the current way to her heart and one of many reasons why I know she is my girl.)

I'm counting down the days until we get to squeeze her again, and I admit that (among many emotions) I'm feeling nervous. How much will she recognize or remember us? Will we have to rebuild our connection from scratch, and spend the entire trip working to reestablish trust and comfort? Will the nannies continue to laugh at our poor attempts at Creole? (Just kidding. This one is a given, and that is okay. We're working on it.) 

I realized that in the midst of our busy days, I've fallen off the blogging train. I've even had a draft percolating since we came home from our bonding trip last December about some of day to day experiences in Haiti. In all honesty, it took so much energy and emotion to process the experience, let alone refine it into consumable words, that I've not been able to go back and finish that particular draft. However, in thinking about actually being back in country again, I wanted to dust it off. 

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If you want to put yourself back into the scene again, go back to Our Bonding Trip: The Arrival and Our Bonding Trip: Connecting with K.



A few memories from how we passed the days on our bonding trip last year:

As we settled into the creche, it took some time for us to find a routine or sense of normalcy. Two weeks is a long time to be in one place, let alone in a small orphanage tucked away on a remote mountainside in Haiti. The surrounding area was breathtaking. We had a small deck behind our bedroom with just enough space for two chairs and a table that overlooked the mountain and surrounding foothills. During the kid's nap time or when the sun went down, Justin and I spent time sitting here, decompressing. Reading, writing, listening to music or podcasts, or just gazing down at the valley below, it was a small space away from the chaos of the day. 

In the morning, children who lived in small shacks in the valley climbed up the hillside to walk to school. Goats grazed on the brambles here throughout the day. In the evenings, the sounds of parties drifted up the mountainside, bonfires crackling. 

After waking in the mornings, we took turns running (almost literally) through the cold, slimy shower. The bathroom was fed by a water reservoir above the building, and at times it collected a thick, dark green algae. On lucky days, the trickle of shower water slowed more than usual, and unexpectedly spit out chunks of algae. A free spa experience! 

We were fed our meals away from the children in the classroom that overlooked the playfield. Typically we ate before the kids, so as soon as we'd downed our food, we would hurry back to K's room and help with the feeding/entertaining/dressing. (Really, we tried to assist with whatever we could, however we could insert ourselves.) During our first week in the creche, K was still in the infant/waddler room, so the help seemed mildly appreciated. During our second week, when she moved into the toddler/preschool-aged room, the little ones were expected to feed themselves. It was challenging to watch this transition, from no autonomy (in fact, they were discouraged from using their own utensils in the littles room, perhaps because of how slow and messy it was, and it was hard for me to adapt to that) to total autonomy at meal time. 

We passed the days with K and the other children playing and sitting, mostly on the play field. Once K was semi-comfortable with us, we scooped her up and spent a couple of hours with just her in the classroom space. This allowed us some time away from the fray of all of the children, connecting with her individually in a quiet space. It was clear at first that she was not sure yet how to play. Blocks, crayons, playdough - it all seemed foreign. This was a good reminder to us that in this environment, with so many children and only so many hands to go around, one-on-one learning time was just not possible. But with some time and patience, we saw the most incredible strides, even to the point where she could mimic us pushing a paintbrush around on a canvas or stacked up blocks and then gleefully crashed them down, like any other two year old. Each activity lasted mere minutes, but each minute of play gave us a tantalizing peek into her growing, hungry, capable brain. On a few of the days, she was overly tired and not interested in playing, and I was able to rock her to sleep. I feel teary now thinking about her napping in my arms, her soft snores and hot breath on my neck. These are the delicious moments.

After she grew bored with us, and our small bag of snacks was not enough to distract any longer, we'd take K down to the field where the other children were sitting or playing. I may have mentioned it before, but this had been built not long before we arrived, and it is an integral space for them to play safely together. I can hardly imagine what they did before it was there, and feel so grateful for all of the hard work others put into creating this space. The kids were down there for many hours each day, and the first few days moved slowly. Then, we learned to bring down a bag of big legos, blocks, and soft toys from the classroom space and dump them on the field. The first day or two, this led to total chaos: they did not know how to share or play together. But, kids are remarkably smart, and they soon learned to (mostly) disperse the toys and the bags they'd come down in. These, a small tricycle, and a couple of soccer balls passed the afternoons in the sunshine. K would usually sit contentedly on or near one of us, hoarding a pile of legos, and screeching when friends tried to take them from her. I think I was chanting pataje (share) and pa jete (do not throw) in my sleep.


Lunch was served, and the littles were quickly put down for naps. Sadly, there was very little play time between nap, dinner, and bedtime, but we found spaces of time that we could slip in and be silly with the kids, or bring K outside of her room to play with us and a few soft books in the setting light.


When the noise of the children crying became overwhelming, we would leave the creche grounds for our daily walk. I'm not a great estimate of distance, but our walks took us over the winding, pothole littered roads back to the main road; maybe 30 minutes each way? Part of our walk was dusty and desolate, part of it was verdant and populated. We'd practice our Bonjou! or Bonswa! as we passed groups of children in their school uniforms, families sitting outside of their small homes, or motorbikes taxiing passengers to and fro. More than once, brave school children darted out to practice their English with us. One afternoon, a little girl clamped onto my hand and held on, staring up at me with wide eyes down the long path home, while her two girlfriends stared and giggled. We were clearly a foreign sight, a novelty, and it was humbling.

We got into a regular routine of walking down the mountain to a particular bend in the road where we could pause and sit on the wall built next to the road and look down over the valley and all of Port au Prince. It was gorgeous. At times we could watch fog and clouds roll over the hillside, shrouding the city. We could almost taste the precipitation hovering in the air. I don't think I would have made it through the two weeks without these walks that broke up our days and allowed us some respite together.

On the second week of the trip, when the second couple came to the creche, we'd sometimes walk together. The wife of this duo has spent time working in Haiti, and was much more comfortable in making her way around. On our treks, we wandered by what appeared to be a small store front, a small wooden building with items stacked on shelves. Outside, locals often sat around tables or a small grill, drinking and throwing dice. With her additional knowledge and confidence, our new friend recognized that we could purchase bottles of dusty, cold Prestige, the local beer, from the shop. Amusingly, one evening, we had dinner at the director's home, and director L slyly mentioned that he'd heard we had enjoyed a Prestige the prior evening. "I have eyes everywhere." he commented and laughed. 

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Baby girl, we know from the few pictures we've seen that you are growing and changing every day. We miss you so, and will be there soon. Nou renmen ou, manman ak papa

Marching On

I've been feeling a bit down lately when thinking about K and the adoption. This morning at the gym, for no particular reason I can identify, a wave of emotion came over me, and I found myself fighting back tears. Is she okay? Is she missing us? I have these moments of intense feelings every so often, and to recover I'll hold E extra tight, scroll through the well-worn album of pictures and videos we captured while in country, and just try to pause to breathe deeply, reflect, and pray over K. There are also a few songs I keep turning to, that, while a bit on the sad side, help center me in my thoughts about her. I've linked them here. They're great songs in general, and a good addition to your playlists!

Timshel, Mumford and Sons
But you are not alone in this
And you are not alone in this
As brothers we will stand and we'll hold your hand
Hold your hand
Rivers and Roads, The Head and the Heart
Rivers and roads
Rivers and roads
Rivers 'til I reach you

Rise Up, Andra Day (Thank you, Kate!)
I'll rise like the day
I'll rise up
I'll rise unafraid
I'll rise up
And I'll do it a thousand times again
And I'll rise up
High like the waves
I'll rise up
In spite of the ache
I'll rise up
And I'll do it a thousands times again
For you
For you
For you...

Where we're at, 4 months post-bonding trip

I800 Conditional Approval
Last month, we had a heart-stopping moment when we received a dread-pink-slip "RFE" (request for evidence) asking for a key document. This was something that we had understood was already turned in, and I panicked, sure that this would topple the whole tenuous process over. (PS: Just like you should not Google medical symptoms and self-diagnose, you should not Google RFE results. Lesson learned.) Fortunately, the orphanage was able to help quickly locate it, and the I800 hiccup was not prolonged too much. Not long after, our conditional approval of our I800 application arrived in the mail, and we were able to check one more box on this long list of steps. Essentially, this document is the US government affirmation that we will be allowed to deem K as our 'relative' and bring her into the country. This also kicks-off of the next steps in Haiti. After the I800, we began waiting for a Visa appointment to be scheduled at the US Embassy in Haiti. We received the invitation for this not long after, and those who we have granted power of attorney in Haiti were able to attend on our behalf. 

Article 5
Just a couple of days later (2/28), we received confirmation that this meeting went as planned, and we received our Article 5! As we continue to impatiently wade through this sea of paperwork, seeing this official looking document with a stamp of approval and seal from the embassy in Port au Prince felt like such a win.  
Article 5 is the document that informs IBESR in Haiti that the US government is satisfied with the documentation presented so far. When this is completed, K will be issued a US visa to enter the country and automatically become a US citizen. 

Exiting IBESR, and Beyond
Now, we are waiting to receive an authorization letter that we have "exited IBESR"; i.e. the court process in Haiti may begin. This may take a few weeks, or a couple of months. We also understand that when we exit IBESR, we may not actually receive notification until some time after.  Then, we proceed through a series of gates in the Haitian courts. Once we get into the system, the process may go "quickly" (a month or two?), but waiting in this virtual line to get into the system may take anywhere from 3-7 months more. When we start progressing through these court steps, we will share more of what we learn. In a rough estimate (like, close your eyes spin around twelve times throw a dart at a moving target estimate), we may get to travel back to Haiti to pick up K by the end of 2018. That is if all goes smoothly, of course (no political unrest, government shut-downs or shortages, power outages, lack of passport booklets, broken down motorbikes, dreaded RFE's, etc.).

In the meantime, we are hoping to go back for a visit this summer. We have waffled back and forth on this, to be honest, because we have some fears that this will be too hard on K. The children in the creche are quite accustomed to the routine of parents arriving for their bonding trip, leaving for a time, and then returning to pick them up. We worry that she will think we are coming back to bring her home, and be even more heart-broken when we leave (again) without her.  On the other hand, it would give us that much more time connecting with her in her home-country, soaking in experiences of her upbringing, her nannies, and her friends, as well as continuing to connect with her. And, I am missing her so desperately right now, that if I could hop on a flight tomorrow, I would. 
We had initially been told we could go back to visit any time after we completed our bonding trip. However, our agency shared a couple of months ago that there is apparently a rule that you cannot return to visit until you exit IBESR. It was not being enforced in the past, but, just our luck, they are starting to see it be enforced. We don't want to put anything at risk, so will wait (impatiently) for the exit letter. 

Another piece of this complex puzzle is that one of the two directors of the creche, L, has fallen quite ill. L and his wife (the other director) are currently residing in the States, so that he can receive medical treatment, and we are deeply concerned for his health and their well-being. This creche, their technical school, and so many children's lives would not be the same without the incredibly hard work and love that they have poured out, and we pray that he may heal quickly and return home. 

In the meantime, we are grateful to receive a small snippet about K each month--a brief update on her health and well-being, and a picture. In last month's picture, we can already see that she has grown. Her intense and demonstrative eyes were shining. She was not frowning (as she's been in all of her past pictures), but not quite smiling. 

Oh, love, we miss you so. 

Our Bonding Trip: Connecting with K

Bonjou zanmi!

When we began this adoption journey, over two years ago, we very quickly saw a theme emerge in our training, reading, and conversations: bonding and attachment with an adopted child, particularly a child coming from difficult places, who has experienced trauma, who has spent significant time in an institutional setting, is hard. This is actually a supreme understatement, which deserves its own post/series/lifelong discussion. However, I note this here briefly because as we prepared to finally meet our little girl, the feelings we experienced were so different from the feelings I remember having with Eisley. 

When I was nearing the end of my pregnancy with Eisley, I recall feeling nervous and excited about her arrival. I remember worrying about the birth process and nursing and getting her home safely in her car seat. I completely took for granted the fact that she would come out, lay upon my chest, and gaze deeply into my eyes and soul; an immediate and visceral connection. From then on, I've rarely had to worry about her feelings of security and connection. She is a child who gives and receives love with joy and abundance. 

On our way to meet K, I was incredibly excited to be so close to holding her in my arms. I knew I wanted to soak up every moment with her that I possibly could, so that we had something to hold onto while we waited for her to come home. In tandem, I also felt overrun with so many other emotions that I struggled with sorting them all out. I was nervous that she wouldn't look like the picture we'd seen (I have no idea why). I was fearful that she would reject and despise us. I was anxious that it would be obvious to everyone around us that we were not her parents, and we had no business being there. It is painful for me to write these thoughts down now, and I feel ashamed. These are not the feelings you should be having when meeting your new child! 

As shared in my last post, it took a few days for K to feel comfortable around us. She would cry when I picked her up, desperately looking around for her trusted nannies. When I was able to soothe her enough to be settled in my arms, she would then buck at me if I tried to make any changes. If I was sitting when she finally calmed, how dare I stand up! If she was content with me holding her while we stood overlooking the play field, she would have a fit if I tried to carry her down onto the field near her friends. Over the first few days of this, I felt embarrassed at being unable to calm her (even though I knew that this was normal for our brand-new relationship!). A few days into our stay, G, the female director of the creche came to visit. 

Now, as a separate note, we noticed that when visitors such as the directors or social worker arrived, things very quickly snapped into routine.The nannies and nurses have an incredibly taxing job, caring for so many children. However, it wasn't uncommon for the kids to sit in their nursery table for long periods of time, or sit on the play field without any toys during the afternoon play hours. We carved out our niche here, and jumped in to lend a hand with keeping the kids active and engaged. With the help of the other couples, we began bringing books and toys out to the kids. It was incredible to see the kids flourish and begin to learn to play and share with each other.

When G heard that we were feeling challenged with our initial connection with K, she said she'd come visit and talk with K, and "give her blessing". She and K have always had a special connection, and K is her little princess. We later learned why, but I'll save that for another day. When G arrived at the creche, Justin and I were sitting with K in the sunshine, having just settled her. I was remiss to move, because I knew she'd get upset again if I did. K watched G approach, and G held out her arms for K to come to her. In the first few days, as soon as a nanny held out their arms to K, she leaped away from me and went to them. This happened enough that I burst into tears one afternoon, feeling exhausted and frustrated. This day, though, K balked, whined, and leaned back into me; she chose not to go to G. I was surprised and not quite sure how to react. G smiled and nodded. "She is already bonding with you." 

While we know that attachment and bonding will take time, deliberate thought, and patience, I felt such a sense of relief hearing this said aloud, particularly from someone so close to K. We know that there is no quick way to start the attachment and bonding process, and no promise that it will happen in a specific order or timeline. Nonetheless, I tucked this moment into my heart, and it honestly helped me through some of the other challenges we faced. 

G talked with the three of us for a little while, and then we all traipsed down to the play field to play with all of the kids, who were overjoyed to see her. G is an incredible woman with amazing stories and experiences. I grew to look up to her over our time in country, and seeing her in her element, loving on these kids, still warms my heart in ways I cannot describe. Carrying K, as we got closer to the field, I held my breath, waiting for her to get upset at the change. She let me walk down the steps, but when I went to sit down near her friends (with her still in my arms!), she threw a fit. I quickly tried to stand up, talking with her, to calm her, but she continued to cry and squirm. G picked up on this immediately and came over, talking to K and gently scolding her for the tantrum. She turned to J and I and laughed about her toddler behavior. K eventually calmed and while she continued to pout, she warmed up to playing with blocks, even sitting on her own (while still checking back in with me every so often). In other words, she was fine. 

As the days went on, we learned that this was just a facet of K's personality: she is in fact a normal two-year old who wants to exercise control over her situation, and if she isn't getting her way, she has a tantrum! It was amazing that this felt like a revelation to us, but for some reason it took G's reminder to help us let go of some of our anxiety about connecting with K. These behaviors were (are) part of the bonding process. K began to express her emotions further with us; joy and silliness, envy and possessiveness (often over food and my attention). K was allowing us in, testing and exploring boundaries. I've never been more excited to experience toddler mood swings!

I'd love to say that the rest of our time was all sunshine and rainbows, but of course that is not reality. During our two weeks with her, I am proud of the strides we made connecting, and am so grateful, as I know that not every family has this experience. We carved out a routine with her each day, and were amazed to watch her learn how to paint, methodically feed herself, and play. She clicked more with me, though, than with Justin. It was not unexpected that she would favor one of us (if either of us), and we noticed quickly that there are very few men around the orphanage, making him even more foreign to K. This was very hard on him. 

Looking ahead, it is going to be a strange experience for K (understatement of a lifetime) to leave the creche and learn to be a part of a family. Can you even imagine how scary and foreign this would be? Stepping onto an airplane, when the only place you've been outside of your orphanage were sporadic hospital visits? Being shown your own bedroom, when all you've ever known was a communal space? Getting all-day access to a pantry and fridge full of new foods, when you've only ever been served a limited array of foods in a small dish? These are a mere few things that will be new and exciting and overwhelming for K, and we ask that you practice patience with us as we help K work through new experiences and the feelings that will come with them. This will take space, and time, and understanding. 

I know that we have a lot of work to do when K comes home, to build and bolster our relationships. I also know that it is very possible we'll have to start from the beginning with her when we see her again. And that is okay, because I have known the spark and love inside of her, our little girl.

Our Bonding Trip: The Arrival

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

A New Year!

Today is New Year's Day 2018, and it's been 2.5 weeks since we came home from our time in Haiti.

On January 1st, it's Haitian tradition to eat soup joumou, an aromatic pumpkin/squash soup. We have a large pot bubbling away on the stove, a new tradition that we are happily folding into our family. The history of soup joumou is a powerful one: during the terrible early years of Haiti, the French forbid Haitian slaves from enjoying the dish, considering it a delicacy "too sophisticated for a slave's palate". To commemorate and celebrate the independence won on January 1st 1804, soup joumou is enjoyed on New Year's Day by most Haitians, a symbol of freedom. We had this dish twice while living at the creche, and I'm excited to try this new recipe (and a few others!), to begin rooting Haitian culture in our home.

Our time in Haiti was truly life changing, and I could not be more sure that K is our daughter, and Eisley's sister. I don't quite know how to pass along the feelings we experienced while there, except to say that we are humbled, full of gratitude, and brimming with excitement for K's future. She is bright, funny, and the cutest little peanut. We were able to watch her learn in our two short weeks with her, and her spirit shone through as she tested, giggled, and cuddled with us. I feel security in knowing that she is being cared for while we are waiting for the next steps of the process to move forward. We are permitted to return and visit whenever we would like, not that we've completed this stage of socialization, and we are hopeful that we can go back for a short trip in a few month's time. 

Justin and I both journaled nearly every day in Haiti, but I have been struggling to distill the experience into shareable words, as opposed to the long, rambling, stream-of-consciousness pages I wrote there. Honestly, I feel as though I've been struggling in general since coming home. We were both remarkably healthy at the creche (despite being surrounded by 60+ kids, many with constant runny noses or coughs), but I haven't felt physically well since getting home. My body is coming around now, and I'm back at the gym too, which I think is helping. More than this, though, I'm feeling challenged in how to share about our experience in a clear way, as my emotions are a bit all over the place. I feel more consistently "low" than I ever have before. I think I may feel this way until we get to see K again, or until she gets to come home to us. I'm not okay, but I'll be okay. 

Thank you to all of you who have been so thoughtful since we came home. Thank you for asking questions about our time in Haiti and our time getting to know K, and being patient while we search for words to explain. Thank you for being eager to see pictures, and being understanding while we fawn over countless images of her sweet face. 

In the meantime, I will return to this blog and work to share our experience with you all, piece by piece. It helps me to process, bring you along, and also have something to look back to as K grows up! Thank you in advance for your patience as I unpack the words. We still cannot share her personal details publicly (aka, on the internet) until the adoption is complete, but as we see you in person, we're happy to share more with you. 

As we embark on this new year, my greatest prayer is that we will be able to move through the rest of this process smoothly and quickly, and bring our little girl home. I also pray for the children we met in the creche, and their families, and for families to be provided to the few sweet kids we met who do not yet have a match. I wish we had the resources and capability to bring them home too! 

Happy New Year's to you and yours! 

PS: Here are a few links to versions of the soup joumou recipe, if you're interested in giving it a try! It's a flexible and forgiving recipe, traditionally made with meat, but we're doing a vegetarian version. And yes, spaghetti (or another pasta, if you prefer) is a must-have ingredient!
Also, check out our new favorite side dish, pikliz, a spicy vinegar condiment, mainly made with cabbage, carrots, and onion. 

God's Littlest Angels Haitian recipe page
The Spice Detective soup joumo
Three Many Cooks soup joumo

Our Referral: All the Feelings

Note: Not long ago, I received some great advice from a woman/adoptive mama/blogger that I greatly admire about the power of brevity and editing in a blog post. Today, I did not heed that advice. At all. I am striving to be less wordy in the future, but today...it all poured out. Grab yourself a big mug of coffee, paragraphs are ahead.  

Bonjou! (good morning!) 

A few weeks ago, I started to draft a blog update, as we were approaching a couple of milestones in our adoption process:
1. November 2015, we began our long, complex adoption journey. 
2. November 2016 (11/4/16, to be exact), we first glimpsed baby K, on a Waiting Children list, and immediately began to pursue her. On top of this, I was acutely aware that her second birthday is later this month.

As I was drafting the post, I was struggling to put my emotions into clear language. Over the last year, K has been regularly on our minds and hearts. If you've followed along with the blog, you'll recall that while we were hoping and praying that we would get the referral for her (aka, the official "match"), we experienced a couple of hiccups along the way where we believed we would not. As November rolled around again, I was feeling frustrated and sad that we did not have any more news to share. Ultimately, I ended up just setting this post aside, and told myself I'd come back to it.

Then, a few days later, I received a call from our agency. "This is a unique situation, and I wasn't sure if I should call you yet...but, after talking with my supervisor, we decided it would be best that we reach out. The crèche has lodging held for you on the 22nd of this month." 

Long story short, the crèche where K lives is remote, and has limited lodging available for families. The crèche directors felt "sure enough" that our match for K was going to come through that they had held a room for our socialization trip. This is quite uncommon; the "typical" process is that we would not receive the call announcing our match until IBESR had officially signed off on it. But, since the notice was so short, our agency wanted us to be able to begin our preparation as soon as possible (i.e., let our work know, buy plane tickets, secure coverage for Eisley and Dublin, purchase necessary items for the trip...)

We were overjoyed, but slightly skeptical, and held our breath for the next week. One week after this call, on 11/15/17, the official word indeed arrived. We received our referral for K! We still have a long way to go, but this is a huge milestone in the international adoption process. We are incredibly excited and incredibly overwhelmed. 

(As an aside, we were just saying the other day that we were starting to feel "at home" in our new house and neighborhood. Then, BAM! The referral comes through. His timing sure is amazing, huh?)

So, here's what's next 

J and I will be flying to Haiti for 2 weeks, to spend our "socialization trip" with K at her crèche. Fortunately they were able to push it out one week, or we would have literally had one week's notice to get everything in order and get on a plane. We have chosen not to bring E with us on this trip, as we think the length of time away from her routine could be a bit disruptive for her right now.  

While we'll be there to spend time with and get to know K, we will play with her and other kids in the crèche, and potentially lend a hand around the facilities, if possible. We'll also spend some time with the crèche directors, to connect with them and see if they may know more about K's background. (We learned that one of the directors is a big whiskey man, and J is looking forward to bringing him a small bottle as a gift!) We're planning to pack large portions of our suitcase with toys and books to play with and leave at the crèche, as well as other items to donate.

After the two weeks is up, we will fly home, without K. This is painful to think about, but is part of the Haitian adoption process (not every country does this). After we arrive home, we file more paperwork, essentially asking the US to designate K as a "relative", so that she can enter the US, and informing Haiti that we are indeed agreeing to adopt K. We will then move back into the waiting phase, relying on two disparate governments to complete their work. I'm sure it will go smoothly and quickly (joke)

There are quite a few paperwork checkpoints for us to get through. Once all of these are complete, we'll be allowed to fly back, pick K up, and bring her home. There is no specific time frame that we can expect for this, but it appears to be taking about 6 months to a year for most families.

A few reality checks

While our upcoming trip is called a "socialization" trip, we've been cautioned that the time we spend with K may be limited, and/or challenging. While we have been dreaming of her regularly, to her we are strangers. It will likely take time for her to warm up to us (one family we talked to shared that their little girl wouldn't make eye contact or smile until four days into their trip). In addition, we cannot realistically attach and bond with her in this short amount of time, nor would it be fair to her to expect this, when we know we will be leaving her again for some time.

After our socialization trip, we can go back to Haiti as often as we'd like to visit K. I'm not sure yet if we will be able to (more plane tickets, more time off work, and we would need to arrange our own lodging and transportation), but it's comforting to know that it is an option. (Prior to the referral/match, we aren't allowed to donate funds or go to the creche, as it could appear to be bribery.)

Many of you have asked what we can share about K. Until our adoption is final, we are not allowed to publicly share information about K (aka, post on social media). This includes posting identifying pictures of her, information about her crèche, or her full name (hence why we're using her first initial). While in Haiti, we will be able to take pictures and video to our heart's content. And you best believe we will!

What you can do

Pray and/or send all the good vibes our way. Neither of us have ever been on a trip to one place for so long, and we are feeling apprehensive about the time away from home, and the many unknown factors of what to expect while we're in country.

Learn more about Haiti! Google will serve you just fine in this effort. If you are a podcast fiend like myself and would like to understand the history of the country, check out the Revolutions podcast, and find the "4" series (4.0-4.19) to hear the riveting story of the Haitian revolution.

Brush up on your Haitian Creole. Justin and I are working on learning some of the building blocks of the language, but I'll admit that I'm feeling really challenged in this. Not only is this important for us to learn more of and respect her culture and heritage, but we don't expect that K will known much/any English. When she does come home with us, being able to share her mother language will be extremely beneficial for communication and learning.

On to the next stage of our adventure...

Renmen (love), J & J

Waiting for Referral: One Year

One year ago today we entered IBESR, meaning we officially became "referral ready".  I was putting off writing this post in the hopes that we would beat the anniversary, and receive a referral before today. Alas, that was not meant to be.  

Here's why we were really hoping to have more news to share today. Two weeks ago, we received the following email from our agency:

Hello, Jordan and Justin:

If you remember, there was a delay in K's case, because of the birth father considering parenting her.   However, it seems that she is now legally available for adoption.  I asked the creche for an update on her case, and got an email from them today saying that her dossier is now complete – it has been submitted to IBESR with a request for match with your family.  (IBESR has had our request for that match for quite a while now, and now they have our creche's request and the child’s dossier, too.)

So, keeping my fingers crossed that they’ll approve the match! 

As you know, things are slow and unpredictable in Haiti… so, both the family’s and child’s dossiers can be 100% ready for referral, and still wait for months, if not longer, due to many issues unrelated to the dossiers.  Still, I am becoming more and more excited now that I have recently had two match requests approved and the families are in Haiti, as we speak, for their socialization trips! 

I’ll keep you posted. 

-M

Cue the happy dance! 
We haven't heard anything further since this, and are eagerly waiting/praying/holding our breath. K turns two in just a couple of months (November), and it would bring me no greater joy than to get to hold her in my arms to celebrate her birthday with her.

In the meantime, we're working hard to stay afloat in all of the other areas of our life. Work has been insane for both of us, and it has felt like we're working two jobs: our corporate jobs in the day and then coming home and putting all of our (remaining) brain power and elbow grease into getting our house on the market and searching for our next home. We have accepted an offer (our second, actually, but that's a story for another time) and have found a couple of homes that would be amazing for our little family. But, this has proved to be quite a challenging process (take your pick of metaphors: a roller coaster, a crazy game, a fragile web...) It's also time to gear up for REACH camp, where I'll again be volunteering in the camp director role. It is a lot of prep work, but my most favorite time of year.  Oh, and Eisley will be moving to a new daycare next month (under our office at work; it will be amazing to have her so close). So, you know, not a lot going on here. ;)

In some ways, I think that being this busy is a good distraction from this long wait, because when I pause for too long, I can get mired down in frustration and sadness. To balance this, I am trying to more regularly express gratitude for the abundance of good in our lives.  So, thank you to each of you for your ongoing support, patience, and kindness.