For those of you following along with the steps of this adoption through Facebook, we are currently about eight weeks away from traveling to go get Miss Gigi. There have yet to be any pictures of her here, because that is taboo. In fact, I signed an agreement saying I wouldn’t put her little face out there for all the internet to see until she was ours. I can share in closed settings, and you may be able to REALLY look and find a picture of a picture of her here on the blog, but, for now, that will have to be it.
I am at a bad stage in the adoption stress continuum. I have reached the point that I am so stressed by our impending departure (what it will mean for Gigi, what it will mean for our kids at home, what it will mean for work) that I start to get paranoid. Last night, I absolutely couldn’t sleep. So, at 1:34 am, I began surfing the internet (super ill advised, I know) and I discovered that I had received a tiny update on Gigi. This included three small pictures of her and some updated measurements.
Instead of being comforted by this update, I took it to Joe and told him what I thought the updated measurements and pictures meant. He is in the same stage I am, and therefore, paranoid as well, and we both started worrying about things that aren’t even reality. For example, in one of the pictures she appears to be smelling the food item she’s eating. So, that must mean she can’t see it, right? Oh God, she’s completely blind! I knew it! It’s the worst case scenario.
Or, as someone reminded me, she might just like the way her food smells. She’s three years old, after all.
You can’t tell squat about a kid from three tiny pictures. Except, she’s smiling, which means that, at some point, she was happy, which is EXCELLENT news. And, she’s very cute, which is neither here nor there, but it makes me happy. So, there you have it.
This stage of paranoia is quite routine for me. It comes like waves and tends to increase in frequency the closer we get to travel. In my near future there will be bouts of not eating, way too much caffeine intake, and dreams about planes crashing into the ocean which will, in my head, render all my children, both domestic and abroad, mother-less. There will be panic over passports and visas that I will convince myself won’t arrive in time, and there will be irrational fears of acquiring totally curable, but horrific sounding, dermatologic conditions like Scabies.
The only way to quell this paranoia will be to embrace it as part of the process. Hello, paranoia, my old friend, I see you’ve come around again. I say that to myself every single time I feel it rising in me. If I befriend the paranoia, maybe it won’t push me over the edge. In the interim, if you see me in real life, please know I’m a woman on the verge, caught between the excitement of a new daughter, and terrified about leaving behind the kids I already have. I’ll likely be wearing no make-up when you see me. I’ll look really tired, and I probably will have forgotten something you just told me, or maybe something I promised I would do for you. I am so, so sorry. I’ll pull it together, I promise.
It might just take six months or so.
–FullPlateMom, who thinks it might actually be more like a year. Sorry.