We interrupt our regularly-scheduled blogging to bring you this exclusive pity party. . .
So, last night I did something that I have been avoiding, which is getting out the family calendar for spring/summer scheduling. For weeks now, my little folder of schedules and dates has been expanding: music recitals, soccer schedules, church events, Cliff's travel dates, etc. Marking days in April, May, June and July, I finally had to come to terms with the reality that the boys would, in great, great likelihood, not be home by the two magic dates I had in my head; that it will be summer before we hear their two little voices echo throughout our home.
Our file has not yet advanced to MOI. By no means has it been sitting, neglected and gathering dust. It's just that there is a whole lot of work to do in between Parquet and entering MOI. Like weeks--months--of stuff. Somehow, I never grasped that timeframe in the overall scheme of the adoption cycle.
Certainly, miracles could happen and we could get out of MOI in a jiffy. Our passports could even only take a week to get printed. Yet, even if we could pull those things off, our own country with it's Big, Bad Visa process is likely to slow us down another month or more.
The high I felt upon getting out of Parquet and getting the legalized adoption decree is long gone. I had so hoped to have the boys home, or to be getting them, by Mother's Day. That would be one year from my visit. If that couldn't work, I had hoped to have them home late May, so that we could celebrate M's 4th birthday. While a little hope in me flickers for that possibility, I'm enough of a realist to be okay in saying, "not likely."
When I was last in Haiti, M was still 2. He turned 3 a few short weeks after my departure. It hurts to think that I will have missed his entire 3rd year. I love the 3's, especially with these little boys! I'm lucky enough to have many photos of him taken throughout this 3rd year for his photo album, but none were taken by me.
Realizing that it's going to be awhile makes me ache to go back to Haiti. To see the boys. Yet, after all the reading done and the particular ages the boys are, Cliff feels very, very strongly that it is not in their best interest. That a continuing start/stop, interrupted bonding cycle with children too young to truly understand what's going on could be quite detrimental to them. They certainly did not handle well any separation from me, no matter how short in time, while we were in Haiti. I have read enough to understand that point, and, grudgingly, I agree that for our boys, it is probably for the best (I most certainly do not feel that this philosophy applies to visits as a whole, so I mean not to offend anyone. Just stating why we think repeated visits of OUR specific children are not a good thing.)
The hardest thing about this process, other than the wait, is the constant adjusting of timelines. I should have just stuck to the "hoping they're here by Thanksgiving" timeline that I commited myself to last year. I became over-eager, excited, and moved that up. Foolish, yes, but only natural to do so. So, again, I commit to a later date in my head.
The Mister feels that it would be good for me to have another goal to work for, so he has decided that we should, as a couple, begin training for various 10Ks held around the area this Spring and Summer. Initially, I think the words "half marathon" escaped his lips, but my cackling must have snapped him back into reality. Did he forget who his wife was? The only way I would run a half marathon would be to personally pull my children out of the grasp of Satan, and even then at some point I would probably consider that the job was too big for me, and around mile 8 would fall to me knees to pray hysterically instead.
And so, I will now draw to an end of my adoption-timeline pity party. Be forewarned however, that if we actually commit to this whole race training stuff, this blog will probably host a litany of "oh-my-aching-feet" and "oh-these-poor-tendon" pity parties. But I promise, someday I will post a party of a a different sort: a celebration of our boys' homecoming.