Growing Family

Rememberings

Lately, without intention, I have been remembering my pregnancies with vivid intensity. Perhaps it is because of the dream I had, shortly after the meeting with the immigration attorney. In the dream I was in transition, the scary intense part of labor, that is unlike anything I have ever experienced before or since. The feeling is so other-worldly that I have never been able to re-create it in my mind.  Since plunging into it, in my dream, the feeling has come back several times, and I have remembered birthing my daughter with greater clarity than I have since the experience occurred, 21 months ago.

Then, today, I am remembering my first pregnancy. The one that ended early on, in a painful miscarriage. I am remembering being in the airplane bathroom, an hour from Schiphol airport, soaked in blood and panicked with grief. I am remembering staying at my husband's relative's house, excusing myself from a large family dinner, to sit on the toilet and lose my baby, spending hours in bed sobbing, and in pain. I remember feeling so empty, like there was a vacuum inside where the life had been, sucking all the color out of me.

Having children, bearing children, and raising children is intense. Most of the time here I focus on the intensity of my adoption experience, but these last few days, my experiences with carrying life in my body are often on my mind.

Number 3, Where are You?

I am still heavy on the search for answers about adopting as an Expat. My understanding went from "NO", to "maybe" and now it is leaning back towards "no" again. I still have a few outstanding emails that I hope will make all the difference. I get waves of hope and send out flurries of emails.

Right now I think I'm coming to the end of the line. The big guns. The Hague Convention seems to be intent on squeezing me out of the pool of prospective adoptive parents. So now I'm waiting on an answer from the top dogs. "Do we fall within the acceptable guidelines?" Whose idea was it to want to start the adoption process, as an expat, a mere matter of weeks after the U.S. implemented the Convention Guideline's, anyway?

So, right now the path is forked in front of me. Once again there are two choices: adopt, and give birth. I know that the fact that I have giving birth as a presumable choice is part of my privilege of health. Also, that I am already hugely blessed with two! I don't want to take that lightly. There are, however, a couple issues on my mind.

First of all, I am ready to start to draw a third child into our warm circle. It happens in twinges, and warm moments here and there. It happens in me tucking adorable baby things into the bottom of the drawer under my children's clothes. It happens in me thinking about my double stroller in the container, and how three children can actually fit on it nicely.

This desire hasn't bloomed into full-blown readiness yet, but I am ready to start the process one way or the other. However, I can feel the over-ripe longing not far around the bend.

I don't think The Captain is feeling as ready as I am.

Also, I had always imagined that the next child would come via adoption. I was late last month (you know), and I found myself torn between sadness and disappointment over a potential missed adoption, and excitement at the possibility of being pregnant. There isn't an absence of discussion, in the adoption world, about overcoming the issues that surround adoption being a second choice, when it comes to building a family. I haven't heard many people talk about the sadness of birthing being a second choice, after letting an adoption dream go, be it temporarily or permanently. With Small Sun, I wanted to adopt first. I was thrilled to be pregnant second. I'm trying to sort out my feelings on our next child scenario.

Lastly, the thing that my friends promised has come true: my memories of The Sprout's time in my womb, and her exit from it, have begun to glow and shimmer. Sure, sometimes I can still physically feel in my body, the 23 weeks of daily vomiting, and the dramatic birth that left me in bed for weeks, and took a year to heal from. But instead of those being THE memories of my pregnancy and birth, they are becoming SOME of my memories. I am having fuzzy feelings as well. I don't remember much of her first year, what with having two under two and all, but now that the edge of exhaustion has worn off, I'm starting to daydream again.

So, there's a lot on my mind. Unfortunately, the U.S. business day is starting right when I'm trying to fall asleep around 11 pm. After staying too long on the Internet, and watching too much t.v., I get emails from adoption agencies, closing more doors. Then I try to go to sleep, but instead, lie there trying to find a way through the Hague Convention maze that stands before me.

It would be much "easier" to get pregnant instead. (So insensitive to those who can't, I know!) But first I'd have to let go of the adoption dream, for now, and fully move on to embrace a pregnancy. And even then, I don't know if we'd get pregnant. So far, our Maker has seemed to lay a clear indication of when we're supposed to get pregnant, and when we're not.* Oh, and then I'd have to talk the Captain into it. :)

*We tried to get pregnant for a year, using ovulation charts, temperature taking, etc, before adopting Small Sun. I  had a pregnancy that ended in miscarriage. After a year we started the adoption process. Five months later, Small Sun was home. Then, when we decided to try for a sibling, I got pregnant the first go. So, I really don't know what to think regarding my fertility, except that I am so thankful we have Small Sun in our lives. Two weeks one way or another, in our lives or his mother's life, and we would have missed each other entirely.

Being a Mother

It's funny how I am so enamored with what I've got, I can't imagine anything better.

We adopted Small Sun first, and then decided to try for a pregnancy. I tried to imagine what a little "us" would look like? My template for perfect was a little mocha baby with the shiniest, dark, curly hair. I was concerned that I might find our pale biological child to be wan or splotchy. I was worried that our white baby wouldn't be as pretty as our brown baby. It's laughable now, but it was my secret concern during my pregnancy. Not a huge one, but something I thought about.

In this whole process, trying to find a way to adopt again, the alternative is having another biological child next and waiting for an opportunity to adopt. We did plan on having a "blended" family that way and we haven't discounted having more children that I carry.

I found myself thinking "but if we have another child with our genes, it will be exactly like The Sprout. We want to have different children with different personalities and not little carbon copies." Hm. Someone shout some logic at me. It didn't dawn on me how silly my thinking was until I was looking at a blog where the author has a picture of her four biological children as the header.  It struck me that Tamara's children don't all look exactly the same. I don't know them personally, but it sounds like they each have their own personalities. Oh yea, and what about my girlfriend's twins who are so different from each other?

That's something crazy about loving what you've got. On one hand it's so great that I want more. On the other, I can't really imagine what "more" looks like. If the next child is adopted, I don't know where they'll come from or how old they'll be when they get here. If I birth the child, I really don't know what they would look like either.

Then there's always the fear that I think many mothers experience. Things are so great now, what if the next child would have poor health or a disability? What if adding to the family means changing the great dynamic?

That's the thing with kids. Each one is a risk. I think, for me, each one is worth the risk. In the case of special challenges, there are blessings to be found there as well.

I'm just laughing at myself that I didn't learn the lesson the first time around: each child is beautiful and unique and brings joy in the way that only he or she can.  And even though my two specific children nearly made me cry with stress when they decided to be ornery in a very serious, very long, very crowded, very un-friendly to children church service this morning, they will be the suns that I rise with in the morning tomorrow.

Blogging, Causes, Spouses, Partners

For the last week or two The Captain and I have spent our nights together in the living room, each immersed in reading. I'm trying to catch up and keep up with blogs, he just started Infidel. I began to feel disconnected, each in our own separate spheres, bobbing in the living room.

It was only last night that I realized I am venturing deeper and deeper into the ideas of anti-racism and adoption reform, only to look by my side for my trusted partner, to find myself alone. I confronted The Captain, standing over him accusingly as he struggled to read in peace. "Don't you care about the racism in our country (for it is his country too now)? We're raising a child who belongs to a race that is routinely discriminated against!" I struggled against his calm.

He told me "whatever chip that you have that sees racism and wants to attack it, I don't have that chip. I'm just not wired that way." My instinct was to accuse him of not caring, of swimming in white privilege that gives him the ability to not care. But, upon a moment's reflection, I know that is not true. Something else is at play here.

The Captain is European. Dutch. He went to college in Amsterdam. He grew up in an international family, doing international things. He is not saddled with the history of our country. Though he has become a citizen, our roots, so compromised with corruption, aren't his roots. I guess he could worry about whether or not his ancestors were part of the slave trade, but he doesn't. That's not who he is.

He has an indomitable optimism. A clear eye for beauty and truth. I'm glad that as I'm raking around in this muck he is standing tall, breathing in the wind, and holding my hand tightly.

I'd really like to know what it is like for all you other bloggers (who are all women on my blogroll, incidentally)? Does the person that you share your life with share your passion for the cause you blog about? If not, how do they relate to your passion? Does it alienate you from each other?

I'm heading off for a long weekend of bathing in lakes, playing in dappled woods, and laughing with my children and several generations of my people. The freckled Irish and dark-eyed french that brought me to where I am.

What's Worse

What's worse than trying on bathing suits after you've had a baby?

Trying on bathing suits with a toddler throwing a tantrum.

Seriously, people were letting me skip in line just to get me out of the store. Sheesh.

One Week

The Sprout is one week old and I just figured out that I actually can sit on the computer chair. :) So I'll whip out a quick post. The Captain asked me today if we'd gotten any more comments on "our blog" so I figure I better get back on here before he commandeers it! I let him post one time...

Recovery is slow (read booty pain) but steady. Breastfeeding is going well. Small Son is...okay. As good as can be expected, I guess. Cheerful and kissing the Sprout one minute and falling down crying the next. He's full of drama any day and this is just helping him pull out all the stops for a good show. My mom's been here all week feeding me fresh made squash soup, bulgar and other grains you've never heard of, along with all the fresh juice (prune included) I can take. She's home for the weekend flirting with my dad but she stayed in Small Son's room all this week, waking up to snuggle and play with him at the indecent hours he's been waking up. So I told you my mom is awesome right?

Other family news: check out this month's Adoptive Families Magazine to see Small Son as the cutest kid Grand Prize winner in the candid photo contest. Yahoo!

(In my best award winning voice, the camera zooms in) I'd like to take this opportunity to thank all of you who made this possible. There's so many, and I don't want to leave anyone out. But especially a big thanks for the Captain for making this event possible. A big thanks to my mom - I love you mom (looking into the camera) - thanks to my girl Lillian B for coordinating our friends and making them cook for us, and thanks to all our friends for filling our bellies with your delicious recipies and carry out. A special shout out to my girl Andrea, down under. I'm eating your pizza tonight! Both kids are sleeping and the Captain's picking up a movie. It feels like we might be getting back onto our own 2 8 feet. We couldn't have done it without you! (And for any of you actually visualizing this event, I am looking gorgeous in an empire waist silk gown clasped with a long ribbon and diamond clasp, courtesy Peter Som , a girl can dream right?)

And now what I know you all want - more pictures! (And sster, I look semi decent in the first picture the Captain posted because it was 24 hours after delivery. Don't worry, I have one of those pale faced, glassy eyed, double chin, sweaty, hair askew pictures proving that yes, I did, indeed push that baby out of my vagina!)

Edited to remove photos

Sprout has Sprung

This is the Captain speaking. . .

" I would like to inform you that Kohana will not be posting in the next couple of days. There is no reason to panic. She will return to her (semi) regular posting schedule soon. "

Kohana is currently feeding our Sprout. She asked me to post and share the latest news. The big news, of course, is that the waiting was not indefinite, and nature did take its course. Millions of (C₂)arbon atoms aligned themselves and greedily grabbed all the (N₂)itrogen, (O₂)xygen, and (H₂)ydrogen they could get their hands on. They got organized and got together in Molecules, Amino Acids, Cells, Organs and then Sprout herself. Then they got restless and secreted the pitocin and labor did occur. Like a hurricane rolling in off the gulf, labor is an inevitability that you know about; affirmed by the radar images. Then it starts slowly, and it could still be the Thai food. But the night turns to day and the labor is definite. The most difficult decision is then, when to leave the comfort of your own surroundings.

Kohana became as an atom herself, in an organism worth 1.6 trillion dollars of our national GDP each year. As much as she was joined to the organism, she surely was a free radical with in it. Delivering Sprout without an IV, Drugs, Forceps or other machinations. "The most peaceful natural child-birth in years" ; said Vanessa, the stoic L&D nurse.

And now we're back home in our little small housey. The hurricane swept past, it's still raining, and the storm surge is in the bay. Now the earth smells fre sh and a new era has started.

We're now a four-person family.

For Anyone Keeping Track

My Due Date is November 5th. My mom's here, we've met with our doula, we've toured the hospital, the baby clothes are washed and ready.

I had about 5 hours of cramping/contractions on Friday (I eventually just went to sleep and woke up the next morning...no baby).  Tomorrow I'll go to the midwife and check out what was going on over the weekend. But if I turn up missing for awhile one of these days...you can guess why.

The Tough Job

Being the husband/partner of a very pregnant woman is a tough job. You've got these guys who are either a)really into pregnancy/birth/adoption/babies, b) men who are scared to death by the whole thing, and c) men who will be excited when the baby gets here, but aren't too into the whole process of getting them here (other than the original act that got them here in the first place, which they are of course, into).  Last night we went on a hospital tour with a huge crowd of preggos and dads-to-be. There are the men asserting their bravado, that when the time comes they'll make it to the hospital in record time, and blow a hole in the side of the building, if necessary, to get their girl set up in her birthing suite. There are the guys tailing along in the back of the group, looking kind of sheepish and overwhelmed. The Captain is probably a #C guy.

He's a GREAT dad. Midnight feedings, he's there. Poopy diaper #345, there. Tantrum throwing child in public - whisked away. Hungry pregnant wife at 6 a.m. kicking him in the leg and requesting bread, bread brought. Wife demanding soft pretzels and ice cream, denied and encouraged to eat celery. *steam*

Anyway, I'm starting to feel big. My belly was so cute for so long and just made everything else seem so...cute. Now, my belly is all lopsided where the Sprout is hanging her bum out on one side and stretching her legs out on the other. Imagine  a lazy boy recliner upside down and sideways...and sticking out of my torso. Then there's the fat accumulating. My belly is as hard as a rock...why is all the padding settling around my back, and horrifically on my ass and thighs?

So the other day I asked The Captain to encourage me by telling me what he still finds sexy on me, as I am feeling more and more like an over-ripe eggplant. As he tells me I close my eyes and the parts of my body he mentions light up on my mental screen, affirmed and ready to face another day. Then, the picture comes into focus and my heart sinks. Everything from my knees down is attractive, and everything from my breasts up...the part I am most worried about does not make it onto his descriptive list of fine features.  And that's why it's a really tough job. The poor guy's laying here, putting great amounts of effort into extolling strong calf muscles and sexy shoulders, while the huge pregnant girl is becoming more and more convinced that she does indeed look like the Michelin Man everywhere in between.

So my hat's off to you, Captain, and all you other supporting men. It will be over soon. You'll have some space in the bed back after the 20+ pillows are removed. You may be let off midnight snack duty. But I'd really encourage you to start thinking now, about how you want to respond when the belly deflates and your newly non-pregnant girl becomes hysterical over the floppy belly skin hanging where the baby used to be, and when the perky belly disappears and all that's left is all that other padding. Between that and the all night feedings, I think you deserve a raise.

Is This Nesting?

In the last week I've baked shortbread, banana bread, zuchinni bread, corn/chedder muffins, and two sweet potato pies. I usually bake...a couple times a year maybe? Sure our house smells great, but how is this helping me get ready for the baby? Oh, and lightbulb I guess I DO know why I gained two pounds this week after holding steady with no weight gain for the last three!