Going to be

The social worker visited this past Friday to update our homestudy, which will accompany our request for an extension to our immigration application.  Certainly not as grueling as our first (or second or third or fourth) visit with her, it was still full of anxiety. We survived, and she did too -- especially after we dumped on her about our disappointment in our expectations of PSB.  Apparently since international adoptions like ours are such long waits, PSB doesn't keep social workers on staff for long-term as they used to.  They're contracted for one month at a time, depending on when homestudies and dossiers are due for updates -- which explains why we don't have an ongoing relationship with our social worker.  While A. & I fear appearing too high maintenance given our expectations, we couldn't help but share our PSB experience with B.  We understand that this adoption journey we chose would be a long one, and the fees we pay are for services, not our child, which is why we expected to have more communication with PSB other than around which fees are due when.  We expected more in terms of ongoing support during the wait for our child.  We'd been speculating if the lack of such services could be attributed to budget cuts or cultural insensitivities.  B. was gracious enough to list to our concerns and said she would share them with PSB.  

My closest friend, E., who was my college roommate for four years, knows me well.  And she is one of the most amazing women-mamas that I admire -- her wisdom, empathy and down-to-earthness are just a few of her extraordinary characteristics.  I received a most thoughtful card from her before the weekend, and I couldn't help but tear up . . . "Being a mom means . . . Hours of sleep lost./A life time of joy gained./Tears kisses away./Giggles shared./More toys on the floor/More love in your heart./You're going to be such a wonderful mom."

Another Mother's Day has passed since we began our journey to our forever child.  At Sunday service, I looked across the pews at women in various shades of pink, red violet and lilac with their families and took note of their sons and daughters, some of whom gazed at their mothers lovingly.  During today's meditation in church, I closed my eyes (hoping I wouldn't sob uncontrollably) and listened heartfully to the lyrics sung about a mother's love for her son, witnessing his maturation as she nurtured him through his life's milestones.  I turned to A. and asked if he had a clean tissue.  Most of his were damp and used, but he managed to scrounge up a decently dry, unused kleenex.    

I am blessed to be with a partner who wants a child as much as I do.  By next year's Mother's Day, we may be getting ready to bring him or her home . . . or perhaps already have a little one in our lives.

Someday . . . we are going to be . . . parents.

Thank you for the lovely greetings I received from family and friends as they (with quiet excitement) wait patiently with us.