August 16, 2008

So, I’ve received a couple emails suggesting that in ADDITION to being overwhelmingly interested in how my family and I fought with each other across Ethiopia, they are hoping for an update on how we are all adjusting since being home. I concur. Here’s a brief battle station update.

Siyum is eating like a CHAMP. It’s almost like when you feed a goldfish, how you must actually ration the food because the goldfish will just eat and eat and eat until they explode. It is not unlike feeding a Siyum. The child can eat. It’s fabulous, we do a little protein dance with every morsel knowing all the goodness that’s being ingested into his cute little self. GIANT PUBLIC THANK YOU to Tarah, Superwoman Extraordinaire, who brought us over Injera and Wot the other day and was able to send Siyum to cloud nine for a good 3 days while he INHALED every scrumptious bite of the familiar Ethiopian dish. It was a wonderful gift. Three cheers for Tarah.

Siyum is sleeping like a champ as well, typically 14 hours a night. NO JOKE. But Jamie? How is it even possible to sleep for 14 hours straight? Oh. Oh, it’s entirely possible. Plus a nap on top of THAT. I think he might be growing? We could be wrong. Thoughts on this?

Siyum ADORES his sister DeeDee. They are two peas in a pod and crack each other up hourly. It’s been a smorgasbord of giggles around this place. Giggles and poop. The other morning, Delaney climbed into Siyum’s crib as he was waking up at ELEVEN THIRTY IN THE MORNING (ah, sweet victory) and the two of them laid in the crib together laughing and playing games for a good solid hour before they made any attempt to start the day. They were perfectly happy laying there giggling with their stankmouth morning breath all up in each other’s faces. It was really quite cute.

Siyum’s health is surprisingly fabulous. NO GIARDIA! Woohoo! We were ALL prepared to go to battle with worms and gross things in his poop and are blissfully happy with just the regular kid turds he ejects. Who knew we’d be so happy about poop. His bloodwork indicates he is low on vitamin D and Iron, which is no surprise and should be remedied over time with our friends, The Flintstones. All in all, the boy is a wonder.

Emotion-wise, he’s freakishly good. The only time he has cried has been when he woke up the first couple nights and thought he was alone in the room, when he fell off the toilet and when the nurse brought out the needles. All three experiences left PERMANENT deep scars on my heart, poor little dude. It’s the saddest thing because he tries SO HARD not to cry, he only quietly lets it out as a whimper but the tears just stream down his face. Like a knife through my heart, man, it’s rough.

Cute-wise, he is still really really really cute.

And so there’s the update on Little Man. The update on US: We are exhausted and often leave the house without diapers and wipes, we’ve been on vacation from diaper land for so long, it’s funny and a little crappy (no pun intended) to be back.

Mike is working a lot and loves telling people he is a MALE Nurse. Or Murse.

And I am working quite a bit as well, leaving us to do the work-schedule-balance-dance everyday. It’s worked out pretty well, one of us is always with the kids. Plural. Kids.

Good news is that I love my new job. And that’s a wrap! Ethiopia Trip Day 3 coming soon! More train wreck of a family vacation coming your way!

July 16, 2008

Remember how I logged on here yesterday and cried? Well, the theory is proven YET AGAIN, as soon as I complain, I get what I want. My husband learned this ages ago and apparently, the Ethiopian Government has learned as well.

We get to go get him!

Excuse me while I plaster the internet with cuteness beyond belief. I present to you Siyum Yohannes. Behold his sweet and amazing face.

Don’t you just want to EAT HIM UP HE’S SO CUTE?!?! You do. I know you do. I do.

Oh and we are leaving……..(wait for it)………(wait for it)………(drum roll please)… SUNDAY!

HOLY SCHNIKIES.

Love you all. Thank you so much for all your support throughout this crazy process. I’ve appreciated more than you’ll ever know.

Jamie, Mike, Delaney and Siyum Yohannes

July 15, 2008

Hi. My name is Jamie and I’m a bad blogger. The first step is acceptance.

The truth of the matter is that I didn’t feel like talking about ANYTHING ELSE except traveling to Ethiopia to pick up our son Siyum. I didn’t want to log on here and talk about how we went swimming and how we’ve painted our bedroom and lit fireworks on the fourth of July. I wanted to log on, post pictures of Siyum’s cute face and then yell in all caps that we are going to Ethiopia to get him.

But alas, that is just not happening. We still don’t have a travel date. I thought for sure we would be in Ethiopia by now. And we is SO NOT.

So, I’m sorry for not posting. For a MONTH. That’s why. I had my next post all lined out and this was not it. I’m, at this point, what we like to call ANNOYED.

June 18, 2008

These are the pictures of our family that we sent to Siyum in Ethiopia. The Nannies at the care center show the books to the children so they can start to recognize us as their family.

Hello Siyum. We are your family. Part of your family. Your American family, because you will always have your Ethiopian family. But we are the ones who will fly in, pick you up, talk in a language you won’t understand and then fly you approximately 32 hours to a land where french fry grease is the national aroma. We’re THOSE people. We don’t blame you for being scared out of your mind. Just as forewarning, we will also be that family that will cheer too loudly at your soccer games and will tell you we love you in front of your friends. The good news is that upon arrival of that giant airplane, there will be lots of balloons and bright poster signs that say “Welcome Home Siyum!” and the littlest person in this picture will be there waiting. If you just look right at her, right in her eyes and not at all the bright flashing lights and speeding golf carts and giant circular metal jaws of suitcase vomiting death, you will feel okay. Stick with her, she’s a good one.

Here we are again. You will notice that we are White. That’s probably a little weird for you. And that weirdness will likely stick around for the majority of your childhood, teenage and young adult life. We apologize about that. Truly. Just know, we are working on ways to make it less weird. We’ve requested the manual “How White Parents Should Raise Black Adopted Children Without Ever Making Mistakes” along with “How All Parents Should Raise All Children Without Ever Making Mistakes; Volume One” and are anxiously awaiting their arrivals. We figure with these two manuals combined, nothing can go wrong.

But really, we are working on ways to make this less weird.

There’s your sister. She says she is going to teach you how to get your teeth knocked out. This way you guys can look like your cousin Mialee who is missing a front tooth. So. Something to look forward to. In addition to learning English vocab through Justin Timberlake songs. You may not know the whole American alphabet by the end of summer but you WILL know how to say “I’m bringin sexy back.”

She’s a little wild and can be quite bossy. But I’ll teach you some ways to annoy the crap out of her, some useful tips in sweet revenge, if you will. Things like eating all the red Popsicles, walking through one of her baby doll napping circles and worst of all, turning down an already in play Miley Cyrus song. You and I, Si, we shall collaborate in this endevour. You need not fear.

This is Delaney again with the guy who will be your Dad. He is really banking on you fixing the current female over-population problem he seems to think we have. You will be expected to help his cause when it comes to votes on movies we rent, places we eat, music we listen to in the car and the family therapist we will likely need to see. A lot is riding on your swing votes Siyum. And so help me, if you show a preference for Bob Dylan over my CLEARLY more refined taste of Lil Wayne…. my memory is like a STEEL TRAP and come red Popsicle eating time, things could get a little dodgy. That’s all I’m sayin. Let that be a warning.

There we are again, your Mom and Dad. Once you have settled in here a bit and maybe gotten to know some other Moms and Dads, you might begin to realize that your Mom and Dad are slightly different than other Moms and Dads. You see Siyum, there was an emotion cross-wire which occurred within both of us parents at birth and now, sadly, we have both been left with the emotions of the opposite sex. So, in short, Mommy acts like a Daddy and Daddy acts like a Mommy. I know, it’s rare and unfortunately, incurable. As strange as it is, your DADDY is the one who cries at meaningful crap and likes to TALK and SHARE thoughts and discussions, who apologizes and resolves issues and HUGS. He hugs. And your MOMMY, well she gets blotchy and hive-like if she feels a tear coming on. Or a hug for that matter. But together, we are still a balanced couple, just reversed. When you have a problem with a kid at school, your DAD will be the one to tell you to gently speak with this other child using phrases like “When you do this, it makes me feel this….” and I will be the one to tell you to go ahead and punch that kid in the kidney.

They are circumstances we have come to accept, you will too, over time.

Don’t be frightened. This is a family pet, we CHOOSE to live with this animal. Her name is Annie. She’s not very smart. I’m not being mean, she really is ranked, her breed, in the bottom five of ALL DOG BREEDS for dog intelligence. But she’s incredibly sweet and happy and will lick you as if your face was a salt lick. She’s a good family dog. And since you will be in the family, she will be your family dog too.

So, that’s us! Let’s see if we went over everything. French Fry Grease, Red Popsicles, Ramifications of Picking Bob Dylan, Freak Emotional Cross-Wire Accident, Ugly Dumb Dog, Justin Timberlake….. I think that’s it. We’ve covered all the primary details you will need to know. Except one last thing.

We love you so much and have a place in our lives waiting to be filled by you. We’re coming, sweet boy, we’ll be there soon. In about 4 more weeks.

Love,

Your Mom, Dad, Sister and ugly Dog.

June 3, 2008

Something I haven’t mentioned before mainly because I was afraid of stalkers, murderers and psychopaths (or even worse a psychopathic stalker who murders, all wrapped up into one person) finding me and performing the aforementioned acts upon me if I mentioned this. But now is a good time to mention it. For the past 9 months that we have been waiting on the adoption train, I have been making Lattes and Americanos in the wee hours of the morning at a certain worldwide coffee company that starts with an S and rhymes with Narbucks.

Yes I have. That was ME that you had make 15 cappuccinos during the rush of 7 am. Jerk.

I can tell you now from first hand experience that you really can set an alarm clock for 4:30 am. That function really is available. And sure enough, the alarm WILL sound at that Godforsaken hour. I’ve tested the theory, it’s peer reviewed and proven. And now, just like in one of those fancy University studies, I get compensation for participating!

Narbucks has this things called an adoption grant for it’s employees. And just like magic, four thousand narbucks appeared in my bank account on Friday. It was a beautiful, beautiful thing. Almost as beautiful as my cappuccino foam.

I learned a LOT working at Narbucks and to be honest, I had a REALLY good time. Granted, the PLAN (ha) was to only work there for 3 months, just long enough for my benefits to kick in, grab the money and run, laughing maniacally all the way. BUT, as International Adoption goes, it goes slow. er. than expected. My estimated Barista time went from 3 months to 9 months and normally I would have been really, REALLY mad about that since I like everything to go as planned, but in this case, I donned the apron and happily worked one of the funnest jobs I have ever had.

And a few things? Be nice to your Narbucks Baristas. You may or may not be drinking a Cinnamon Dolce Latte made by a single Mother of 3 or a struggling Grad student or a retired airline stewardess or a LAWYER, for crying out loud. All of which I made Chai’s alongside. And if not, just know, the decaf button is really very close to the caffeine button and can easily be confused. Also, your double tall nonfat no whip mocha MAAAAYYYY be made with half and half. I’m just sayin.

In addition to learning a lot about myself during my Narbucks time, I learned a lot about people. And how you can tell a lot about a person by what they drink. Also when they are in a hurry. Doppio Espresso Machiatto versus Soy Chai. Vanilla Steamer versus Triple Grande Latte. Black Drip versus Peppermint White Mocha. Which drinks take the time to learn our names and tell us about their Grandkids and which drinks yell that their Latte isn’t at 195 degrees. Which drinks come to our Narbucks Girls Dinners and our Narbucks Baby Showers and which drinks haven’t made eye contact in the entire 9 months of coming there.

It’s all just very interesting, isn’t it? And DO I have some stories. Do I ever. I feel like if you are a Psychologist or especially a Social Psychologist, you need to take an intern position at Narbucks for 9 months. This should be regulated as mandatory hours towards your education of all the FREAKY PEOPLE in the world. You could even do like one of our regulars does and set up your office WITHIN Narbucks! Take phone calls there, have appointments and interviews there, reserve a table every day and have your Wall Street Journal delivered to you in care of the coffeeshop! Please see me privately for a list of potential patients in the greater Boise area.

Tell me, friends, what is YOUR Narbucks drink? And how long have you been drinking it?

May 19, 2008

So, after coming down off of THAT week long high, man, there just isn’t a drug out there as good as that feeling. I don’t even have to be a recovering addict to know that. THIS is better. All those addicts need to try THIS! Addicts need to adopt!

Mmmmm. Scratch that.

Our feet hit the ground finally after getting the call and then after that a gigantic, heaping pile of crap followed suit and fell on top of us too. Large turds of shock and overwhelmedness and stinky, sticky morsels of panic. WE HAVE SO MUCH TO DO.

We also have a very tiny, very sick, very malnourished little boy. And there’s no pooper-scooper that can pick up and fix that reality. Yet. We are capable and eager to rise to the challenge that will be his future health problems upon arriving in his new home, but we ARE faced with the stressful and frightening numbers that look out at us from his medical reports. Friends, he was brought in just in time. I really feel that way. And we are SO incredibly relieved to know that he truly is now in the BEST hands possible over there at our agency’s care center. They are miracle workers over there, literally bringing children back to life and then sending them on to live that life with their new families. I could just hug each and every one of them. And I will. For probably longer than what’s comfortable or necessary.

But he’s perfect. He really is.

Mike is doing what he does when faced with adversity. He fights it with extremes. For example, after getting the reviews of Siyum’s medical reports back from our International Pediatrician, I was soaking in the stark reality of our son’s health when Mike goes “HE JUST NEEDS A COUPLE PROTEIN SHAKES.” I looked at him. “EIGHT OR NINE PROTEIN SHAKES” he says again. I make a face at him and say “Okay, Babe? Let’s put on our serious grown-up hats for a minute, okay? Are you ready for this? This little person is in the THIRD percentile for height and weight. He’s barely living, he’s more SURVIVING. We’re looking at a little 2 year old boy with so little calcium that his bones hurt, so little protein that his hair won’t grow, so little vitamins that his abdomen is distended.” Mike lifted his face from the piles of medical books and papers he had been buried in and says, in all seriousness, “I’m in. That’s my son. Let’s get him home.”

I don’t think we could optimistically move forward the way we have without the knowledge of MANY other families who we’ve seen bring home sick kids, even sicker, MUCH sicker than Siyum and make amazing recoveries. Children are so resilient and our bodies are so talented at re-grouping. It’s astounding what the body can do. Even now with how sick Siyum is, his body continues to protect his mind. The body will always do everything possible to protect the brain and so even though Siyum’s weight and height are so low, his head circumference is considered normal, his 2.5 year old mind has been spared much of the damage of malnutrition. Now we just have to put in that mind things like safety, trust, security, imagination and laughter. We’ll teach him how. We’ll teach him how to fart. This is number one on the list of things to do.

I made Siyum a photo album today. One of the generous adoptive moms is taking it over to Ethiopia with her when she goes on Friday. I included pictures of Delaney being silly and us as a family hugging and smiling. I copied Amharic alphabet letters to label “Mom” “Dad” “Sister” and added stickers and drawings. And then I freaked out because it wasn’t good enough. Siyum would hate my sloppy handwriting. He would be able to tell that I ran out of stickers towards the end and used WAY TOO MANY stickers on the first pages. He would be embarrassed to show his friends the photo album. I called Mike at work to tell him. And to yell at him for not helping me pick out more stickers. Ones with soccer balls and rainbows. THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN NICE! THANKS A LOT! NOW THERE’S JUST SAILBOAT STICKERS LEFT FOR THE LAST PAGE! AND WE DON’T SAIL! WE ARE A FRAUD! WE’RE ALREADY LYING TO HIM!

So. Needless to say. I’m still as crazy as ever. Get ready. There’s still 2 more months until travel….

May 13, 2008

The call.

Let’s relive the moment together.

Mike took Delaney to school with him because it was his last week of school and everyone is all hippied out on the last week of school often allowing furry animals, child animals and party snacks etc. into their classrooms. And also I was all “HOW ABOUT YOU TAKE DELANEY WITH YOU ON A DADDY DAUGHTER OUTING!?” (Read: Take your child or there is no guarantee of dinner, a clean house OR sex tonight or for the next week).

So they went. It was about 12:30 at this point.

I, being deliriously tired having been awakened to the sweet morning dew at 5 am that morning, did what any normal person would do with a couple free hours and exhaustion infiltrating the inner sanctums of the mind. I took a bunch of pictures of myself!

Every 7 or 8 months or so, I like to study my face. Like I’m a scientific researcher. See how I’m aging. See how other people see me. See what I look like when I say things like “DELANEY TAKE THAT OUT OF YOUR MOUTH AND GIVE IT BACK TO THAT STRANGER!” Because I don’t have time to study my face everyday in the mirror. That’s totally weird anyway. Everyone knows that if you really want to see your face, you take self portraits of yourself with your camera. Duh.

Don’t act like ya’ll don’t do this. Because we both know that you do. Maybe you delete them afterwards instead of posting them on the internet, but nevertheless, self-portrait-takers are everywhere, living amongst us all.

So, uh, there’s what I looked like the day I got the call of our new son.

After I finished that task, I headed upstairs to blast some music and clean the house. As I was compiling an awesome playlist of tunes from my classy and intellectual repertoire of song options, my best friend Erica called me. I don’t even remember what about, but we were talking, complaining, validating, the usual, when I heard the beep for the other line. I checked my phone and saw “WHFC calling” on the screen.

At this point, I inexplicably morphed into Mary Murphy where I couldn’t control it, everything that came out my mouth was about 4 octaves higher and 20 decibels LOUDER than I intended for it to be. From this moment on, for the rest of the story and for the rest of that day, I was inflicted with this condition.

So, I screamed something to the affect of “OHMYGAADITISOTHERLINESMEEGLESMANDERHIZZLE” and hung up on Erica.

I clicked over to the other line and said, again, with entirely too much force “HELLO?” And lo and behold it was Erin, our sweet social worker on the other end of my yodle. But I couldn’t let myself fully concentrate on what happened next because it registered in my mind at that moment that a somewhat ludicrous rap song was playing from the speakers of my computer, the kind of rap song you can only play when your child is out of the house with her father during his last hippied out week of class. And I thought to myself “This is wrong. I’m getting the call right now and my speakers are busting out some gangster grind”.

So I fidgeted with the speaker volume for a minute and then got flabbergasted and went into the actual music program and finally found the button to make it stop, I wasn’t about to let someone tell me of my new child to the tune of Cypress Hill, Insane in the Brain.

After that fiasco was diverted, I came back to the moment and literally screamed at Erin “TELL ME WHY YOU’RE CALLING!!” to which she hesitated, because I maybe sounded a bit insane? Possibly even mad at the situation. It’s just that I needed to get that out of the way, because if she was calling to say that they had a new fax number or something, well, that was information I needed RIGHT UP FRONT PLEASE.

Erin replied by saying “Jamie, this is the call!”

And then my head spun around 10 times, smoke came out my ears and my eyes exploded in their eyes sockets.

But really, I screamed and screamed and screamed, I think I even told Erin “HOLD ON A MINUTE WHILE I SCREAM” and then screamed some more. And I’m not typically a screamer. I didn’t expect this reaction. It’s like there was this creature in my guts, like in Alien, and the only way to get it out was to scream it out. And scream I did.

Then instead of letting Erin talk and you know, tell me details about our NEW CHILD, I started talking to her! Telling her a play by play account of exactly everything I was doing right then. “Okay, I’m walking in here, I’m sitting down, okay, I’m trying to find a pen, I don’t want to use a pencil! I think I found a pen, I need paper, I’m looking in the drawer for paper, I found paper, I’m setting it here, and OKAY! I’m READY!”

Seriously.

So, after that brief intermission, I think the very next word that registered with me was the word “boy”. And then I lost it again.

More screaming. Except, instead of just general screaming, this time, I was screaming “A BOY! WE HAVE A BOY! IT’S A BOY! ARE YOU SERIOUS! A BOY!”

I can only imagine Erin sitting there on the other line being like “Seriously this is taking so long, I’m craving Cheez-its. I wish I had a big handful of Cheez-its”….

I joined Erin again. I think she asked me “Are you ready again?”

Yes.

Okay. He is 2 years and 4 months old. His name is Siyum Yohannes.

And then she waited, I’m sure to allow for screaming match round 3. But just as soon as it started, the screaming tendency stopped. I had worked through the screaming phase and was moving on. Much to Erin’s dismay. Little did she know that the next phase was far scarier than the screaming phase.

She started to say something to the affect of “Katie is working on putting his documents and pictures together for you but since it’s already 3:30 here, she might not be able to send them to you until tomorro—-

“Nenenenenenenenenoooo. Say Wha? Neneneneneno. That won’t work for me. Tomorrow will not work. I need to see his face! I need his face! BRING ME HIS FACE!

And then Erin started talking to me like I can only imagine a Crisis Negotiator does when talking someone off a cliff. Or how someone talks to a 2 year old about to throw a fit. She was all “Well, she might be able to send them later tonight, it depends, she is working really hard.”

In my mind I was all WORK HARDER! TELL HER TO WORK HARDER! Maybe YOU should work harder! MAYBE EVERYONE NEEDS TO BE WORKING HARDER THEN HUH?????!!!!! But what came out my mouth was “I will give her anything. What does she want? Cookies? Brownies? Money?”

I think at this point Erin realized just exactly how crazy I really am.

So she pawned me off. She gave me Katie’s number faster than a geek on expert level Guitar Hero can play Metallica’s Nothing Else Matters.

My message on Katie’s voicemail:

“Oh hi Katie! This is Jamie and we are just so BEYOND EXCITED about our new son Siyum! YAY! I understand that you have his pictures and that there is this insane notion that we may not get them until tomorrow! I am calling to offer you anything in order to get his photos. I will give you vintage family heirlooms Katie. Name your price.”

While I was waiting for her return call, I speed-dialed Mike. No answer. He has his phone off, he’s in class. CRAP! I left a voicemail that resembled something like “WEGOTOURREFERRAL!CALLMEBACK! NOW!”

Next voicemail for Katie:

“Oh hi again Katie! Listen, I am chewing off my left hand here. Please can you call me back? I need to know what’s happening and when we’ll get to see his face! Okay thanks!”

My life was eerily quiet. I had no pictures of our son. I had no husband to scream with. I had no Delaney to squeeze. I had no one calling me back from my agency. I was paralyzed with anticipation of either getting his pictures, getting a phone call from my agency and getting a return call from Mike. And none of them were happening.

I emailed my agency yahoo group. I had to tell SOMEONE! WE HAD OUR REFERRAL! HELLO! I’m just chillin here at my house by myself with no pictures of his face!

Next voicemail for Katie:

“Katie, it’s Jamie again. WHY ARE YOU HOLDING MY SON’S PICTURES HOSTAGE?! It’s been an HOUR and a HALF!”

Everyone on my yahoo group was congratulating me, telling me how wonderful this was. It was awesome. I asked who lived closest to the WHFC office and could go be my picture avenger and retrieve his pictures for me. And they laughed. And I was all “NO REALLY.” I got some private emails telling me to hang in there, I’ll get his face soon. Enjoy the moment, etc…

At about 10 minutes till close on the east coast, I called the Manager of the Ethiopia program. Surely SHE would call me back and give me the FRICKIN status of my son’s face. But no. Nothing. I left her three voicemails, in addition to the three I had already left Katie. And then just for good measure, I sent them both two emails.

I know. Looking back, I could have done without the last 5 attempts.

At this point, it’s been 2 hours, and my agency office has been closed for 30 minutes and I’m just hanging on by a string to my sanity, HOPING someone is working late and is working late on my son’s face.

I forgot to also mention that I had been repeat auto dialing my husband this entire time. I probably logged in 85 calls only to continue getting his voicemail. “Hi! This is Mike! Thanks for calling, please leave me a message!” YA I’LL LEAVE YOU A MESSAGE, I’LL LEAVE YOU A MESSAGE UPSIDE YOUR HEAD IF YOU DON’T TURN YOUR PHONE ON AND CALL ME BACK! WE HAVE A SON YOU MORON! I KNOW YOUR CLASS HAS BEEN OVER FOR AN HOUR!”

But then. What’s this? The garage door? The lone Ranger? Returning? After all this time?

I RUN downstairs and throw open the door. Where have you been? Oh they were running some errands, stopped and got an ice cream, whatever, wrote a sonnet, weeded alongside the highway, you know, whatever…. forgot to turn phone back on. Sorry.

I said, “Oh. Okay. Well, you have a 2 year old son.”

Mike made that face that he makes when he sees Disneyland. Or the ocean. Like a 6 year old again, pure excitement. He was all “Are you serious? I have a SON?! Do we have pictures?!”

Uh about that. No. Not yet.

And then he said, “Well why not? Have you asked them to send them?” Like, “What have you been doing this whole time?”

And poor Mike had no idea. He had no idea what he was walking into. Because I. I was a madwoman at this point. I was balls to the walls crazy with anticipation still, really livid at my agency for not communicating with me, entirely too worked up and also a little thirsty. I hadn’t eaten or drank anything since the call. About 3 hours ago at this point. So, when Mike stepped into the bathroom to pee and his peeing took WELL BEYOND an average pee time, like the longest pee ever recorded in history, well, it was too much. His pee sent me over the edge.

And instead of being all glowy and sparkle-happy when I told him our son’s name and information, I was acting like a possessed woman, going back and forth on the emotional extremes like a yo-yo. Giggly and then exasperated. Elated and then vexed. Gleeful and then pissed. I even went to send another email but Mike stopped me and said “I’m saving you from yourself.”

Another hour went by. Like torture. Mike tried to motivate me to finish cleaning the house. It didn’t work. All I wanted to do was sit and stare at my inbox. I was trying to WILL the pictures to come. In the mean time, Mike checked the mail and had received some stupid chain letter weird scam crap about sending the top 6 people a dollar and then you would get EIGHT HUNDRED TWENTY SIX THOUSAND DOLLARS BACK! For some reason, Mike became fixated on this letter, this junk mail, and kicked me off the computer to research it. And this nearly sent me into convulsions. HOW DARE YOU! YOU’RE FOCUSING ON A CHAIN LETTER! WE HAVE A SON AND HIS FACE SHOULD BE IN OUR INBOX!

About 20 minutes later, I got a call from Erin saying his stuff was ready 4 HOURS after she originally called. She had sent us his face. Go check our inbox. Like I hadn’t been doing that obsessively for my whole life.

I BOLTED back to the computer and pulled up the email. And I looked upon that sweet face and smiled. He was beautiful. And sweet. And precious. And perfect. And he was our son. Mike said “He just couldn’t be any cuter could he?” and we both fought the urge to reach into the screen and pinch his cute cheeks. We fell in love and the previous four hours of anguish, the mental and emotional treadmill I had been on, it all vanished. Along with the 10.5 months of waiting. Gone. We had his face. We had a little boy. He was a part of our family and we already loved him.

We showed Delaney his pictures and she said “Can he come over right now?”

Then she drew a picture of of us flying in an airplane over the ocean water with fish to Africa where Siyum is waiting in his house. Complete with arrows and smiley faces. And I’d upload it here for you all to see because it’s just the cutest thing ever, but I’m tired of writing this post. This is the longest post I have ever done. And I’m tired. That’s it. Enough. The end.

May 8, 2008

Ya’ll. We have a son. A 2 year old son.

FOR REAL! AAAAHHHH!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

We got the call this afternoon at 1:30 and then proceeded to NOT get his pictures until 5:30. Okay, and you all know me. You can imagine what those 4 hours were like for me. And everyone within a 1 mile vicinity of me. I was losing. my. mind. I HAD to see his face. BRING ME HIS FACE!!!!!

But people. It was worth it. OOOHHHHH so worth it. We saw that face and now we are forever in love with that face.

He has HUGE brown eyes, big beautiful lips, big cheeks and the sweetest, most kissable face there ever was. We are smitten with his pouty, lovable face.

The story of the call to come soon. It’s good stuff. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed, my craziness was in full effect, an all time high, really. I was startling even myself.

BUT YA’LL WE HAVE A SON!!!!!

Love,

Mike, Jamie, Delaney and SIYUM

And PS. Chan was on the money. She guessed May 8th!