Ethiopia Journal: Day 5 (December 28) Gotcha Night and Embassy Day

The typical adoption story climaxes with "Gotcha Day"--that glorious, momentous, longed for day when parent and child are finally united to be family forever. When it all starts to feel real, however, especially with infant adoptions---is "Gotcha Night".

Back at the Union Hotel, the little ones in our group began to realize that their routine was being disrupted. Nothing was familiar. They were tired. They were stressed. Their beloved special mothers were nowhere in sight. Their little worlds were being turned upside down. In our adoption education classes, we were advised that most infants cope with this traumatic change in one of two ways--they will either shut down and just want to sleep, or they will cry and openly express their grief. Most of the babies in our group chose to vocalize their unhappiness. Their cries echoed through the thin walls and hallways of the hotel that night. It was heartbreaking. And then there were the parents, many still dealing with jet lag, trying to make bottles, change diapers, comfort their babies--still trying to get to know them and figure out how they liked to be held and soothed--all in a tiny hotel room in a developing country. Not so pretty or romantic, but part of the process just the same.

Although I held Miss K for most of the time while we were at the orphanage, once we got back to the hotel, she wanted nothing to do with me. We could tell she was exhausted. We changed her diaper and prepared a bottle for her. As I tried to rock her to sleep, her big brown eyes would get heavy and start to close, then just as they shut, they would suddenly pop open and she would catch a glimpse of me and scream. She would clench her little fists, arch her back, stiffen her legs and wail. We could only imagine what was going on in her head--the memories, the emotions. I was not her first mother. I was not one of her special mothers at the orphanage. I was a clumsy, uncertain impostor. At times, she tried to get cozy; it seemed as if she was trying to take her mind to someplace familiar and comforting, pretending to be back in the arms of someone she loved. But she was too smart to convince herself to fall for her own game and just as soon as she would start to drift off to sleep, she would startle herself back awake, look at me and cry a sorrowful cry as huge tears rolled down her cheeks.

She finally fell asleep once Hus-B took over. Perhaps he was so different from her previous caregivers that it was less confusing to her. Or perhaps it was just his special Daddy's touch (our older girls both prefer for him to put them to sleep as well). He walked around, gently bouncing her and patting her back. If he tried to lay down or lay her down in the Moses basket or between us in bed, however, her eyes would pop back open and she would start crying again as soon as he would let go of her. I tried to relieve him a couple of times--to no avail. All night long, we heard other babies crying throughout the hotel. It was somehow reassuring to know we weren't the only ones.

For most of the night, Hus-B stood and walked around our room and held Miss K as she slept. He eventually successfully laid her down between us and she stayed asleep. He thought it must be about 1 a.m. since the call to prayer had not yet begun (we later learned that the time and duration of the chanting is different each day). He picked up his iphone from the nightstand to check the time--4:55 a.m! Since we had to be ready to leave for our 9:00 Embassy appointments at 7:30, we had a scheduled a 5:00 wake-up call. Afraid the ringing phone would wake Miss K back up, Hus-B tiptoed out the door and rushed downstairs to cancel the call. He arrived at the front desk at the same time as the desk clerk--who obviously wasn't expecting to run into any guests--showed up to make her 5 a.m. calls. She was so startled when he came around the corner that she almost jumped out of her pajamas. Her usually perfect hair was going in every direction. But our room stayed quiet and Miss K stayed asleep.

I got up and got dressed while Hus-B and Miss K slept for about an hour. I excitedly looked through all of her cute clothes to choose an outfit--and matching hairbow, of course, for her to wear to the Embassy. At about 7:00, the three of us went down to breakfast where we met up with all of the other bleary-eyed new parents and laughed and sympathized with each other as stories of sleepless first nights were recounted over crepes, oatmeal and Ethiopian coffee. Miss K appeared to like her rice cereal mixed with formula. Despite the rough night, she woke up bright-eyed and cheerful. At 7:30 on the dot, our bus pulled into the hotel gates and we all piled in for the ride to the Embassy. No cameras, cell phones or other electronic or recording devices were permitted at the Embassy, so we left them all at the hotel.

In the days before, we had asked S, T, A, G and Pastor D a bunch of questions. Among them were "How do Ethiopian people view Americans adopting Ethiopian children?" and "Are Ethiopians, in general, happy with their lives?" A summary of the responses were that Ethiopians see America as a place of opportunity. Unlike in Ethiopia, where jobs are scarce and unemployment is high, and where even when work is found, many are still not be able to afford to rent a home or feed their family, Ethiopians generally see America as a place where hard work is rewarded, and where the same effort can provide so much more for one's family and children. So many people in Ethiopia spend their days just trying to survive. It's frustrating and discouraging to not see a light at the end of the tunnel when times are tough. Ethiopia is a very religious country, and people tend to be sustained by their faith, family and the value placed on traditions and relationships. But we were not to mistake their gratefulness for contentedness; they are not oblivious to the need for change and the desire for progress. We were told that Ethiopians think the babies adopted by American families are "lucky" because they will have opportunities that most Ethiopians can only dream of. At the same time, however, children are so valued in Ethiopian society, that it saddens them to see children leaving the country, and it makes them more aware of the deficiencies in their society that they are not able to provide families for orphans within their own country. They wonder what motivates Americans to adopt their children and they hope that many of these children will one day return to Ethiopia to help bring about needed change.

The bus ride to the Embassy made me feel conspicuous and uncomfortable. Our bus full of white couples, all with Ethiopian babies in our arms, stood out like a sore thumb. As we made our way through town, I could see Ethiopian people riding in buses and taxis and along the sides of the road, looking at us with expressionless faces. I thought we must look like a bunch of tourists who just swooped in on a whim and scooped up a bunch of babies to take home as souvenirs. It bothered me to think that our onlookers might be making inaccurate assumptions and that questions in their heads were going unanswered. I wanted them to know that we weren't adopting these children to be hip, trendy or to add a notch to our "do gooder belts". I wanted them to know that the process to adopt is not a quick, easy or spontaneous thing to do, but a long process that involves a lot of effort, prayer and soul-searching. I wanted them to know that while adoption is not cheap, most of the families on that bus were generally not ones that would be considered rich or wealthy in America; creative fundraising, strict budgeting, cutting back, depleting savings accounts or retirement funds, and miraculous provision were woven into many of our adoption stories. I wanted them to know how much we all had fallen in love with Ethiopia and planned to raise our children to love Ethiopia, too. I wanted them to know that we did not take these children for granted. I wanted them to know that these children were going to be cherished, adored and loved. I wanted them to know the amazing stories of how God's hand had led each of the families on that bus to the children in their arms.

While I find myself generally caring very little what people in the grocery store, Target or the produce market are thinking, I found myself caring a heck of a lot about what was going through the minds of people in Ethiopia. Since we definitely plan to return to Ethiopia with our whole family in a few years, I was thankful that we did not feel nearly as awkward in the couple of outings in Addis that Hus-B and I later took with Miss K, just the three of us. People would smile at us and invariably make a fuss over Miss K, kissing her cheeks, talking baby talk to her and, if she wasn't attached to us riding in the Ergo, taking her from our arms to love on her. Several curious people asked us various "how" and "why" questions about our adoption and seemed to understand and appreciate our responses.

The U.S. Embassy was not at all what I was picturing. The image in my head was something similar to a Federal courthouse or legislative building--marble-tiled floors and wood-paneled walls. Once we passed the armed guards, entered the grounds and made our way through a basic security check, I was surprised to find that the facility was more akin to a large version of a DMV office and a little reminiscent of a school or other institutional building constructed in perhaps the 1950's or 60's and not really updated since. Like much of the rest of Addis, parts of the facility were under construction, but the area where we went was old and outdated. Concrete block, minty green, peeling paint, worn out vinyl-upholstered chairs. Over the course of 2-3 hours, each family had its turn meeting with the consulate. The meetings were brief. They looked through our paperwork. We were asked questions such as "Is this the same child that was referred to you?" and "Does this child fall within the criteria approved in your home study?" A couple of stamps and signatures and we were done.

Back at the Union, we ate lunch and took the afternoon easy. As much as Miss K longed for familiarity at night, she was curious about everything new by day. She didn't object to me holding her in the daytime at all. She opened up to us and began to reveal her sweet, happy disposition. She loves people and activity. She's so smart and so observant. Her favorite place to be was the hotel lobby, where she seemed to study every person and understand our conversations. She would look straight into the eyes of anyone talking to her and would almost always smile a wide, gummy grin and babble in response. If anything she did made us laugh, she would repeat it over and over again, just eating up the attention. Her sweet, loving personality makes her so easy to love and was so fun to get to know.

The highlight of our evening was giving her a bath and washing her hair. She had a ball kicking her legs and splashing in the little baby tub provided by the hotel. After her bath, we slathered her up with lotion and massaged her little back, arms and legs, and I tried my hand at applying some "Baby Buttercream" hair product to condition her curls. That night, she still wanted Hus-B to put her to sleep, but she actually let him lay her between us (and get a little rest himself) for two three-hour stretches!