Z at the beach

She's less sure of the water than B.  I remember him being afraid of the waves when he was little too, so I bet she'll love it when she's bigger too.

 

 

B loves the beach

I think he inherited this from me.  That's odd, seeing as how M grew up by the beach and loves the mountains beyond all else.  And I grew up with the mountains, but feel more at home at the beach than anywhere else.  B seems to have the beach thing going on:



Yes, it's been a criminally long time since I updated the blog.  While we were on vacation my job somehow exploded, and I found myself cramming for a whole week for a big presentation, then flying off to Pennsylvania to deliver it last week.  But now I'm on Christmas vacation, so I'll be catching up.

Two years ago today

B and I were at home on a gloomy Monday afternoon.  I was feeling pretty down, in spite of the fact that my 40th birthday party two days earlier had been a raging good time.  I was blue because I'd been told back in September by our agency to expect our referral off the next list, yet three months had gone by without that phone call.  I'd finally cracked the Friday before, and asked M to call the agency.  They told him they were sorry to let us down, but we'd have to wait for the next list afterall.  It would probably come in January or February.  So I was at the very bottom of the lowest part of our adoption wait.  I'd ridden the rollercoaster -- the high of turning in our dossier, the gradual descent as the realization of how long we'd really wait began to sink in, a gradual climb that began when we turned in our medical conditions checklist, another descent as the promised six-month wait stretched to a year, then the dizzying height of excitement when I heard we'd be next.  Then crash.  Down to the bottom with that Friday phone call between M and the agency.

So back to Monday, December 3, 2007...the phone rang at 3:55pm.  Coincidentally, this is the same time of day B had been born, three years and 344 days earlier.  I saw "Chinese Children" in caller ID, and before I even picked up, I knew.  In spite of the fact that the Friday before, they'd told us we'd have to wait another few months, I knew this was The Call.  And it was. 

Hello? (playing dumb) 

Hello, is this J? 

Yes. (still playing dumb)

This is D with CCAI.

Oh hi, D.  How are you?  (How dumb can I play?  At this point, I was afraid that any hint of excitement or anticipation in my voice would jinx it, and it would turn out to be just some routine call, asking for another bit of paperwork.)

Well, I'm calling to tell you about your daughter.

From this point on, the conversation is mostly a blur.  I grabbed a scrap of paper and scribbled down a few things.  Her name.  Her birth date.  Her medical condition.  Her province.  D promised to email photos to me at home and M at work in the next few minutes.

I called M's office, and it went to voicemail.  I called his cell phone, and it went to voicemail.  Nearly hysterical, I called the receptionist, cited a "family emergency," and demanded that she page him.  He picked up, and the news just poured out of me.  I'm sure I made very little sense.  We opened the email at the same time, M in his office, B on my lap in front of our home computer.  And this is what we saw:

Leaving on a jet plane

We're off to visit M's mom, aka Nana, aka Banana, bright and early tomorrow morning.  Look out Virginia Beach, here we come!