[Weird. I wrote this a week ago, but it went to the drafts folder instead of posting.]
I feel like I’ve produced about a ream of paperwork in under two weeks.
I’ve dragged three wiggly kids to the post office three times, with another visit for tomorrow. (Oh. Joy.)
We’ve watched our ten hours of mandatory online training.
I have an appointment this week to meet a doctor from the local children’s hospital’s International Adoption Clinic. [Since I’m posting this after the fact, I’ll add the good news that we just found out that we have one of the best cleft palate surgeons in the country heading up our cranial/facial reconstruction team at our children’s hospital, because the surgeon works with a cleft palate charity based here (which also means he’s done thousands of these surgeries). And the doctor at the clinic didn’t seem at all phased by the baby’s photo, which looks pretty awful. “Yep, that’s a cleft palate. So, here’s what you should expect…”]
Our social worker was here for multiple interviews this weekend [which is now last weekend] (couple interview on Saturday night, individual interviews Sunday). Which means two things:
- The entire house had to be clean at the same time. Really clean. Ok, I didn’t reorganize the garage like I did for the very first home study visit, before we had any kids, but I did clean like my mom was coming, and trim and mulch out front, and clean off counters so everything looked super-neat. The social worker sounded really nice on the phone (and she is), but I didn’t want anything to smell like pee or dog, since she’s supposed to be assessing our suitability for adoption, to include the state of our home. I’m not sure my children or my (wet) dog shared these goals.
- I’ve been talking about why we’re adopting, what I thought of my upbringing, my relationships with my family, and why I’m still married to my husband (um? He suggested, “Because you hate change,” as the best answer. I think they were looking for something cute like “his sense of humor”.).
And, by the way, we could be travelling much, much sooner than we thought. As in “this year” not “maybe sometime early next spring.”
Which all adds up to: my brain hurts.