Our adoption story, Part III

I talked with the nanny - the woman who was caring for the baby ever since she was released from the hospital - on Sunday. She was the best baby she ever had, she told me, and she'd had more than fifty. The love sounded in her voice and put me at ease. It couldn't possibly be a scam with such a sweet lady involved. As I hung up I realized this woman was watching my baby. I had a daughter, we just happened to be miles apart.

We started painting the nursery after settling on a shade of light green and there was no looking back. Our friend Matthew was invaluable; Ryan had to work that afternoon, and Matthew and I painted all day. At around 8:30 we headed to Target to buy a crib, despite the fact that even I knew it would be a few months before a crib was actually needed. Matthew was doing the buying. In yet another act of reckless generosity, our dear friend temporarily fronted the money we did not have at that moment and didn't even bat an eye.

We looked like a couple of crazy people running around the store before closing, green paint on our faces, hands and clothes, not to mention I hadn't really slept since Wednesday night and it was showing. We found the crib my mother-in-law had told me should be there on sale and asked an employee to check if it was available in the back.

We were buying a crib together yet Matthew and I didn't look like your average husband and wife, who would probably take their time on a Saturday afternoon, painstakingly looking over the crib and changing table selection, registry gun in hand. Instead it was late on a Sunday night, we were nervous and in a hurry, and I had taken my wedding ring off to paint if anyone even bothered to look. Not to mention I was missing a baby bump. We joked someone might mistake us for child abductors who were frantically getting some necessary items for a baby we had just stolen.

The crib was in stock and soon being carted out to Matthew's car and it was just as quickly being taken back inside where we were forced to return it and place it on hold, so Ryan could get it on Monday with his truck.

We headed to Walmart - since it wasn't closing - and bought some diapers and preemie sleepers. We laughed hysterically at the silly sayings on every article of clothing - Cutie Pie, Pretty Girl, Future Dancer; something I would soon barely notice was so comical that night. I was exhausted but having the time of my life. It was - to use a word that came out of my mouth nearly a thousand times that week - surreal.

Back home, our marathon painting session continued late into the night, well past the end of Ryan's shift. As the paint dried we made lists in an attempt to organize the chaos in our brains.



Matthew left around 2 a.m., not to sleep, but to write a recommendation letter we would be sending to the attorney's office later that day. Two other friends, Grace In My Heart and Lifehopes, were also kind enough to write us glowing recommendations at a moment's notice.

During a break I excitedly pulled out the tiny doll-like clothes I had purchased for the trip back home (because, surely, we would be in need of clothes) and, to my surprise, Ryan didn't share my enthusiasm. Do we really need all of those, he asked. Yes, I laughed, taken aback at his apparent frugality in the midst of our surprise adoption. We only have four and this is a baby, after all, I told him. They pee on their clothes and we're going to be in a car for a long time. I sensed he wasn't yet thinking that an actual baby most likely named Clara would be wearing the outfits because I couldn't imagine him not wanting to give his daughter the world, let alone $20 worth of sleepers.

Our roles had shifted from him being the one confident in the process and me, nervous, to Ryan wondering if it was really going to happen, clearly in an effort to protect me and, possibly, himself. I just can't rest until we call our agency and have our home study faxed, he told me. I understood, but I had now decided to be excited and wanted him on board. We were overtired, though, and so we tried to get a few hours of sleep before calling our social worker at 9 a.m.

She was off for the day. When we heard her voicemail message that morning we joked that it was just our luck, and Ryan instead left a message with the head of the department, Debra, and proceeded to write an email to both her and our social worker, explaining our urgent situation. Debra soon returned his call and, to our surprise, immediately sprang into action, calling the attorney's office and faxing our home study. We had imagined not only that Debra might already have a full plate that morning, being a Monday and all, but that if we were even able to get ahold of her, she might tell us we were crazy. We had built up in our minds that our agency would be the voice of reason - if they told us it was a scam and we were just a gullible infertile couple, then that would be that. But they didn't. I could see Ryan immediately relax and begin to let himself believe this was really happening.

With that hurdle cleared, we planned our trip. We'd leave the next morning and, in yet another small miracle, Ryan already had the remainder of the week off from work, since we had originally planned to head up north. I packed and prepared for our 20-hour trip, cleaned, picked up our crib and bought a changing table, and made arrangements for my mother to overnight a check for an exorbitant amount of money to my blogger friend, Barbie, who I had never met but who so graciously offered to meet us at the attorney's office, an hour from her home, check in hand. We didn't want to risk sending the money directly to the attorney. We were hopeful yet cautious.

I spoke several times with my sister-in-law who was spear-heading a family-wide effort of collecting and cleaning every last baby item we could possibly ever want and had no idea we needed. Exersaucer, boppy, bumbo. I trusted her that these were real things and typed the words, phonetically, as she said them in this strange, foreign language. I figured one day, like her, I'd be fluent.

I was high on adrenalin. This is what I had dreamed of for so many years, becoming a mother, laying eyes on my baby for the very first time. To be honest, I didn't exactly dream of this very thing until about two years earlier, after hopes for a pregnancy began to fade. Now, I was sure that nothing could be more exciting than this, not even seeing those two lines.

What we did get to see that day was a new picture of the little girl - a picture of a picture - and we were forever in love.


We left early Tuesday morning, destined for Ryan's parents' home in Raleigh. We would stop there, load up with the items necessary to our immediate trip, and change cars. We'd be taking his parents' van. Once there, we took our time, ate lunch, and packed for our next leg. To my surprise, his mother had purchased and packed a diaper bag with everything we would need for the ride home, which was great because not only had I not prepared a diaper bag, I had left home the one item, other than clothing, I had bought for the baby - diapers. Motherhood was off to a great start.

By this time the name Clara was being used freely. Our nephew, Jonathan, had taken to calling her 'Cousin Claaara'. If it hadn't seemed real yet, it did now. Our confidence was shaken every so slightly, though, when I called Wendy at the attorney's office to check in. Over the last few days we had, naturally, questioned the legitimacy of the lawyer. He was a stranger to us; we were going on blind faith, after all, and once we confirmed that he was actually a practicing attorney, we joked about what we might find when we arrived. What if we pulled up and his office was in his living room? That's why my stomach dropped when Wendy warned me that their office was located in the clubhouse of an apartment complex. Of course.

With that thought set aside, and car seat securely in the back seat of the van, we hit the road.





The ride was a lot of fun. I probably talked on the phone 90 percent of the time; I told the story of the last five days over and over and never grew tired of reliving it. I sensed that this trip was bigger than us. God's hand was evident and I felt tangibly lifted up by the prayers of so many.

I talked more with Wendy and had her email all documents to my father, an attorney. He was cautious and wanted wording changed and added. Eventually he relaxed; what more could he do? This was how these things went. Adoption was a risk.

That night we stayed three hours away from our destination in a dingy motel that was fine for us, but the new mother in me immediately pointed out that it wouldn't have been good enough for Clara. Wendy had suggested we arrive around ten the next day and, while anxious to get there, I was realistic. I knew we needed our sleep.

I had never known exhaustion like this. I was in a daze, a zombie. I focused all my thoughts on the prize - driving away from the nanny's home with Clara in her car seat. I imagined a hundred times the breath of relief I would have. I clung to that image - not meeting her, not holding her, but driving away - every time I worried that something might go wrong.

We slept six hours, soundly, and hurried to leave by seven. I realized that in the rush to leave, I packed only my new jeans which I had hemmed to wear with heels, and was therefore unable to wear sensible shoes to pick up my tiny baby. I usually wore flats, and here I was, wearing heels to take home a preemie? Hopefully my mothering instincts would improve dramatically over the next few hours.

The mood on the ride there was a mixture of excitement, anxiety, and fear. Excitement that we were about to meet our daughter; anxiety about whether the attorney would seem trustworthy; fear that he might be a murderer. Ryan very calmly explained to me that he was, in fact, a real attorney and, since we had his real name, he would be crazy to kill us just to steal our money because everyone would know who did it. That actually did make sense to me, until I pointed out that it might be someone posing as him. And, after all, people kill for far less than $25,000.

I was clearly delirious. Finally, we crossed into our destination state.



As we drove up to the apartment complex the attorney owned, the feeling of butterflies had taken over my entire body. It was difficult to talk without crying. We pulled in - it wasn't what we expected, but what does one expect when an attorney's office is at an apartment complex? - and were put at ease by the sign with his name on it. For some reason, that confirmed for us that he was real. If we had any more hesitation it was wiped away when we entered and met Wendy and Fred. They looked nothing like I had pictured. They seemed down to earth and kind and I knew Ryan was already working on an impression of Fred as we sat around the conference table. We quickly forgot about our pact to not let the money change hands until the baby was in our arms. Barbie and her husband met us there with my mother's money, which we turned over, along with another check from Ryan's parents, without a second thought.

The paperwork was quick. Quicker than buying a car, Fred joked. It was true.


Before we knew it we were making the 30-minute drive to the nanny's house; we followed Wendy while Barbie and her husband followed us. I was on the edge of my seat but in control. I joked as we turned into the nanny's neighborhood that this drive, these last moments, were like my labor and boy was this easier than pushing a baby out. Ryan responded with a fist bump.

The culmination of five-and-a-half years was right around the corner, literally, and I was surprisingly calm; all I imagined was little Clara in her car seat, and us driving away.