Our Gladney caseworker, the resplendent Mary called today, get this: to check in with us and see how we're doing. This is the second time she's done this in a week. I know people with other agencies who can't get anyone to answer an email, and yet we have the feeling that Mary and the other kind-hearted folks at Gladney are almost as emotionally invested in this case as we are.
She let me know that all the necessary documents are being successfully gathered for court on March 4th, and we talked about how to best prepare ourselves emotionally for any possible outcome, including that of yet another delay. I told her that I'm getting pretty good at this waiting thing, and that I'm settling into my current relationship with Baby A which consists mainly of trying to telepathically send my love to him across an ocean and two continents by staring intently at each new picture we get of him. As I told a friend a couple of weeks ago, this is the most difficult long-distance relationship I've ever been in.
Today while listening to Fresh Air on NPR (because I'm white and apparently, that's what we do), I heard this journalist named David Sheff being interviewed about the book he just wrote about his son's meth addiction. He told a story about a bad health scare he had where he woke up in a hospital bed unable to remember who he was. While the nurses were asking him his name, all he could do was think that this was something he should know but couldn't get to. What was trumping the retrieval in his mind of his own name was his overwhelming worry and concern for his son. While he didn't know who he was, he knew every detail about his son. All he could do was keep asking where his son was and if he was okay.
He said that it struck him then what it really means to be a parent: that the love we have for our children takes a higher place in our psyches than our own identities.
I then continued down the freeway bawling my eyes out, missing my exit, and going twenty minutes out of my way.
When I wake up in the middle of the night to pee or because one of the cats is walking across my face, I immediately think of Baby A. It takes all of half a second for him to enter my brain, even if I hadn't been dreaming about him. This continues through the day, even while I'm concentrating on something else. It's why I've called him here on this blog "the ghost in the back of my head." Is this normal? Do all mothers experience this? Are your children always in your minds like this or has this twisty-turny adoption done a number on my psyche?
Finally, for Mere, thank you again for the mustard greens. This was what I ate today: mustards from a can, some tomato-y, spicy Indian mush, and a piece of Dave's Killer bread. I got all fancy heating the greens and putting them on a plate. They actually taste better room temperature, straight out of the can onto my fork and into my mouth. Next time, I'll eat the whole can that way.
Oh, and in response to the applause of Ted's kitchen-building talents: yes, he is talented at home projects, but I do have to put the disclaimer out there that we hired a contractor to do a lot of the work. Ted didn't do it all alone, though he probably did end up doing almost half of it all.