So in spite of yesterday's few hours of warmth in which I could leave all outer layers at home, in spite of the huge neighborhood yard sale in one of the richie-rich neighborhoods, in spite of grilling burgers in the afternoon, in spite of the impromptu beer on the front porch with a former neighbor who happened to be biking by, in spite of the strawberry patch in our backyard producing like crazy... I was in a funk.
Last night while sitting outside eating dinner, we were trying to deconstruct my funk. There were probably several things contributing to it but probably the main one is that Abe is still, for all intents and purposes, an only child, even though there is a 5-year-old across the globe who now officially shares our last name. She has a new birth certificate with our last name. She has a passport with our name. She has a new name but she is not here, and this is getting increasingly frustrating to me.
So many people recently have approached me and said, "Oh! You have a new baby at home by now!" I have to correct them, "Well, no, she's not really a baby, and she's not really here yet." They look at me confused and sometimes say something about how wasn't it two years ago that we were in this process? Yep.
"And weren't you in Ethiopia last month?"
"You met her, right? But she's not here yet?"
"So when do you go back?"
No idea. None. Not one clue. I then have to spend a few minutes explaining how extra documents (some only obtained through added court hearings) are now being required that have never been required before, how even though everything has been completed in strict accordance with the law, we can't even be submitted to the embassy until these suddenly-added documents are in-hand.
I picked up a registration packet from the local grade school this week. Abe and I looked around the kindergarten hallway and wondered which classroom would be his sister's. The secretaries told me not to turn the packet in until she's here. Even that was frustrating to me. I wanted to get her paperwork in. I wanted to fill out those forms. I wanted to hand someone in authority my daughter's official registration into school and have them tell me all about the ELL program and which teacher would be the best fit for her. I wanted to know that her name has been added to the roster and that her teacher is making her a little name tag for the backpack cubby.
Instead? I have to wait until she's here. Until then, no one really knows she exists.
I don't want her to come here in August right before school starts to be thrown straight away into the hectic fall. I want her here now, while our days and slow and increasingly warm outside. I want here now so she can see that this city isn't always a dark, drizzly place with grey skies and never-dry sidewalks.
It's time, it's time, it's time, and I'm frustrated and full of funk.
photo @ 2011 Jillian Doughty