No more privacy

Today's visit to CIS (the former INS now reborn into the US Department of Homeland Security as Citizenship & Immigration Service) was a pivotal one for me. It was a public declaration that I am adopting. It can no longer be confused for a figment of my imagination or folly. It is official. It's also official that my fingerprints are now on file with the FBI so any potential criminal misconduct better be completed with gloves (for those of you in law enforcement, this is only a joke, I like telling jokes, seriously).
I was impressed by how official everything was. As soon as I got off the elevator there were two very nice men with guns that greeted me, searched my purse and scanned me for weapons. Who knew people might actually attempt to 'break in' at the CIS office? After a few minutes in chairs, I was lead to a back room for fingerprints. These aren't your daddy's or granddaddy's fingerprints--welcome to the digital age! My hands were thoroughly cleaned and then the technician carefully rolled each finger onto a scanner. She was quick to point out that I was dehydrated because my fingertips were very wrinkled and pruney looking. I felt reassured when a minute later another technician walked by, looked at our screen, and commented "nice print". Evidently years of avoiding all things hot has paid off; all my whorls and arches (that's the name of the ridges on your tips according to the poster on their wall) are very clean and precise. Unlike so many other people, my hands don't sweat and are extremely dry. We had some difficulty in the seconds between wiping my fingertip and laying it on the scanner to keep it wet. If all goes well, I should have my I-171H in the next 2-3 weeks. Hallelujah!
If my privacy felt somewhat translucent this morning, it didn't get much better this afternoon. I picked up a prescription at the drug store and some pharmacist recommended cough medicine. I was required to show my driver's license, sign and complete another document pertaining to the pseudo epinephrine I was purchasing. Yikes.
When I returned home there was a package on the step from ChinaSprout.com. I had ordered some red thread bracelets, and yes, I realize that these are the equivalent of buying a miniature Eiffel Tower when in Paris, but I still wanted one! I plan on wearing two; one for me and one that I will give to MayLing when we are united. I also purchased a calendar featuring the daughters and sons of the Indiana branch of FCC. My plan is to give it to my grandmother for Christmas. She does not know yet of the adoption and I plan to spring it on her this weekend! Yes, slightly evil for someone to do to an 84 year-old, but my family is all about shock value! She has made some racist comments in the past that I am sure she felt were actually compliments. As a teenager a Chinese friend of mine came for Christmas and after spending a few days around my friend, my grandmother said to her, "You must be one of the good ones." Although Grandma is not an active part of my life (3 days in 365) I want her to feel connected to her great-granddaughter. I'm hoping that looking at this beautiful calendar with all the beautiful children will help with that. I am realistic and know that one calendar will not change 84 years of thinking.

What's in a Fortune Cookie?

Today's fortune:

"Now is the time to call loved ones at a distance. Share your news."

Is that a hint?

Sweet Dreams, Sweet Child

I dreamed of my daughter last night. It wasn't the first dream I've had of her, and I hope it won't be the last, but this one stuck out as different to me. The first felt like an introduction, and in a sense, it was. I was only a few weeks into my paper chase and was living, breathing, speaking adoption. Normally when I dream, the people are faceless. I know my friends and family not by their face, but how I feel about them and the aura (for lack of a better word) that they leave behind. The first dream showed a sweet round-faced toddler with a bobbed chin-length hair cut. She was looking back at me from the sandbox, reassured that I was there watching her. I felt like I was seeing her through a camera lens. Last night I had two separate dreams of MayLing. In the first she is in grade school, no older than seven or eight years old. She is talking to me excitedly about her friends and her day at school. I remember focusing on her lips and thinking that they looked similar to mine and thinking with pride "this is my daughter!" The second dream she is older, probably in her twenties and an independent adult. Instead of her talking to me, we are sitting next to each other talking as equals much the way my mother and I interact when we are together. In a sense it felt as if my life had flashed before my eyes and I had a sense of what my future would be like. Even with the frustrations of my day, I kept coming back to the face of my daughter, a daughter that likely isn't even born yet. In these moments I feel so close to her and I pray that she is healthy and safe and that her birth mother is healthy and safe.
This morning when I read the local paper, I saw that the Associated Press had published the story of the new guidelines and the restrictions put forth by the CCAA that will soon go into affect. My heart breaks that MayLing may be my only child, but I am also assured that some day she will come home and we will be family. Until then, I will just have to dream about her.

Plop plop, fizz fizz

I am nearly finished with my dossier. The high that I had when I was feverishly rushing through document collection has been replaced by relief. I'm also finally beginning to get some sleep. There for a while I was so busy, so determined to complete my dossier as fast as possible that I had to sacrifice a lot of me time. Wheww...it's time to take a breath and relax and prepare for the next part....waiting. Right now I'm waiting for my final home study report. I reviewed the draft yesterday and with the exception of a few grammar and cosmetic errors, it looks good. It's so odd to read about myself from a third-person perspective. Some things made me pause and then giggle. I know how I am, but to read it from another perspective I sound like someone else. Under the Home/Neighborhood Section I pondered these next two sentence: Erica grew up in the country and knows how to shoot guns. She owns a gun which has a safely lock on it and is secured in a lock box.
Yes, I do own a gun and at the time I bought it I felt it was necessary. My job often sent me into dangerous areas and I had witnessed violence first hand. I carried pepper spray and sometimes a gun at that time. I did grow up around guns and I have taken gun safety courses as well as markmanship training. But by the time MayLing arrives, I doubt I will have a gun. I guess my liberal side hasn't quite made peace with my redneck side.
Ultimately, none of this matters. In the summary and recommendation section my wonderful social worker wrote these words, "It is recommended that Erica be approved for the adoption of a healthy Chinese female between birth and 15 months of age." I can't think of a more beautiful proclamation than that!

In celebration, my friend Sherry and I ate greasy Chinese food Friday night and had one wine cooler a piece. That may not sound like much, but for a woman has felt very emotionally pregnant the last 6 weeks and for a woman that recently adopted a young daughter, the fizzy carbonation of an 'adult' beverage felt very indulgent. Thank you Bartles&Jaymes!

No Coincidences

I've decided that there are no such things as coincidences. Not since I began this adoption journey. Too many things have come together too perfectly for this to be random. Case in Point: on Monday I traveled to Detroit for a business trip. That in itself was odd...I've been with the company for 3.5 years in essentially the same position as when I started.
I can't tell you how much I was dreading this trip. Not because of the content of the meeting or being away from home. I had this horrible nagging thought: What if something happened to me? What would happen to MayLing? I couldn't bear the thought of some other family raising her, as crazy as that may sound. There is a saying among those blessed enough to adopt "she was born in my heart". Even before I had heard this line, before I had met another adoptive parent, I had written something very similar in my journal for my daughter, "Many women are able to bear children of their womb, but how lucky am I that you are born of my heart".
I wasn't feeling that great on Monday and then I learned my CEO would not be accompanying me to Detroit. I was concerned she was sick and very concerned that I amy not be able to answer questions from the corporate level people.
Tuesday morning I awake bright and early and head to the conference room where we will be eating breakfast and beginning our meetings. I see the group of my plane mate's sitting in the front of the room, but I opt for one of the rear tables. I'm typically not a back-of-the-room kind of girl, but I sat in the back. Alone. And waited. People began to filter in and before long I had a woman on my left speaking earnestly with a woman on my right. In no time at all, lefty asked righty if she had heard when she would be able to adopt her daughter in China. Linda Blair had nothing on me, I whipped my head around so fast my eyes blurred momentarily. Within another minutes I found myself purging my adoption story on a woman who had been a stranger, but who I now called friend. The bond that binds us to our unseen children, also binds us to countless other parents who have heeded the same call. We are all apart of a greater community, our stories are similar, but better still, our daughters also share the same story. I hope they never feel alone, I hope they always feel tied to China and to their Chinese sisters.