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Hello Everyone.
Beautiful Baby Maria is at home, safe and sound, and taking a well-deserved nap right now. It was an amazing, incredible, DIFFICULT, rewarding, once-in-a-lifetime experience for which I was totally unprepared!! Maria just clung to me from the moment she met me in the orphanage. That's not to say she bonded with me immediately. At first, I was kind of like her life preserver, and she held on for dear life, although she didn't seem to like me. She cried a lot. Sometimes, the only thing that comforted her was to be walked up and down the hallway in the hotel, with me singing a little tune (la la la la La La, or words like, I love Maria, I love Maria). I did that for hours on end. She stared at my face, and would look away when I looked at her. So I just held her and let her study me. I think she was thinking, if this is going to be my mother, I want to know what she looks like. By the second day, she would smile and play a little bit, but each day she had some crying jags. And somewhere around the second day she really bonded with me. That made my life a little easier-she liked me! We met Maria on Monday morning. Minal, our Indian facilator, met us at the hotel and walked us to the orphanage. What an experience. No sidewalks, and lots and lots of traffic, especially motorcycles. Crossing the street is survival of the fittest. We went into a little office to fill out some paperwork, and while we were doing that, they brought Maria in. The poor child had a head cold, lice and scabies. She had on the pretty little sundress I had sent over - covered with a yellow wool sweater topped by a red wool hat on her head (mind you, it was 85 degrees). The ayah hit Maria's head on a file cabinet just as she handed her to me, so I ended up with a SCREAMING baby. I took her out into the hallway and walked her up and down and up and down. And of course, I felt like everyone was watching me to see if I would be a good mother. I did finally get her to calm down. And, I didn't want to insult anybody, but I did manage to get her out of the hat and sweater. Then they brought out a parade of children - as a favor to others who are waiting, we were taking pictures of their children. We saw children whose parents we had contacted beforehand - including Sweety and Malvika, who were both adorable and healthy but, like all the other children (and us) a bit dazed and confused. We also saw some older girls, playing in the inner courtyard, who asked us where we were taking Maria, and were really excited that she was going to America. Then somebody from the staff came over and told us not to talk to them. The whole scene was heartbreaking. I guess I didn't realize how hard I'd have to work to gain the baby's trust. I also didn't realize how hard it would be to be in a hotel room with a baby that will NOT leave your side. On our last day, I got so frustrated, I said to Paul, you have to watch her while I take a shower for 20 minutes. I just can't take it anymore. He lasted 10 minutes with her screaming "Aai" (marathi for mother, pronounced like "eye." She calls him "Dada") as if her heart would break, and I got out of the shower dripping wet. As soon as she was in my arms, she stopped.We kept wondering if we were doing the "right" thing. We don't want to spoil her, but we just kept thinking this poor child's life has been ripped apart, and I'm the only thing she has. We can't take that away from her. We brought 2 small stuffed animals, several books (THAT makes me laugh), and a couple of toys. She played with one stuffed animal, sort of (although I keep insisting on giving it to her, trying to establish it as her comforter and she does seem to be attaching to it), and one little plastic toy. She had no idea what to do with a book, but she loved it when you put a paper in her hand (while boarding the flight from Bombay, I couldn't find the boarding passes, and then noticed she was politely holding them, as if she planned on giving them to the attendant). She would examine it, and turn it over and over. She liked playing with my fingers, and making an "ah" noise, and then have us make it too. It was very elemental. I knew I had gotten her trust when she started a new game with me on the second or third day. She sits on my lap in leans into me, looking contented. Then I say, "I love you," and she responds, "Ah-loo"(baby for I love you) and then giggles. She couldn't/wouldn't drink out of a bottle or a sippy cup, and so we poured her milk or juice into her mouth, with half of it spilling down her dress and onto my lap. I constantly smelled like sour milk. We finally got the bright idea to spoon feed her her drinks, which she loved and which took forever-actually a plus on the plane. Before I fed her, I would put a towel on my lap, and a towel around her. She also seemed to regress-the first day, she ate anything we gave her, but since then has refused all solid foods. Milk, juice or water are all she'll take, although everyday we nonchalantly offer her what we're eating, or some crackers or cereal. She loves to hold cookies in each hand, but won't eat them. Actually, today she made some progress. We went out to lunch (!) and I ordered banana pancakes and drenched them with syrup. She had several small bites. An improvement for her nutritional intake, a setback for mine. Oh, and she had screaming fits on the plane. I would just hold her, and sing la la la la La La until she got through it. (By the way, yesterday we were in the pediatrician's office, which she did not like at all, and I noticed her singing la la la la la to comfort herself!) It felt like hours, but I think the longest one lasted for 20 minutes, the others were probably 10 minutes. On the longest flight (Bombay to London), she probably had about 3 or 4 crying spells. People were very kind. Other parents came up and to commiserate, and when they found out she had only been in our arms for less than a week, were impressed at how well she was handling the stress. Plus, although I had given her the scabies medication, the itching takes 2 weeks to subside, and the poor child has this red, inflamed rash that makes you uncomfortable just to look at it. I'd cry, too, if I were in her shoes (or socks, or bare feet, as the case may be). Maria is sleeping peacefully right now. She has progressed by leaps and bounds. Each day she opens up more and more and becomes more loving, and she is SO HAPPY when she does something new! She hugs me now and gives me big smiles. She also loves to feed me. I try to give her little bites of food, and she takes them out of my hand and puts them in my mouth, and now she's doing the same thing with Paul too. It's taken a while for her to bond with Paul, which has been difficult for him, but when she's sitting in my lap, she'll flirt with him. They've created a new game: they make each other laugh and laugh by blowing raspberries. Today, they had a real breakthrough. First, he got up with her and fed her breakfast - without me, and without her crying for me. I cannot overstate what an accomplishment this was! I couldn't enter the kitchen though, as the moment she sees me she MUST be in my arms! Also, she had another crying spell, and this time fell asleep in Paul's arms. We have learned so much about ourselves. I don't know when we'll be able to process the information. This baby is just such a little miracle, such a little fighter, and such a huge responsibility. But, oh, it's worth it all to see her smile! I'll send another tale with our bureaucratic nightmare. Suffice it to say, she is even more beautiful than we could have imagined. |
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As promised, here's the second part of the adoption tale…
The worst part about the whole trip was the American consulate in Bombay. We got there at 8 am on Wednesday morning, and waited in line to get Maria's visa. (She was staying at the apartment of someone from the agency-her first babysitter.) We were in line with all the Indian citizens that want to go to America, and they kept saying, you don't have to be in this line, you're Americans. So we tried to go to the "Citizens' Services" entrance, which was separate from the visa entrance. The guards said No, No, No, you must get in line for visas like everyone else. We waited in line 3 hours, and finally, when we were about 3 people away from the front of the line, the guards announced that the office was closed for the day, and shooed us away. We showed them our American passports, and BEGGED them to let us in. No, no, no. So we went back to the Citizens Services Office and threw a fit (see, we're already learning from our daughter). I kept saying, "I'm an American citizen. I demand to see an officer of the consulate." (Pretty brave, since there was a guard armed with a machine gun 5 feet away from the entrance. And this was a day after the attack in Calcutta, so these guys were ready to fire.) They finally let us in (a feat in itself: we had to get a little slip of paper that we were supposed to hang onto, every bag had to be checked for weapons, and then we weren't allowed to take anything but a wallet in), and we talked to an Indian woman at the desk, who was REALLY annoyed with us. She referred us to an American woman, apparently telling her we were quite bothersome. The American came out wearing (I kid you not) a salwar kameez (Indian tunic and pants) with a jeans jacket (!), and gave us a lecture on how there are procedures to be followed to adopt internationally, like you have to have a homestudy, and you have to get guardianship granted. It was as if she thought we found a baby on the street and were trying to adopt her. We FINALLY managed to get through to her that we had completed all of the paperwork, had copies with us, and had already been approved by INS. We didn't mean to be a bother, but we had to get her visa, and we had a flight to catch, and was there any way we could be assured of getting into the visa office the next day. She mellowed out a bit and dropped her schoolmarmish tone. Then she got the person who does adoption visas, who was very nice, and looked us up in the computer-and then told us the INS approval had not been cabled from Boston, as they had promised it would be the week before!!! We left, depressed, dejected and resigned to have to stay a few extra days, since the consulate was closed on Friday, and the next day was Thursday. (As it turns out, the INS approval HAD been cabled from Boston, it had just sat on the fax machine for several days.) That night, we didn't get any sleep at all. Because of the time difference, bedtime in India was the workday in Boston, and our agency kept calling us up with updates and to tell us what to do the next day. Paul left the hotel at 4:45 to be at the head of the line. I followed later, with Maria. I cannot tell you what a surreal experience it was to be getting in a car in India with a baby in my lap (no such thing as car-seats there) and heading off for an hour's drive through the streets of Bombay. I la-la-la-la'd, a lot, as much for my benefit as hers. When the office opened at 8:30, the very same guard who had shooed us away came and graciously got us out of line and took us in first. Apparently, they were expecting us, due to the persistent phone calls from our agency screaming about our treatment the day before. We were practically treated like royalty. They apologized, gave us our forms, told us to come back at 11:00 (we had to go get a physical for Maria first), and not to worry if we were late. Paul was so moved by the enormity of the fact that we really were going to get a visa for her, and she really was going to be our daughter, and that we had actually made it through the bureaucratic maze, that he broke down and wept. I've never seen him like that. I was in my usual dazed and confused state, punctuated by la la la la las. The procedure is a bit bizarre. You have to go to the information desk to get the forms, one of which is for her medical appointment, and the other of which has questions about whether or not she's ever been a member of any communist organizations (not to my knowledge, but you never know who your kid might be hanging out with at the orphanage). So, you get the forms and then run to the nearby hospital, bizarrely named "Breach Candy." We had an Indian woman acting as a kind of escort, and Maria was not loving being in the hospital. She was not loving Komal (the Indian woman) either, who was quite stern. The hospital itself was a throwback to the 60s. The nurses even had those old-fashioned nurses caps on. We got to her appointment, which consisted of the doctor putting a stethoscope on her back and front, and an assistant weighing and measuring her. The forms were stamped, and we returned to the visa office at the consulate. We couldn't believe we finally made it into that office. We were just giddy. We kept saying we're going home! We're going home! I also was singing the Star-spangled Banner to Maria, who was appropriately dressed in red white and blue. Her first reaction on entering the hallowed sanctum of the consulate? She promptly pooped in her diaper, and then giggled. That's my girl. There were lots of Indians waiting for their visas. Many were from America, picking up paperwork for relatives. They kept coming up to us and commenting on how beautiful Maria is, and congratulating us on her adoption. It was moving. And the staff continued to treat us like royalty. In fact, the actual consul came out to meet us and apologize for our troubles. Apparently they were (rightly) embarrassed about the fact that they couldn't find a document sitting on their own fax machine, because they never bothered to look. We had a little exit interview, and the officer asked us questions about Maria's development. When he asked if she played well with others, she threw a little piece of paper his way, and laughed uproariously. He actually smiled, and said, I guess that's a yes. Then he told us it would take about 10 minutes to process the visa. From what we've heard, it always takes at least half an hour, but in fact, we did get it in 10 minutes. And Maria was ready to go HOME!!!! We were so exhausted that night, and had to pack, and we really didn't sleep for the second night in a row. (That's Paul and me. Maria always gets her 10 hours.) But we were so happy. The next night was the flight from Bombay to London-which left at 2:45 am. Third night with no sleep. We spent one night in London. There's a hotel that you can literally walk to from the airport. Maria, who had slept quite peacefully on the plane (after her crying fit, of course), woke up raring to go at 4 am. Fourth night with no sleep. On Sunday morning, we headed from the hotel to the airport, exhausted and happy. As we were walking to the gate, a British man walking in the opposite direction was looking at Maria, and pointing her out to his friend, saying how cute she was. As he passed us, he caught Paul's eye and smiled at him. That British man was Paul McCartney. Love, Anne Marie, Paul, and Maria |
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