Ethiopia Day #4 - Part 1

Today is the day that will change our world forever. And each and every butterfly in my stomach is fully aware of that fact.

I had trouble sleeping - I laid awake from about 4am until the sun rose. Fernando and I laid in bed watching... ironically, "The Blind Side" on his iPod to pass the time and keep our minds occupied. The nerves are unlike anything I have ever experienced before - wedding, childbirth, new jobs... nothing holds a candle to this. I kept thinking I would actually throw up. The anxiety was unbelievable.

But one verse kept coming to mind: Romans 8:15. God has not given us a spirit of fear... but of adoption. This is what we were made to do. To love people and create families that supercede genetic and cultural borders. To open our homes and hearts. Even through the dance of the killer butterflies, this feels right.

We sat with Kim & Eric, our new friends, telling random stories to keep our minds off the nerves until 10am finally came. The drive felt endless and as we pulled up to the foster home, we had our game plan ready: Since there were two families meeting their kids, we each would videotape/photograph the other. The other family was going to go first, so we assumed our posts with the cameras, and I looked up to the window and saw... my daughter. She was being carried by a nanny who was pointing to me and telling her "It's mommy". Mari's face was blank (as expected) but I recognized her immediately... those striking eyes and lips... so incredibly beautiful.

After our friends had met their daughter, we met ours. Helen brought her to us, and held her while we let her see us and relax a little. She wore a pink and white striped onesie, a denim jumper, old white shoes and santa claus socks. I took her in my arms and she was quiet for a minute, then started crying. But as soon as I started whispering in her ear ("Isoche, Mari" means "It's ok, Mari"), she became very quiet, and leaned against my chest. With both Fernando and me, she let us hug her close, but if she saw our faces, she began crying again.

Honestly, hokey as this might sound, I believe she recognized our love, just not our faces.

During that first hour, we witnessed a huge transformation in her personality. At first she was just quiet. She sucked her thumb and leaned on us, falling in and out of sleep. She didn't cry after those first few minutes, but her eyebrows remained furrowed - she appeared quietly concerned. As she warmed to us, she quickly began smiling and even laughing a little. She loves to be rough-housed, so we tickled her, squeezed her tight, kissed all over her face and she just melted. The bond begins.

We got to see where she had been staying - it was clean and brightly colored, just extremely limited on space. We got the distinct impression that she spent most of her time in either her crib or a (very) small crawling space.

We spoke with the nurses to get a quick medical rundown. They told us she was healthy, but had just gotten over thrush, a lip fungus and an upper respiratory infection (that she still had, from what I could tell). She apparently has a great appetite, takes six bottles a day, and already eats table food. They also said she rocks on her hands and knees to fall asleep.

The agency put on a coffee ceremony for our families, and while we sat in the shade, Violet ate her first snack with Daddy - Gerber puffs. But she tried to get to a cup of coffee instead. She played a little with Helen - there definitely was a special bond between them, but the transition didn't feel painful or awkward like I expected. In fact, all the nannies and nurses seemed to have a special thing for Violet - I got the feeling she might have been "a favorite" - they all kept saying what a happy, sweet, playful baby she is. I know we'll see that side of her soon!

Helen cut off her ankle identification band and I was surprised at the swell of emotion I felt at such a simple action. She was no longer identified by that little tag - she would now be identified with and by us, as a permanent part of our family. Even though she's already legally ours, it felt like her status as "orphan" was lifted once and for all with that little plastic bracelet. The freedom in that little "snip" was amazing.

We asked everyone what they were calling her... if "Mariam" had been her nickname, we would have kept that as a name. But we were surprised at the answers - everyone called her something different. Some called her Mar, some Mari, some Maramawit, some Mariamawit, some Mariam, some Marawhite, and some other variations. It was quickly evident that she didn't know her name - just the sound of familiar voices. By the day's end, she responded as well to Violet as any of her nicknames. So, Violet Mariam it is. But we'll keep Mari as a nickname... there's something tender about the connection with that name.

The nanny we had first seen holding her came out to pray with her before we left... she took both kids in her arms and prayed a long, emotional prayer. The combination of the furvancy of prayer with Amharic (an energetic language, to say the least) was crazy... but Mari slept sweetly on her shoulder during the entire (loud) prayer.

We headed home, with a sleeping baby in our arms, ready for an afternoon with our sweet, perfect new daughter.

The butterflies had finally gone... and our family was finally complete.