What it's like

I've been asked a million times "what is it actually like to adopt?" And I take that question to mean how does it feel after the paper chasing is over and life with a new person begins. I'm guessing my answer will be different than a lot of others, because I essentially adopted babies. My kids were almost 4 and 7 1/2 when they came home but size wise and cognitively they were babies. It's really hard to get frustrated with a baby, at least it is for me. I'm positive that if I adopted a seven year old who acted like a seven year old and looked like a seven year old but had all this orphan stuff going on I would lose it. So, don't compare my story to anyone else's because they are all so different. I bond quickly to my adopted babies, that's actually the exception not the rule, so take that with a grain of salt too. Even though all that gushy mommy love is right there on the surface, that doesn't mean it's easy, and it doesn't mean it's natural. I don't know how else to describe it but being different than the affection you have for a biological child. I have no hormones racing through my body telling me to nurse this tiny new baby that I made, there are no instinctual biological ties that promote bonding. It takes work on both of our parts and sometimes the affection that is present isn't mutual, it's a delicate dance and it just takes time I guess. 

So back to the original point since I'm really good at chasing rabbits and losing my focus...what is it like to fly around the world and adopt a child....

It's devastating. It wrecks your mind, it challenges your faith, it breaks your heart while filling it up at the same time. Your soul aches, your mind questions everything and anything you've ever known to be real and true. You drown in guilt. You're so tired, but so happy, but so sad too. Nothing in your world seems right, and you stay awake wondering when the other shoe is going to drop when you have a day where things seem to be going fine. You gain 10 pounds if you're a stress eater, you lose 10 pounds if worry makes you lose your appetite. Nothing in your world is ok. You're a freaking mess. A mess with a smile that shines bright while you gush over your new tiny person and declare your undying love for them and every single word of that is true too. They aren't the mess, you're the mess. Because you're the mom and you have ruined EVERYTHING. 

Sounds spectacular right? I'll wait here while you rush out and start a homestudy because I'm sure you just can't wait to adopt a kid now! It's not as awful as it sounds, I'll break it down a bit. Yes, it is devastating. There is no way that flying to a foreign country and snagging a kid and bringing them back to your home could ever not devastate your family. It changes everything. That doesn't mean there isn't beauty in the ashes, but yeah prepare to have "what the hell was I thinking" moments. Your mind will be jacked up. This will be a combination of shell shock, sleep deprivation, jet lag, and trying to learn how to parent an institutionalized child because *SPOILER ALERT* it ain't nothing like parenting a biological child. 

Adoption truly challenged my faith. I had to step back and really work through all the feelings I had and decide if I even wanted to know a God who allowed such horrible things to happen to innocent children. That was a very real struggle for me. Ultimately my faith won out, as true belief in a sovereign God always will, and I had to realize that all of this isn't for me to understand, the big picture isn't mine, it's His, and my job is to obey and play the part he called me to. A friend explained it like this...He is either good all of the time, or none of the time...it can't be interchangeable. My faith says He is good all of the time, and even pain and sorrow are for His glory and we aren't always (or ever) meant to understand it. 

Even though my faith survived adoption, I still had a lot of personal inner conflict. I would catch myself complaining about something ridiculous and my mind would flash to this little girl in Ryan's orphanage who clearly got dealt a horrible hand but when you brushed her hair back out of her eyes she would look up and give you the most genuine smile. Her heart was full of joy and I was sitting in my spoiled little American world whining about some nonsense. Guilt consumed me. Guilt still consumes me. I feel like I am always failing someone. Always. It's a terrible feeling. 

The weirdest feeling is that you are going crazy and you are happy at the same time. You're stressed yet happy, worried yet happy, depressed yet happy....it's so weird. For example: it is currently day three for the clothes I'm wearing. I'm rocking my rats nest messy bun. I probably smell. Forget makeup. Forget anything that is considered a luxury...like eating meals or sleeping in a bed. But...while all of that sucks (it sucks so so bad...seriously) today Ryan reached out and wrapped his little hand around the strap of my tank top, pulled himself in closer and smiled. You could have given me a million dollars, a slamming hot body, and a mansion by the ocean and none of it would have filled my heart and rocked my world the way that little boys smile does. That smile is just...it's everything. 

So, you will go crazy and freak out and lose sleep and second guess and want to scream and cry and rip your hair out and drown in a gallon of rocky road that you will hide in the bathroom to eat so you can get just ONE minute of solitude...but then they smile at you. They smile and you know they have never smiled THAT smile before. The "my mama heard me fussing and picked me up and kissed me and snuggled me close and in these tired, stressed arms...I am safe. I am loved..." smile. That smile is worth looking like this. 

The Pocket Gypsy

I guess the first step is to acknowledge how incredibly non-P.C. this blog name is. The second step is to inform y'all that if you're looking for a P.C. kinda gal, you've arrived at the wrong blog altogether. Ain't nobody got time for that. I laugh at everything, and I can turn anything into a big ol' inappropriate joke. It's my superpower. Now that we've gotten that out of the way. I bet you're asking yourself what the heck is a pocket gypsy?! 

Let me begin at the beginning...as most of you know my husband and I just brought home a fabulous, adorable, tiny bundle of Bulgarian perfection. He is of Roma (gypsy) descent and as mentioned he is super tiny (14 pounds at 7 1/2 YEARS old)and we have joked that he is so teeny we could fit him in our pocket, friends and family have threatened to "put him in their pocket" and sneak him home with them...then one day in Bulgaria my friend Jamie referred to him as a Pocket Gypsy...and it just stuck! When he was admitted to the hospital here in the U.S. even his doctors started calling him Pocket Gypsy...so there ya have it...the origin of the pocket gypsy. 

I might just take the name and run with it...rename my etsy store?! Who knows...but it's fun, and it's snarky, and it fits our families personality to a T.

I will be back soon to update on how our little dude is doing...and kind of catch everyone up on who he is, and who we are, and all that good stuff. I know a lot of people on his facebook page are curious about the full story and interested in our family so I'm going to give this blogging thing another go. I'm not great at it and honestly I don't think our family is interesting enough to fill a blog with our shenanigans but we'll see! Until next time!

PS if you want to keep up when I'm slacking as a blogger...you can click the facebook link on the right and it will take you to Ryan's page..I update there daily.

Happy New Year!