Miser Salatta (Ethiopia)

Currently our family is anxiously awaiting the arrival of my dad and stepmother, Grandad and Grandma Lindsay to the boys, from their home in Scotland for an extended visit in Minnesota. It has been almost two years since our last face to face, and this will mark their meeting of Suki in person. we are just so excited! Their plane lands late tonight, and they plan to come see us first thing in the morning. I've spent a good part of the day cleaning, organizing, and of course, planning the menu for the days ahead, which included making Miser Salatta, a marinated lentil salad, all in an effort to keep busy so the waiting doesn't get to me. And I'm pretty worn out now from it all, which means I should sleep well tonight.

We know a lot about waiting. Just a little over five years ago, John and I were waiting for the news that would change our lives forever, that we had been matched with a tiny three month old boy from Ethiopia who would make us parents. From the time we submitted our adoption paper work to the time we first saw his little face on a computer screen was about four months, but is was the most agonizing four months of my life, a culmination of several years. I constantly wondered if the baby was born yet, if so, was it healthy, scared, alone, loved. And I wondered about and prayed for the family grieving as they made an agonizing decision that would change all of our lives forever.

Most parents who choose the traditional route to building a family have markers for their wait. The trimesters, the growing belly, the kicks and flutters, the classes, all the functions of a pregnancy. My wait for Ian was lonely, a study in managing expectations both unrealistic and unknown with no markers for guidance but for a vague timeline with no guarantees.  I had never felt so helpless as I did during that wait. I felt like I was crawling inside my skin, jumpy and out of sorts. And just exhausted, even as the end of our long journey to being parents was finally coming to fruition.

But then there was "the call" that changed everything. A call and an email with a picture and an excitement that replaced the agony with something that felt like hope and was overflowing with love. Some adoptive parents say that once they get the call, the wait to be united with their child is the hardest. Not so for me. I had a baby, with a tiny baby mohawk in a blue butterfly onesie that I could channel all my love and emotion towards. I had a set of Ethiopian parents, with names and a story so sad, yet so loving, that I could hold in my heart.  And the weeks flew by until we first held him in our arms.

This weekend we celebrated Ian's Family Day. We have  been a family for five years! Every day is a blessing with this hilarious and energetic and compassionate little boy. There are amazing things that he will do for the world with his energy and spirit. He was so worth the wait.