Nesting

I missed out on two fun symptoms when I was pregnant with my girls.  I never craved weird food items and I didn't go through a nesting phase.  People asked me all the time, "What are you craving?"  When I gave the pathetically boring answer-Nothing, they were always very disappointed in me!  I was disappointed in myself!  I had so anticipated craving  Reeses Peanut Butter Cups, pepperoni pizza, Capn Crunch cereal, and caramel brownies that when I didn't have cravings, I had to go eat all those things just to console myself.  A lot of brownies later and I'm doing just fine.  But, I also never went through a wacked out absorption with organizing and re cleaning my entire house.  Now yes, I can hear some of you chuckling.  You're laughing at the idea of me thinking there is something left in my house to be organized.  Touche.  But, even though I am a neat freak and I can't stand clutter, I do also hide a dirty drawer habit.  Or closet.  Or, before Cici was born, an entire junk room.

Organized, for the first time ever!

Feel free to come over and look at my house now.  The week before the girls and I got the flu, I went bat crap crazy and organized places that have never been organized before!  Closets, cupboards, clothes, books, there was no mercy.  Why am I nesting for a child who will likely not even arrive this year?  Why did I clean out our landing closet that has actually never been cleaned out since we moved here?  Why am I planning to line a cupboard and drawers with shelf paper when I've lived here 6 years without ever completing that task?  I have no idea.  Maybe it has to do with the fact that unlike with the girls, someone will actually visit my house and determine whether or not it's safe for children.  Maybe, but not likely.  The aforementioned closets and cupboards were not really dangerous, and they didn't even look that messy (well under the sink was a bit gross!)  It was only me who was always driven crazy by the fact that not everything had a place and those areas just seemed to attract random junk which multiplied like happy hoppy bunny rabbits.  And besides, I had enough actual home prep work for the social worker's visit-creating an evacuation plan (in writing) with emergency kit, extra fire extinguishers, and smoke detectors.  Setting up an area for the baby to show we are prepared for him, including crib, dresser, baby items, and decor.  Re baby proofing our house, including new cabinet locks, outlet covers, and stabilizing more bookshelves.  So, I really did not need more to do.

So why all the frantic pregnancy energy when I'm not biologically pregnant?  When I was really pregnant, I wasn't organizing closets and scrubbing underneath sinks to prepare for the baby.  I was buying cute little hair ribbons and fun adorable outfits.  I was going to doctor's appointments to see how big my baby was and hear her heart beat.  I was learning about the benefits of breast feeding while feeling her kick inside me. . . .

Ahhh. There is no baby growing inside me.  My baby, who has probably already been born, is miles away and there is more about him that I don't know than knowing how to organize all the closets in the world.  I can't buy him outfits, or at least not too many, because I don't know what size he is or how old he will be when he is able to come home.  There are no doctors appointments.  He may not be receiving any medical care, or he may be living in a hospital, abandoned by his mother, too young for an orphanage.   Now I am researching cleft palate, crossed eyes, and heart murmurs as Bard and I face anguishing decisions regarding what, if any, special needs we can accept.

Alexander Vinokourov wins Gold in Mens Cycling.

There is no baby growing inside of me.  So, I clean out a cupboard.  And feel him move.  I read the news about Kazakhstan (Kazakhstan is fighting Russia over Russia's use of its space launches-which are inconveniently-for Russia-located in Kazakhstan, all 7 Kazakh gold medalists from the Olympics will be featured on new stamps, and Kazakhstan is becoming quite the hot market for pharmaceuticals, but did not receive a very positive rating from the S&P.)  And with every piece of news, I learn something new about my child.  I purchase a piece of Kazakh art and I feel his heartbeat.  I read about Kazakhstan food and I see my son. Maybe I'm controlling, maybe I'm crazy, but any little action, no matter how big or how small, that relates to our adoption, I will do it. Love is a verb.  And as I move, I move closer to my son.  Closer to bringing him home.  And closer to seeing him grow, in our home.