We’re back and I just put my daughter to bed. While in Addis, I blogged several times. I just didn’t publish anything. Couldn’t. Wasn’t sure if I could share. The first week with our daughter was filled with ups and downs, really high ups, and really low downs, and a blog post about one day or one moment just wouldn’t suffice. So. I’m uploading one long, LONG post with my journals from the whole week. I’m going to trust you to please read them all, because if you read only one out of context, you’ll miss the whole process. I’m going to be really real. Some of it’s not pretty. You need the whole thing to get the context, the journey, our whole messy, beautiful experience. It’s easy to watch a video with sweet pictures of hugs and smiles set to a compelling song. This post may not make anyone feel warm and fuzzy. The only fuzz I felt this week was on my legs because I didn’t have time to shave. Every adoptive family has a different experience. I can only comment on mine. My little girl. And the hardest week of her life. And mine.
Gotcha Day and Embassy Day
They brought Semhal to us at the guest house around 2pm. We were napping, and Alex woke me up, saying, “She’s here!” I sprung out of bed, shaking off the fuzziness of day-sleep and did my hair. Yep. Have I turned Southern or what?! No, I mean, it’s not like I got out the flat iron or anything. I’d showered right before we left home and put my wet hair in a messy bun-thingy at the nape of my neck. I knew that I’d feel and smell completely disgusting after a full day of travel, and I wanted my daughter’s first impression of me to be yummy-smelling. So after the “She’s here!” I ripped the elastic band out of my hair and put a clip in. Shampooy freshness.
She was holding the photo book I’d made for her for after we passed court. It was worn, a prized possession.
Unwinding my daughter from the caregiver who she knows and loves.
Sobs.
Crocodile tears.
Something bigger than crocodile tears.
We knew this would be hard. We took her back to our room, I rocked her and sang, “Oh no, you never let go…” It just seemed right and popped in my head when I opened my mouth. I pressed the button on a little toy that plays classical music and flashes non-frenetic lights. She stopped crying. Alex blew bubbles and read stories. We looked through the photo book together and she pointed to our photos and then to us. Yes, sweet girl. We’re not just photos anymore. Normal breathing resumed…for all of us. Throughout the day, she’d burst into tears, then calm down. She wanted to be in my arms at all times.
We gave her a bottle, some toys, some food. She hoards. Not surprising, since she was one of the youngest in her room and we watched back in March as she had everything taken from her again and again. Her determined arms cling tightly to the blanket, the doll, the bottle, the photo book, and in her little hand, a yogurt melt melting into her palm.
Marta, one of the fabulous women at the guest house, spoke Amharic to her and she walked over and got in her lap. The familiar. Marta was so sensitive to the situation. She flashed us an apologetic look, spoke to Semhal for a few minutes, then went into the kitchen to give us some space. My heart breaks for my daughter. I speak jibberish. My skin is odd. It must be so overwhelming for her.
Every time we met a need, she trusted us a little more. She dropped the photo book and we gave it back to her. She needed a diaper change. Mommy made it happen (and wow, I was a little rusty!). She loved having her diaper changed so much that a little later, she flung her legs in the air and assumed the position…and she wasn’t even wet.
The TV in the dining room was playing a Rihanna video marathon, and I think Semhal liked it, although she might as well know that her daddy will not be letting her traipse around in her undies twirling umbrellas for all to see. We danced around. She may spend too much time in her skivvies, but boy her songs are catchy.
Her file said that she slept 8:30-5:30 with a feeding in the middle of the night, plus a one-hour morning nap and a one-hour afternoon nap. She’s 20 months. Haha, yeah. So, since she’d missed her afternoon nap to come meet us crazy people, we put her down at 6:30 and she slept all night. We had to wake her up at 8am to make it to our embassy appointment on time. So amazing. And she was calm and at ease when I got her up and got her ready for the appointment.
Alex and I went to bed at 8pm and woke up with a bang at 3am (reeeallly early call to prayer, one of the church’s holidays). But it was fun, because we laid there and whispered and got to listen to an AMAZING storm. Rainy season, for SURE.
This morning our girl set foot on American soil for the first time. The embassy appointment was fine, easy. God paved the way. He truly, truly does not give half a miracle. Guess who processed our case? Esther. We got to meet her in person. She was so sweet and kind and just how I pictured she’d be. When she said her name, I thought, of course it’s you, of course, because God is so uber-amazing. Esther processed Semhal’s visa. She “came into position for such a time as this.”
The rest of the day, back at the guest house, Semhal continued to cling to me, me, and only only me. It sounds wonderful. And yes. It is. She is holding onto her mama for dear life, and I LOVE IT. I will tell you, because I want to keep this real and not just post-adoption glowy, my arms are shaking tonight as I write this post because my daughter weighs 21.5lbs. and insists that I STAND, walk, and hold her, her doll, her photo book, her bottle, and now her BEACH BALL, all day long. When I need to rest my arms, she screams hysterically. I have become another thing that she’s hoarding. At nap time, I tried putting her in her crib. She went into it so willingly last night! But today, hysterics. So, I laid down on the bed with her and we both fell asleep for a little bit.
Alex is such a great daddy and hubby. He’s been primary bottle washer, formula mixer, lunch clearer, errand runner, and today as I was praying for the strength to hold her as my arms felt like they were separating from my shoulders, he came over and held my arms while I held her. Ooh, it makes me a little teary just thinking about it. The three of us stood there and swayed back and forth. I wish Elliott could’ve been there. Maybe he could’ve helped prop up an arm.
Her file says that she takes a bath every day. Tonight we decided that we must’ve done it differently. She freaked out completely when we made her sit down in the water. And she got a bunch of it in her mouth while she was shrieking. That can’t be good. Duh. We figured out that they must have her stand in the water and do a sponge bath type deal. Next time. Really really hoping she doesn’t get a parasite, because right now her poop is so lovely. Perfect consistency. I mean, I was prepared for insane amounts of…well, let’s just say that I packed both Pedialyte AND prunes. Gotta keep it real, people. This is the keepin’ it real blog.
She has some gunk in her chest and we’re finishing up the amoxicillin prescription that they gave us. Some interesting dots on her tummy. A couple of places of ringworm. And molluscum bumps. Lots of them. Just a virus that has to run it’s course. We’re hitting the hand sanitizer pretty hard, and we’re not usually those people. She’s so cute, because she’s obviously used it a lot in her care center. She holds out her hand for some and then rubs it between her palms.
Let’s see, what else…oh, she likes to color and even more so, she likes to take the crayons out of the box and put them back in. She’s very neat and careful. If she gets food on her finger, she holds it up for me to wipe. She takes care of the crayon box and carefully opens and closes the top. When Elliott was that age he was like a gerbil; I’d find shredded cardboard boxes everywhere. Oh, and she loves Legos! They have some at the guest house, and she can put them together herself. Elliott will be so excited!
Oh right, bath time. Whew! She was so mad at us! I rubbed Burts Bees baby oil all over, put a couple layers of jammies on (It’s cold here!!), put Kinky Curly leave-in condition in her hair, and got her back in my arms. I had to race through everything because wow so not happy. So, this is something that I think is absolutely hysterical, but feel free to judge me. The way they say, “Brush brush brush brush” for teeth brushing sounds like a really bad word in the English language. And I have the best time saying it over and over as I brush her teeth! It cracks me up because I’m saying a really bad word over and over to a toddler, but to her, I’m just brush brush brushing her little toofies! I’ve got to admit, it’s really cathartic at the end of a long day. I of course will have to stop doing it when we get home. Can’t have Elliott taking that word to school with him!
Okay, then we had bedtime. Last night was a simple lay down and leave. Tonight. Wow. I felt terrible! I’m torn between she needs sleep/my arms are noodles and I want to build her trust/anything she needs to help her through this tough transition. We decided to let her cry for a few minutes and see if she’d fall asleep, because her eyes were doing those adorable open and shut sleepy blinks. But I could only take a few minutes because I felt like surely Karyn Purvis could hear her and was looking at me sternly from her podium. Yes, Dr. Purvis, I so totally do want a connected child and I’m totally screwing it up by grabbing something to eat before I pass out!!! Haha, anyway, just when I was about to succumb to guilt, precious girl fell to sleep. And I hadn’t even finished my crackers and tuna. Praise God. Maybe they’ll still let me be a mom tomorrow. 
Ack. You know, you read and read and attend adoption conferences and talk to parents who have done this and pray and pray and pray…but nothing prepares you for that moment when they shove a toddler from a different culture into your arms. Nothing. So many emotions. Boundless love, compassion, delight, joy, fear of not being enough for her, fear of not wanting to hurt her more. Throw in being away from home and easy access to a laundry room, grocery store, and Target, and wow, it’s tough. If she was a little baby, first, she’d be a lot lighter, and second, she’d be less aware. If she was older, she’d understand more and be able to do more activities. Each age has its challenges. The toddler age is hard. She needs to bond on the level of an infant. And some of her development is at the level of an infant. She won’t walk, wants to be held constantly, and won’t feed herself, and takes a bottle. But she’s the size of a 20 month old and she has the comprehension of a 20 month old. She speaks to me with Amharic words and I see the disappointment and frustration on her face when I don’t immediately understand. We don’t have a rhythm yet. But we will. And oh, how we love her so much. We see a lot of her pouty lip and it’s adorable. She’s very centered and serious. At the embassy, she sat quietly with me, never fussing. She seems to like it when I sing soul music to her. Oh, and she didn’t seem to mind the Beatles or doo-wop either.
I’m just trying to process all my thoughts, get it all down before it’s a haze of exhaustion…and before my arms stop working altogether! What a privilege, what a blessing, to get to hold her. To get to be the one to whom she clings so tightly. I’ve dreamed about it for so long. And it’s finally here. And I welcome these tired arms, these tired days. She is worth it, and so much more. Alex and I keep staring at her with wonder. We get to be her parents? After two full years of working on this adoption, it’s final? She’s…ours? There are no words, no words.
Since I lack the words to describe the joy of being Semhal’s FOREVER family, I’ll totally mix it up and tell you about the hilarious pizza debacle. Today, Alex and Abiy, our driver, went out to get pizza and bring it back to the guest house. Cheese pizza. They didn’t have plain cheese on the menu, so Alex had to do a special order. He said just cheese. Well, the woman just couldn’t believe that that’s what he actually meant. So, she made it special all right. I could smell it coming out of the box. Cheese, black olives, mushrooms, and fish. Now, those of you who know me know that I’ll eat just about anything in a pinch. And I was ready to pick off the olives and mushrooms, my two LEAST favorite pizza toppings on the planet. AND, the last time I was in Addis and something didn’t quite taste right and I ate it anyway, I spent the next 24 hours turning inside out. So, the pizza went back, and we got a cheese pizza. No really, just cheese. We know it’s weird. We’re just big, weird Americans.
Turning Point?
Despite my daughter screaming bloody murder as I write this, today actually was so much better! She’s just finished the bath/bed routine, which seems to be a low point for the day. But. She slept almost 14 hours last night, so she’s getting deep, healthy, healing sleep. I love that. She wanted me to hold her while standing all morning, and my arms were ridiculously sore from yesterday, so we borrowed a rectangle of fabric from the women who work at the guest house and I wore her all morning. Not easy with a toddler, but she didn’t want to get down and freaked out every time I tried to sit. The wrap finally got really uncomfortable for her as well, so we took her out, fed her a little lunch, and tried the nap thing. I tried to sleep in the bed with her, I tried to let her sleep on top of me, but she kept crying and head butting me. So, ha, in the crib she went. After some wailing, she settled down for a little less than an hour, when the construction next door woke her up. After nap, we read some books, then went outside…and everything got better! We put her shoes on and I took her in the yard, set her down really fast, and skittered a few feet away from her. She ran to me and we cheered. We did that a couple of times, then sat on the porch. Yes. We sat. Oh, it was some good sitting. The three of us had a fabulous afternoon eating snacks and sitting on the porch with Semhal in my lap. Alex tucked a flower behind her ear and she loved it. Kept handing it to us for us to put behind her ear again. Oh, and Alex taught her high five and pound it. She LOVES that game and wants to pound it all the time now. So adorable. Theeeennnnn…I nonchalantly sat her in her high chair for dinner, expecting total freak-out…and she was fine. AFriends rerun came on the TV and yeah I’m pretty sure she loved it. She ate all of her peaches (We brought a lot of peaches, cuz she’s going to be a Georgia Peach!), and ate a bunch of chicken ravioli – all by herself! With a spoon! So proud. Then screaming bath (She did sit down all by herself this time.). Alex checked with one of the caregivers at her care center and we totally did it the same way they did. She was just freaked cuz, well, everything in her life right now is new and terrifying, even warm water and soap. Then we did happy books and toys time. Alex and I prayed over her, then popped her in bed. And she’s winding down the wailing. Only a few minutes. She does this UHHH!! grunty thing, then silence. Then another UHHH!! Totally worth it for a good night’s sleep for her! Annnnnd…she’s silent. Good night, girlie. Okay, I just checked on her and her little legs were sticking out of the crib through the too-far-apart crib rails. I’m thinking that I’m not winning Mother of the Year. Today our friends arrived and had placement of their child. I hear him wailing in the next room over. Oh good. We’re normal?
Care Center Tour and Coffee Ceremony
Any progress that we’d made Sunday through Tuesday was totally blown out of the water on Wednesday. The morning was good – we actually got her in her high chair and she ate a good breakfast. I had to shower and gave her to Alex to hold. Oh dear. She acted like he was trying to kill her. It’s been hard on him. He wants so much to connect with her, and she is terrified. He feels rejected, but we know she’ll learn to love him.
She and I spent a long time gazing into each others’ eyes and connecting. Then we went to the mandatory tour of the care centers. As soon as we walked into her room, her eyes welled up with tears, her pouty lip came out. She got out of my arms and her best friend, who had been all over us back in March, ran over and grabbed her hand and led her to a spot on the floor. Semhal refused to leave my arms the whole week, and here she is in her comfort zone, scampering around the room with her friends! One of the caregivers put her in a traditional dress, and everyone grouped around her while she ate a snack. Her BFF rubbed her back. So cute. We just stood there, intruders, watching as all the connecting and healing from the last three days slipped away. It was hard seeing some of our friends’ kids still there after all this time. After she finished her snack, we went upstairs and visited her old room, from when she first arrived a year ago. Again, tears welled in her eyes, and the caregivers passed her around and kissed her all over. We toured 3 of the 4 houses, and there was one caregiver who showed up in each house. Semhal LOVED her and literally leapt out of my arms and into hers. Twice we had to pry her away. It was brutal. Not for Alex and me. I mean, we’re adults, we can handle the emotion, but it felt like borderline emotional abuse to do it to Semhal, at her age. She didn’t understand why she left, why she was back, and why she had to leave again. The whole thing was just poking her in her wound, over and over.
After the parade of pain, we had the coffee ceremony. We watched the woman roast the beans, grind them by hand, and brew the most delicious coffee on the planet, which we drank while breathing in frankincense and eating popcorn. Semhal tasted and spit out popcorn.
We drove back to the guest house, and the rest of the day was a nightmare. Semhal wouldn’t make eye contact with me anymore. She wouldn’t even let Alex get near us, and we were back to me having to hold her while standing and swaying. But that didn’t even soothe her. She sobbed and cried and howled. It was like the last three days didn’t exist. She wouldn’t eat, drink, look at us, take a nap. She was inconsolable, and we felt defeated. I kept saying, “We knew this would be hard. It’s going to get better.” And I believed it…but it didn’t feel like it. She was so angry. Mad when I held her. Mad when I didn’t.
At bedtime, she cried for a few minutes then got quiet. She was so tired. I thought she’d fallen asleep. Then we heard one of the worst sounds I’ve ever heard. The sound of our daughter’s skull hitting the hardwood floor as she fell out of the crib. I rushed back in the room and scooped her off the floor. She was sobbing, but then she fell asleep immediately in my arms, and all I could think was “what if she has a concussion?!?” The crib was way too shallow for her. It was our only option. Yeah, no matter what I said to myself, I felt like the worst parent in the world. I inspected her head and couldn’t find anything wrong. I tried rocking and rocking and rocking until she was limp in my tired, shaking arms, but she sensed the crib every time we got close. She was so angry. I tried contorting myself over the rail to rub her back and rock her in the crib. Sitting on the bed next to her so she wouldn’t feel alone. She threw her photo book at my head. Lying on the bed. Nothing worked. I tried letting her fall asleep on me. She was too angry. She kept head butting me, hitting me in the face with her bottle, crawling onto my head. I tried rubbing her back while she fell asleep in our bed. Finally, exhausted, she fell asleep, and I slept next to her and checked her every few minutes all night long. I propped pillows all around the bed in case she rolled off (she did).
I prayed for hope. I prayed for a good night’s sleep for her. I prayed that God would provide a ray of hope. Hope that this WILL get better. That my broken, orphaned daughter will heal in time and learn to trust again.
On this blog, have I mentioned enough how God is the God of ALL HOPE?!? Have I made that clear? Ha, today, she woke up too early…but it was a new day, and we are filled with hope. She let me rub her back this morning when she woke up. She made eye contact and I praised her all day long, “Good eyes!“ She sat in her high chair without a fuss and ate a great breakfast. On a whim, I set her down (always producing a wail), grabbed her hand like her friend did in the care center yesterday, and walked her out the door. I waited for whining and crying, but she walked with me and we walked up and down the garden. She held my hand and enjoyed WALKING next to me. Alex saw us and started filming. It was like baby’s first steps, but big girl’s first confident steps with her new mommy.
She’d been begging “Anit” all week long, and we finally got a translation: “let’s go!” Well, we anit-ed this morning. We drove to the Kechene Girl’s store and bought bracelets (Okay, she ALREADY likes to borrow my jewelry!). Then we drove up Entoto Mountain and got out to take pictures at the top. Abiy, our driver, picked fresh eucalyptus for us and we have it in our room making everything smell so nice. I wanted Evelyn Semhal to see it, the view of Addis from the highest point in Ethiopia, to smell it, the fresh air blowing through the eucalyptus trees, to store this piece of her homeland in her soul. On the way down, she fell asleep in my arms in the backseat, and Alex ran into Tomoca for more bags of coffee to take home. We got Limetree spinach ravioli to go for lunch, which Semhal loved. She and I made up a game with two bottle caps where we blow on them and stack them. Whenever she’d drop one, I’d gently lift her off my lap and point for her to pick it up. She ventured farther and farther from my lap, and every time she returned, I’d say “Yay!!!! Gobez!! (good)“ For all the Amharic words I know, I’m adding the English translations after, so she can begin to learn a few words. She was so content that she started vocalizing today, first in a whisper, then in audible words. She and Atakelt, another boy staying here, took turns sharing bottle caps and Legos. Then Alex, Evie, and I sat for a couple of hours on the porch watching the rain fall and making silly faces, raspberries, rolling our tongues. Evie gave kisses to Alex’s cheek and called him papa. We laughed and sang. She was relaxed, sitting on my lap, throwing her head back. We mimicked each other, making faces, curling our tongues. Alex pantomimed hilarious water guzzling noises and she mimicked the noises! She playfully bonked him on the head with an empty water bottle. We were a family having fun. HOPE.
When we came back inside, her lack of sleep began to show. We were ordering in Ethiopian food and I wanted to share that meal with Evie, but she was fading fast, so I went ahead and fed her, rocked her until my arms couldn’t take it anymore and she was very asleep, put her in the crib, where she immediately woke up and screamed and cried. She SENSES the crib, and I think rocking her to sleep in my arms actually hurts her faith in me, because she feels betrayed when I put her down. This time I have big fluffy pillows all over the floor and Alex kept checking every few minutes to make sure she wasn’t planning an escape. She quit crying really fast, then stood in her crib yawning for awhile…and now she’s sleeping peacefully and hopefully for a long time!
We just finished yummy Ethiopian food. The injera here is of course the most amazing injera in the world. They get it so sour. The sourness adds to the incredible meat and veggie dishes and oh wow I had the yummiest grape leaves. And apparently raw beef. I was going in for my SECOND bite of the beef when I realized it was raw. Alex and I both had it. We made it to our last night in Addis and we may be facing a very, VERY long plane ride tomorrow. HOW?!?!? How do we do this? After last trip’s vomity goodness, we were both extra careful and completely unadventurous, which isn’t like me at all. I wonder if I should pack some of Evie’s Huggies for us.
Final Day in Addis and the Ride Home
The last night in Addis, Evie fell asleep in her crib, with pillows all over the floor in front of it. She woke up about four hours later screaming, but quickly got quiet and just stood in her crib. I got up to get her, then when she stopped screaming I quickly laid back down without her seeing me and watched her through slitted eyes. So, in addition to the crib being really tiny and shallow, it also was surrounded by cable wires and a cable box for the TV. Yeah. She started grabbing the wires and pulling them into her crib, so Alex hid behind the TV stand and pulled them back out. They were having a little tug of war and Evie was startled that the wires were moving by themselves!
I had to let Alex do all the packing while I walked around with Evie. She hates our rooms in the guest house and has gotten to where she shrieks if we even approach the door. So we spent most of the day outside together. We walked hand in hand around and around and around the outside of the house, all morning long. She got so much exercise, that she actually fell asleep for a nap in her crib. For lunch, I fed her some injera, and like most solid foods, she put it in her mouth, or waited for me to do it, chewed it up, then spit it out. She is about a year behind, developmentally, with eating. Most of her calories are coming from formula out of a bottle. She likes to put solid food in her mouth, but she usually spits it out. Every swallowed bite is a win, like the spinach ravioli. She likes to use the spoon, but a lot of the time she just expects me to feed her. As the youngest in her room of older kids, she’s used to everyone doing everything for her. We watched at the care center as she began eating crackers on her own, then everyone came over and started feeding her while she just sat there and opened her mouth. Ah. That explains a lot about the feeding problems and developmental delays we’re seeing. (Or it could’ve been gursha, the Ethiopian custom of hand-feeding, which is a sign of hospitality.) I don’t mean that critically. The caregivers at the center are so wonderful and take such good care of so many kids. The bathrooms are clean and smell like fresh bleach. The rooms are neat and the kids are happy. They’re doing a great job. It’s a transition home, and my daughter was stuck there much, much longer than anyone ever intended.
Anyway, we watched a weird American movie that I’d never seen before and she’d point and I’d say “bike” or “boy” or “bus,” describing the items and people shown on the screen, while she ate more spinach ravioli.
I had to go take out my contacts and put on my glasses, so I had to carry her into our room. I set her down, and she immediately began shrieking hysterically while holding on my leg. It was a combination of MAD and SCARED. Mostly mad. “I don’t want to be here. Meet my need right now!” I got her up in my arms and out the door as soon as I could and we hung out outside until it was time to “anit” again. She’s fairly content if I do exactly what she wants at exactly when she wants it. If I don’t, she instantly begins shrieking hysterically and shoves and pushes and pulls and throws things. She has never been told “no” or experienced any kind of boundary. We are praying and searching for creativity in parenting, for wisdom in how to gently instruct her while forming a strong bond with her. We are in over our heads, and the 2 years that we’ve had to rely on God in our wait for her are giving us the spiritual stamina to rely on God now that we have her and we’re discovering the extent of her brokenness. We’re trusting Him to heal her and give us what we need to love her through her pain and need!
On our last afternoon in Addis, when Marta left and said goodbye, Semhal got whimpery. We said goodbye and I took Evie inside to distract her. Another goodbye in her life.
We left for the airport and Evie was calm in the car. She loved the airport, and we saw her goofy fun personality really come out. We went to our first restaurant together and she was HAPPY. I mean, really happy. Sat in her own chair with a bowl of veggie rice and french fries and ate and played and giggled. We had a relaxed and fun meal. Whoa. So cool. We walked around the airport until time to board. I was already exhausted from swinging her around and walking all over the airport, and we hadn’t even boarded our 17 hour flight to D.C. yet.
She fell asleep pretty soon after boarding, and the flight attendants woke her up twice (Grrrr…). One of them offered to put her to sleep for me. Excuse me, I know I’ve only been her mom for 6 days, but I’m pretty sure I know her better than you do! The people at the airline had told us incorrect information at the beginning of the week and we were unable to get a bassinet seat, so she laid in our laps and slept for about 6 hours. Our legs were asleep! So, anyway, yay, 6 hours down…11 to go. And the longest and possibly worst night of my life ensued. Oh, when you have a daughter who just wants to “anit” and you’re stuck in a metal tube filled with hundreds of people glaring at you…total nightmare. I was dreading the trip, and it was worse that I could have imagined. I did laps with her around the plane, stepping over feet and bumping into flight attendants. For 11 hours with no break. At one point she was shrieking so loudly and I had to restrain her in the back of the plane while she thrashed against me to keep her from hurting herself in the kitchen while they prepared the hot meals. Halfway through the night I had tears streaming down my face because I was so tired and battered and trying not to take her distress personally and I was trying to keep from having a full breakdown. In order to keep her as calm as possible, I let her sit on my lap when I had to go to the bathroom. All night, I rocked and swayed and walked and lifted her up to see the clouds out of the windows. And God, of course, came through. After the tears started flowing, and I was begging God for yet more help, I ended up having 3 conversations in a row as we made another lap around the plane. First, a man flying home from Kenya on a medical mission team asked me about where she’s from and if I’m going to teach her about her culture and homeland, and we had a great conversation. He was so encouraging and said “God bless you for what you’re doing.” On a plane full of glaring people, he was a gift. Then we walked back to the other end of the plane, where I encountered an Ethiopian man who asked me questions about Semhal and told me, “On behalf of all Ethiopians, thank you for what you’re doing and may God bless you.” I tried to tell him that it was I who was receiving the gift, but he cut me off and again said no really, thank you and God bless you. He was so encouraging and I thanked God and knew that it was God speaking through him. Then a flight attendant kindly gave me some advice about some dry skin on her face, not in a judgmental, superior way, but in a kindly way, just helping out the white lady who’s in over her head. These God moments, these kind people and their words sent from above, were just enough to get me through the night. I still had a long way to go and it just got worse and worse and worse and worse…but I was comforted that not EVERYONE on the plane was glaring at me. Several sweet people around us also played peek a boo games and received gooey crackers from her mouth as she spit them out and handed them out to people. An hour from D.C., the dreaded seat belt sign came on and we had to restrain her. Her wailing may have popped some eardrums. She finally wailed herself into sleep, and the last half hour was silence. Of the three meals that they’d served on the flight, I’d only eaten a fruit cup and a roll. I was too nauseous to eat and so excited to get off that plane.
As soon as our feet hit the ground in D.C., Evie became a citizen. We went through customs and I waited for there to be a problem, “Oh, ma’am, you’re going to have to take her back to Ethiopia. There’s a typo on one of these documents.” Nope, the customs official took a look at everything and then said, “You’re in! Welcome home.” Yay! We met up with Team Clark and had breakfast with them before heading back through security. What a joy to see our friends Meg and Mike and their kids from Uganda! After that plane ride and the whole week and the emotion and not being able to process…it was such a joy to just drool into my coffee cup and spend precious moments with people who get it, who’ve been there. I wanted to take them home with us.
Out of the metal tube of misery, Evie was back to her fun new personality. She lifted up her shirt and let me give her tummy raspberries. She giggled. Over and over. The people waiting with us thought she was adorable. Oh dear Lord please let her be okay on the next flight, because it’s a really tiny plane and that seat belt sign doesn’t come off ever. She fussed at first, then fell asleep. She slept all the way to baggage claim, when she woke up to an entire welcoming party with signs and balloons and so many friends and family who we love, love, love. We felt so loved. After such a grueling week, plane ride, and frankly, being scared, downright TERRIFIED about how to do this, it was amazing being met in the airport by our entire support system. They drove all that way to celebrate our girl. They’ve walked the last 2 years with us, and they were there. They were the most beautiful sight. So grateful. With Evie in one arm and Elliott in the other, the plane ride, the sleepless nights, the fear, it faded away, it came into context. My kids were on the same continent and in my arms. Nothing else mattered.
Jan and Martin having a speech therapy session!
