The Trip Beyond Your Wildest Dreams…

Seven Months. Wow. We’ve been home – with the girls – for a full seven months today – ok yesterday now, but I finished this up late last night.

I decided to commemorate the date with a recap of our trip home from Ethiopia. It was quite the adventure and an unbelievable story. I’m going to tell all the nitty gritty details because I think someday I will be able to laugh at it. Seven months is not quite enough time to laugh yet, but I can look at it and see some crazily amusing aspects. So I thought I’d share.

I must preface this story by saying that nothing – and I mean NOTHING – in this story is an exaggeration. I don’t think. I mean I say with every fiber of truth in my body that I am telling this story with the most honesty that I can muster. I mean it.

I wrote about Part One of our Embassy Trip that you can go read if you would like to read about the first part of our voyage…

And now onto Part Two…

So we had a series of three flights – my sweet Aunt Nancy and I with the babies. And lots o luggage. 20 pound baby on the front, 30 pound backpack on the back, and a cart FULL of luggage – whew! Look how sweet and smiley we looked – we were so excited just to be headed home. It was also about 11 pm or so in Ethiopia.

In the first flight – which was five hours I believe – we were doing great. Having had a baby on an airplane before, I was confident that I was at least as prepared as I could be. We’d need to keep them entertained, but what could go wrong? I had scoured the blogs and asked experienced traveling friends what to take, and I had it all. We were prepared.

This flight didn’t have any of the bulkhead crib seats available, but we were in three seats with the two of us (plus the babies) so we were excited to have the wee bit of extra room. Other babies on the plane were crying before we even taxied out of the runway – but not ours! We wisely saved our bottles for the takeoff where the drinking of the bottle would soothe their little popping ears. I mean, I’ve done this before – it ain’t my first time around the block. I surely know how to fly with babies. Nancy too.

We took off, and we popped those bottles in at just the right time. The girls sweetly relaxed and slowly drank their bottles while drifting off to sleep. Other babies cried – but not ours! I mean, why couldn’t everyone have it as together as we did? I mean, I’m trying to catch some sleep here…

I had Lyla, and Nancy had Sosie. At the end of her bottle, Lyla got a little fussy, but she did better when I sat her up. She was on my lap facing me, and seemed a little weirded out by the plane but okay otherwise. And then it happened.

Projectile. Vomit. The contents of that entire bottle were spewed all. over. me.

Lyla immediately seemed to feel better, but I was covered from my hair to my knees in putrid, rancid-smelling vomit. (Let’s insert here that I’ve never done well with vomit. Ever. Jason is a saint and bails me out most of the time to clean it up. Gag reflex on steroids from me. I just can’t do it.)

I stayed calm. Kind of.

I paged the stewardess and asked for some napkins or something. She wasn’t really paying attention, and she was like, umm, why? I said, “My daughter got sick, and I need to clean up.” She said, “Uhh, okay.” I shifted Lyla so she could see the sheer volume of vomit all over me, and she jumped into action. You know the hot towels that the stewardesses take around to you? She brought us a whole tray. And two whole packs of unopened cocktail napkins. And a large trash bag.

I changed and cleaned Lyla and stuffed all of the gross washcloths into the bag along with Lyla’s clothes.

My biggest dilemma was that I knew if I stood up and walked the 3/4ths length of the plane back to the bathroom that the rows and rows and rows of people behind me would be aghast at the vomit dripping off me all the way up the aisle. It would be a big show. So I stripped right there in the seat – as discreetly as possible – after checking out that nobody could really see me around us. I stuffed all the puke clothes into the plastic bag. I had clean clothes on, but I was still covered in vomit.

I headed back to the bathroom, and wiped off as well as I could. People, vomit had pooled in my bra. It was bad. I rinsed my hair in the sink and smothered myself with the scented lotion I luckily had in my backpack. I really just couldn’t get the smell off of me.

Can you scroll back up to the picture for a second? What do you notice about my hair? Yes! It’s wet! I would like to point out the fact that I very wisely waited until the last possible second to shower – I knew we had 24 hours of travel ahead of us and at the end there would be my gorgeous husband, my sweet kiddos, and many many people we loved like crazy waiting to see us. And lots of pictures being taken.

So back to the vomit-covered me…

Most of the rest of the flight was okay. I’d occasionally whimper/glaze over in wonder at the fact that I’d used one of my spare outfits just 15 minutes into 24 hours of traveling. And I spent the other four hours and 45 minutes holding a puke bag within inches of Lyla’s face – I jumped whenever she even flinched! But what else could happen?

At the end of the flight, we very wisely changed the girls before we stuck them into the baby carriers and lugged them through however many gates we would need to go through. We took turns changing them in the empty seat. I changed Lyla first. Then Nancy changed Sosie. She peels down sweet Sosie’s diaper and what happened?

Projectile. Poop. And not normal baby poop smell. Like rancid, I’m ridding my little body of all kinds of germs-smelling diarrhea.

All over Nancy’s pants. And her backpack. Like thick, permeating pudding-like poop. By this time, other people were filing past us to exit. Nancy and I kind of chuckled at what other people were having to smell and see, but we could do nothing but frantically scoop up the poop with the wipes we had – and our bare hands.

Did I mention how immensely grateful I was that Nancy was with me? How sacrificial she was all week? How I couldn’t have done it without her? Oh man oh man.

We cleaned as quickly as we could and reassured each other that we weren’t in a rush. We’d get off when we got off and it was ok. No reason to panic. The stewards were really rushing us and trying to hold the babies – which resulted in screaming from them.

We finally get off the plane only to discover that the back third of the plane was all crowded into a little tram anxiously waiting on whoever the holdup was so they could be taxied to our gate. Well we didn’t know that!

So we walk as quickly as we can, each with our extra 50 pounds of baby and backpack. Nancy smells like poop, I smell like vomit, and I’m now carrying a clear trash bag full of puke and poop-covered washcloths, baby clothes, and every item of clothing I had on. Poor Nancy didn’t have time to change and just had to wear what she had on. We crammed our stinky selves onto the tram with our impatient fellow travelers and made it to the exit gate.

Only to wait through five different lines of the Turkey officials checking, rechecking, verifying, and re-verifying our passports, the girls’ passports, asking for additional paperwork which I had to dig out of the backpack, and then rechecking everything again. I don’t know what the deal was, but boy they were doing their J-O-B…

FINALLY we made it to the ticket desk to request our bulkhead seating so we could take advantage of the cribs on our upcoming 10-ish hour flight. I felt very proud of us. It’d been a tough flight, but here we were. We made it. We’d get this little detail set up, and then we’d clean up in the spacious airport bathrooms.

I’ll spare you the details, but I spent the next hour and half begging and pleading with the Turkish Airline precious people to PLEASE let us have the bulkhead seats. Someone was sitting in those seats, but they didn’t have two babies – or one baby. So we should get them, right? No can do. It involved lots of the workers, language barriers, and the meanest supervisor lady I’d ever met. I cried. Poop-covered Nancy was sitting on a nearby bench holding two babies – both of which were crying. My vomit smelling little self had done okay so far, but we were only six or seven hours in and I was out of any traveling willpower I had. The supervisor even seemed gleeful in her denial of any fraction of sanity we could imagine over the next ten hours. Nothing we could do.

We freshened up best we could, tried to eat and get the babies calmed, and then trudged to our next flight. We got the third degree about our water – um, two babies, 10 hours of flying, bottles? Finally they let us through with the airport-purchased water. I don’t think we talked much waiting to get on the next flight. Nancy and I were both exhausted and dreading the flight. Our last hope was that we would meet a sweet stewardess.

I got on and quickly explained our dilemma to the nicest-looking stewardess I could find. And she was a gift from the Lord. She preciously and sweetly – but yet firmly – asked the people if they would mind moving seats. One man was very willing. The older couple though? No way were they happy. They were really upset to have to move. They came back to take our seats, and we both went overboard to wearily tell them just how appreciative we were for the seats while trying to explain. Stone-faced responses. Nothing. Ticked little old people.

What did we do in response to Mr. and Mrs. Grouchy? Well, Nancy and I tried not to skip down the aisle with joy to our spacious new seats!!!! We checked out where the cribs would go, happily kissed on the babies, stored our brick-filled backpacks (and the puke/poop laundry trash bag), and stretched our feet out. AAHH – we could do this! And we both said we didn’t feel one TINY bit of guilt about taking their seats. I think even Jesus would have taken their seats had He experienced what we had on the previous flight. Ok, maybe not. Well, maybe.

Anyway, the flight went pretty well. The old people kept stomping up to our seats because they left their carry-on luggage there – even though they could have moved it – and glared angrily at us while they slammed the overhead bin shut. Nope, still no guilt. Not a bit.

The babies slept a couple of times in the little cribs, and Nancy and I actually got to like eat – well pick at – the Turkish food… (let’s say I’m not itching to go to Turkey anytime soon!) and rest our arms! Glorious! There were quite a few diaper blowouts – diaper after diaper, outfit after outfit. Our backpacks were becoming lighter while the poopy/vomity clothes bag got heavier. I was sooo grateful for packing SOOOO many clothes for all of us. Can I tell you at this point, we kind of giggled (in a maybe manical way) everytime we had to open the vomit/poop clothes bag to put another item in? Those clothes had been marinating in their bodily fluids for 15ish hours now at least. Yeah, we really felt bad for everyone around us – at least we knew to hold our breath!

We finally landed and taxied to our runway – whoooo hooo!!! We were in America! The babies were American citizens!!!! I was so excited and tearful. We just had one more little two hour flight and we had plenty of time to get there.

Until we sat on the plane for an extra hour at the gate. Who knows why. They wouldn’t let people pee or get up or do anything. The babies were okay, but I was dreading having to miss our flight – it would mean flying in on Sunday morning instead of Saturday night. It would mean our welcoming party would mostly be at church. And I couldn’t spend the night in the New York airport. I just couldn’t.

I must mention that while we were sitting there parked on the runway, there was a scurry of activity behind us and an oxygen tank was being rolled out. I turned around and there was Mrs. Grouchy laying on Mr. Grouchy’s lap and sucking in some oxygen for a few minutes. And then she was fine. I don’t think another foot of room would have helped her breathe, but I felt a twinge of guilt. Well, no I didn’t. Really, that’s horrible I suppose. But I didn’t feel one bit bad. Not a bit… She was fine.

We eventually got off, made it through customs FINALLY in spite of some cocky airport cops – seriously?, and claimed our luggage – still carrying the poop/puke bag. Then we trekked with the 20 pound babies and the 30 pound backpacks and the multiple suitcases to go re-check our luggage since we were coming from a foreign country to America. Which took about another hour. Time was ticking down for us making our flight on time.

Meanwhile Jason was texting me telling me Nolan had fallen off his bike and had gotten stitches. I was like, ooookkkk… why are you telling me this now? If you only knew the extreme duress I was under right now, you would not be telling me about a couple of stitches on his leg – or wherever it was. I’d kill for 1000 stitches for myself to get me home. I was like – he has NO CLUE…

Finally we get our luggage rechecked and we go to find our gate. I think we maybe had like 25 minutes or something. We had to go through hallway after hallway after turn after an elevator or five, and FINALLY we saw our airline’s desk and rushed to get our seat assignments. The ladies started talking like we were going to miss our flight or something, and I was like, really? What’s the big deal? We’re here! We just have to walk to our gate? They made a big deal about our gate being really far away (of course it was), but I knew we were in shape and would run if we had to in order to make our flight. I mean how long of a walk could it be? We had a few minutes still.

They pointed us toward our gate, and we hurried around the corner following the directions they gave us. And then I froze. In front of us stood probably 500 people – at least – waiting to go through security. Oh crap.

I lost it again. Cried right there. I knew that had to be it. I was praying, but I was crying too. We were sooo tired, and it had been such a looong flight – we were finally in America, almost home, and I wanted my family all in one place so bad that I couldn’t stand it. I ACHED for it. But yet it was sooo far away.

I trudged towards the line and prayed for a miracle. While I was bawling – like audibly bawling. I mean we’d had maybe a total of an hour or two of sleep in 48 or so hours (had full day in Ethiopia bc we left at 11pm, then had been traveling for almost a full day) – which came at the end of a hard, emotional week in Ethiopia. I just wanted home.

This lady was standing there that sweetly said, “Baby, what are you crying for?” I started rambling (while still bawling) about Ethiopia and vomit and 20 hours of traveling and poop and babies and my husband and America and our flight and sleeping in the airport. I think she thought I was nuts. But she so sweetly whisked us over to a short line and patted my arm and told us it’d be okay. Can I say that sweet sweet Nancy was so calm during all of this? Seriously – she’s a saint!

There were about 10 people in front of us, but we had about 15 minutes or so until our flight was supposed to be leaving. I was still crying. Happy to have 10 people in front of us instead of 490, but I still wasn’t thinking it looked too good.

The people in front of us asked what was wrong, and I tried not to tell them, but about half of the vomit, poop, husband, Ethiopia, baby details came out. The man sweetly encouraged us to get in front of him, and I said, “No, no, I’m okay – it’s just been a long long long day.” He said, “Do you want to miss your flight?” Me, crying more, “Well, no…” He said, “Then GO!”

We finally made it to the scanner line, and for the first time in all our security checks, they told us we had to take the babies out of the baby carriers to go through security. What??? I nicely refused. They said, “Well, you’re going to have to be patted down if you don’t.” Uhhh, pat away sister, but I’m not taking the time to take off these babies!

The dam had broken by then, and I cried all through our pat downs and was doing the like hyper-ventilating breathing. Another really kind lady was so sweet to us (I’ve said “sweet” a lot – God put some really sweet people in our path – THANK YOU LORD!) and helped us get our backpacks back on and kept telling us we were okay. I was quite the sight I assure you. I am NOT like that – like never in my life have I EVER been like that. It had been a long, long day.

We get through security and the little guy asks where our gate was and when our flight was. We told him, and he just said, you’re not going to make it. No way – it takes a good 15 minutes to walk down to that gate – it’s the farthest one from here.

Great.

But, we figured we could try. So we started running. Running while crying. Carrying 20 pounds of baby and 30 pounds of backpack (maybe 20 pounds by now?) along with a 20 pound bag of rancid puke/poop laundry in a clear bag for all of America to see. We’d run, walk to catch our breaths, run again, walk some more, cry, commiserate, and try to run again. It took forever. I don’t even remember what the babies were doing except kind of whimpering a little and trying to hold on. Sweet girls. I think God must’ve comforted them Himself.

We’d see the sign for our gate and pick up the pace only to discover that it was just pointing to another long hallway around the corner. That happened like three times. Finally I see our real real real gate at the end of a long hallway. I didn’t know how much time we had left, but I knew it had to be close.

I ran a little faster just to get closer and maybe catch the plane for Nancy and I. I ran past the gate check-in gate. They hollered something at me, and I just yelled back, we’re trying to catch the Nashville flight! They didn’t say anything back.

Of course there were like five turns and hallways, but I heard the stewardess yelling, “Last call for Nashville, last call!!!” I SCREAMED, “WAIT WAIT WAIT!!! WE’RE COMING!! WAIT!!!!” Oh my word, we made it.

We walked onto that plane two balls of sweaty hot mess. We sank into seats, stripped off our outer layers and stripped the babies down – even they were covered with sweat. I think we sat there just breathing for like 45 minutes – both of us crying off and on by then. It had been a long long long long 24 hours. But finally we were going to land in Nashville – barring something else crazy – and we would be done. I think we were crying from both the horror of the day and the relief.

The last thirty minutes or so we ate, and the precious stewardess brought us plenty of extra snacks and water and was so sweet. The babies got a good snacky-meal, and we did too. Then we changed our clothes into our final outfit – thankfully we each still had a final outfit. I re-smothered myself with scented lotion again – I was sooo glad I had brought it!

And then, we walked off of the plane, onto our ramp, and INTO THE NASHVILLE AIRPORT!!!!!!!!!!!!! It was such a surreal, miraculous-seeming, long-time-coming, precious moment. Here’s a gallery of pictures to look through: (A HUGE “Amesegenallo” to Amanda Humphrey for our airport pics!!! THANK YOU!)

Pictures are better than words – so “they” say. If each picture were to describe 10,000 words, there would still not be enough words to express how grateful I was to see EACH AND EVERY FACE at the airport. Thank you – from the bottom of my heart – to all of you that came out. It was the best, best, most perfect ending to such a long journey. Those precious people had supported us all along the way, and there is no better ending than having them there with us to celebrate our sweet girls finally being home. I think that moment is just one that I’ll remember forever – like Mary in the Bible, I stored those moments in my heart, and I’ll ponder and reflect on them forever. And be grateful beyond belief for our support network – every. single. time.

And oh the sight of my precious husband and my other three children! Oh my, the WHOLE UNDERHILL FAMILY ALL TOGETHER!!!!!!!! And my pitiful Nolan’s face – no wonder Jason tried to warn me about the stitches. I didn’t ask, but I assumed it was a couple of stitches on his knee! Nope, an all out face crash off his bike – poor baby. But there was no better sight to see!

And seeing all of those faces made the trip – every vomit and diarrhea-soaked moment of it – completely worth it. I would have rather had an easier trip of course, but it will make for great stories to tell the girls someday. And I think I’ll be able to laugh by then!

And once again (but not for the last time), thank you sweet Aunt Nancy. You made the trip and saved my very little crazy self! I love you, and I am so grateful to have you sharing that trip with me – every vomit and diarrhea-soaked moment of it.

It Was The Best of Times, It Was The Worst of Times

That’s a long title, but I can’t think of any better way to sum up how I think I’ll look back on these first weeks home.

This past weekend was a hard weekend. Last week was a hard week. We took turns alternating nights sleeping on the girls’ floor on a little futon. Miserable. I missed my husband. On the nights that I was “off” I still couldn’t sleep. I was comatose during the day catching up from a few sleepless nights. I drank lots of coffee – probably contributing to the lack of sleeping. So I backed off the caffeine, took a few Tylenol PMs, and then I SLEPT. Too much.

I was so discouraged yesterday. I realized that I had not been out of the house in four days. Except for a carpool run, but even then I never got out of the car. My feet had not touched any other land but our fraction of an acre for four. full. days. That’s just not like me. Any other time, I would have been clawing the walls to get out. But when the opportunity came, I couldn’t think of one place I wanted to go. Except bed. To just stare at the ceiling. Which made me worry about me. What was happening? Where was ME?

I went to bed crying.

I woke up in the middle of the night crying. I told Jason I wish I had never heard the of the plight of the orphan. I emailed adoption attachment therapists at 1 am. I emailed like six of them. I know nobody that has come home and struggled like we have. Nobody. Although the statistics say that 60% of parents struggle with some sort of “post-adoption depression” or “adoption blues”.

I was texting a fellow twin mom (yes also at 1 am… she knew I’d be up). Hers are bio twins, but she was telling me all the things they were doing that were so similar to our girls. And she had some of the same feelings I did! Everyone thinks twins are insanely cute. And they are! But the work and getting used to TWO of them is unimaginably HARD!

I woke up crying. Nolan came and cuddled in beside me this morning, and I wrapped my arms around him and just held him tight. I wanted to lay there all day just cuddling him. I made sure my hot tears slid down my face onto my pillow so he wouldn’t notice I was crying.

I stared at his precious little face, his little blonde curls, his expressions as he played games on my phone. (You didn’t think HE wanted to lay and cuddle all day did you?? Bribery can be a good tool when momma needs some lovin from her boy.) I held him tight and listened to the girls happily babbling in the other room, and I didn’t want to get up. I didn’t want to get them up. I didn’t want the day to start. Because if it was going to be a bad day, I wasn’t sure I could take it.

Laying there, I decided I had to get out today. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I HAD to get out. In the early weeks home, I went out to stay sane. It was fun to have them out with me. I liked using my cute little stroller. And it was fun letting them see the world around us – well, Target.

But then I realized that the work of getting out, forging through errands while the girls are transitioning out of their morning naps, and all the in and out of the car seats and stroller wasn’t worth the getting out. So I quit.

I didn’t have ANYTHING I needed to do today. I had a doctor’s appointment that I’d been putting off for an oddly infected finger – weird story. I sat up, made an appointment, and I got ready. I took a shower. I wore cute clothes out – nothing schmancy. Still leggings and a big sweater, but with a cute tank and ballet flats and I actually put on my rings. Go me. It struck me as funny that I was excited to go to the doctor’s office.

At the office, the girls were so charming, albeit a little restless towards the end. And they wanted ME. Ladies in the office (that we know) held them for a minute or two, but they wanted ME. ME!

I decided we would STAY out until it was time to get Everett at 12:45. Luckily the pharmacy’s long line and Chickfila’s long line helped me out. And we made it out all day! (not without tears, but we made it)

We came home, and I fed the girls more lunch. They got down and played, and they laughed and giggled and did the silliest things today. Things I just hadn’t seen them do! Their personalities just sparked a bit. They giggled. They hugged me and came back for more. They argued with each other. But they were overall in a great mood. I really enjoyed watching them today.

Then they took good naps! Hello! (and a side note, I ALSO got a great deal on a planner I’ve been eyeing!! I found a random coupon online for HALF OFF! WHOOP!)

Tonight we headed to school for a little coffee house thing for Everett. The girls were again sweet, charming, albeit a little restless again towards the end. They toddled about the room, and every once in a while they’d check mom and dad out to make sure we were still there. That’s a really good sign of attachment. They were so darn cute.

We headed to a quick dinner – which wasn’t so blissful, but whatever.

We got home, and they again played and played and played. They laughed, they ate up their Daddy’s attention, and they just seemed to “own” the living room and their toys. They interacted a lot with us. And again, lots and lots of giggles.

I sat marveling at them tonight as they took their chunky baby legs from Daddy to Mommy to Daddy. They’ve changed so much. For the good. They’ve learned to PLAY. They’ve learned to LAUGH. They’ve learned to BEG FOR MORE.

I’m not saying they didn’t know how to do those things before. They loved their caregivers, and I’m sure they played little games. But now they are learning to play with US. What brave little resilient girls.

I cuddled each of them close before bed, lay a million kisses on their little faces, and said prayers for peaceful hearts and restful bodies tonight. And I said a million thanks to the Lord for letting me be their Mother.

And now I’m sitting on my back porch with perfectly fall-like temperatures and a gajillion beautiful stars out tonight. I sat and sat and sat just staring at those stars. I thought about what I had just said this morning in the wee hours – I said that I wish I’d never even heard of the plight of the orphan. And then I thought about how very full my heart was tonight.

Oh I’m so grateful for a great big God. I’m so grateful He knows me far better than I know myself. I’m so grateful that He gives me what I don’t think I can handle. I’m immensely grateful that He’s right beside me as we’re walking this road. I don’t know how anyone does it without Him…

And we’ve still got a long road. This “attachment dance” is one that ebbs and flows. My heart has not fully embraced these temperamental little 14 month olds. I’m not all the way there yet. But they haven’t fully embraced this crazy emotional mood swings momma either.

But we’re at least on the same road, and we’re walking in the same direction.

I’m so grateful. For the best times. AND the worst times… (Well, grateful for the best times a little more if I’m being COMPLETELY honest here…)

When Is That Okay?

So, I’d been warned about the crazy things that people will say to adoptive parents. I’ve always said that I hoped to be able to handle those conversations with grace. Some adoptive parents get very very very offended if they are asked a question in a wrong way. But any way that a question is asked sometimes seems like the “wrong way”. In general, don’t ask questions like this:

“Where did you get your kid?” (This one doesn’t bother me as much, but some people don’t like to be asked. As kids get older and are aware of the questions being asked about them, it does get ruder to ask directly. Sometimes kids want to just go and be and not be a “show” wherever they go. This question doesn’t really bother me right now, but I don’t know my feelings later on.)

“Where did they come from?” (Again, similar to the first question. There are just nicer ways to phrase it I guess. If you see a family and really want to know if the child is adopted, sometimes it’s better to start with, “You have a beautiful family.” and see where it goes. Again, this one doesn’t bother me much right now.)

“How much did that baby cost you?” (Yes, people do say things like that. You see why it’s offensive, right? Surely I don’t have to explain that one. Nobody asks biological moms how much a labor and delivery costs. And they could be close to the same cost – believe me! If you’re really curious, go home and look it up or something. Or just believe me.)

I also have been warned by moms of biological twins that there are plenty of weird questions there too.

Both adoptive moms of singletons and twins moms have talked about not being able to get through the grocery store (or wherever they are) with lots of questions or attention. So I’ve been ready.

I really haven’t gotten much! I’ve kind of waited for the big WHOA statement or question, and I haven’t gotten it! I tend to walk fast though and I have noticed myself not making eye contact with people as much. I don’t know why. I just feel a little stand out-ish walking anywhere with 5 kids – adopted or all under the age of 8 or a set of twins or not. I do like to watch people looking at them when they don’t know I’m watching them. Almost everyone just smiles when they see them. They ARE cute! I love seeing people enjoying them. I enjoy them immensely as well. And it doesn’t bother me to have people stare at them! I would too.

I don’t understand moms who get soooo angry and irritated at the attention they get when they are out. I’m like, heck yeah, look at my cute babies and big kids! I have a beautiful family!!! And what better way to be a walking advertisement for adoption. I recognize I’m only 5 weeks in, but still. I never got irritated at old ladies kissing my other three babies’ cheeks or holding their hands. I didn’t carry around antiseptic wipes to wipe off stranger germs or anything. So maybe it’s just my personality.

I will say though at this point, I like to keep conversations to about 30 seconds. For one, if I stop too long to talk while the girls are in the stroller they get restless. Second, I know I have a window of patient calm from them in the stroller/car seat/total errand time – it usually lasts about 45 minutes. If I’m running a 20 minute Target trip, and I have two 10 minute driving trips along with 5 minutes or so on each end for loading and unloading everyone, that doesn’t leave much cushion time. So if you see me out and I seem to cut you off or get nervous/antsy acting, it’s only because I’m doing an internal countdown of the scream-free minutes I have left! I’m sure this will get better with time, but for now I still get really nervous anytime we’re out – especially if I have all five by myself! Because believe me, the other three are not usually standing quietly and patiently beside me waiting for my next command. HA! I just laughed out loud at that mental picture! I crack myself up. And I shouldn’t blog late at night maybe…

Anyway, back to the topic at hand. Besides smiles, the comment I get the most is, “You’ve got your hands full!” or something along those lines. And usually I don’t have all five with me. I just say, “Yep, but it’s a good full!” and keep going. Again, it doesn’t offend me. Some people do get really mad about that statement though too.

But I did get a doozy of a statement a couple of weeks ago! Here’s the scene:

I was in Home Depot picking up paint to finish the girls’ room as 1 gallon of pale pink paint was apparently not enough to cover what I thought was pretty light blue paint. We even had the paint + primer, but we needed three coats! WHEW!

Well, it was just me and the girls. It was Sunday morning – one of the mornings the big kids all went with Daddy. The girls were of course in their stroller, and it was just a kind of slow-going, easy morning. There was NOBODY at Home Depot at 10 am on a Sunday. NOBODY. So I wasn’t quite as nervous as I am sometimes. If they screamed and lost it, there’d only be a few employees around to witness it. And I knew it was a short errand.

We were waiting for the paint to get mixed, and the grizzly looking man at the paint counter leaned over and was talking to the girls. He was very sweet to them, but he was pretty tough looking. Like maybe the Harley type if I was being stereotypical – definitely didn’t look like a I-love-talking-to-babies-type. He and the younger kid working with him were both talking to the girls. Of course the girls don’t respond… because they are babies.

It’s always kind of awkward when someone says to a baby, “Well, hello there. How old are you?” Or “And what’s your name?” I want to kind of stand there and not say anything, just smiling along with them and waiting for the baby to answer. Of course they are asking me to answer, and I guess they just like to do baby talk. But I always find that weird.

So Grizzly and College Kid didn’t have a long conversation with the girls – obviously. Lyla and Sosie busted out their waving trick when Mr. Grizzly said “Hi” to them, which always is pretty quick to impress.

Mr. Grizzly was doing most of the talking and College Kid was only kind of half-interested.  Since the baby conversation stalled, I knew they were going to talk to me about SOMETHING. And I kind of figured a question of some sorts was coming, and then there it was.

Mr. Grizzly leaned towards me, and he rested his elbows on the counter. He looked right at me and with a just as serious expression said:

“So…. how long was your delivery with them?”

What?

My delivery?

You want to know how long my delivery was with them?

These girls?

I was instantly laughing on the inside. A million thoughts were running through my head, and it took my brain a second to catch up to the question I guess.

I laughed out loud and said, “Oh they aren’t mine! I mean, they are mine, but they are adopted!”

What a question! I think one of my first thoughts was, “This is going to be a good blog post!” Which maybe you aren’t as amused as I am, but I thought it was insanely funny given the context and the characters at hand!

Soooo…. when is it okay for Mr. Grizzly paint mixing man at Home Depot to ask how long a woman’s delivery was? Or anyone – grizzly or not? Woman at the bank? Unless you are my OB or OB nurse or BFF, you shouldn’t ask that!

Like what if I had started spilling out all the story of my labor and when my water broke and other oooey-gooey details? Like would he have been comfortable with that? I almost wished I had a story to delve into to kind of shock him.

I remember when I was very pregnant with Everett someone asked me how dilated I was… Really? And it was someone I didn’t even know. Just hanging out at the mirrors at church, and I guess that’s the only thing that popped into her mind to say… “So how far dilated are you?” HILARIOUS! Although I don’t think I found that one as funny at the time. 9 months pregnant in July – probably not much of anything was very funny!

So back to Mr. Grizzly. As he was mixing up my paint, we kind of talked some more. He seemed genuinely surprised that I didn’t deliver the girls. Like shocked face and kind of jumped back – seemed a little embarrassed. (Embarrassed that they were in fact adopted. Not embarrassed that he asked how long my delivery was!)

While we were turning the conversation around, I was thinking to myself a million questions trying to figure out where he was coming from, like:

DO they look ANYTHING like me? Is there a family resemblance? I mean, I’m not seeing one… The girls don’t look the slightest bit bi-racial to me! They are pretty dark-skinned! But I guess sometimes bi-racial kids can appear darker or lighter.

Was that his “polite” way of asking about them being adopted, but he seemed genuinely surprised when I said that they were. It was really, really strange. And funny to me.

I wish I’d gotten a look at the College Kid’s face. He did perk up though and started talking about how cool he thought adoption was. And that he wants to adopt someday too. I love that the generation slightly younger than me is so comfortable with adoption.

Anyway, I still really wasn’t offended. He wasn’t being critical of adoption or our family. And maybe it’s because I appreciate a good, personal question. I really like to get to KNOW people and sometimes ask questions that people are surprised at. It’s not that I ask questions like THAT, but I do like getting to figure out what makes someone tick. What else are relationships for than getting to really KNOW people?!? I love hearing people’s stories.

But not your delivery stories. Keep those to yourself…

What’s the weirdest or most personal question YOU have ever gotten about a pregnancy, your child, or your adoption??? Do you get offended?