That's about what it felt like. In late August, just days before our weekend honeymoon getaway (a two-day jaunt to the ocean sans kids -- our first weekend alone together in so many years I can't remember), I woke up one morning almost blinded by a revelation: I can adopt a child with Down Syndrome. If ever I had a role in life, this was it. At the crack of dawn, I bounded up to Peter like a labrador puppy, gushing, "Peter! Peter! I know what I am meant to do!" and presented my "idea" in a five-second, passionate pre-coffee blurt. In return he gave me his sideways sly smile, amused by my morning zeal but not enough to respond. I continued quietly researching for a couple more days, and every morning I woke up with a renewed sense of urgency and purpose
I couldn't help but notice that Peter was also starting to poke around online. And ask questions. I would overhear him telling others about the plight of orphans with Down Syndrome ... or he would suddenly remember that he knows someone who speaks Russian! Or is from Ukraine! Or is related to someone somewhere in Eastern Europe!
As anyone with a flock of young'uns knows, trying to get away for a two-day trip requires about two months worth of work. And many friends or willing family members. In this case, we had to spread our five kids out amongst three homes ... which took half a day in itself. As I was pulling out the driveway, soaked in sweat because I'd been frantically packing, bathing, organizing, and reassuring kids for 48 straight hours, "This will be worth it" is not exactly what I was thinking. "This is a MISTAKE" was what I was lamenting. Three stops later, suddenly it was Peter and I -- gasp, alone! -- headed quietly off to the ocean. Tucked away in our traveling honeymoon basket of cheese and crackers and chocolate and books of romantic poetry were, guess what? Yup, adoption stuff. Adoption magazines, cost lists, articles .... we were determined to educate ourselves.
Ironically, our ocean-side cabin was located on a family-friendly beach. What does that mean to an uber-mom? That means that every time I heard a child cry, I'd jump up! Or a "Mommy," I'd spin around! Kids running with sticks in their hands, I about croaked! The boy karate-chopping his little sister, he needed a little, ah, parenting! Letting go is not as easy as you'd think. The next morn, determined to be on vacation and not vicariously parenting stranger children, I tuned out all noises created by creatures under the age of ten and tuned in to Peter and the beauty of our surroundings: The steady roar of the ocean, the warmth of the sun making its way through the morning mist, the smells. It was a magical weekend, lazy and luxurious, everything a honeymoon should be. We hiked, read books, cat-napped on the beach, wrote letters, explored nearby areas. And read our adoption stuff. You see, Peter was hooked: he just needed to be "convinced."
One week and one hundred conversations later, I heard the words from him that I really never thought I'd hear -- and ironically, I don't remember precisely what they were! But the effect of them was this:
GREEN LIGHT. GO.
And so our story begins ...
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