Paper pregnancy is for real

When we committed to adopt a little girl from Eastern Europe, the idea of a child actually being at the end of insurmountable paperwork and meetings and money was quite unbelievable.  I heard from other mom that the process would be a lot of work; forms to fill out, meetings with a social worker, medical exams, preparing for a long overseas trip, getting our kids ready for the new addition, penny pinching.  But the paper work was insurmountable; easily passing my expectations in the first few weeks.  It became my job, I had a goal and I was working towards the hugest check ever to be marked off any list; adopting a child.

As papers somehow were completed and filed and fingers were pressed into a computer screen and sent off for screening, something else took the place of my paper chase.  My focus changed.  I started to yearn for my child.  I started to feel pregnant.

It started out small, I’d break off little bits of Hershey Candy Bars and nibble away as I searched the net for good agencies.  But over time, as we’ve gotten closer to getting our little one home, I’d cry at commercials or a particularly touching song on my kids’ Hannah Montana CD (trust me, they aren’t really that touching).

My pants are tighter since we committed to adopt.  Whenever I’m in Target, I am drawn to the maternity clothes.  They look so comfortable, all that elastic and black polyester.

Now that we are close to meeting our fourth daughter, I have this surge of energy.  I  take on projects way out of my league at present, things like cleaning out the whole basement, moving rooms and painting walls (without worrying about paint fumes for the baby).  I’m nesting, and I am surprised.

I just didn’t think I would feel the same things I felt when I carried my children.  I didn’t think I would sit around and day dream about the insides of her arms or wonder how she’ll smell, what would make her laugh.

My body has kicked in and taken over these final weeks.  I feel like I am nine months pregnant and that my water will break at any moment.

I just hope it doesn’t happen on the plane.

When not traveling to meet a daughter, Gillian also writes for Chicago Moms Blog and at Pocket Lint.