Last Year: Anticipation

For the days leading up to our trip, there was a flurry of activity. Packing, saying good-byes, packing some more, coordinating movers, begging help from parents and then packing again. There wasn’t much time to really process all the things that were happening or about to happen.

Then somehow we were there. In Ethiopia. Our agency’s in-country staff person met us at the airport. He introduced us to our driver and then told us he’d be bringing Buturo to our guest house in about an hour and a half. We had waited two years for this moment, flown half way across the world and in 90 minutes we would meet our son.

As we drove through Addis Ababa, I kept saying to Jose “we’re in Africa. In Africa!” I think in the preparation for becoming parents, it hadn’t sunk in that we were also traveling to another continent. The realization of this fact distracted me from the upcoming life changing experience we were about to have.

Until we arrived at the guest house. Then, it hit. We were about to meet our son. OUR SON. And I freaked out. I could barely breathe. I pulled out all items that might help the transition. Goldfish crackers, a puppet, a truck. I paced. I looked out the window countless times. My heart pounded each time the gate opened. I couldn’t engage in any sort of conversation with my husband. I about bit off his head when he turned on the video camera. I didn’t want a record of my extreme nervousness and fear.

Those 90 minutes were excruciatingly slow. I worried about Turo’s reaction to us. I worried about my reaction to him. I worried that I hadn’t read enough to prepare to be his mother. I worried that I wouldn’t remember the 10 or so Amharic words I had tried to learn. I worried that I wouldn’t know what to feed him or how to change him. I just wanted him to arrive so we could get started. I didn’t want to think about it anymore.

Finally, a white Ranger Rover pulled into the compound. With our son.

The wait was over.

It was time.