Hiya, folks! Brad here (of Brad and Kristen fame). Three years ago, I told Kristen I’d help her write our blog updates, and now that we’re nearing the end of our rope, I mean path, I figure I’m running out of time to keep that promise.
Sooooooo, we’re a couple weeks away from traveling to Bulgaria (like, it could be exactly two weeks from today). Of course, we don’t know for sure, because NOBODY WILL TELL US THE ACTUAL DATES. But it’s fine. I’m handling it fine.
Sure, they could literally tell us two days in advance that we need to coordinate multiple international flights to visit a country that has a different alphabet than ours to adopt a child we’ve never met, all while navigating the shrinking European airspace during a worldwide pandemic. But it’s fine. I’m handling it fine.
No, you know what, I’m actually not handling it fine. This whole system is nuts. A child enters the system at 6 weeks old, but the current process requires so much paperwork and red tape that it takes more than two years for that child to join a family who can care for him. I mean, it’s remarkable that we live in a time when we can bring that child across the world to our home and make him a part of our family, but we’ve got a long way to go to make this a sane and efficient process.
But, besides all my long-held frustrations, this new war in the Ukraine has just about put me over the edge. It goes without saying, my stress pales in comparison to what the actual people in the Ukraine are feeling, and my heart goes out to anyone who was attempting to adopt from the Ukraine itself, but this added level of instability is just a tad more than my daily 10mg of Celexa can handle. Kristen is holding it together, but I’m constantly afraid that they’re going to close airspace or cancel flights that will keep us from completing this journey. Again, small potatoes in comparison to what so many others in Europe are facing, but it’s a worry I have, nevertheless.
I believe that part of the reason I’m having so many strong emotions is that Niko no longer feels like a boy we’re traveling to meet. Through our virtual interactions with him, and the recent court procedures that have basically made him our legal child, he has started feeling like our son. Strange, considering we’ve never held him in our arms, but a son just the same. And now I feel like strangers are preventing me from seeing my son. Imagine if some bureaucrat needed to simply stamp a piece of paper, and until they did so your child had to live in a prison. It’s enough to drive a person crazy.
So, until we get a definitive travel date, and take 3 different flights to meet an anonymous driver who will take us to meet our son, I’ll continue busying myself by buying things we barely need for the trip (today it was vomit bags because we’ve heard kids can often get car sick, having never been in a car before).
And I’ll keep stress watching the news.
And I’ll keep downloading apps to translate the Cyrillic alphabet to English.
And I’ll keep looking at Bulgarian restaurant menus to figure out what we’ll be eating.
And I’ll keep watching informational YouTube tours of grocery stores in Sofia.
And I’ll keep stress watching the news.
And I’ll keep calling T-Mobile to confirm they have international calling plans.
And I’ll keep refilling my prescriptions in case we get stuck in an airport for a week.
And I’ll keep learning Bulgarian phrases.
· Обичам те. - - I love you.
· Гладен ли си? - - Are you hungry?
· Имате ли запек или просто не харесвате дезодоранта на татко? Мама също
не го харесва. - - Are you constipated or do you just not like Daddy’s deodorant?
Mommy doesn’t like it either.
And I’ll keep working out the conversion rate between US dollars, Bulgarian lev, and Euros.
And I should probably switch off the news to see if there’s anything happening on Twitter.
But it’s fine. I’m handling it fine.
Edit from Kristen: In case my husband has stressed any of you out after reading this (I have to admit, this was not the calming, thought-provoking blog I thought he was working on), I will add a few things to bring your heart-rates down. And Brad, make sure you read this part too: everyone is doing their best. It’s a rough system, but the people helping us to get Niko here are lovely human beings and are handcuffed by a slow and tedious system. Everything has worked out this far, and God won’t abandon us now! Finally, I have my brother, Austin, on standby in the event that Brad’s nervous breakdown finally occurs and I need someone to play the role of Brad Hemmings in Bulgaria. (That’s a joke… mostly!).
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