Merry Christmas and a few more letters too...

Sitting on the train to my beautiful Edinburgh, having had a dream about my baby last night and feeling somewhat out the game. It has been a frantic month; Christmas build up coupled with end of year stuff (teachers on the northern hemisphere: trust me, this is a new beast and it still comes as a complete shock, despite this being my 4th year of it!), moving apartment and many, many more hoops with the old Ministerio...this girl is ready to fall down and sleep for 100 years!

Having found out that I have been approved to adopt Emilio and then accepting their acceptance of my request, I've been waiting to find out what's next. I found a fantastic apartment near my school which has a garden so it was a bit of a mad dash to get old apartment packed up and moved to new apartment. This is the longest I've lived in one place since I left home at 17 and it was all a bit emotional...silly, really, but there we go. However, we are moved in, Bee is now outside for the first time in about 7 years and the dogs are happy as Larry. Who even is Larry? What was he so happy about?? Unpacking slowly and realising just how much crap I have that I really, REALLY don't need. I've also started to buy wee bits and pieces for my boy and have cried at every purchase. Need to Woman Up in the near future. 

The latest in the Paperwork Pantomime was just this week. As I was running around trying to get internet installed, netting put up to stop escaping animals, Christmas shopping done, school admin work finished off, and dealing with a NASTY vom bug, the delightful psychologist was back on the blower. I find her so very hard to understand as she uses such flowery, flowery language and says 500 words when she could use 2...anyway...I understood that I was to make a photo album for E with my family, his new house, me, the pets, my Peruvian Tribe etc and take that, a gift and a letter for him to the head of the albergues where he lives. I thought I had an appointment there and emailed her 3 times in the day to ask her to confirm the time and place. She did not reply. So I hoofed it away from our end of year celebration, in the horrible, HORRIBLE Lima Christmas traffic to arrive there almost on time, armed with said present and lovely photo album (which I thoroughly enjoyed making) to be told that I didn't have an appointment. I handed over the gifts and thought, 'Yes! Don't have to deal with her and I can get home and get organised for Baby Shower that evening.' PAAAAHAAAAHAAAAA! 

Very, very unfortunately, one of my Tribe had an accident at work and was in hospital. She text to say she was about to get discharged so off I went to see if I could help over there. 4 hours later, we were still waiting... And one more phone call from the psychologist, an hour and a half after our supposed appointment, to ask when I was coming in. I started getting a bit hysterical and asked her, for the millionth time, to PLEASE write to me in an email because I find it very difficult to understand her on the phone. 'No te preocupes, Marianne. Nos vemos mañana'. ARRRRRGHHHHHHHH! 

Blah, blah, blah. Clare did get released eventually, baby shower was beautiful and off I went the next morning, having received no less than 3 replies from your woman that night telling me different times to meet. I think she just learned to work her email. Whatever. On arrival at the office, I was presented with yet another letter, telling the albergue that I had accepted their acceptance of my request to adopt. You could not make this up. I had to bring that letter to the head office, get it stamped and signed and bring it back to this office. ARE. YOU. KIDDING. ME?????? I could have got Glovo to do that. However, it is done. They will be taking the gift and the photo album to him over the month that I'm away to start preparing him for his new mummy, his new family, his new home and his new life! 

And now, here I am, back with my family in lovely, cold Scotland for the last time as a single, childless spinster! The moaning and the stress and the shouting at people and the crying can go on and on, for all I care. I will write them a million more letters and take it to the ends of the Earth if they ask...it all just means that my baby is coming home. 

Merry Christmas, people. Huge love to all. xxxx

And...

They made me wait 5 and a half weeks. They told me the consejo was programmed for Thursday 29th November. I knew, KNEW deep down, that I wouldn't have news that very day but when they give you a date, you kind of stick in your head that this is THE date. It wasn't. 

I flipped out all day, had my phone stuck to my hand, was sweating, shaking, crying at various points in the day till at last I called to find out what was going on and when I would know. They were still in the meeting. Then I got my friend to call an hour later. They were in the meeting till 6pm and so no, there would be no news that day. There was some confusion over what the chuff happened next as my friend was told that they had to talk to the jefa, then to the specialists? 'What specialists?', I shrieked in the taxi...sorry, Nya. She had no idea. We had no idea. But I knew then that I was just going to have to wait and when they called me would be when they would call me. It's a very typical reaction of mine now. I go absolutely nuts for about an hour, then calm down and carry on as normal and everything is fine again...

So Friday also came and went. I checked the website about a gazillion times over the weekend. I was also moving apartment (NEVER, EVER AGAIN!) and had our Christmas party that Saturday evening. Naturally, I checked myself into the fancy hotel and just indulged. When you are awaiting news of your potential child-to-be, what else is there to do?? Luckily, the weekend did pass quickly as I was so busy moving.

Monday arrived. I was just lining my kids up outside for play when my phone went. I screamed at my assistant to take the kids, almost vommed as I answered with sweating, shaking hands and the gorgeous human on the end of the phone asked that I go to the office that afternoon to handle some paperwork as I was approved to be this Tiny Human's mummy. I asked her to repeat it. Then I started bawling my brains out in my classroom, all on my tod, and asked her just to clarify that this was indeed what she was saying. 

Yes. You are approved. You are the designation for NN. 

The world hasn't stopped spinning round my head since Monday. I've had an appointment with the delightful psychologist who was the one absolutely hellbent on the fact that children want TWO PARENTS, MARIANNE! In. Yo. Face. There's a pile more complication because I'm going home for Christmas but as he's waited 2 years and 7 months to get a mummy, I don't think he'll mind if I go and see my mummy and daddy first. There's also the absolute hilarity that I had to submit ANOTHER LETTER. This one is to accept their acceptance. I shit you not. I have to write a letter and deliver it to say thank you for accepting my request to be his mummy, I also accept your acceptance. It's in. I don't know what the next step is because I never know the next bit...only the bit I'm on. But, with any luck and without any complications, my little boy will be home with his new family early next year. I can't wait. 

The thing that sticks in my head right now, as I told my big sister who has been an absolute pillar of support and encouragement through this whole process, is that I do not feel alone in this at all. My village have just been oozing love and support all over me and my son (MY SON!!!!) and none of us can wait till he comes home and joins our huge family. So, thank you, from the very, very bottom of my heart and to all eternity, for being here for us. Every one of you. xxxx

Finding out

As I continue to wait for Decision Day, getting more and more anxious by the second (thanks Bikram and running), I've been reflecting more on the last few stages of this interminable process. The final interview which was, I think, in May, changed the goalposts a bit. Another friend had accompanied me for this one and the whole tone was just different. My best friend the psychologist no longer seemed interested in convincing me that single mothers were unwanted, second class citizens. Oh no! This time, it was to check that what I had written on my application form was, in fact, true. 

You see, you have to do a checky-box thing. Which type of child will you accept? Age, sex, disability, special need, medical history, parents' history, known or unknown. There's quite an extensive list. Having given this a great deal of consideration, I checked all the boxes except for severe physical or mental needs. I have to be realistic, as a single person, about what I will be able to cope with on my own. I will have to go back to work and therefore I won't be able to give a child with these types of needs the 24 hour care they would require. I mean, it's all pie in the sky at the moment, innit? It's fine to think you are as prepared as you can be for impending motherhood, but I'm under no illusion that I know what's coming. However, this was the only box I didn't check and therefore I was called back into the office for a final interview as, in the words of that best friend the psychologist, 'NO ONE accepts all of these issues.' Ehhh, again, love: ENTER MAZ. 

After this interview, they told me that I would hear the result of whether I was approved to adopt or not in a month. That month obviously came and went. I phoned. I emailed. I showed up at the office. Your man was off sick so they couldn't talk about it. The paper from the office hadn't arrived. A few other reasons. It was all of the rollercoaster of emotions all over again. I thought I was going to find out before my trip to Florida with my family in July. That didn't happen and I assumed the worst. While I was in Florida, I made plans with my family to move home, convinced as I was that they weren't going to approve me and, even if they did, I'd be waiting years to be matched with a child.

The day I left my mum and dad to drive down to visit my friend, I said goodbye knowing that the next time I saw them would be Christmas at Glasgow Airport...with 2 dogs, 1 cat and all of my worldly possessions. That was an absolute certainty. When I arrived at my dear friend's house, that was still the plan...Then came a text from a friend in Peru who had been helping me to find out what was going on with my paperwork (people who know people who know people). She asked if I was sitting down then proceeded to tell me that I was approved. The decision had been made in June but the legal document had been delayed, waiting for a signature. This was 3 August. Man, were we overcome. There were tears, there was laughter, there was complete and utter disbelief that after this, at times torturous journey, they really had approved me. 'You're going to be a mum.' Words that only someone who knows how monumentous this is would really comprehend, I reckon. I'm eternally grateful to have been with one of my Soulmate friends that evening; something that huge needs to be shared. I love you, my favourite Venezolana. Oof, I'm getting all goosebumpy again thinking about that evening. And a wee bit teary again... 

Getting the actual legal bit of paper that says 'Yeah, you're alright, we'll give you a child' was the biggest anticlimax of all time. I went into the office (my actual second home now) and explained I was there to pick up a document. Down comes this wee admin girl and, I swear to all that's swearable to, she just hands me this bit of paper and says 'sign here please' and off she trots back upstairs. No sitting down in a meeting room to give me this life changing news. No interview with any of the people I'd met previously. Literally a wee 16 year old and a bit of paper to sign, standing up at the reception desk. Had I not had my sources, that would be have been my big finding out moment. Actually hilarious. Anyway. That was then and here we are, almost 4 months on and awaiting the final approval to get my baby home. Not long to go! 
M
(Some photos of that special moment)

And after the ficha came the interviews. I think.

I tell you, you take your finger off the whatever for a second and you forget what's going on and what's been already. Fairly certain I know roughly what is coming next but one can never be sure... 

After all the paperwork stuff - doctors and legal stuff and letters saying I have no criminal record and things, I was waiting again for some months. I can't really remember why. Definitely I had to get repeat tests done as some were incorrect or something or my lungs were blurry or something, but I can't really remember why there was such a big gap between this bit and the next bit. Then I went home for Christmas and that meant putting things on hold for about 2 months. So once I arrived back in Peru in February this year, I had to restart the process by way of 5 interviews. Man, oh man. It's difficult to write about this bit as this is when I lost all hope and faith of ever being able to adopt in Peru. 

You see, the psychologist assigned to me a) did not like me, b) did not like that I was single, and c) didn't seem to know much about children. These interviews were, as I understood, to check I was a mentally stable person who knew roughly what I was committing to, wasn't going to bail on the process or, you know, turn out to be an axe murderer or similar. What they were in reality, however, were a series of lectures about how children want two parents. How, when these children are asked (because the child has a voice, don't you know) whether they'd like to go home with a mummy instead of a mummy and a daddy, they would say 'No, no quiero' and turn and walk away. Perhaps this is true of some children. Perhaps it really is. But from the children I've spent time with in these homes, DESPERATE for love and affection, I find it very hard to believe. I also questioned how you would ask a one or two year old child this... apparently they know, too... 

Anyway, after HOURS of this and a questionnaire of no less than 289 multiple choice questions, I had lost hope. Beautiful friends had accompanied me on some of these interviews, including my home visit, and were convinced of the same. My favourite soon to be Tia and I still laugh about how, when during the home visit they had asked about my family, and I explained that I'd left home to go to university at 17, they were HORRIFIED. What an AWFUL life I've had, having gone to get a higher education and lived all over the world with the incredible support and love from my amazing family. HOW AWFUL THAT IS. Really, I've suffered. Sheesh. 

From all of this, I was left in no doubt that this was not to be. They told me that there were NO other single, foreign women who have ever adopted in Peru. Ever. I left a message for a friend telling her this, feeling utterly heartbroken and her words still resound in my head: 

So no one has ever done this before. Sounds like exactly the right path for my trailblazing friend, Marianne. 

ENTER MAZ. 

It just all got REAL

WHAT a week. A friend made fun of me for keeping writing 'words can't describe' so I won't be doing that again. Or at least I'll try not to. 

I left off with 'them' having said YES to me being a match for this wee love on the priority list. After that, I obviously emailed them about 20 times to find out what was next and if I was allowed to come and see his file again. They said I had to come into the office and submit yet another letter to say I wanted to see his file in digital format. So I legged it (in a taxi, Flinstone style) to the office to submit said letter. Very used to this whole 'you write a letter then bring it in person' thing now and also to the new security guard who WILL NOT ALLOW DOCUMENTS TO BE SUBMITTED AFTER 4PM. When you finish work at 3.30pm and Lima traffic wants to try and strip you of every last shred of sanity and then you're faced with someone who has a little bit of power and WILL BLOODY WELL USE IT, COME HELL OR HIGH WATER, you learn how to lie. The lovely receptionist has no issue taking my documents after 4pm, but this here man living in a man's world will not permit it. So, obviously I said I had an appointment. 

I sat waiting for about 20 minutes (normal and no problem - the news here is quite fascinating at the moment) to then be asked if I'd brought my USB. Ehhhh, no. Why, WHY, wouldn't you tell me I needed a USB if I needed a freaking USB?? So off I legged it back to Wong (who doesn't love Wong; it has EVERYTHING), to get a USB. Obviously, you can't buy the electronics at the electronic desk; you have to get a bit of paper from, I swear to everything, the slowest guy ever, then go to the checkout. Then go back and collect USB...which obviously wasn't ready waiting because obviously the 3 guys at that wee till stood there joking with each other, with no customers. I was silently screaming...

Legged it back to the office, waited another while and then down she came with the file and actually took me into a meeting room this time. She apologised for the delay in answering my many, many emails - these people are like any government organisation - overworked and underpaid and way understaffed. I apologised for my overzealous approach to adoption. We laughed. She answered all my questions and reiterated how sure I had to be about adopting my wee person because lots of people decide when they actually meet a child with these type of needs that it is too much. I knew I wouldn't be that person but I reassured her I would slow down and calm down. HAHAHAHA. 

So the next part was a meeting with the carers, psychologist and social worker. I took my lovely friend, who has been through this herself, for support, for translation and to hold my hand while I listened to the information that only made me want this Tiny Human even more. We saw a video and both tried to keep it together as we both fell in love (well, I fell even more in love). I knew the moment I saw the photograph and read the file on Wednesday 5th September.

I've met my Tiny Human twice now, submitted the letter to request to adopt and am now waiting for the consejo to meet and decide for the final time that I'm the right mummy. Meetings will be for another post. We are almost there, much, MUCH faster than I ever thought would happen and I have never, ever felt more sure of anything. There's a big, long road ahead of us but, like I said, 'to live will be an awfully big adventure'. Yeah, I didn't say it, but I think of this so often. 

I can't wait for our adventure to begin. 

After the workshops came the ficha

What's a ficha, I hear you say?! Yes, I didn't really know either. But...hmmm...digging deep on the rubbish memory and the TRAZILLIONS of paperwork I have submitted in the last 21 months of this process, I think that this first part was like a mini biography. Who I am (er...have you got a while??), why I want to adopt (people are really, really fascinated by this one), who my family are, photographs of everyone and my home and obviously Bob, Bee and Bella. It was actually quite fun putting it together - like a brochure: Come and be part of Maz's family! We're really fun! And we are. 

There was all these weird date rules with that. Like, after the final workshop, we had to wait one month before we could get the letter to say make this file. Then that had to be handed in on a specific date one month later. Then came the medical bit. That was an experience to behold. So, perhaps due to a teeny, tiny misunderstanding on account of the language barrier, I thought that I had to go to a government hospital to get the MILLIONS of exams and blood tests and psych tests (this one needs its own blog post: astonishing process). In my defence, the pyschologist at the Ministry gave me a website to go on to check out all the hospitals I could go to! So I duly went in search of said hospitals, accompanied by my lovely friend who agreed to chaufeur me around and translate, should the need arise, for the first lot. We went to no less than 5 clinics in one day, trying to find somewhere that had the correct tests. They just didn't have them. Government funding. No can do. As a result, I spent what felt like years in one place, going back and forth, missing loads of time from work and mainly being unsuccessful. Once I'd had the tests (STOP STICKING MY ARM FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT'S HOLY), I had to go back a week to 10 days later to collect a thing that said come back tomorrow to collect the results. WHAAAAAA? No entiendo. But come back I did. And again. And again. I cried. I pleaded. I shouted. I swore. In both languages. Eventually, I got what I needed...or so I thought. 

That whole experience taught me new levels of empathy, frustration, tolerance and patience in equal measure. I live a very, VERY priviledged life in my adopted country and I'm thankful every day. Sneaking a glimpse at what the majority of this population have to go through to get basic medical care was both harrowing and humbling. Never again will I take the NHS for granted, nor my own private health care that comes with my job. If anyone is in for trying to make a dent on the inequality, especially in developing countries, holler at me. It's madness, utter madness, that some people have their own helicopter and some people don't have electricity, water or health care. MAD.NESS. That's a whole entire other story but it was part of this journey and so it had to be written about. 

Waiting, waiting...

Can't actually describe the nerves pulsing through my veins right now, but I'm going to try because it's like therapy, this blogging malarky. I used to be a bit of a thesp, you know. All that jazz and am dram and singing and stuff...and the FEAR that comes with going on a stage to sing in front of people; where your legs are literally shaking, your hands are dripping with sweat and you're wondering why on Earth you thought this was a wise idea...that feels like a walk in the park comparatively. Actually, recently my face has started to shake when I go and sing. My actual face. Anyway, not sure most people would normally compare waiting for news on your adoption to singing on a stage but there we go. I'm not most people and I'm definitely not normal. 

Today I have a meeting with all the people who are currently looking after 'my' baby. This is the Big Question Time. This wee love has lots of schizzle going on, as expected with any child who has suffered trauma, and I am going to go and find out what the current situation is. After having read the file, I realised the last assessment was 6 months ago and a lot can change in a Tiny Human's life in 6 months. Also, I don't care. My village are being an INCREDIBLE support during this exceptionally exciting but terrifying time (as 'they' could still say no...) but I'm being met with other people's fears and concerns about my choice to adopt a child with special needs. I suppose I understand on some level that perhaps it seems like a huge undertaking, especially as I'm on my own, but I just know that this is the right path for me. I've been passionate about special needs for a long time and spent 3 years getting a Masters in Inclusion and SEN. Not saying for a second that this will prepare me entirely for what's to come, but I'm walking towards this and choosing it with my eyes wide open. As long as I can provide the love and care that my Tiny Human needs, I don't think anything else matters. This is my choice and I'm absolutely certain this is the right path. BRING ME MY BABY!

They said...

...YES! 

Yesterday was spent pretty much in tears the whole day. The actual whole day. I went to the office in the morning to be handed a letter confirming I've been deemed 'favorable' to be matched with this Tiny Human. This doesn't mean he's mine yet, as far as I understand, which has proven as challenging as the lead up to this monumental occasion. I have a piece of paper, given to me in the reception of the office with a casual 'just sign here' and 'here's what's next', whilst I bawled my brains out and tried to utter words in any language, that says I'm allowed to proceed to the next stage. What that stage might be is still a bit blurry...

I think, I think, that I will go to observe him in his home over the next 10 working days. This will be the time for all the big questions, reviewing his file and seeing him maybe more than once. Then after that, again, from what I've understood, I then submit the letter to request to adopt him. From there, I've literally no idea. I'm orbiting the solar system at the moment, whilst trying to figure out what it is I've actually to do next and not getting very far and trying really hard not to get my hopes right up there that this is my baby just in case anything goes wrong...but...but...I think I've found my boy. There aren't words to describe this feeling so I'm not even going to try but suffice to say, my heart is bursting. 

More soon...

The Workshops! (read: taking my mind off the current situ)

The current situ is that I am awaiting the decision as to whether I am being deemed 'favourable' or 'not favourable' as a match for one little poppet on the priority list. I was supposed to have this decision last week. Obviously not. Then I went to the office to ask what was going on, having had the next priority list sent to me (and under time constraints to get letters of 'interest', for want of a better term, to them) to be told that this child is especially special due to a diagnosis he has. I don't want to go into too much detail because a) maybe it's not allowed and b) my heart is in my mouth waiting. So that was the delay. However, the official paper has been produced with the decision, it's just waiting for a signature. I was assured that I would be telephoned TODAY and told. So I've emailed to be told that it will be tomorrow but that the 'process is going forward well'. WTAF? 

Any time this has happened in the past, this has been the exact cycle of emotions: anger, frustration, shouting, whatsapping, crying, more anger then acceptance. It happens quite quickly now...I can be back to 'cool' in about an hour. Just don't tell me that my life might be changing today if it's not going to be today. If it's 'maybe next week', just please say 'maybe next week'. That is much more manageable. I can cope with that. Knowing that TODAY IS THE DAY is positively torturous. Anyway, today is not the day. Hopefully tomorrow will be the day. Send me all the good luck fairies please. I'm sure he's the one. I just need them to think that, too. 

So...the workshops. Goodness, it's so long ago, I can barely recall. Essentially, they were made up of all prospective adoptive parents and it was great that there were 2 single woman in my group, although I was the youngest in the room by at least 10 years. I found that quite shocking, actually. They were run by a psychologist who basically worked around a theme each week, from the type of circumstances these abandoned children may have come from to the types of problems they may encounter in the future. They were 2.5 hours each, once a week, for 4 weeks. I was prepared for the language barrier; I was ill prepared for the cultural barrier. The classes started with a round robin of 'how everyone was feeling' and reflections on the previous week etc. It genuinely shocked me how much people could talk about what they thought and were feeling in front of a group of 10 strangers! Natually, when they got to me, my answers were more or less 'si, estoy bien, gracias'. That's it, folks! That's all you're getting! I'm British, for crying out loud!! We don't do all this sharing your feelings malarky!  

Looking back, I'm not sure if they were that helpful, truth be told. It was all too 'pie in the sky' for me - this might have happened and this could be what happens as a result. I guess I thought that if you were in this group, you'd maybe have a bit of a knowledge base of possible reasons children end up on the adoption register. Perhaps that was a bit judgemental of me, actually. But anyway, they did cover a broad range of heartbreaking, too close to home scenarios that only strengthened my desire to continue on. However, there was some false info given. Did I mention I was single?? (that getting old yet?) Because, apparently, because I am a single woman, I would ONLY be matched with a child over 5 years. I confirmed that I'd understood that with the man beside me who spoke a bit of English...yes, yes, you won't get a child under 5 years old because you're single. Say what?? Thinking perhaps that this wasn't the best platform to get into the why the actual this would be the case, I saved this nugget to email the ministry contact. Guess what? That's not true at all! Single people have exactly the same process and rights as married people! Isn't that lovely? Not ostracised after all! 

Anyway. I'm late for Spanish, this is not my best work, but it is therapeutic to get some of this hammered out while I wait for those powers that be to tell me if that's maybe my baby or not. 

Maz out. 

Let's start at the very...

Hi Blog Friends, 

As I've said a few times now, this is all topsy turvy and back to front, but I do think it's important to try and document what I've had to do to get to this point in the adoption process. For myself, for anyone who is following a similar path and, I really hope, for my child one day. I want him or her to be able to read this and feel just how much I wanted them and loved them before they were here. 

The beginning was this: on arrival in Peru, I knew this was somewhere I wanted to spend a longer-than-before time of my life. Before being 9 years in Edinburgh, a year in Thailand, a year in Italy, 3 years in Venezuela, 8 months in London. I had the wonderful fortune of meeting a like-minded, Spanish-talking friend, who swifly found out that we had to live in Peru for 2 years in order to be treated as Peruvians in this process. Now, not to criticise other people's paths and choices - this is a ZERO JUDGEMENT SPACE - I did not wish to part with cash in order to become a mother. Is that a contradiction?? What I mean is, I didn't want to 'buy' a baby. I had the luxury of living in this exquisitely stunning country and I wanted to go through the government process and that was that. Hah! you may say...

So. 2 years pass. My friends and I, as well as strangers and I, discuss this plan of mine until at last the time is upon me to apply. Fortunately, the registration procedure had changed from having to be online at a specific time on a specific day to press the button at the exact right moment. I liken this to my Bestest and I attempting, painfully and full of teenage angst and woe, to get tickets for Boyzone in the 90s. Having a friend who had tried and failed to register several times, I felt her pain and disappointment (though we did ALWAYS get the tickets). Anyway, apply I did. Register, I did. Answer some generic 'why do you want to adopt' questions, I did. That was in February 2017. The next step was to attend the 'talleres' in the adoption office. I could hardly wait. This was the journey really beginning, this was it! What was in store? What would they teach us? Would I meet some people in the same boat as me? 

Well...I knew from my friend's research that there had been a British woman who had adopted alone before. One. Once. About 9 years prior to my registration...

The Bit That's Happening Now

Dearest Blog Readers (if you're out there)...

There's been a fair amount of rambling going on here, but sure, is that not what a blog is for? 

There's been a lot this week. A LOT. It's been a very emotionally draining, roller coastery, sort of stressful, mainly hopeful, week. I do promise I'll write through the whole process of adopting here from start to finish so that anyone considering this path can benefit from my experience of navigating this system in a foreign language...but where I'm at right now is here. 

There are around 18,000 children in Peru living in children's homes but due to processing paperwork and, I suppose, limited resources, only around 400 are legally allowed to be adopted per year. These are estimates and I don't know the ins and outs but this is the information I've picked up over the last while. There is a huge process to go through before a child can be registered as legally abandoned and therefore eligible for adoption - it takes 2 to 3 years to go through. Meaning that even if a baby is found without parents, for example, found in the street, they are usually living in a children's home for those first 2 to 3 years before they can be put on the list. I completed a Masters in Inclusion and Special Educational Needs last year and spent part of this course studying Attachment Disorder, which I'm fascinated by, so it breaks my heart to know that there are thousands of children who will undoubtedly have some form of this and it could perhaps be avoided by finding them parents in these crucial first years. I know that the reason the process is so complex is to protect the children and their parents, so my intention is not to criticise. It's just hard knowing that there are babies who will never go home to their birth parents, but will have to be in a children's home until they are processed. 

I've been told that I could be waiting for years to be matched with my child (by one of the Singleton Haters) and was advised that perhaps I would like to look at the priority list. These children are siblings, have special needs, are older or have health problems. I have a very strong feeling that this is where my baby is. That's not something I can put my finger on really; it really is just a feeling. So last week I was sent this list - a friend and I spent a couple of hours pouring over it, sobbing, getting excited; and the feeling has been growing all week that this could be happening for me soon. I have been to review the files of some of the children on this list and have put forward a request to be matched with one. So now I wait. It's in the hands of the powers that be in Peru as to whether this is my Tiny Human or not...and I've been met with many opinions over the course of the week as to why they might not be. Being as open and honest as I'm trying to be about this process invites opinions and I'm happy to have them - again, the Not Alone thing. However, when I read this file and saw this photo, I cried right there in that office in front of other Parents To Be and the Witness lady who was overseeing our file revising! I'm doing a lot of that crying business lately. Perhpas this is going to be like searching for The One. There isn't A One, there's A Many. This is going to be a long wait now but I have faith that whatever happens will be the right thing. 

So, I guess to continue sort of from the first installment...there I was in Thailand, with a cat and a dog, quite unexpectedly. From there, we travelled to Venezuela where we spent three years. We both loved it and hated it. From the prettiest beaches with sand made of pixie dust and water as blue as Bradley Cooper’s eyes, to the tear gas and rubber bullets on my street that once made us barricade ourselves into my hallway; we have been through a lot together, my furry family and I. Venezuela imprinted on my heart and it’s part of who I am. Funny how somewhere you lived for only 3 of 35 years has such a huge impact, but it did and still does. All I can say is that this wonderful, beautiful, hypnotic country and its people touched my heart and soul and will remain there always. I could tell you of the horrors that marked my own life and the lives of others I loved, but it would betray the wonder and beauty of this magnificent country. I love Venezuela and always will.

It was in Caracas where I began working with orphanages, one in particular whom I still fundraise for and try to support. For anyone trying to adopt in Venezuela, you can’t unless you’re Venezuelan. We did briefly think about getting married and adopting, didn’t we, Junior?? God, I miss you. My school set up a link with RISE (Rincon Infantil San Edmundo) where we went to play and teach English but pretty soon the protests started and it was deemed too dangerous for us gringos to cross the city. Instead, we got the children on a bus to our school to play, eat and learn English once every 2 to 3 weeks. It sounds nuts that this was the safer option but we just couldn’t go into the barrios safely and the things we were bringing to donate were being stolen. Reflecting on this as I write is throwing off my sense of reality, though I know that this was very real. I think at this time, my mind was cementing what I knew to be true already: I am going to be a Mum and this is how I will be doing that. I knew it couldn’t happen in Venezuela but I knew it would be my path somewhere. With a very, very heavy heart, I started my search. As I write, this child I clung to, Carlos, appears in my mind and I wonder what became of him.

My Carlos

To whom we never should have said goodbye x

Ella y ella y yo

Las tÍas!

I still support RISE, 7 years on, and have recruited my amazing family and their fundraising power to try and alleviate the horrific circumstances these children are battling. I've never wondered why my default is to want to help people because it's in my blood. Though one shouldn't brag, my family pretty much personify what a family should be. They are loving, selfless, warm, giving, generous and benevolent. I want to arrange a charity concert and there they are, arranging it, supporting me, helping others. Despite my aversion to the question ‘why’, I guess this is part of my reason. My family raised me to be this way and I loved those children in RISE. I still do. Some of them had mums and some of them didn’t; it didn’t matter. I knew, if I could have adopted one of my RISE kids, I’d have loved them inside out and back to front and upside down. My heart is breaking for Venezuela and particularly for these children. Working with orphans is not the reason I knew I wanted to be a mum, but it’s certainly cemented my way of knowing that is how I’ll be a mum. This is my path. I have never been surer of anything and I can’t wait till my baby comes home to me.

But...why?

Hi!

You know that bit in Love Actually where Hugh Grant fancies Martine McCutcheon and so acts like a plonker and waves both his hands when he's saying hello to her? That's how I feel in beginning with 'hi!'. Awkward.

As I said, this blog will unlikely follow any kind of semblance of order or chronology, but rather be an outburst of random thoughts and events, usually related to my adoption journey...but sometimes not. I will try to write about all of the things I've gone through in the process up until now, however, I had the pleasure of meeting an exceptional woman the other night who deserves writing about.

When I tell people I'm adopting (and I do tell people because even though I might not have been successful, I think it's worth talking about), I'm usually asked why, accompanied by a shocked face and a general disbelief. It's unclear whether this is a cultural thing specific to Peru or Latin America, whether it's a generational thing or whether it's just all people everywhere, but people want to know why I don't want my 'own child'. Forgive me for being so ignorant, but when I adopt my child, whose exactly are they going to be?? I know my baby is out there waiting to come home...it's a powerful piece of knowledge, that. But anyway, back to the 'why'. My answer, after quite a lot of practise now, is that I have known since I had a sense of self that I wanted to be a mum one day and I know now that there are far too many people on this planet and far too many who need a mum. It's as simple as that. I have no desire to give birth whatsoever, single or not. That answer hasn't been adequate for quite a number of people and I'm kind of over explaining myself so really...get raffled! I've had to explain myself to the adoption people themselves over and over again which, when you don't speak the lingo that well, is a challenge!

What a joyous and refreshing change it made then, to meet someone involved with the process whose response was that adopting is a wonderful way to start a family and that she wished to help me in any way she could. This woman, man. She just blew my mind (and my gorgeous friend who accompanied me to the meeting - she's also a mind blowing woman firmly in the inner circle of The Village) and I left feeling unbelievably grateful to have met her and inspired that there are people, even here where the patriarchy reigns supreme, fighting the good fight for these kids and people like me. Did I mention that I'm SINGLE?? She talked us through the whole process and had us hooked on her every word. She spoke slowly, clearly and passionately, offering all kinds of support for when my Tiny Human comes home. She never once asked why I'm doing this or what on Earth I think I'm playing at trying to do it Alone. She just made me feel like this journey is exactly the one I should be on and that it is all going to work out perfectly. I'm under no illusions that this is going to be easy, none at all, but having someone like this incredibly strong and vivacious lady in my corner added fuel to my fire and lifted my hopes right back up again. There's a long road ahead but with people like this on my side, I'm not worried.

In other news, Bob is 8 today. We have spent the day cuddling on the sofa and watching movies and eating chifa. Forever and ever grateful that this little ball of fluff came into my life - Woman's Best Friend.

Not really part 2...

If anyone expected this blog to be ordered, structured, chronological or such, well, you'd be wrong. It's more likely to be chaotic, impulsive, disorganised, a stream of consciousness, spontaneous...kind of how my brain looks.

It would be remiss of me to let this weekend pass by and not comment on it in my new bloggy-style. You see, I've just spent the weekend with nearly 200 teenagers, aged between 11 and 18, building 12 houses for desperately poverty stricken people in Chincha, Peru. Backstory is that there was a huge earthquake (8.0) here in 2007 which killed hundreds and left countless (I really don't know the figures) without a home. A very good friend of mine and a group of his friends went down from Lima and began constructing 'chosas' - houses made out of plants - to give people at least some shelter. 11 years on and there are people who are STILL living like this. No 'proper' shelter, no proper access to running water or electricity. It's mind boggling. I will post some photos tomorrow to give you an idea of the conditions.

Kids getting their build on

This is the running water beside the 'bathroom'

When you live in the bubble that I have been fortunate enough to live in, having been teaching internationally for the past 9 years, the disparity between rich and poor becomes shockingly apparent. I never really knew what class was, growing up in Scotland. I was aware that some people had more than others, but I didn't really think in terms of class as such. Having experienced the upper echelons of society, both here and in Venezuela, it really is Another World. And having spent time volunteering in the lower echelons...well, you just don't know how good you've got it. It occurs to me, quite frequently now, that the ONLY reason I have the life I do is because I was lucky enough to be born where I was born, to the parents I was born to and with the colour of skin that I have; it has very little to do with anything other than luck.

So anyway...this friend of mine has grown the project over the course of the years, taking students down to Chincha to build houses. I think we just finished house number 277 today. I volunteer to be an adult on this exceptional trip, which teaches the kids leadership, collaboration, service, KINDNESS, amongst the gazillions of other things they get out of being sky rocketed out of Their World and smashed quite crassly into The Other. It really is How The Other Half Live. And the feeling I have come away with each and every time is that these children are incredible. They give up their weekend, and sure they have fun and they enjoy camping and being away from their parents and staying up late and all of that, but they work bloody hard! They do manual labour I wouldn't have dreamt of as a teenager. They build a freaking house in 2 days!! They take orders from their peers, they lift heavy walls, they don't have all of the creature comforts that they are so bandaged up in in their regular life, and they build an actual house for a family that don't have one.

Putting the panels together

Always a wee dog friend

And we have a house, people!

My favourite slide...but I fails this trip. Too tired to climb up!!

People criticise this project for all kinds of reasons. Often they haven't been to work on it. Sometimes they think rich kids showing up is a smack in the face. Sometimes they just moan coz that's what they're good at. But I am back from a weekend that's left me exhausted but with my heart bursting with pride and love for this - well done, you little stars. You gave someone a home today. xxxx

Favourite parts:
'Are you a Gap student?'
'You're like the fun mum from Mean Girls'
...I think you'll find she's a 'wannabe fun mum'...
'Yeah, you are ACTUALLY fun.'
Kids all dancing to a local live band in the plaza, waitresses from various restaurants serving shots of wine samples all round the plaza. Marianne looks on, bemused, thinking 'someone needs to tell that waitress these kids are not allowed to drink'.  Then realises, 'SHIT! I'M the adult here!'

The beginning...

Hi! Ugh, I hate that...will come back and fix that later…

And so it starts…

My adoption journey has been, to date, a tumultuous, frustrating, emotionally draining and painful experience. I’m a single, 35 year old Scottish woman living (ALONE!) in Lima, Peru and I have been navigating the government adoption process myself (ALL ALONE! WITHOUT A HUSBAND! DID I MENTION?!) for the past 18 months. It strikes me now that I should have perhaps begun sharing my experiences earlier on in the process when I was tearing my hair out, crying, shouting at people, pleading with admin staff to help, bawling at my friends through the medium of What’s App, actual phone call, in person or other such interface. It may have proven to be cathartic…and may have saved my poor friends the wrath of Marianne.

But here I am now. Single. Alone. Desperate to become a Mum. Well, this is what the adoption people see when they look at me. In fact, I feel far from Alone or Single. I’m surrounded by a close circle of fierce women; some with families who are equally part of my team, some like me, some who don’t choose motherhood but support me, some with families that have turned out different than they planned. And then there is my team who are on the other side of the world from me. In fact, there are people on my team all over the world. From Australia to Venezuela, from Florida to my hometown in Scotland, from my Bestest Friend In The World at home to My First Wife in Italy, from my favourite city Edinburgh to Manchester, London, Dubai, Switzerland and so many, many places in between. I don’t feel alone. I have my village and I’m ready for this. Or as ready as a person can ever be to have their world turned upside down by a Tiny Human coming home (can you tell I’m a Shonda fan?).

The other reason that I’m not Alone is that I have an EXTREMELY loving Furry Family. Bee, my cat, came into my life one hot summer’s night in Koh Samui, Thailand. Well, to be fair, ALL the nights were hot and summer-like. She was a little kitten, walking around our table at a restaurant called Boss. My friend decided she’d like to adopt this friendly, flea-bitten bag of bones and my good pal, Johno, went to speak to the owner of the restaurant in his amazing Thai (no joke - my British ear can’t hear those sounds but Johno nailed it!) and so she was coming home. By the end of the evening, this ‘friend’ decided she no longer wanted the kitten. I couldn’t leave her. I don’t even freaking well like cats. And so started the beginning of the Furry Family. We named her Little Bee because we found her at Boss (B…) and she was a girl. How unbelievably anti-feminist of me. She is THE Boss. I digress. 2 weeks later, Bob arrived. He was the runt of a litter from one of the other teachers at my school. It was love at first sight. My Best Friend In The World and I had decided when we were around 14 that I would one day have a Dalmatian called Bob (our nickname for her and her Daddy’s name!). Bob is most certainly not a Dalmatian but he’s black and white and the best dog a girl could ever wish for. He’ll be 8 on 31st August. I suppose this is where it all began.