We have bad news to report

This week his been incredibly draining. Robert and I are depleted. After a series of conversations with our social worker, Allison, and Marsha, the founder of Dillon, our agency, we received some very infuriating, depressing, upsetting news. It seems very likely that the Korean government has made the decision to stop processing international adoptions for the 2009 year - period. This is a purely political decision that takes no account of the real lives at stake or the best interests of adoptees like Leo. The Korean government has been trying to create the perception that domestic adoption within Korea is doing well in order to encourage further domestic adoptions (which are currently very unpopular for cultural reasons). The government has been totally unsuccessful, so in past years they have manipulated the numbers by simply not processing international adoptions once they hit a certain quota during the year. This way, the domestic numbers look strong in comparison, even though it's totally deceptive. Each agency is given a certain quota and our agency in Seoul has been told they've hit their quota by the Korean government.

This is a nightmare. We have been told that there remains a slight chance that the Korean government will suddenly begin accepting paperwork again this year (since in previous years there was some sort of "push" to get some adoptees home in time for Christmas), but there is absolutely no reason to rely on this possibility. The government is likely not going to begin processing paperwork again (if history is any indicator) until mid to late January, and then Leo wouldn't be coming to us until late February or March. That is 9-10 months since our June 11 referral, not the 3 months or so we were told.

I'm talked out. We miss Leo so much our hearts are breaking. Of course, there are all of his developmental milestones we're missing - his learning to walk, beginning to talk, and eating solids, and exploring the world. But mostly it's just the time with him that we are losing that is killing us. We have to keep going through the motions of our days and lives knowing we have a son out there who doesn't know who we are or that we even exist. Now when he comes he'll be older, which may make his transition more challenging - he'll have a stronger bond with his foster parents and grieve their loss, he'll be confused by English and his new surroundings, etc. We can't bear to think of the months that lie ahead of us, of the continued uncertainty, of the holidays that probably won't include our little boy. We are struggling to find joy; this is a hard pill to swallow. Especially because it is the result of arbitrary, senseless, political BS. We are screaming into the wilderness.

So now what? I have discussed the possibility with my agency of traveling to Korea to visit Leo. This will be highly structured and observed by both the foster mother (who I would love to meet) and an Eastern Welfare Society official. I might be able to see him twice for an hour each time. I know, I know. I'll advocate for more - trust me. But I'm learning to deal with a lot of powerlessness in this process. I just want to see him. To touch him. To hold him. To smell him. I don't care (okay I do a little) if he cries and screams at me. I just want to interact with him - soon. I want to feel his presence, not just be told about it. Will he ever be here, in this house, in his waiting room? It's becoming harder and harder to believe.

I had 2 dreams the other night. In the first dream I was sitting around a camp fire with Brad Pitt. I had shorts on and noticed I had shaved one of my legs but not the other one. I showed Brad both of my legs (can you imagine?) and we laughed - heartily - and it was like when Meryl Streep camped out at night with Robert Redford in Out of Africa - out of this world.

In the second dream, I was in my house but it was a different house. There was a knock at the door and there was a tall Asian man standing there with a small boy, about age 3 or 4. I knew he had Leo and out behind him came a smaller boy - an infant with a fuller head of hair - and I knew it was Leo. The next thing I know I'm in my kitchen and it occurs to me that I haven't seen Leo, but that I left him sleeping on my bed, which is dangerous because he could roll off. A bundle of anxiety and fear, I run into my bedroom and he's gone - there is nothing and no one on the bed.

I liked the first dream better.

Leo is elusive and I feel like I'm running down one of those hallways that get longer, not shorter. I want him to know that no matter the pain and crap and heartache of this journey how thrilled we are that he - him in particular - is our son. We just wish like we have never wished for anything before that he was here with us and not the pawn in some pointless political exercise. And so we wait and figure out a way to cope with this unexpected, terrible delay keeping us apart from the son we love so much.