Waiting for Hari

time passing

I am aware that time if passing -- days, weeks now since LID -- but I am not yet counting. I could. I could be on the verge of meticulously marking days off on a calendar, but I work at using this time wisely and begin to make lists to check off. When we went for Mai, I had little lists -- my responsibilities were negligible -- adult medication and pictures. Still, I made lists and gathered what I needed and then was done. That was a time when we were supposed to leave in April -- and I worried about missing Cheshire's birthday -- and instead left in August -- missing the beginning of school and a camp show. There was so much time from the end of lists and when we left, from packed bags to leaving. This time, I hope for more order, regularity, but also keep the previous experience lodged inside. I know there are things that go wrong, I know there can be set backs, and miscarriage is still a possibility. I am just cautious.

Julia Zhi Kuang's room is roughly painted. The blue ceiling and lining of the walls is calm, cello tones. A light navy blue holding the potential of the dark shade. The lilac insets are reedy, merry, sounding like a clarinet. I hope to finish the painting this weekend and the predicted rain may push me on.

Then there is the furniture -- a little table, two chairs, a big doll house, and the bed frame. David, Cheshire and I will all take pieces and paint. Not Jim Jones' work on Cheshire's baby table, but something from our hearts.

I have nothing to write of Julia. We will send off her box this weekend, but that is not of her. I have little fears but no more than when I was pregnant.

At book club last night, we talked of Julia. My friends told me I said Zhi Kuang nicely, sounding beautiful. Who knows if it is a pronounciation that she will answer to. Donna said I might start a rash of adoption. Well, that was what Jen did for us. Strange this urge to parent. It is our survival as a species. The knowledge that there are children who are not individually loved and cared for is a clarion call. It stirs the soul. We do not escape its sound.

posted by Suz @ 8:53 AM