Guatadopt Q&A

Yesterday was Family Court day, and I figure what better occasion to do a little Q&A about Guatemala adoptions -- everything you always wanted to know but were too afraid to ask. Or, if the topic bores you silly, perhaps you'll enjoy a few pictures of the hero of our story.

the feet

My friend/cousin/neighbor adopted from Guatemala, and they just went down for a few days to pick up the child. Why are you there for so long?

Most children coming home from Guatemala are 6-8 months old (it used to be more like 3-6 months, but the process has become longer for various reasons). For many adopting parents, it makes logistical, financial, and sometimes emotional sense to wait until the adoption is finalized to join their child, although many do visit before the final pick-up trip. One of the most appealing facets of the Guatemalan system is that most adopted children are cared for in foster homes, rather than in orphanages, and often some contact is possible between the adoptive and foster families during the process. In my case, I had the even more appealing option to act as the (unofficial) foster mother thanks to the policies of my agency, the flexibility of my job, and the beneficence of my parents, so I jumped at the chance to be with my Pablito from a very early age -- I have had the great pleasure of mothering him since he was a wee bit of 2 1/2 weeks.

the chicken legs

What happens during the adoption process? Why does it take 6 months?

The full adoption process actually takes much longer than 6 months, usually, if you start counting from the beginning of the dossier collection -- the often tedious gathering of documents, signatures, notarizations, certifications, authentications etc. that are needed for an international adoption. Ask any prospective adoptive parent how the paperchase is going and you're sure to get some rolled eyes and a sigh. But I've made it through that particular hoop, and am now focussed on the Guatemalan end of the process. That consists of several different steps: from DNA day, to Family Court, to Preapproval, to PGN, to Pink. Details below.

the birthmark

What happens on DNA day?

Well, first of all, I had to get up really early. Before 8. Then we got all dressed up in our Monday best, and packed a spare outfit for Pablo, just in case he spit up all over the first one. (I would have to make do, if it were my outfit that suffered that indignity.) Then Sandra and Gustavo, our trusty drivers, took us into Guatemala City (a ride that ranges from 45 minutes to 3 hours, depending on traffic), where we met Pablo's official foster mother, who then took him to meet his biological mother. The DNA test was done on both mother and baby to ensure that the baby is in fact hers, and is a safeguard in place to prevent the theft and trafficking of children for adoption. It was also the first time his birth mother had seen Pablo since she relinquished him, and was the first of four points throughout the process when she has the opportunity to change her mind. A picture of the two of them together, taken on DNA day, will be perhaps the only tangible reminder Pablo has of his first mother.

the buddha belly

What happens if the birth mother changes her mind?

This happens very rarely in Guatemala, but if it did, Pablo would return to his original family. Of all the worst-case scenarios in the adoption process, this is probably the one with the least horrific consequences -- but my heart would be broken.

the hands

What happens if the DNA doesn't match?

Again, this is quite rare. I don't know the exact protocol that would take place in this scenario, but my understanding is that the adoption would be terminated. I would no longer be eligible to be his mother, and I believe his care would be turned over to the state during the subsequent investigation.

the double chin

Oh my gosh -- are you nervous?

In a word, yes. Not so much about the DNA per se (I should be getting the results any day now) but about the process as a whole I am nervous. Most days I don't have to think about it, and I spend my time instead falling in love with this wonderful baby boy -- but on these important procedural days, I can't help but worry about the rare disastrous possibilities, as I am reminded that he is not yet fully mine.

the profile

What happens next?

The next big step in the process is Family Court. I'm still not clear about exactly what happens in Family Court, but it is essentially the social work part of the adoption. A caseworker interviews the birth mother and the official foster mother, physically inspects El Pablito, and reviews my homestudy and other paperwork. For me the inspection day began with an extremely thorough bath, and then an anxious digging through the piles of baby clothes, for the guatemaltecas are very particular about proper dress for an infant. His usual outfit of stained, unsnapped onesie and possibly some mismatched socks would not do. On DNA day I forgot to bring a blanket for him (this, in weather that ranges from 70-80 degrees), and was duly chastised. For Family Court, he had two blankets. But, shockingly, no undershirt. Once again, duly chastised.

the Spock ear

Well, that sounds pretty thorough -- what else can there be besides Family Court?

Oh, all sorts of things! First of all, there is Preapproval, which is issued by the U.S. Embassy after they receive the DNA results and look over the requisite paperwork. Preapproval is the U.S. government's way of saying "yes, it looks like we'll probably be able to issue a visa for this kid once you make it through the Guatemalan end of the system." Preapproval used to take about a month -- but because of recent "increased scrutiny" it's taking twice that long. Back to the Guatemalan side of the red tape, the next step after Family Court is the big one -- PGN.

the hair

What is PGN?

Ah, PGN: The Procuraduria General de la Nacion. Basically the Guatemalan Attorney General's Office. These guys look over all the paperwork (are your eyes beginning to glaze over here?), and, hopefully, proclaim that the adoption is all in order and proclaim that Pablo is mine forever. By law, this process is supposed to take 3 days. In reality, it usually takes 2-3 months, sometimes more. And PGN is where the dreaded previo, or kickout, can be issued for pretty much anything. And I do mean anything. Perhaps the reviewer prefers blue ink to black on the medical letter that it took me over a month to extract from my doctor back in the States. Perhaps someone has a missing middle initial somewhere, or an inconsistently accented name. Perhaps a page has been dogeared. Or perhaps there is a Guatemalan document that requires a signature by a mayor no longer in office (for details on that particular nightmare situation, visit www.sunflowersandladybugs.com and/or www.jesuswasnotarepublican.blogspot.com)

the smile

So, once you make it through PGN, that's it, right? You get to come home after that?

Well, not quite so fast. PGN is the end of the Guatemalan process; on the U.S. side, there's still quite a few details to be wrapped up. A visit to the Embassy doctor; the issuance of a new birth certificate; the final signing off by the birth mother; and finally, "Pink!" -- an appointment for the final Embassy visit to pick up the baby's visa to the U.S. (so known because the color of the appointment slip is -- you guessed it -- pink). All told, another 4-6 weeks after exiting PGN. But yes -- making it through PGN lets everyone breathe a huge sigh of relief. I very much look forward to that day, but it's still a long way off at this point!

the happy mama

Pablo's Day

Dictated by El Pablito

Mom won't let me use the computer yet, but she said I could have my own entry today. Finally! I mean, really, isn't this blog supposed to be all about me in the first place? I thought you might like to have an idea of how I'm spending my time down here in La Antigua (most people forget that "La," by the way -- at least it's no longer La Muy Noble y Muy Leal Ciudad de Santiago de los Caballeros de Guatemala -- but I'll let Mom tell you all about that mouthful in some other entry).

So, for starters, this is me, bright-eyed and bushy-haired:

Pretty cute, huh?

And then there's my other half. Half-eyed and bushy-haired.

Yup, that's Mom. Not her best time of day. So far, I've managed to get a smile from her every morning -- I think that may be because I've been pretty good about sticking to our bargain: I let her sleep until 8 or 9, and she lets me do basically whatever I want. That works great for me, because, frankly, sleeping in is one of my favorite activities.

As is sleeping out.


Or on.


Or beside.


Or under.


Or between.


Or pretty much anywhere.


But, lest you think that my day is entirely without excitement -- check THIS out:

Every day we have to negotiate this treacherous flight of concrete stairs to go get my first morning snack. Mom hasn't dropped me here YET -- but let's just say she hasn't earned my complete confidence either. There have been incidents. And morning is not my mother's optimal operating hour (cf above).

After breakfast, the day begins in earnest. First, a brief postprandial snooze:

(I objected mightily to the inclusion of this picture, as I think it makes me look like a driveling idiot. Mom says I look cute, and it's her blog, so too bad. Hmph.)

Then Mom takes a shower, while I meditate on the bathroom tiles.

I love my tiles. I get all excited looking at them -- sometimes so excited that I wriggle right off my towel onto the floor.

Those other tiles I'm not so thrilled about.

Then there's the laundry. I do my part:

Mom does hers:


Then it's time for a little internet interlude. Mom has a couple of tricks for that: first she tries to distract me with some kind of new-fangled baby book -- all the pictures are in black and white! She says all the infant development people gave it rave reviews. I say it's just OK.


Then she gives me what I really want: my pal Mr. Target.


Sometimes Mom tries to be clever and gives me Weird Mr. Whoozit instead:


But I let her know what I think about that.




At some point in the afternoon, we usually get up the energy to do something in town. Mom says it's important to get out of the house every day -- even if it's 5 o'clock by the time we do. I'm not sure what the big deal is -- my favorite stuff is all inside. For instance, in addition to the tiles, we have super cool ceilings:


and lights:


and my bouncy seat. Now I know some have called it derivative -- but I say, Pollock never did butterflies, now did he?


But sometimes it's fun to go out and be sociable. Here we are at Cafe No Se.


And here we are out and about with Sonja, another adoptive mom we met down here. Sonja's a Yalie, just like Mom -- she lives in Maine, and she homeschools her two-soon-to-be-three kids! Mom's going to have to work pretty hard to match those hipmama credentials. Anyway -- I'm sorry I don't have a picture of Sonja's daughter, Lola -- she's a hottie!


Occasionally we even do the big guatadopt group thing -- here's a bunch of us at a brunch party:


I got to hang out with Alex -- someone my own size, for once!


But some of our best times have been just relaxing at home with our next door neighbors. Here are Lalla and Ben:


And Ben's big sister Olivia. Olivia is a fabulous kid -- even if she did toot on my head that one time.


And here am I again, lounging around with Mom.





By nighttime, we're usually pretty exhausted from all that activity. Some nights, if Mom isn't feeling too tired, I get a bath:


And after that I might get a full-body massage. Mom says it looks like I'm trying to escape in this picture -- but I quite enjoy my massage. Really, Mom, I swear! I'm just a wriggler by nature.


When I'm not resting, that is. Back to sleep, I'm always the perfect model.


Phew! That was a lot of work, just getting through an average day! I think next time I'll let Mom do the blogging, while I await my next photo session. ...Oh, Mr. DeMille?

Semana Santa: The Procesiones

It would be a mistake to leave you with the impression that the beautiful alfombras are the pinnacle of Antigua's Semana Santa celebrations. While my pictures can't even begin to do them justice, I'll try to convey a sense of the sombre procesiones that wind through Antigua for hours, sometimes deep into the night. The procession tradition dates back to the colonial era, when it was imported from Spain, and has evolved into a world-reknowned spectacle of religious observance. Central to the processions are the andas, large (and heavy) floats depicting Passion-related scenes and figures, which are carried through the cobblestone streets by cucuruchos, lay men and women belonging to various religious fraternities. Up to a hundred people are needed to carry each float, and participating for even a block can lead to aching shoulders the next day. The cucuruchos march in formation -- two steps forward, one step back, so that the figures atop the floats seem to glide and sway their way through the mourning crowd. Figures of Christ and other notable male saints are carried by the men in their purple or black robes; black-veiled women, many in cobblestone-defying heels, bear the Virgin Mary. Marching with the floats are brass bands playing loud lugubrious funeral marches, and incense bearers wafting thick clouds of scent into crowd (we always knew when a procession was approaching by the aroma that drifted over the walls of the Santa Rosa).

The streets are packed during Semana Santa, with cucuruchos (in Lenten purple), pilgrims, and tourists quietly negotiating for space on tiny sidewalks.


On Good Friday the dress changes from purple to black, and here you can see a few tall pointy hats and masked faces. I'm not sure about the significance of that costume, but it certainly creates an effectively grim atmosphere, even apart from the KKK resemblance. The trident to the left in this picture is used to lift electrical wires out of the way for the floats; the banner announces a particular religious brotherhood.


Roman soldiers form another significant contingent in the processions:


Here you see the cucuruchos in formation:


A few shots of the floats themselves:






One of the smaller Good Friday processions had individual floats commemorating scenes of the Passion. We could never figure out exactly what was happening here:


But this is clearly Veronica, one of my favorites:

Apparently, I've learned something from all my visits to the Cloisters, as I was able to explain the apocryphal story of the "Vera Icon" to some of my companions. That was about the extent of my theological usefulness, however.

Gruesome, but requiring no explanation:


When night falls, the generators that have been pulled behind the floats throughout the day come into use, and the procession becomes a glowing, smoky, almost eerie event.








Unfortunately, I didn't have the vantage point of these two.


But, I did get my own private performance:



Next up: more of el Pablito, I promise!