Remembering May 6th, 2009.

As I sit down to write this, my youngest son is snuggled into our hotel bed in Seoul, South Korea. Sleeping soundly after a quick walk around the block (only one stop- Starbucks) with his Mama. What an incredible adventure we've had, already...

Just like the days that your older brothers were born, Rubin, I will never forget the day that you came into my world forever. These moments hold the dearest places in my heart. Our story is sacred to me.

As was planned, we made the trek up the hill from our hotel to SWS just before 11:00 this morning, after a quiet breakfast together in the lobby restaurant. Rubin and his foster mother were on my mind all night/all morning, and my appetite was somewhat lacking. I was up way too late and woke up way too early, again. A trip to the gym didn't calm my nerves. I couldn't stop thinking about where Rubin was on his way to me, and how his foster family was preparing to let go of him, to say good bye.

A new friend of mine from home, a two-time Korean adoptive parent herself, gave me the greatest advice in preparation for this day, this exact moment in time when Rubin's foster mom would have to let him go. She told me that she brought flowers for her children's caregivers on their final day together, so that when they left the agency without their babies, they would havesomething to hold on to.

And so, I'd spent the earlier part of the week mapping out every flower shop within a 1 mile radius of the Renaissance, and after breakfast I made my way out to pick up a basket of flowers for Rubin's f.m. I surpassed the beautiful fresh cut roses and tulips for a little tin basket, wrapped in a bow, holding two potted annuals, just beginning to bloom. Something that will last all summer (and beyond). Something that will remind her of him.

When we entered Han Suh Hospital/SWS, the clock in the entryway read 10:50am. I couldn't fathom trying to pass any more time by walking up and down the street a few times to push our arrival closer to 11am, so we entered and made our way up to the 7th floor, again, via the elevator. When the doors opened onto "our" floor, there were 3 nurses waiting to go down with the tiniest newborn babies wrapped up in their arms. There were other babies in the waiting area, too, babies Rubin's age. Babies who I am certain already have families with hearts full of them, anxiously waiting for them, somewhere in the world. I couldn't help but think of all of the Mamas who have been waiting with me, who are still waiting.

Your time is coming, your time will be so sweet when it comes.

Rubin's caseworker ushered us into a side room edged with couches, centered on a table. She told me that Rubin had not yet arrived, and so we sat down and waited for him. I waited in the same spot that Krista waited for Alex, I am sure. I have a feeling that Christine waited right there for Spencer, too...

(Waiting for my boy.)

It didn't take very long until our pair walked through the door... Rubin, dressed in the most adorable little bright yellow and white checkered ensemble. A hat, a tie, a vest... the whole nine yards. He was, of course, fast asleep, strapped to his foster mother's chest in a light blue carrier. She made a remark about the heat, and immediately began to peel him off of her, and to tend to his sweaty head and feet. She was with us only momentarily before our caseworker ushered them out of the room again to see the agency's doctor for one last check-up.

When they came back, my baby was wide awake and his foster mother was quick to hand him to me. Again, that familiar word, Omma, sounded repeatedly from her lips.

She busied herself in the office, making a bottle for my son. She showed me how many scoops of formula to add, and how many ounces of water. I was surprised at how warm the milk was when it was ready, warmer than the hot cocoa that I make for Theo at home. I took a careful mental note, trying to keep everything familiar for Rubin.

Thankfully, I handed Nanny the flip, and she took a lot of video during this time. As I am thinking back, so many things seemed to happen at once...

I wanted Rubin's foster mom to be certain of my gratitude to her and her family. I wanted to make sure that she does not worry about this baby boy. I told her that Rubin has two older brothers at home, and that I'm fairly well versed in taking care of babies. I told her that I had lots of clothes for him, and lots of toys. (She brought me 5 or 6 outfits for him, a couple of bibs, some socks, a new pair of shoes, an album full of photos she had taken, a stuffed puppy, some cookies, his favorite juice...) I emphasized how excited his Papa and his brothers are about meeting him (I promised Rubin later that I would protect him from Emmett...)

I thanked her. Again and again I tried to thank her. I promised her letters and photos, and she asked that we come back to Korea some day to see her again.

Rubin's caseworker came in with a pile of paperwork for me. His passport (I've never seen a cuter photo...) and his immigrant data summary. A report for initial adjustment (more information on his eating, sleeping, "toilet" and bathing habits) and a summary of his physical condition. He weighs 22 pounds now, and is just over 30 inches long. He seems so healthy, and so incredibly happy.

Rubin's caseworker also gave us a necklace for him, with a Korean flag pendant engraved with his Korean name and date of birth. She gave us a Korean flag for him (just like the one that my brother Eli came home with) and a CD with traditional children's music. She gave us diapers and bottles and formula for our trip home.

I had to sign some paperwork. And the director for the Intercountry Adoption Department came to see us. Of course, I had to get a photo of Rubin with all of his girls...

Phew.

When it was time for us to leave, our caseworker told me that we would all walk to the elevator together, and that we would leave the building with Rubin first, before his foster mother. We gathered all of our things and made our way to the doors.

And there were no tears.

Before we left, Rubin's foster mother held his hands and kissed them one more time. She turned him toward me, again, and repeated "Omma, Omma," while pointing at my heart. I hugged my son close to my body, as close as I could, and stepped onto the elevator.

On our way out of the Social Welfare Society, I said a prayer for the brave mothers in Rubin's life who came before me. His birth mother and his foster mother. I asked God to give me their immeasurable strength, so that I might care for my son as deeply and selflessly as they both, in such a short time, already have.