Yesterday was Noah’s first day at the church day care.

It started off a little chaotic — the director had forgotten to leave our file with the curriculum manager, who is also the early morning administrative person. And the early morning teacher in Noah’s classroom was sick, so they were waiting on a sub. But really, all that meant was no paperwork and me hanging out for 30 minutes, playing with Noah in his new classroom.

The nice thing about that is that although I was generally familiar with the room, since Noah was there for Sunday school for almost a year, now I feel like I know it. And I got to meet a couple of the other children and their parents.

I have to admit, I was worried when I left.

Not about Noah, but about traffic. NPR told me that it was 8:19 when I got into my car, and I needed to traverse approximately 90% of the downtown/business district of Atlanta to get to work. My goal was to start that journey before 8 am, in the hopes of missing the worst of the worst traffic.

Either miraculously or luckily, it took less than 15 minutes.

Later in the morning, the director called to apologize for the early morning chaos, which I appreciated. She also told me that Noah seemed to be doing fine, although he was more observing the activities than participating in them.

I told her that I expected it would take him a few days to warm up, and that until then, I thought he would probably be on the quiet side, and mostly play independently.

Turns out, I overestimated.

When I picked Noah up, his primary teacher in this classroom gushed about how wonderful Noah had been — the best adjustment she’d seen in her 25 years of teaching. Noah didn’t run over to hug me, he ran over to show me a truck with big blue wheels. And to announce proudly, “Mommy, I been talking!”

The other children, all around Noah’s age or a little bit younger, wandered over to look at me curiously. While I was trying to persuade Noah to hug me, a little girl volunteered for the hug — which Noah didn’t like one bit.

We were sent on our way with a sippy cup of milk and a handful of goldfish crackers, plus a chorus of “See you tomorrow, Noah!”

Traffic wasn’t great, either from work to day care, or from day care home. But it wasn’t as bad as I feared. I left work about 5:10, and it took just under 20 minutes.

The worst traffic was getting away from downtown, towards home. This week’s to-do list includes emailing the parents I know from church, who also have their kids at the church day care, to ask how they get home. (Well, at least the ones who live in our direction!)

Plus did I mention that they gave us both an activity report — including songs sung and books read — AND a schedule for the transition of Noah and his classmates into the 2-3 year old room? Over the course of 1.5 weeks, beginning after Memorial Day, they’ll be gradually spending more and more time in the new classroom. June 9, Noah and all of his new classmates will be there full time.

I feel like we made the right choice.

I’ve been thinking a lot about rituals lately, especially as they relate to babies and welcoming them into the family and community.

I’ve always felt that rituals were important. That’s a big part of why Jill and I had a big(ish) wedding that was very traditional in most ways.

When Noah was born, we knew that we wanted to have him baptized. That was something that drove our decision to find and join a church.

But in the chaos of new motherhood, it slipped from “important ritual of welcoming and acknowledgment” to “when can we check this off of our to-do list?” We didn’t even think to invite our families, and we were honestly stunned when their feelings were hurt.

It really wasn’t until the actual experience of the service and the baptism that we got in the moment and realized what we were doing.

Our church doesn’t do individual Godparents at baptism. The entire congregation agrees to take responsibility for each child baptized into the community. The other children play a special role, promising to help the new child when he or she falls, to play with them, and to be their brothers and sisters in the church family. And at the end of the baptism ritual, the minister walks the baby through the congregation, so that everyone has a chance to “meet” or at least see the newest member of the community.

Seeing and experiencing that as a visitor to the church was one of the things that drew us to joining. (Although that was below the church’s very public commitment to gay and lesbian civil rights, the fact that we knew a couple of current members, and that there were a lot of other young families and children around Noah’s age.)

Of course in our family, there will be another big welcoming day, a vitally important legal ritual: When Jill’s parenthood of the new baby is legally recognized through adoption.

Last time, our plans were thwarted and made insane. Where we originally imagined a beautiful ritual to be celebrated with family and friends, instead we found ourselves forced to move to a new county, to incur thousands of dollars of unexpected costs, and to deal with a much more delayed process than we expected.

While dealing with that, the last thing we wanted to do was plan a celebration — again, until it was actually happening. The reality of the moment was beautiful, and we wished we had our family and friends there to celebrate it with us.

Obviously, there are a lot of lessons learned from our experience with Noah — we want to make sure we don’t forget the celebratory welcoming aspect of these rituals as we go through them with little Blur.

I’m just not sure how to keep all those chaotic and exhausting feelings sufficiently at bay to remember. Any suggestions? (Bear in mind that you can’t file a petition for adoption until after the baby is here, so we can’t schedule any of that part in advance.)

Also, am I insane for fantasizing about doing both in rapid succession, ie, seeing if we can get the adoption hearing scheduled for a Monday or Friday and then scheduling the baptism for that Sunday? (Obviously we would only do that if we got assigned to a good judge in our current county of residence, not if we have to move again.)

Although dramatic weather events disrupted our weekend, it was actually very nice both before and after all the chaos.

On Saturday morning, we went to the Museum of Natural History to see dinosaurs.

I’d say it was a hit.

Saturday night during Noah’s bath, we talked about all the things Noah saw, including Eagle! Owl! Bear! Duck! (Geese) Tiger! (Bobcat) and lots and lots and lots of dinosaurs. And “so many” people.

Strangely enough, Noah didn’t think to mention this activity, which we spent more time on than anything else except for looking at dinosaurs:

Noah had so much fun that he didn’t want to leave. A fact that he made abundantly clear to anyone in a half mile radius. Lucky us.

You already know about Saturday afternoon, so I’ll skip ahead to Sunday morning.

Those of you who are moderately observant Christians doubtlessly know this, but for the benefit of others, today is Palm Sunday.

Our church, along with the Catholic church around the block and the Methodist church 2 blocks down, do a Palm Sunday Procession together, where we walk from the courtyard (and breakfast) at our church, around the two blocks, stopping for music and prayer at each of the other churches.

Incidentally, at breakfast you’re supposed to introduce yourself to at least one person from a different church. I met a very nice Catholic attorney originally from Lake Mills, Wisconsin.

Noah lost interest in the palm fronds before the procession began, but he did a great job keeping pace with the walkers and enjoying the music…for about 3/4 of the distance. Then he lost it and required me to “carry you!” back to our church.

Fortunately, he recovered for Sunday School, where he had a wonderful time tearing it up on the playground. Did I mention that the weather was absolutely perfect? 60 or 65 degrees & sunny.

After Sunday School, Noah did fabulously until we got to the parking deck elevator, which we entered with another family that included 2 little girls, ages ~3 & 4.

Just before the elevator reached the parking lot level, Noah grabbed my leg and ardently declared, “Mommy! I need you!”

And I died from the adorable deliciousness.

It lasted all the way to the car.

In the car, Noah vigorously resisted getting into his car seat. I indulged him for awhile, maybe 5 minutes, and then offered him my customary choice: Are you going to climb in your car seat, or is Mommy going to put you there? Noah ignored me, and when I repeated the offer, he declined both options. “No, Mommy! No.No.No.No.”

So I manhandled him into the carseat. Amid much sobbing and shrieking.

No sooner had I buckled my own seatbelt than Noah shook his finger at me, still sobbing, and declared, “Mommy! That was very naughty!”

I want you all to know that I hid my grin and did not laugh about it until later, on the phone with Grandma.

To Noah, I responded in all seriousness, “I’m sorry you feel that way. But we have to sit in the car seat when we go somewhere in the car.”

How was your weekend?

Tonight, I was supposed to go over to the home of a gay male couple from our church. They were in the process of adopting twin boys, born 2.5 weeks ago. I was going to give them a 3 hour nap/dinner break, and Jill was going to do the same thing next week.

I called this afternoon to firm up plans and directions. You know it’s bad when “Hello” is infused with grief.

The birth mother changed her mind and took the babies home with her yesterday.

I know, ethically, she has to be free to make that choice for adoption to be a responsible option, not exploitive. But that doesn’t make it any less heartbreaking. And to have had the babies for 2.5 weeks! Here’s what was going on at our house when Noah was about that old:

• He outgrew his first outfit.
• He slept for 5.5 hours (once).
• Prophetic comments about adoption.

It is unimaginable to me, the idea of losing him at that age. I would have been devastated.

Please send everyone involved your hopes and prayers.