Dreamer's Disease

I know now for certain that my predisposition to live life based on dreams and hope will continue to serve me well. I gave my anxiety the courtesy of recognition, but the feeling I nurtured, held onto, and relied on was one of persuaded confidence in the universe to continue to follow the rule we agreed to long ago: "Everything is the way it's supposed to be."

Six to nine months.
That's been my stock answer as we planned the potential timeline for a move back to the States - and now that our forms I-130 and G-325a's and reams of supporting paperwork and pictures have been expeditiously accepted at the U.S. Embassy in New Delhi, it's a schedule I can cut in half and look forward to with real expectation rather than just in estimation.
I may pick on my government when it comes to international relationships (and that probably won't change anytime soon, considering recent news) but I've to give credit where credit is due: We were treated like VIP's during our visit, a mere two hours on technically American soil. Everyone we met with at the Embassy was incredibly nice and helpful in a way I almost didn't recognize after the past years of dealing with local Indian government...and now we wait for the second stage of the application process.
Within a month we can expect to receive a letter requesting our presence for a personal interview, a few more forms, and a few hundred more dollars.
Another month after that, I imagine we'll have the necessary visa plastered into Hamid's passport and we'll be on our way home (if there is such a thing).

And if my dreams are reality as they so often prove to be, there is...there is a little house in Portland with room for our as yet imaginary babies and our as yet imaginary dogs and all the shoes I'm mentally hoarding. There is a little American dream, complete with darling husband - nevermind I've had to go to the ends of the earth to find him.