It's been four months of orienting ourselves with our new life. I blog tonight because I finally feel rested. Ah, life is good. The world is bright, football's on, my baby is happy, and we are showering and feeding ourselves again. Life is different. Leaving the house is an event within itself, sleeping in is a thing of the past, and with all of the baby books, Tim and I find ourselves speaking in rhyme. Yeah, yeah... Jude's only nineteen weeks old, but when you have a kid, you have an excuse to open up Dr. Seuss and read mouthful of gobbledeegoop stanzas as fast as possible and change your voice for all the different Sneeches on the beaches. Who enjoys the books most is debatable.
I am starting to see little lines form next to my eyes... wrinkles. I now squint all the time. When Jude is happy, I can't stop smiling. The love I have for that little 14 pounder is so overwhelming, and deepens at a rate as fast as he grows out of his pajamas.
I work a lot and have carried a fear that Jude might not bond with me like most babies with their moms... but something AMAZING happened today! Jude is not a clingy baby and as long as he has a full belly, he's happy to work a room and flash his dimples to anyone willing to speak first soprano babble. So at a baby shower this morning, he was content in the arms of a friend, and then Jude's eyes met mine. In slow motion, he tilted his chin down, looked at me with his big chocolate eyes, batted the long curly eyelashes, smiled a big, gummy smile, then turned his body toward me and outreached both arms. He wanted his mommy! It was epic.
So here's a question to ponder... What is a mother? I'd love to hear some feedback. I have been trying to think of a definition since an interesting comment came my way a few weeks before Jude's arrival. One well-intentioned woman suggested that I wear an inflated pillow that I could blow up as Jude's due date approached, so that "I would know what real mothers go through." It was so preposterous that I found the notion quite humorous. I asked the woman if Wal-Mart carried them. I have much to say regarding the miracle of adoption and God's hand in how he forms families. I obviously do not have the experience of birthing a child to compare the those feelings of attachment, but I can say that Tim and I wear the same dark circles under our eyes, sport the same marks of spit up on our shoulder, read the same books, and share in the same celebrations of climbing percentages on the growth chart and healthy poopy diapers.
At most social gatherings we attend, there are two distinct circles, those with kids and those without. I am welcome in the Mom circle, and then when the conversation turns to contractions and breast feeding, I'm welcome back in the other circle. After all, Tux and Tank still sleep in our bed and, they are still my babies too.
People may think that adopting is the easy route to becoming a parent, but the emotional strain of waiting and navigating the winding path towards a match or referral serves as adoptive parents' own rite of passage before the big day when a child is placed in their arms. Our fourteen months of waiting involved many tears, disappointments, and delays that few could relate to... and that was without the added element of infertility that many adoptive parents have to work through. It can be a rough road.
As many friends are travelling down their own unique paths in pursuit of starting a family, I find myself acknowledging that we have no control when it comes to children. God allows us to choose a mate, but not a child. Delivered to parents by social worker, birth canal, or stork, God gifts us with a life, full of potential, personality, and unique abilities. I believe that is nothing less than a modern-day miracle... and today, my little miracle let me know that in his eyes, I am his mother.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Crossing Over... Part 2
The birthmom's mother was in the room. I introduced myself and let her show me how to change the baby's first tiny diaper. She called him by his name and I wondered how she felt. I knew that she only had one granddaughter and she was about to say goodbye to a grandson. I believe that diaper change was the first and last time she touched him.
I was overwhelmed with joy, wonder, and adrenaline as the hospital social worker asked Tim and I to leave the room. We waited outside as the birthfamily signed documents granting us temporary custody, power of attorney, and the ability to care for the baby while in the hospital.
The next thing I knew, we were ushered into our own room and given wrist bands with an acronym and code, but no names. When a creaking and knocking sound approached the doorway, a nurse wheeled in the metal bassinet with our baby and supplies stocked in a drawer. He was so tiny, but perfectly content, and now in our care. I was almost surprised that someone had entrusted the job to me. Were they really going to let me feed him and hold him... and keep him!?
I remember how it felt when those little brown eyes tried to focus on my face, as if he was processing what was happening. I held him tight, and told him, "I know it's hard to believe, but I'm your mom."
The first night in the hospital, I had the hospital bed, and Tim had a roll away with loud springs and metal bars in all the wrong places. I didn't sleep at all, even though Jude was on a perfect 3 hour feeding schedule. I couldn't stop holding him and remember getting teary when I heard his hiccups and saw those dimples for the first time.
We had company throughout the next day. My parents, sister, and Aunt Lori and Uncle Bert made the trip to Oklahoma City to meet Jude. I have a hard time believing that the love covering Jude looked much different than if he was our biological infant. The gifts, tears, laughter, pictures, hugs, and flowers looked the same in our hospital room as the other families with new babies.
For me, the wonderment of new life collided with an unexpected sentiment of indescribable gratitude to a young lady a few doors down, physically and emotionally spent, who was quite possibly facing the most difficult, brave, and loving decision of her life. This sacrifice had delivered our miracle. When I went to visit Jude's birthmom the second day, the air in her room was different: somber and quiet with the curtains pulled. She was alone, and I offered to keep her company, which she welcomed. The only flowers on the table next to the television were the tulips Tim and I had brought her. She asked me how the baby was doing and between pressing the button for her morphene drip, asked if Tim, Jude, and I would join her that evening for dinner. I took note to remember her face, her fair, clear complexion with those dimples and sweet smile. One day, I would tell Jude of her beauty. Never had I seen a person more beautiful.
Back in our room, I wrote a letter to go with the necklace (a delicate chain with a sheild shaped charm depicting the French medieval emblem of a sword piercing a heart, symbolizing sacrfice) we would later give to her. How on earth do you thank someone for your son?
Together in her hospital room, the four of us (her, the baby, Tim and me) shared an hour I will never forget. She told us things like, "I know he may be mad at me one day, but I will always know that I chose this life for him because I love him. He'll have opportunities I could never give him, and I know the two of you will treasure him." I tried to memorize everything she said. I tried to think of questions that I might have wanted to know. Did she have braces when she was young? Did she know a lot about the birthfather's talents or interests? I didn't know if there would be much contact after this time together and knew that I would one day recount this evening with Jude.
The next morning, the phone in our room woke me up from my light sleep. It was her. She wanted to know if it was alright if the nurse brought Jude to her room, alone this time. I said that it was perfectly fine, but inside, I knew that if there was a time to change her mind, this would be it. I knew that we would all be discharged sometime that day. When the nurse came for Jude, swaddled tight without a care in the world, I looked at him and wondered if she would hold him in her arms and change her mind.
Thirty minutes passed. Fourty-five, an hour... I called our social worker and asked her to come to the hospital and make sure everything was alright. When she finally came to report her findings after visiting the birthmom, it felt like Jude had been gone for hours. She recounted how she approached the birthmom's room and heard her talking. She said she stood in the doorway and could hear the words, "Your mommy and daddy are going to love you." Basically, Jude's birthmom was cradling him in her arms, telling him goodbye. When I heard that, I almost lost it. I couldn't believe her strength.
When Jude returned to our room, we learned that it was time to go. As we packed up our things and prepared to buckle Jude in his carseat, I wondered how the final group goodbye would go. I knew that the hospital would not let us carry Jude out of the hospital. Many times, they make the birthmom do it, then hand the baby over to the family... as if it wasn't hard enough! Our social worker then entered our room to announce that the birthmother was gone. She had checked out and the hospital had granted our social worker with permission to carry Jude out the front door. No dramatic scene, no final goodbye. I knew that it was for the best.
People tell me all the time, "I wonder how someone could give up her baby." Give up is not what happened. Jude's birthmother made a gut-wrenching decision to sacrifice her role in his life for a chance that he might have the life she dreamed for him. That woman loves my little Jude, and her heroic act has rocked my world. Every time I look at my son, I think of her. Adoption is a miracle, and I have witnessed something rarely demonstrated in mankind... true, radical, sacrificial love.
I thank God everyday for the life Tim and I have been entrusted with. I also thank him for the woman who gave us a family.
I was overwhelmed with joy, wonder, and adrenaline as the hospital social worker asked Tim and I to leave the room. We waited outside as the birthfamily signed documents granting us temporary custody, power of attorney, and the ability to care for the baby while in the hospital.
The next thing I knew, we were ushered into our own room and given wrist bands with an acronym and code, but no names. When a creaking and knocking sound approached the doorway, a nurse wheeled in the metal bassinet with our baby and supplies stocked in a drawer. He was so tiny, but perfectly content, and now in our care. I was almost surprised that someone had entrusted the job to me. Were they really going to let me feed him and hold him... and keep him!?
I remember how it felt when those little brown eyes tried to focus on my face, as if he was processing what was happening. I held him tight, and told him, "I know it's hard to believe, but I'm your mom."
The first night in the hospital, I had the hospital bed, and Tim had a roll away with loud springs and metal bars in all the wrong places. I didn't sleep at all, even though Jude was on a perfect 3 hour feeding schedule. I couldn't stop holding him and remember getting teary when I heard his hiccups and saw those dimples for the first time.
We had company throughout the next day. My parents, sister, and Aunt Lori and Uncle Bert made the trip to Oklahoma City to meet Jude. I have a hard time believing that the love covering Jude looked much different than if he was our biological infant. The gifts, tears, laughter, pictures, hugs, and flowers looked the same in our hospital room as the other families with new babies.
For me, the wonderment of new life collided with an unexpected sentiment of indescribable gratitude to a young lady a few doors down, physically and emotionally spent, who was quite possibly facing the most difficult, brave, and loving decision of her life. This sacrifice had delivered our miracle. When I went to visit Jude's birthmom the second day, the air in her room was different: somber and quiet with the curtains pulled. She was alone, and I offered to keep her company, which she welcomed. The only flowers on the table next to the television were the tulips Tim and I had brought her. She asked me how the baby was doing and between pressing the button for her morphene drip, asked if Tim, Jude, and I would join her that evening for dinner. I took note to remember her face, her fair, clear complexion with those dimples and sweet smile. One day, I would tell Jude of her beauty. Never had I seen a person more beautiful.
Back in our room, I wrote a letter to go with the necklace (a delicate chain with a sheild shaped charm depicting the French medieval emblem of a sword piercing a heart, symbolizing sacrfice) we would later give to her. How on earth do you thank someone for your son?
Together in her hospital room, the four of us (her, the baby, Tim and me) shared an hour I will never forget. She told us things like, "I know he may be mad at me one day, but I will always know that I chose this life for him because I love him. He'll have opportunities I could never give him, and I know the two of you will treasure him." I tried to memorize everything she said. I tried to think of questions that I might have wanted to know. Did she have braces when she was young? Did she know a lot about the birthfather's talents or interests? I didn't know if there would be much contact after this time together and knew that I would one day recount this evening with Jude.
The next morning, the phone in our room woke me up from my light sleep. It was her. She wanted to know if it was alright if the nurse brought Jude to her room, alone this time. I said that it was perfectly fine, but inside, I knew that if there was a time to change her mind, this would be it. I knew that we would all be discharged sometime that day. When the nurse came for Jude, swaddled tight without a care in the world, I looked at him and wondered if she would hold him in her arms and change her mind.
Thirty minutes passed. Fourty-five, an hour... I called our social worker and asked her to come to the hospital and make sure everything was alright. When she finally came to report her findings after visiting the birthmom, it felt like Jude had been gone for hours. She recounted how she approached the birthmom's room and heard her talking. She said she stood in the doorway and could hear the words, "Your mommy and daddy are going to love you." Basically, Jude's birthmom was cradling him in her arms, telling him goodbye. When I heard that, I almost lost it. I couldn't believe her strength.
When Jude returned to our room, we learned that it was time to go. As we packed up our things and prepared to buckle Jude in his carseat, I wondered how the final group goodbye would go. I knew that the hospital would not let us carry Jude out of the hospital. Many times, they make the birthmom do it, then hand the baby over to the family... as if it wasn't hard enough! Our social worker then entered our room to announce that the birthmother was gone. She had checked out and the hospital had granted our social worker with permission to carry Jude out the front door. No dramatic scene, no final goodbye. I knew that it was for the best.
People tell me all the time, "I wonder how someone could give up her baby." Give up is not what happened. Jude's birthmother made a gut-wrenching decision to sacrifice her role in his life for a chance that he might have the life she dreamed for him. That woman loves my little Jude, and her heroic act has rocked my world. Every time I look at my son, I think of her. Adoption is a miracle, and I have witnessed something rarely demonstrated in mankind... true, radical, sacrificial love.
I thank God everyday for the life Tim and I have been entrusted with. I also thank him for the woman who gave us a family.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Crossing Over... Part 1
His name is Jude. It's a blend of hippie and holy, and was Tim's only serious name suggestion. We protected the secret like our hearts and only shared it with one person... his birthmom.
The last ten days in these hotel rooms feel more like twenty because there is no night and day. There are two hour naps folded between the chaotic culture shock that all expectant parents anticipate with moments of secretive dread planted by others who can only put the negatives into words. What happened on this side of the vast sea between May 27th and May 28th is cliche to hear before you cross over. Life changing. Like your heart is outside of your body. The best thing that ever happened to me. I confess that those corny phrases might have lost me in conversation before Jude. To my friends on the other side of motherhood, I will try to be more original when describing my new adventures.
I had spoken with our social worker early Friday morning. The birthmom was to be induced on Tuesday, June 1st and there were a few items to go over before the trip to Oklahoma. We had washed baby clothes in different sizes. We didn't have many updates from doctor appointments to know what size of baby to expect. We had booked the hotel just the night before, but had a laundry list of preparations left to do. Friday was mine and Tim's last day of work before leave. I had one meeting and three reports to complete. Tim had a few more boxes to pack and awards to turn in for his students. I was sitting in the conference room with about ten others when the door opened and a coworker with a frantic look on her face scanned the room with a yellow post it note in her hand. If her eyes met mine, I knew what the note would say. As the note found its way to me, a lump formed in my throat that I still can't quite swallow. My coworkers watched my face as I heard the words "water broke" and "not much time" penetrate through the months of waiting and disappointment and into a dreamlike reality. Our family-like coworkers and neighbors helped usher us off as we faced the next few hours in a state of shock and giddy panic. Incomplete tasks and our life as we knew it disappeared into the rearview mirror of our packed truck.
Three hours after the initial call, and in the company of Memorial Day traffic, we still hadn't received an update and couldn't reach the social worker. When the nurse from the designated hospital's birthing center told me that they didn't have our birthmom as a patient, we realized we were heading North to an unknown destination. Somewhere outside of Ardmore, Oklahoma at about 1:30 p.m., the call came. "Congratulations, you have baby boy."
When we finally arrived (the nurses had been protecting our birthmom's privacy), I peeked into the nursery where a few tiny tightly swaddled babies squirmed, cried, and only shared glimpses of little noses and cheeks beneath their little beanies. I don't know what I was looking for or how I would know which one was ours. I guess I expected one to sit up in the bassinet, look at me, and raise his hand.
The birthmom was groggy and in pain after the emergency C-section that rescued the baby from the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. Tim and I entered her room as the nurse pushed the little swaddled burrito in his metal bassinet, and the birthmom insisted that his mom hold him, who turned out to be me. I have to be honest... I had prepared myself for a cone-headed purple alien, crying unconsolably in my inexperienced arms. I wondered if I would look at him like my mail-order baby with initial reserve and hope of a future connection. But that little person fit perfectly in my arms, and in one moment, he was instantly mine. A perfectly round head. Black, shiny curls. Little voluptuous lips that brought out noticable dimples when he pursed them. And as I passed the little guy to his daddy, we didn't hold back on the tears or joy as his birthmom looked on. I was told that she would need to see it. This bittersweet moment would be part of her grieving process and a way to find peace with her decision.
To be continued...
The last ten days in these hotel rooms feel more like twenty because there is no night and day. There are two hour naps folded between the chaotic culture shock that all expectant parents anticipate with moments of secretive dread planted by others who can only put the negatives into words. What happened on this side of the vast sea between May 27th and May 28th is cliche to hear before you cross over. Life changing. Like your heart is outside of your body. The best thing that ever happened to me. I confess that those corny phrases might have lost me in conversation before Jude. To my friends on the other side of motherhood, I will try to be more original when describing my new adventures.
I had spoken with our social worker early Friday morning. The birthmom was to be induced on Tuesday, June 1st and there were a few items to go over before the trip to Oklahoma. We had washed baby clothes in different sizes. We didn't have many updates from doctor appointments to know what size of baby to expect. We had booked the hotel just the night before, but had a laundry list of preparations left to do. Friday was mine and Tim's last day of work before leave. I had one meeting and three reports to complete. Tim had a few more boxes to pack and awards to turn in for his students. I was sitting in the conference room with about ten others when the door opened and a coworker with a frantic look on her face scanned the room with a yellow post it note in her hand. If her eyes met mine, I knew what the note would say. As the note found its way to me, a lump formed in my throat that I still can't quite swallow. My coworkers watched my face as I heard the words "water broke" and "not much time" penetrate through the months of waiting and disappointment and into a dreamlike reality. Our family-like coworkers and neighbors helped usher us off as we faced the next few hours in a state of shock and giddy panic. Incomplete tasks and our life as we knew it disappeared into the rearview mirror of our packed truck.
Three hours after the initial call, and in the company of Memorial Day traffic, we still hadn't received an update and couldn't reach the social worker. When the nurse from the designated hospital's birthing center told me that they didn't have our birthmom as a patient, we realized we were heading North to an unknown destination. Somewhere outside of Ardmore, Oklahoma at about 1:30 p.m., the call came. "Congratulations, you have baby boy."
When we finally arrived (the nurses had been protecting our birthmom's privacy), I peeked into the nursery where a few tiny tightly swaddled babies squirmed, cried, and only shared glimpses of little noses and cheeks beneath their little beanies. I don't know what I was looking for or how I would know which one was ours. I guess I expected one to sit up in the bassinet, look at me, and raise his hand.
The birthmom was groggy and in pain after the emergency C-section that rescued the baby from the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. Tim and I entered her room as the nurse pushed the little swaddled burrito in his metal bassinet, and the birthmom insisted that his mom hold him, who turned out to be me. I have to be honest... I had prepared myself for a cone-headed purple alien, crying unconsolably in my inexperienced arms. I wondered if I would look at him like my mail-order baby with initial reserve and hope of a future connection. But that little person fit perfectly in my arms, and in one moment, he was instantly mine. A perfectly round head. Black, shiny curls. Little voluptuous lips that brought out noticable dimples when he pursed them. And as I passed the little guy to his daddy, we didn't hold back on the tears or joy as his birthmom looked on. I was told that she would need to see it. This bittersweet moment would be part of her grieving process and a way to find peace with her decision.
To be continued...
Sunday, May 16, 2010
All Over the Map
ADOPTION UPDATE:
This baby has Cherokee blood. If it could be properly documented, the little guy has a full ride to college... but not us as a mom and dad.
Years ago, when our birthmom's great grandmother was born, some doctor didn't feel the need or take the time to write her name on the birth certificate and instead, just wrote "Indian". It's amazing how one act from an individual decades ago could make or break the success of the adoption of our little boy. If the doctor had written a name on that piece of paper, this 2010 adoption case would be transferred to the U.S. Tribal Court, and the tribe would find a Cherokee home for the child... but since he didn't, everything is still on course. Our attorney is notifying the Cherokee Nation of the adoption, but because of the lack of documentation, there is little to no chance that the Indian Child Welfare Act of 1978 will keep us from bringing this baby home.
* * * * * * * * *
Bills are coming daily. Attorney fees, agency fees, retainer fees... I guess that's a good sign things are moving forward! This last week, my work threw a suprise Baby Shower for me. It was so sweet, and I feel blessed to work with such supportive people, who over the years, have truly become friends. However, it did freak me out a little. The sea of diapers, booger suckers, thermometers, baby clothes, toys, things that started singing when I picked up the gift bags- all made things seem a little more REAL.
In our adoption, there hasn't been a gradual, incremental growth of awareness of the impending new roles we will soon accept. Honestly, I have guarded my heart with a few moments of vulnerable excitement and emotion when a couple of potential matches appeared and disappeared from the radar, but most of the process has felt more like going through a difficult college course while 12 different cable company telemarketers (with broken English and information I need) continue putting me on hold while I listen to distant keyboard jazz elevator music in the background. In adoption, the anticipation comes in stages and different forms. Researching types of adoption. Anticipation of program qualification. Working. Paperwork Completion. Saving money. Waiting. Assembling a presentation book. Waiting. Sending money. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Anticipating a match. Waiting. Almost matching. Waiting. Anticipating a match. Almost matching. Waiting. Phone call. Driving. Matching. Freaking out! Anticipating a baby in 6 weeks.
I watch the "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" shows with new appreciation. Wednesday afternoon indigestion and lower back pain results in a Wednesday evening infant named Junior, just because there wasn't time to come up with a name. Every story I've seen shows children that have survived parents who didn't read "Babywise", mourn the last sleep-til-noon Saturday, or have a big garage sale to clean out that one catch-all closet we all have. So if those new parents can figure it all out, why can't we?
Obviously, my emotions are all over the map. I feel like a sixteen-year old on Prom Day, pulling out that special dress, setting out my new shoes and earrings while anxiously looking at the clock. Four more hours. Should I start doing my make up and hair yet, or is there still some time to go outside and shoot some baskets? It's that emotion mixed with some unanticipated sadness, like packing up your apartment after college graduation. I have so much to look forward to, but it's the end of an era.
People have told me that your relationship with your husband changes a lot with kids in the picture. What does that mean? I love my life with Tim right now. When life gets hard, crazy, and senseless, he is and has been my safe place for the last eight years... what we have is amazing. I pray to God that we don't lose that.
The nursery is ready, I've read a book or two, I'm caught up on sleep, and the closet is as cleaned out as it's going to be. I'm looking at the calendar, and it's almost time for all of the waiting to bring about a result, that right now, I can barely imagine.. a new life in every sense of the word.
This baby has Cherokee blood. If it could be properly documented, the little guy has a full ride to college... but not us as a mom and dad.
Years ago, when our birthmom's great grandmother was born, some doctor didn't feel the need or take the time to write her name on the birth certificate and instead, just wrote "Indian". It's amazing how one act from an individual decades ago could make or break the success of the adoption of our little boy. If the doctor had written a name on that piece of paper, this 2010 adoption case would be transferred to the U.S. Tribal Court, and the tribe would find a Cherokee home for the child... but since he didn't, everything is still on course. Our attorney is notifying the Cherokee Nation of the adoption, but because of the lack of documentation, there is little to no chance that the Indian Child Welfare Act of 1978 will keep us from bringing this baby home.
* * * * * * * * *
Bills are coming daily. Attorney fees, agency fees, retainer fees... I guess that's a good sign things are moving forward! This last week, my work threw a suprise Baby Shower for me. It was so sweet, and I feel blessed to work with such supportive people, who over the years, have truly become friends. However, it did freak me out a little. The sea of diapers, booger suckers, thermometers, baby clothes, toys, things that started singing when I picked up the gift bags- all made things seem a little more REAL.
In our adoption, there hasn't been a gradual, incremental growth of awareness of the impending new roles we will soon accept. Honestly, I have guarded my heart with a few moments of vulnerable excitement and emotion when a couple of potential matches appeared and disappeared from the radar, but most of the process has felt more like going through a difficult college course while 12 different cable company telemarketers (with broken English and information I need) continue putting me on hold while I listen to distant keyboard jazz elevator music in the background. In adoption, the anticipation comes in stages and different forms. Researching types of adoption. Anticipation of program qualification. Working. Paperwork Completion. Saving money. Waiting. Assembling a presentation book. Waiting. Sending money. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Anticipating a match. Waiting. Almost matching. Waiting. Anticipating a match. Almost matching. Waiting. Phone call. Driving. Matching. Freaking out! Anticipating a baby in 6 weeks.
I watch the "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" shows with new appreciation. Wednesday afternoon indigestion and lower back pain results in a Wednesday evening infant named Junior, just because there wasn't time to come up with a name. Every story I've seen shows children that have survived parents who didn't read "Babywise", mourn the last sleep-til-noon Saturday, or have a big garage sale to clean out that one catch-all closet we all have. So if those new parents can figure it all out, why can't we?
Obviously, my emotions are all over the map. I feel like a sixteen-year old on Prom Day, pulling out that special dress, setting out my new shoes and earrings while anxiously looking at the clock. Four more hours. Should I start doing my make up and hair yet, or is there still some time to go outside and shoot some baskets? It's that emotion mixed with some unanticipated sadness, like packing up your apartment after college graduation. I have so much to look forward to, but it's the end of an era.
People have told me that your relationship with your husband changes a lot with kids in the picture. What does that mean? I love my life with Tim right now. When life gets hard, crazy, and senseless, he is and has been my safe place for the last eight years... what we have is amazing. I pray to God that we don't lose that.
The nursery is ready, I've read a book or two, I'm caught up on sleep, and the closet is as cleaned out as it's going to be. I'm looking at the calendar, and it's almost time for all of the waiting to bring about a result, that right now, I can barely imagine.. a new life in every sense of the word.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
It's a match! Or is it?
Two weeks ago, Tim and I made the journey up to Oklahoma to meet with two expectant birthmoms who might be a match for us. As the clock runs down on the license of our agency, these two situations were the last of the opportunities for us before we pulled the plug and switched offices. We were excited about our almost secretive adventurous weekend... very few knew about our trip.
If you have seen Juno, you know a little about what it might be like for two excited potential parents to sit down with a young lady whose whole world has been turned upside down. You walk into a room and try not to look at the belly that may have your kid inside. My nature is to try to think about how others are feeling and to comfort them if I can, however, I confess that when sitting across from these girls (I've met with 4 now), the questions that run through my mind are: Are you taking vitamins? Have you been drinking? What is your IQ? I know- it sounds bad. I'm just being honest.
The meeting with a birthmom can be extremely awkward... especially when her parents are in the room clearly struggling with the dilemma of whether or not they should raise the child. When that has happened, I've felt like an intruder, stumbling upon a family crippled with pain, and somehow, partly responsible.
The last birthmom we met with was different than all the others. We met in the hotel room of our social worker, and contrary to Number Three, when we walked in this time, the room was peaceful; her aura was gentle and calm. Number Four seemed grounded and determined to give the baby she was carrying a better life. She believed in a mission of love, and she took control of the room. She was a mother crafting a path for her child to succeed and rise above difficult circumstances, no matter how much it would hurt her.
I have been met with a number of slanted questions towards the "heartlessness" of a birthmom. How could she just give her baby up? As a child, I remember hearing the story of the mother of Moses, who purposefully devised a plan to place him into the arms of a woman capable of keeping him safe and providing a better life. If you didn't know that Pharoah's men were looking to kill the Isrealite babies, you might have judged the woman for leaving her 3 month old in the grass by a river. I have wondered who could just leave a newborn at a fire station these days, but I guess you never know. Most of these birthmoms carry their babies in the face of judgement (when they certainly have other options) and reach out to agencies in a spirit of sacrifice and love for their children. They go through the pain of child birth with sometimes, little support from others, and let go of part of themselves because it's the right thing to do. Birthmoms are superwomen.
Back to the meeting with Number Four... By the end of our time together, she let us know that if we were interested in the baby boy she would be delivering the first week of June, she wanted us to be his parents. This situation was just about as good as they get. She was confident in us, was almost at the end of a healthy pregnancy, wasn't asking for unreasonable adoption terms, and everyone in her family and on the birthfather side of the equation was compliant with the plan. Could this be the one? Again, I had to keep the eyes off the belly.
Since returning home from that wild trip, we've been scrambling to get the baby room ready and to make sure that our bosses and coworkers can survive our sudden absence in case things happen even faster. Baby shower or no shower? We need supplies, but what if this one falls through too? We're walking in faith one day at a time, but we have to make plans fast!
There are a number of common reasons for failed adoptions. In no particular order... Number one, birthmom or birthdad figures out another way. Number two, extended family steps in. Number three, she loses the baby. Number four, adoptive family backs out. Number five, the birthmother fills out paperwork and lists an affiliation with a certain Indian tribe and depending on her level of Native American blood, the adoption may be subject to Tribal Court... WHAT???? Of all the possibilities, I never saw that last one coming! That right. We are waiting to hear from an attorney to see if this baby is too Indian to go to the Casillas tribe. UN-BE-FREAKIN-LIEVABLE!
In the next few days, we should find out if this new development is a deal-breaker. In looking back at the twists and turns in our adoption journey, I really couldn't make this stuff up! Some days I just can't help but laugh, and some days, I get so frustrated, I can hardly stand it. Just give me a hug or buy me a Starbucks, but if I hear "it'll happen when it's supposed to happen" one more time, I might kick you in the shin.
Thanks for your understanding. :)
If you have seen Juno, you know a little about what it might be like for two excited potential parents to sit down with a young lady whose whole world has been turned upside down. You walk into a room and try not to look at the belly that may have your kid inside. My nature is to try to think about how others are feeling and to comfort them if I can, however, I confess that when sitting across from these girls (I've met with 4 now), the questions that run through my mind are: Are you taking vitamins? Have you been drinking? What is your IQ? I know- it sounds bad. I'm just being honest.
The meeting with a birthmom can be extremely awkward... especially when her parents are in the room clearly struggling with the dilemma of whether or not they should raise the child. When that has happened, I've felt like an intruder, stumbling upon a family crippled with pain, and somehow, partly responsible.
The last birthmom we met with was different than all the others. We met in the hotel room of our social worker, and contrary to Number Three, when we walked in this time, the room was peaceful; her aura was gentle and calm. Number Four seemed grounded and determined to give the baby she was carrying a better life. She believed in a mission of love, and she took control of the room. She was a mother crafting a path for her child to succeed and rise above difficult circumstances, no matter how much it would hurt her.
I have been met with a number of slanted questions towards the "heartlessness" of a birthmom. How could she just give her baby up? As a child, I remember hearing the story of the mother of Moses, who purposefully devised a plan to place him into the arms of a woman capable of keeping him safe and providing a better life. If you didn't know that Pharoah's men were looking to kill the Isrealite babies, you might have judged the woman for leaving her 3 month old in the grass by a river. I have wondered who could just leave a newborn at a fire station these days, but I guess you never know. Most of these birthmoms carry their babies in the face of judgement (when they certainly have other options) and reach out to agencies in a spirit of sacrifice and love for their children. They go through the pain of child birth with sometimes, little support from others, and let go of part of themselves because it's the right thing to do. Birthmoms are superwomen.
Back to the meeting with Number Four... By the end of our time together, she let us know that if we were interested in the baby boy she would be delivering the first week of June, she wanted us to be his parents. This situation was just about as good as they get. She was confident in us, was almost at the end of a healthy pregnancy, wasn't asking for unreasonable adoption terms, and everyone in her family and on the birthfather side of the equation was compliant with the plan. Could this be the one? Again, I had to keep the eyes off the belly.
Since returning home from that wild trip, we've been scrambling to get the baby room ready and to make sure that our bosses and coworkers can survive our sudden absence in case things happen even faster. Baby shower or no shower? We need supplies, but what if this one falls through too? We're walking in faith one day at a time, but we have to make plans fast!
There are a number of common reasons for failed adoptions. In no particular order... Number one, birthmom or birthdad figures out another way. Number two, extended family steps in. Number three, she loses the baby. Number four, adoptive family backs out. Number five, the birthmother fills out paperwork and lists an affiliation with a certain Indian tribe and depending on her level of Native American blood, the adoption may be subject to Tribal Court... WHAT???? Of all the possibilities, I never saw that last one coming! That right. We are waiting to hear from an attorney to see if this baby is too Indian to go to the Casillas tribe. UN-BE-FREAKIN-LIEVABLE!
In the next few days, we should find out if this new development is a deal-breaker. In looking back at the twists and turns in our adoption journey, I really couldn't make this stuff up! Some days I just can't help but laugh, and some days, I get so frustrated, I can hardly stand it. Just give me a hug or buy me a Starbucks, but if I hear "it'll happen when it's supposed to happen" one more time, I might kick you in the shin.
Thanks for your understanding. :)
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
My "favoritest" time
"Mom, do you miss being a kid?" "Not really?" "WHY? Wasn't being a kid your favoritest time in your whole life?" "No, being a grown up is my favorite time."
I was sitting in the backseat watching my mom drive as she was rocking her beautiful curly 80's hairdo and Lea Haller pink blush. What a relief. I was hoping that life didn't go down from here. The little frog I had rescued from underneath our peach tree had died in the box in my bedroom and Morgan had just told me on the playground the day before that she didn't want to be my jump roping partner any more. I looked like a nerd with my glasses. I was glad that my favoritest time was still ahead of me.
So you may have noticed that I have been somewhat quiet over the last year and a half. I could say that it is because my writing material consisted of the gradual decline of my grandmother's health and transitioning her care into my mother's hands. Every time I would sit down to blog, the saddness would penetrate into every passage that had an original outline of inspiration or wit. The other reason is because Tim and I have been walking through a journey of beginning our family in a quite unconventional way. Our adventures in adoption seem to always warrant un-warranted opinions, and up to this point, the plan has changed three times. If I had written the story of the adoption, it might go something like this:
Month 1- Tim and I are adopting a baby from Thailand from one of the only agencies in the country to have a Thai program... I'm going to be a mama to a sweet toddler from my favorite country in the universe!!!!!!
Month 7- Our agency just changed hands. There is no Thailand program.
Month 8- We are adopting an infant from Kansas. We could have a baby any day now.
Month 10- We are adopting our friend's sister's baby... Too complicated. Back to Kansas.
Month 11- We are adoptiong a baby from Texas. We're going independent. Everything is perfect... She lost the baby.
Month 12- Our agency is closing.
So you now see why I wrote in my journal and chose not to share... until now.
Don't get me wrong... I haven't been in a deep dark cave talking to my volleyball. Life hasn't been a smooth ride lately, but who likes tubing down a river without a few rapids (other than Tim)? A smooth ride would be so boring! More than ever, I feel so alive! I'm in love! I have a sleep number bed and my number is 25!
I decided to start blogging because I feel like I'm beginning to learn that the large rocks of life will always appear, but that flowing right over and around them is quite possible. More than anything, I feel like I'm about to begin my "favoritest" time. Stay tuned.
I was sitting in the backseat watching my mom drive as she was rocking her beautiful curly 80's hairdo and Lea Haller pink blush. What a relief. I was hoping that life didn't go down from here. The little frog I had rescued from underneath our peach tree had died in the box in my bedroom and Morgan had just told me on the playground the day before that she didn't want to be my jump roping partner any more. I looked like a nerd with my glasses. I was glad that my favoritest time was still ahead of me.
So you may have noticed that I have been somewhat quiet over the last year and a half. I could say that it is because my writing material consisted of the gradual decline of my grandmother's health and transitioning her care into my mother's hands. Every time I would sit down to blog, the saddness would penetrate into every passage that had an original outline of inspiration or wit. The other reason is because Tim and I have been walking through a journey of beginning our family in a quite unconventional way. Our adventures in adoption seem to always warrant un-warranted opinions, and up to this point, the plan has changed three times. If I had written the story of the adoption, it might go something like this:
Month 1- Tim and I are adopting a baby from Thailand from one of the only agencies in the country to have a Thai program... I'm going to be a mama to a sweet toddler from my favorite country in the universe!!!!!!
Month 7- Our agency just changed hands. There is no Thailand program.
Month 8- We are adopting an infant from Kansas. We could have a baby any day now.
Month 10- We are adopting our friend's sister's baby... Too complicated. Back to Kansas.
Month 11- We are adoptiong a baby from Texas. We're going independent. Everything is perfect... She lost the baby.
Month 12- Our agency is closing.
So you now see why I wrote in my journal and chose not to share... until now.
Don't get me wrong... I haven't been in a deep dark cave talking to my volleyball. Life hasn't been a smooth ride lately, but who likes tubing down a river without a few rapids (other than Tim)? A smooth ride would be so boring! More than ever, I feel so alive! I'm in love! I have a sleep number bed and my number is 25!
I decided to start blogging because I feel like I'm beginning to learn that the large rocks of life will always appear, but that flowing right over and around them is quite possible. More than anything, I feel like I'm about to begin my "favoritest" time. Stay tuned.
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