As I posted on Facebook, our daughter turned 3 yesterday. I cannot believe it's been THREE years since we brought her home. Where has the time gone? I'm sure that every parents wonders that. One minute you're buried in burp cloths and diapers, and the next minute your kid wants nothing to do with you or exclaims at every turn, "I can do it MYSELF." It's refreshing and frightening all at the same time.
Before our son came along in May 2009, we had another adoption lined up in Tennessee in September 2008. At the very very last minute, the birthmother changed her mind, and Shannon and I were left to pick up those emotional pieces. Because we had told EVERYONE we know that we were going to bring home a baby, it was an unbelievable task to then go and have to "untell" everyone. This is when I started on FB because I could announce it to people that way without having to say it over and over and over again.
Obviously, from that time forward, we became VERY leery about any potential adoption that our agency called us. Even though a situation would seem mostly solid, we just couldn't let ourselves fall for it again.
When we met our son's birthmother in March 2009, we felt really good about the situation, but we decided not to tell anyone other than our immediate family and a few close friends. We needed people on deck to help with baby gear and other housekeeping things. Even though that situation was incredibly solid, one just never knows how a birthmother is going to feel after giving birth. Human beings are special creatures, and nothing is ever 100% certain.
In December 2011, the same day I finished teaching my fall semester, I got a call from our agency. Our social worker, *Barb, told me that the agency had had a request to see our profile, and that the couple wanted us to parent their child. Barb added that it was a unique situation because the birthparents were older than me and Shannon (at the time I was 37 and Shannon was 41) and that they were (and are) still a couple. Barb added that the birthparents needed to put an adoption plan together, and that they wanted us. She continued to add how tentative she and her colleagues were. No adoption situation is ever certain, and this one was even less certain the least certain they had ever seen. Not a ringing endorsement, but Shannon and I both appreciated her incredible honesty. The birthparents did not want to meet us or know anything about us, which was (and is) a stark departure from the situation with our son's birthmother. We adjusted to this idea and moved forward with our discussion.
Shannon and I talked and decided that the biggest mistake would be not even entertaining the idea of this baby and this situation. We were busy with our son who was 2 1/2 at the time; we were busy with our jobs; we were busy with our friends and family. We had been through situations similar to this a few times before, and we were certain that we could handle it. As with our son, we told only close friends and family ALWAYS with the caveat: "They're older than we are. They are still together. Barb is really not sure that this is going to go through." Everyone understood.
I started to panic at the idea of 2 kids. I don't like mess. I don't like chaos, and I could only imagine what life would be like: me, Shannon, a 2 1/2 year old, a newborn, a dog, and a job. Chaos just seemed like the inevitable outcome. I kept thinking, though, about the joy we had when our son came home. I remembered how much I love my older brothers and how much fun we had as kids and still have now as adults. Shannon's mother died in 2010. He was his mother's only child. One of the hardest things for him to deal with was her death, to not have anyone to share that experience with. When he told me that fact, I understood the importance of having a sibling. When my dad died in 1996, my brothers and I spent a lot of time together remembering him and sharing stories. Together, we were able to help my mom. None of us was alone. It was such a comfort, which I hadn't ever realized until Shannon experienced otherwise.
So, onward we went with Baby #2. From December to mid-February, we acted as if nothing was going on. Friends dropped off baby girl clothes, but I kept them in boxes in the closet. We slowly gathered up old baby gear and got it ready, but kept everything out of sight. I ran a marathon on February 12, 2012 in Jacksonville Beach, Florida. Before we left, I emailed Barb and told her, "If anything with the baby happens, please call Shannon. I'm in race mode and can't deal with anything else right now."
For the entire time we were gone for the marathon, I didn't really think much about the baby. When we returned, though, it became all-consuming. I constantly wondered if birthmom was in labor, if she was going to change her mind, if her pregnancy had been a good one. On Wednesday February 15, I got a call from our social worker saying that birthmom had gone in to labor and had been sent home to wait. On Sunday morning February 19, we got a call from Barb saying that the baby had been born the night before after a 30-something hour labor which ultimately led to an emergency c-section and IV meds for the birthmom. Given her age, I was sure that she would never let this baby go. I wouldn't have. Barb said that we would be able to get to the hospital later that day to meet the baby. She said she would call us to let us know when to go.
After waiting ALL DAY, Shannon finally called our social worker at 5PM that Sunday to ask what was going on. In short, birthmom didn't want us to come to the hospital until after the hospital photographer had been there to take an official picture of the baby. In the end, we never got to the hospital on Sunday. For the rest of Sunday night, Shannon and I talked and talked and came to realize that if the birthmom decided to keep the baby, we would be OK with it. We wouldn't have a choice. We would be horribly disappointed, of course, but we would learn to realize that God had other plans for us.
On Monday February 20, I went off to work prepared to never get a call from Barb, or to get the call that said, "I'm sorry, but birthmom has changed her mind." Around 3PM that day, Barb DID call to say "Baby is ready to be picked up." I could not believe it. I hugged a coworker who happened to be in my office with me and ran out the door. I called my husband, told him to meet me at home, and then flew home to get our son.
The 3 of us drove to the hospital to meet our girl who has been the most fun and most exhausting person ever. Though I was hesitant to bring home a second child while our son was still so young, having her has been the best gift. We are truly blessed.
It was a bumpy, emotional road with her, but it all worked out. We have met her birthparents only once and have a good relationship with them and keep in touch via email. In the end, we all love our daughter and want the best for her.
Thank God for adoption. I cannot imagine my life without children.
*Names have been changed
I'm a mom, wife, and health & fitness coach. My goal is to help others transform their lives by getting fit & healthy from the inside out.
Thursday, February 19, 2015
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
Being a mom
I'm skipping a bit of the timeline for this one post. I'll get back on track hereafter.
There was an event in my life recently--within my extended family--that made me realize how much being a mom has changed my heart and my soul. Perhaps you have felt like this, too. As soon as I became a mom, in that very moment that I first held our son in my arms, one day after his birth, everything changed. Everything! And I don't mean the stuff every parent talks about--sleep deprivation, choice of diapers and formula, the brand of crib or sheets, taking 45 minutes to get out the house. I mean that FEELING of feeling EVERY. SINGLE. THING.
A few weeks ago, my husband and I were watching a TV show. In one of the beginning scenes, a mother in despair jumped off a building with her 3 month old son in her arms. It's TV. I get it, but even as I recall the scene, I'm in tears. At the moment I saw it, I burst in to tears as if it were my own child who had been heaved to his death. I don't mean to sound morbid. My point is that I FEEL EVERY. SINGLE. THING that happens to a child.
Before children, of course I felt sadness and sorrow at wrongs done to children no matter what kind of wrong it was, no matter by whom it was perpetrated. Children are innocent creatures to be protected by everyone. Or, they should be. Once I had children, though, those feelings were ramped up to a level I cannot even begin to explain or comprehend. When one parent suffers, every parent suffers. When one child suffers, no matter the age of the child, whether a tiny baby or an adult, every parent feels it. I know this to be true.
Though this event in my extended family had little to do with me personally, it had everything to do with me as a mom. I looked at this situation that had happened--to the child of a relative--and thought, "I want to kick someone's ass." There, I said it. I told my husband that if ANYONE ever hurt my kid, well... need I say more? He hugged me and comforted me, having anticipated that this would be my reaction. Even recalling this moment makes me cry. The pain I feel for everyone--especially the parents--is almost indescribable.
When I was in 8th grade, my mom, my dad, my older brothers, and I went on a sailing trip. My parents chartered a sailboat out of Fort Meyers, FL, and we sailed and we sailed. Until we ran aground. The ocean ain't like Lake Michigan. That's for darn sure. You have to pay attention to depth. HA! Long story short, we had to get tugged off the sandbar. To do that, the other boat had to tie something (I can't recall what) around the mast of our boat and then pull. My mom and I wanted to get out the way and let my dad and brothers handle the hookup. So, we went below deck. As the other boat started to tug us, of course the boat started to heel over, and my mom and I both feared the galley would start to fill with water. We were nowhere even close to a situation like that, but in the moment, it was REALLY scary.
My mom looked at me, grabbed me, and shoved me up the stairs and above deck without any thought of herself. She only cared about me and making sure that I could get out of there in one piece. It was a classic "Mama Bear" moment. I know it sounds so silly, but I have called her Mama Bear ever since. I can still see her face, and it's been 26 years.
THAT is what I mean--that feeling of wanting nothing more than to protect your children. To move mountains, to do ANYTHING to save them, to protect them, to guard them. Sometimes I feel like I just want to put my kids in a bubble, put them and their bubble in their rooms and never let them out.
There was an event in my life recently--within my extended family--that made me realize how much being a mom has changed my heart and my soul. Perhaps you have felt like this, too. As soon as I became a mom, in that very moment that I first held our son in my arms, one day after his birth, everything changed. Everything! And I don't mean the stuff every parent talks about--sleep deprivation, choice of diapers and formula, the brand of crib or sheets, taking 45 minutes to get out the house. I mean that FEELING of feeling EVERY. SINGLE. THING.
A few weeks ago, my husband and I were watching a TV show. In one of the beginning scenes, a mother in despair jumped off a building with her 3 month old son in her arms. It's TV. I get it, but even as I recall the scene, I'm in tears. At the moment I saw it, I burst in to tears as if it were my own child who had been heaved to his death. I don't mean to sound morbid. My point is that I FEEL EVERY. SINGLE. THING that happens to a child.
Before children, of course I felt sadness and sorrow at wrongs done to children no matter what kind of wrong it was, no matter by whom it was perpetrated. Children are innocent creatures to be protected by everyone. Or, they should be. Once I had children, though, those feelings were ramped up to a level I cannot even begin to explain or comprehend. When one parent suffers, every parent suffers. When one child suffers, no matter the age of the child, whether a tiny baby or an adult, every parent feels it. I know this to be true.
Though this event in my extended family had little to do with me personally, it had everything to do with me as a mom. I looked at this situation that had happened--to the child of a relative--and thought, "I want to kick someone's ass." There, I said it. I told my husband that if ANYONE ever hurt my kid, well... need I say more? He hugged me and comforted me, having anticipated that this would be my reaction. Even recalling this moment makes me cry. The pain I feel for everyone--especially the parents--is almost indescribable.
When I was in 8th grade, my mom, my dad, my older brothers, and I went on a sailing trip. My parents chartered a sailboat out of Fort Meyers, FL, and we sailed and we sailed. Until we ran aground. The ocean ain't like Lake Michigan. That's for darn sure. You have to pay attention to depth. HA! Long story short, we had to get tugged off the sandbar. To do that, the other boat had to tie something (I can't recall what) around the mast of our boat and then pull. My mom and I wanted to get out the way and let my dad and brothers handle the hookup. So, we went below deck. As the other boat started to tug us, of course the boat started to heel over, and my mom and I both feared the galley would start to fill with water. We were nowhere even close to a situation like that, but in the moment, it was REALLY scary.
My mom looked at me, grabbed me, and shoved me up the stairs and above deck without any thought of herself. She only cared about me and making sure that I could get out of there in one piece. It was a classic "Mama Bear" moment. I know it sounds so silly, but I have called her Mama Bear ever since. I can still see her face, and it's been 26 years.
THAT is what I mean--that feeling of wanting nothing more than to protect your children. To move mountains, to do ANYTHING to save them, to protect them, to guard them. Sometimes I feel like I just want to put my kids in a bubble, put them and their bubble in their rooms and never let them out.
Wednesday, February 4, 2015
Stumbling around...
What does it mean to "stumble around" after being told you'll likely never have biological children?
Well, for me, it meant noticing every single pregnant woman present on the planet. It felt like everywhere I turned there was some REALLY pregnant woman staring me in the face. Whereas I had once been curious and intrigued by the process, I was, at that point, horrified. I felt like every pregnant woman was mocking me. Of course, that was not the case, but that's how it felt. It also felt like God was being extra cruel. I'm sure most of ask God, or whatever/whomever you believe in, "WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?" I've seen more than my share of sorrow and sadness and death. Though I'm only 40, I feel like, because of my life experiences, I should be about 80. At this point in my life, it felt like God was just piling on. "WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?" became an almost-daily mantra.
Invitations to baby showers rained from my mailbox. When I wasn't being faced, literally, with pregnant women, I was being invited to their baby showers. Now, I must say here that I knew several things:
I started to try and get used to the idea that we would never have children. I started to imagine a life that was just about us. Don't get me wrong--I have LOTS of friends who do not have children. Do not misunderstand what I am saying. As much as deciding to HAVE a child is a HUGE decision, so is the decision to NOT have a child. For me, though, I could not imagine a life without children. Most of my adult life had contained children: my oldest nephew was born when I was 20 and a junior in college; his brother was born 15 months later, one week after my dad died; when I was 22 I moved to Paris to work as a nanny for 3 kids for almost 2 years; I returned to the States in 1998 to watch my nephews and their new sister (born just before I moved back from Paris) grow up and become the adults they are today. My life was ALL about kids even before I had them. I knew that they were hard work, and I wanted nothing more than to do that hard work (I remind myself of this fact on the REALLY hard days with my kids).
So, how to construct a life without them? I simply didn't know. Thanks to science, I didn't have to wonder. I could let the doctors do the work for us. Science could only go so far. The rest was up to God.
Well, for me, it meant noticing every single pregnant woman present on the planet. It felt like everywhere I turned there was some REALLY pregnant woman staring me in the face. Whereas I had once been curious and intrigued by the process, I was, at that point, horrified. I felt like every pregnant woman was mocking me. Of course, that was not the case, but that's how it felt. It also felt like God was being extra cruel. I'm sure most of ask God, or whatever/whomever you believe in, "WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?" I've seen more than my share of sorrow and sadness and death. Though I'm only 40, I feel like, because of my life experiences, I should be about 80. At this point in my life, it felt like God was just piling on. "WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?" became an almost-daily mantra.
Invitations to baby showers rained from my mailbox. When I wasn't being faced, literally, with pregnant women, I was being invited to their baby showers. Now, I must say here that I knew several things:
- I have the best friends in the whole world. Most of them were the ones getting pregnant, and when I came clean with them and told them hat I couldn't go, they were totally cool with it. Not one ever questioned my fidelity to our friendship. Every single one felt for me, comforted me, and hugged me as if it were happening to them.
- Pregnant women were NOT the problem. I was the problem.
- I do regret not attending those baby showers.
- I do regret spending so much time feeling so negatively about others' joy.
- I also understand that what I was feeling was totally normal and that I should let go of the regret.
I started to try and get used to the idea that we would never have children. I started to imagine a life that was just about us. Don't get me wrong--I have LOTS of friends who do not have children. Do not misunderstand what I am saying. As much as deciding to HAVE a child is a HUGE decision, so is the decision to NOT have a child. For me, though, I could not imagine a life without children. Most of my adult life had contained children: my oldest nephew was born when I was 20 and a junior in college; his brother was born 15 months later, one week after my dad died; when I was 22 I moved to Paris to work as a nanny for 3 kids for almost 2 years; I returned to the States in 1998 to watch my nephews and their new sister (born just before I moved back from Paris) grow up and become the adults they are today. My life was ALL about kids even before I had them. I knew that they were hard work, and I wanted nothing more than to do that hard work (I remind myself of this fact on the REALLY hard days with my kids).
So, how to construct a life without them? I simply didn't know. Thanks to science, I didn't have to wonder. I could let the doctors do the work for us. Science could only go so far. The rest was up to God.
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