Introspection

Some random thoughts today...

A friend of ours has a beautiful baby, one I'm often gazing at with hopeful anticipation.  Seeing babies used to be downright painful.  I avoided it as much as possible.  I felt a mix of anxiety and sadness that I couldn't quite swallow.  What made this worse was the fear that if anyone knew how I felt, they'd call me selfish and think badly of me.  I became distant and quiet instead.  This went on for several months after both miscarriages.  It's not something I wanted.  I've always innately known that begrudging someone their happiness won't give you any blessings - none worth having.  I think it's important to know that if anyone in your life has gone through this or is going through this, being patient is absolutely key.  Giving them their space and time.  We don't get to decide how anyone feels, much less how they process their pain.

Our kiddo's room is well under way.  We changed our color choice and are much happier with the blue than yellow.  (Cool water by Behr, to be precise)  My parents purchased us an adorable dresser and toy box, and tomorrow we're getting a new lamp.  I find myself going in their room more and more often.  It's a very happy space.

For any family who is struggling with infertility, loss or waiting to be matched, know that you have an extended family who may not understand your specific path but who absolutely can empathize with your journey.  Know that it's completely normal and reasonable to feel a myriad of emotions from sadness to anger to indifference.  It just reminds you how important this life decision is.  If you stay strong, and as difficult as it can be, if you hold onto hope, you can make it through.  Physical pain will subside.  Emotional pain can be resolved, at least in a manageable way.  And the waiting...which in some ways is the hardest part...one day down is another day closer.  Don't ever forget that.

Unpredictable

My emotions have been running rampant these days.  I had a really rough 3 or 4 weeks, then it got much better, and today I feel low again.  It actually started yesterday.  I've noticed that when things are otherwise placid in our life, I can handle just about anything.  But isn't that how it goes?  One thing at a time.  Today I am dealing with a few issues that are, in the entire scheme of things, not that critical.  But when you have something on your mind every day, those types of issues just seem to magnify everything else.

*Michael is amazing, as always.  He took me out for dinner last night in lieu of our usual Thursday night workout at the rec center.  No complaints here.

Right now, in this moment, I feel spent.  I'm reading up on a lot of families who have already been matched.  Some after two weeks.  Some after 2 years.  And oddly enough, neither scenario truly comforts me, but for different reasons.

I am so ready for the day I can update this blog with the BIG NEWS..that he or she is finally here.  Or, in the case of siblings, that they are here.

I've decided on yellow for the kiddo's room.  It's bright and cheery.

*Name has been changed to protect identity.

Season's Change

Autumn has always been my favorite time of year.  There is something inspiring about the cooler weather.  I am also a big fan of spring, maybe because of the sense of renewal.  Even so, I don't consider autumn to be a dark, depressing warning of impending snow.  I just don't think of it that way.

Last night we had a fun family dinner celebrating our cousin's birthday.  The night before that we laughed and ate way too much food with dear friends.   I'm not sure what changed in my mindset, but I can say that sadness and longing actually has a strange knack of numbing any joy we encounter.  Ironic because we desperately seek joy on those days.  Then when it arrives, we argue its presence.  I felt that way for a time.  The longing for news on our adoption.  The hope, the anticipation.  There were other things going on at the time that compounded the issue for me, but they have since resolved.  Finally one night I had an epiphany of sorts. I decided that while I was completely and fully entitled to my feelings,  they weren't helping.  Feelings are great if they put things in perspective or kind of move us along on our path.  But when they act as a barrier, a roadblock, it's time to break them down.  No one in this world can do that for us.  Others can point the way or offer support, but they can't do the work.  It's an extremely personal process and one that happens when it's meant to happen - a phrase adoptive parents often struggle with.

This past week I saw signs - very positive signs - that as I began to feel better, situations around me were unfolding in hopeful ways.  The crisp air helps my mood, and suddenly it seems like the universe is conspiring to help us along.

It's a good great feeling. 

Center of Focus

Some people have said that the world only shows compassion when it relates to them. If they've experienced what you are going through, they will embrace you.  If they haven't, they can judge harshly.  *Michael and I are blessed to have an enormous support system.  Our church is filled with incredible people who continuously pray for us.  They don't ask about the adoption out of necessity or politeness.  They ask because they genuinely want to know.  We have a group of friends outside of church who also show support and love and have done so in many ways.  We are extremely grateful.

So has this process become my entire center of focus?  Is it all I think about?  Do I just spend my days staring at pictures of infants and toddlers while weeping silently?  No I do not.

On any given day, I work out of my home office on various projects.  I am the webmaster and newsletter editor for our church.  When not working on that, I'm cleaning or doing laundry or cooking.  We go to the gym three times a week.  We go to church each Sunday and are often greeters, snack bringers or worship leaders.  Every weekend we go to my mother-in-law's for lunch and help her with any chores she may have.  We run errands.  We go hiking. 

When not doing any of these things of course I think about our child to be.  How could I not?  Does a pregnant woman think of the child growing inside of her?   Adoptive parents don't always know "when" or "where", but they think of that child with as much love and hope.

Sometimes when we are sad or longing for something, it makes other people uncomfortable.  I understand that but I also think compassion is the most important trait a person can have.  As of late, we have certainly learned where that compassion will come from, and Michael and I will embrace that when they days are long and sometimes difficult.




*Name has been changed to protect identity.

Perception

This evening, while surfing the internet, I came across a photo showing several children that were officially adopted today from foster care.

When you are waiting for a child, it's easy to forget how many children are waiting for you.  Which is more difficult?  Wanting so much to hold them, laugh with them, love them and grow with them?

Or waiting and praying to be held and loved?

I am grateful for this reminder.

Roller coaster

This morning I heard from our agency.  One question that plagues a lot of adoptive families is wondering how often you should contact them, or how often they will be contacting you.  Will they update you if nothing has changed?

I've contacted our agency twice since becoming a waiting family.  This morning they responded and reassured us that they are doing their part, but that we shouldn't be concerned if we don't hear from them.  They also spoke of an out of the blue type scenario last weekend.  A woman gave birth and decided right then and there to place her child.  Another family was waiting longer than we've been waiting, and they were geographically closer.  So they were chosen.

I've read several different blogs focusing on the topic of patience in adoption.  I see things like:

"The right child will come to you when the time is right."

"Just be patient and stay busy."

"Be thankful you're just a couple now while you still have privacy."

Each of these sentences seems as foreign to me as the next.  It's not that we don't know any of these things.  We know we can't force the timing.  We have zero say in that.  We know we need to stay busy or focused on something else if we don't want to lose our minds in anticipation.  And we are grateful for our marriage and every adventure we have shared.  But not a single one of these changes how we feel.  And invariably, these suggestions come from people who are already matched parents.  Sure, they have the benefit of experience, but I almost think it's easier to hear those words from people still in our position.  Those who also listen to the ticking of the clock and just wonder...when?

The Road Traveled...

I think it's safe to say that I've always wanted to be a mother.  It's not something that occurred to me one day while watching children play, it doesn't come from a need to silence persistent family members.  My family has never actually tried to pressure me into parenthood.  It's just something I've always known about myself.  As much as I know my name and who and what I stand for, I know I'm intended to be a mother.

As an only child I desperately wanted a brother or sister.  I realize now more than ever that this wasn't just the yearning for sibling rivalry, late nights, shared clothes or family vacations.  Part of it came from my longing to parent a child.

I wasn't exactly known for my sharp decision making as a teenager, or even as a young adult.  I've always been a "feeler" rather than a thinker.  I can't tell you how many times this has caused problems.  Sometimes irreparable damage.  Still, I'm intuitive and emotional and that's my basis for choosing the path I follow.  I don't really know any other way to be.

My first husband was more of a friend than anything.  We made that determination five years too late.  My second husband taught me more than I would have ever learned on my own, but neither of us was ultimately suited for the other.  I wouldn't trade our relationship for anything because at times it was beautiful.  I gained an incredible sense of self from our time together.  But sometimes when you're figuring out who you are and what you want, it comes at the expense of your job or relationship or position in life.  I think that was the case for us both.  And that leads me to today.

*Michael isn't anything I expected.  I didn't expect his presence in my life.  I didn't expect his friendship and most assuredly didn't expect his love.  He was in much the same situation.  Life doesn't exactly follow the tidy, well constructed plan we lay out for ourselves.  People fight it.  We throw stones and accusations and make unfair demands of one another.  At the end of the day, our happiness comes in a myriad of ways and we need to embrace that.  It doesn't matter what anyone thinks or says about your life.  They quite literally have no way of knowing what you know.  Perception is limited.  It doesn't have the benefit of feeling, thinking or knowing.  And until the day it does, I've learned to pay little attention to the misgivings of others.  It doesn't change a thing.  Michael and I fell in love, moved in together, bought a car, a house, got married and went on with our lives together.  But a few things happened along the way.

In the summer of 2011 we took a trip east to visit friends.   On the way home from this particular trip I felt a lot of sadness.  I couldn't quite figure out why.  We landed at the airport and I remember crying inexplicably on the way home.  I figure Michael chalked it up to missing our friends.  I thought that was possible, but it still seemed odd to me.  As emotional as I am I still have a reason for feeling as I do, and this one eluded me.

A few days later it became clear to me that I was pregnant.  My period was late and that was not something that, well, ever happened.  I took a test and my thoughts were confirmed.  I felt a mixture of elation and fear.  I guess that's the typical response.  After two relationships and a desperate need to become a mother, I was now going to see my dream realized.  Michael called his mother and brother and shared the happy news.  I phoned my parents and they were equally excited.  Everyone was thrilled for us.  All the pieces were finally coming together.  I began craving tomatoes (at all times) and was truly enjoying this curious aspect of pregnancy.  My body looked the same but still I knew that deep inside of me a new life was growing and thriving.  I made my first doctor's appointment.  I was surprised to learn that many doctor's don't require an exam until a woman is five or six weeks along.  The simple fact is the baby is so tiny prior to that, there is really little to be seen.

A few days later I began to experience cramping in my lower back.  I figured it was par for the course.  But the next day when the spotting began, I panicked.  A wave of absolute fear rippled through me.  The tears came freely and without hesitation.  I called the doctor and they asked me to come in that day for blood work.  That was followed by more blood work a few days later.  In the meanwhile I read up on every possible reason for bleeding in early pregnancy.  The internet is not a kind place when you're already terrified.  (For any reason.)  The next day as I paced through the apartment, Michael tried to comfort me.  It must have worked because when the nurse called and dropped the bombshell that my numbers were dropping (which was a pretty good indicator that I had miscarried or was in the process of miscarrying) I literally yelled out and threw the phone on the counter.  I ran into the bedroom and fell to the floor.  It was the kind of crying that feels as though every bit of happiness is being drained from your body with every tear that falls.  I had already lost my cat of 17 years earlier that year.  Losing him felt as though joy would be nothing if not elusive, and this was another violent kick to my core.

I've often said that indifference is the worst feeling in the world.  That numb sensation of nonchalance.  Whether rain or sun, you feel exactly the same.  This was my life for the next few months.  I went through the motions because I was "supposed" to.  Michael went to work each day and came home to a quiet place.  Not the pleasant kind of quiet where contemplation is a reprieve from the weight of the world.  This was the kind of quiet that takes over when words have lost all meaning.

Less than two months later, Michael's only brother died.  It wasn't particularly unexpected but it was absolutely relentless in its effect on our family, the aftermath of which we are still feeling in some ways.  One of those times when you look to the heavens and wonder why God has not only forsaken you but decided you aren't worthy of keeping anything that means anything.

The following year we decided we needed a change.  Our apartment was becoming smaller and smaller as we acquired more and more "stuff".  The truth was that I've always wanted a home and Michael was ready for that as well.  We sold his much beloved but very impractical truck and purchased a sedan.  A few months later we began the nerve wracking process of shopping for a new home.  We were able to buy a wonderful house.  This isn't the kind of first house you settle for, not the kind of place where you figure you'll just make the best of it until you can save more money.  I saw this house online, fell in love and within two weeks our offer was accepted.  It seemed our luck was beginning to change.

In 2013 we visited my family.  We had a wonderful trip and once back home, I noticed that once again my period was late.  I bought a pregnancy test kit with two tests and told myself I would wait until a few days had passed.  By early morning I was restless and couldn't sleep.  I took the first test and stared a hole in the wall waiting for the minutes to pass.  Finally I glanced down and saw two lines.  I was beyond overjoyed.  Just to be safe, I took the second test and got the same results.  I was pregnant again!  Now that we had the house and the car, I knew everything would work out.  I was smarter, a bit older and more prepared than ever.  I climbed back into bed and Michael asked, without missing a beat, "Are we pregnant?"  He knew.  I laughed and yelled, "YES!"  That day we made the phone calls as we had before.  Once again everyone was thrilled for us.  I knew we should wait to tell our friends because of the very real and obvious risk in announcing a pregnancy so early.  Somehow though, I felt we needed the prayers.  We needed the encouragement.  We told our friends and they fully embraced this wonderful news.

During my first ultrasound, the technician remarked that she couldn't see the baby.  She kept saying she saw "something" but couldn't tell what.  I felt empty.  Were we going through this all over again?  They scheduled a second ultrasound and I waited for that appointment with uncertain hope.  By the time we pulled into the parking lot, my mind had already decided I wasn't pregnant.  I knew I needed to prepare myself for the inevitable.  Michael remarked that I didn't know for sure and I should stay optimistic.  As the elevator reached the fourth floor, I felt both sick and sad.  I wanted to believe him but I was just too afraid.  I laid down for my ultrasound and closed my eyes.  We were explaining to the nurse that they couldn't find the baby last time, and we just wanted to be sure my uterus was healthy and that everything was going back to normal..whatever that meant.  The nurse moved the wand slightly and said something I will never, ever forget.  "Uh, I have a surprise for you both.  You are definitely still pregnant!"  My eyes opened.  I glanced toward the monitor and shook my head in disbelief.  She pointed to the screen and said, "See!  Here is your baby, and here you can see their heartbeat."  Cue tears.  Cue heavy, hot, uncontrollable tears.  Our baby became obscured and all I could do was weep in gratitude.  Michael smiled and stared in shock.  Then something happened that was even more incredible than just seeing our baby.  The nurse asked, "Would you like to hear their heartbeat?"  I couldn't form words at this point.  I nodded and covered my face.  The room got quiet and suddenly the most beautiful sound filled the space.  A sound that I still hear in my dreams.  Our baby's heart was beating strong.  117 beats per minute to be exact.  I cried harder than ever and thanked God in every possible way I could. 

The nurse handed us our official ultrasound photo and I held it to my heart like it was handed down from heaven above.  She then directed us down to my nurse practitioner's office and as we waited we stared at this mesmerizing photo.  Our NP came in smiling just as we were.  She was so thrilled for us and for what seemed like a miraculous turn of events.  I asked her how it was that they hadn't seen the baby last time, and she explained that the pregnancy just wasn't as far along as we'd first thought.  Referencing our photo, she told us there was an area around the baby referred to as a subchorionic hemorrhage.  This sounded downright scary.  Michael and I looked at each other in concern.  But according to our NP, this was a common event and did not necessarily mean anything would go wrong with the pregnancy.  She placed me on pelvic rest as a precautionary measure.  I scheduled my next ultrasound and went home feeling nothing but warmth and bliss.

On Memorial Day we visited family graves and left flowers, something Michael's family has done for decades.  As I walked around the cemetery I felt a dull ache in my lower belly.  I was admittedly concerned but tried not to dwell on it.  The next morning as I went to the bathroom, I saw blood.  A lot of blood.  I know the color drained from my face.  I called my nurse and she sighed.  She was thinking the same thing.  Michael immediately came home from work and held me.  We cried together.  Again.

Another ultrasound confirmed our fears.  Our baby was there, but the heartbeat was gone.  I zoned into the image on the monitor, almost absorbing it.  The tiny being that once pulsed with determination now floated quietly inside of me.  I felt like I was floating too.

The nurse asked if I wanted a shot, if I wanted surgery or if I wanted to let nature take its course.  I chose the latter.  I just wanted to be left alone.  I wanted my body to be mine again.  No more tests or needles or invasive procedures.

In less than a month we became parents, lost our baby, found our baby and then lost them again. 

While the first miscarriage was emotionally devastating, the pain was only minimal.  Not so with this pregnancy.  This miscarriage was emotionally and physically the most difficult thing I have ever experienced.  It was a new, raw kind of pain.  My soul felt shattered. 

When you lose a child, everyone else loses them too.  Parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, cousins, friends, everyone.  The world loses them.  But despite this, I felt isolated.  I just didn't care about much of anything.  I once again went through the motions of life.  What was the alternative?

That winter Michael and I talked about adoption.  Becoming pregnant again seemed more worrisome than anything.  I wasn't sure I wanted to take that risk again.  Too much was at stake.  But how could we ever afford adoption?  We put the idea on hold.

One day in March of this year, my father and I were chatting on the phone.  My parents have always known how important parenthood is to me.  They also knew and know that Michael and I were 100% committed to becoming a family.  My dad then told me that because he and mom had not paid for me to attend a four year school as they had planned (I attended community college but did not finish), they decided to instead offer that money to us for an adoption.  We were both shocked and  tremendously excited.  This seemed like the answer to our prayers!

In April we started scouting out agencies and thought we'd found the perfect organization.  Thought.  It turned out that they gave us some very bad information, information we took as fact and that almost completely derailed us in the process.  Enter my mom.  She is determined like very few people I know, and she made several phone calls.  She refused to give up on this.  Finally we got the facts and knew we had a real chance after all.  I found another agency and scheduled a telephone interview.  We sat on the couch, full of anticipation, and when the phone rang I jumped.  An hour later, I danced through the house.  The interview went just as I'd hoped it would.  She said all the right things.  We seemed to have the right answers to her questions.  We sent in some preliminary paperwork, our initial fee, and were officially accepted.  Hurdle number one - cleared!

I knew enough about adoption to know that the process seemed long and overwhelming, but after everything Michael and I had been through, I had no doubts we could handle this.  People often tell you that buying your first home requires more paperwork than you can believe.  A homeowner myself, I can tell you that in our case it didn't remotely compare with this adoption.  Background checks.  Financial affidavits.  Employment history.  Physical exams.  State applications.  The list went on and on and on.  Our agency is wonderful in that they provided an extremely helpful checklist, but it was still pretty intimidating.  Then came the dreaded words...HOME STUDY.

I'd read all about home study's and as usual, I'd read horror stories.  Dreaded social workers with white gloves, checking your house for the slightest hint of dust.  Home renovations.  Inspections.  I began going through our DVD's and tossing out titles that weren't rated PG.  I rearranged closets.  Michael moved furniture.  We looked at our once warm, welcoming home and saw every potential negative aspect.  Were those stairs too steep?  Was the smoke alarm loud enough?  Was our flower bed full of precarious plants?  Were our cats bad news? 

Our social worker showed up as scheduled and our blood pressure immediately settled.  She was warm, friendly and reassuring.  She wanted us to become parents - not the other way around.  Her walk-through was thorough but not unrealistic.  She didn't check for dust bunnies under the cupboards.  Instead she made sure our windows had screens, she suggested safety gates and cabinet locks.  She made sure that our home is a safe place for a child.    We felt better with each passing minute.  We scheduled our next three required visits and went to bed with high hopes.

Our state requires parenting classes for all adoptions.  Unfortunately, scheduling those was less than easy.  It seemed as though none of the scheduled classes matched our schedule.  I was starting to get discouraged when finally we found a wonderful trainer nearby who actually accommodated our requests and made it work for us.  At first I wondered what we could possibly learn from these classes.  Would they teach you how to change a diaper or how to look for signs of colic?  I already knew all of these things after many years of watching children.  Still we had to go so we went in with an open mind.  All of our preconceptions were wrong.  Adopted children, simply put, have different needs.  Attachment is probably one of the biggest and most important aspects of adoption.  This baby, this child, is coming into your home not knowing who you are.  Can they trust you?  How do you begin to earn that trust?  We learned all of this and more.  We learned about the racial inequities facing many adopted children.  We learned about their biological and birth parents and saw documentaries about how this process affects them.  It's a decision they have to live with indefinitely, one I never truly considered from their point of view.  A mother is carrying life for nine months and then, in a move of incredible and unmatchable selflessness, she and the father are entrusting that life to another family. 

After our classes were completed and we received our official certification (another hurdle cleared) we completed our home study and once again, waited.  Waited to hear the word "PASSED".  In a move I soon learned to regret, I went back to the internet and looked for possible reasons for failing a home study.  Most of them seemed pretty obvious and extreme, but a few had me concerned.  What if our social worker saw something in us we didn't see in ourselves? Something she personally disliked?  But again our fears were unfounded.  Our SW called and arranged a meeting to review the final report.  With an enormous smile she congratulated us on passing the home study and asked for our signatures.  I couldn't grab the pen fast enough.

Today, coming up on 5 weeks and 6 days being officially available as a family, the waiting is proving to be harder than I ever, ever imagined.  I feel as though I've been waiting for almost four decades.  Waiting for a missed period.  Waiting for pregnancy tests to show results.  Waiting for ultrasound reports.  Waiting for the miscarriages to finally end.  Waiting for the agency to call us.  Waiting for our first home study.  Waiting now for the call that says, "You've been matched!"

We are open to any sex, any race, and any age between newborn and three years.  This makes shopping difficult.  We have books though.  We have a few baby items we just couldn't pass up, and some toddler clothes as well.  We're about to paint and design our child's room.  I know I will spend much time sitting on the bed, gazing up at the walls and day dreaming.  I do a lot of that.

One thing I can say as we move forward is this:  Everything we have gone through together has led us to this and it means more than we can express.  All the tests, the almost three months of weekly blood work, the fatigue, the tears, the weakness, the loss, the physical pain and the mental anguish...we would go through it all over again, ten times over, for the moment we pray for.  That moment when our child is finally and forever in our arms.

Welcome to our journey.

*Name has been changed to protect identity.