A-Day

“Well that was easy!”

After four and a half years of frustration, tears, and prayer, the actual day of adoption went by like a warm summer breeze.  Forgive me if I get a little poetic with this, but it was an exciting, energizing, climatic day and we’re still basking in the joy of Adoption Day (or as we began calling it, "A-Day").

December 19th couldn't have been a nicer day.  Winter has been odd and unpredictable so far.  We’ve had snow flurries, ice, and 70-degree weather.  It’s actually what we’ve come to expect from Chattanooga.  So on the morning of December 19^th, we weren’t sure what to expect.  We laid out our clothes and planned for colder weather.   We wore our jackets and coats and sweaters, but we really didn’t need them.  The air was crisp and the sky was blue.

I had the day off and so had the joy of spending the morning with Amelia.  After breakfast we took a shower and got dressed.  We both were wearing new clothes.  Her in a red plaid dress Kelly’s mom had found and me in a bluey-greeny plaid shirt I had found but Kelly had bought for me for our anniversary.

Our appointment was at 1:30, so we decided to do lunch first.  Kelly, Amelia, and I met Kelly’s parents, Kelly’s sister, met my parents at The Universal Joint, a fantastic little restaurant that used to be gas station.  After lunch, we walked across the street to the courthouse.

We didn’t really know what to expect.  Our lawyer said it was going to be super easy and quick.  We were to meet the judge in his chambers where he would ask us a few questions and then sign the paper, sealing the deal and making Amelia ours.  And in a nutshell, that’s what happened.  But what we weren’t expecting was such an emotional, joyous proceeding.

This was clearly the judge’s favorite part of the day.  He smiled with us, joked with us, and showed us pictures of his grandchildren.  Kelly and I were sworn in and made to tell the story of how Amelia came into our lives.  We told the judge our story and he listened with a wondrous smile on his face.  He asked us a few questions, alternating between Kelly and I.  “What’s her name going to be?  By doing this, it will be – legally – as if she were your biological child.  She have all the rights that comes with.  Should the two of you ever divorce, you both would still be responsible for her.  Are you aware and okay with that?”

We answered his questions with choked-up throats and beaming smiles on our face.  One grandfather, who shall remain nameless, said he had to focus on Amelia during the meeting otherwise he would have started to cry.

It was the easiest, most wonderful way to end one journey and begin another.  The judge signed the paper, shook our hands, and then posed for pictures.  The judge and his staff were amused by our entourage.  We had our entire families plus two photographers all crammed into his chambers.

After the ceremony (which was very much like a wedding in a lot of ways), we went with our lawyer to sign a few more papers . . . and then it was done.

Kelly and I laughed about it afterward.  Considering how hard these years have been at times, it was almost absurd how easy it was in the end.

“You’re a mama now,” I said to her, squeezing her tight and giving her a kiss.  “Officially.”

“I’ve always been a mama.”  She said with a teary smile.

“I know.”  I said, remembering when we first met.  

She was sixteen and the camp we worked at had trusted her with children.  She had laughed about it.  "I can't believe they trust me," she would say.  And I would smile.  Because I saw in her what, clearly, the managers of the saw:  She was a mama.  She had no experience and she was way too young, but she was a mama.  She was firm but forgiving, encouraging and funny.  She would deny it, but she had one of the biggest, most loving hearts I had yet encountered.  I saw it, even when she didn’t.  Seeing her today, then, crying over finally being declared a mama, came as absolutely no surprise to me.

Kelly laughed again, wiping a tear from her eye.  “Well that was easy!”

Possible Nibble

Got a call from the attorney's office today. There is a mother who is due in April who is looking to put her child up for adoption. We don't know a lot about her. We know she's going to be having a girl and that she's coming from a biracial relationship. The biological mother hails (originally) from Kentucky but now lives here in Tennessee. The mother is interested in being able to visit her child once a year. The attorney's office called to ask if we were comfortable with that.

I never realized how strong the word "comfortable" is. Because to describe the idea of getting together, once a year, with a woman we don't know but gave birth to the child we now call "daughter" is just about the furthest thing from comfortable that I can think of. As soon as the question was asked, fears of the mother falling back in love with her child sprang to mind.

"There's no guarantee that the mother will follow up on this request," our attorney said, as if reading my mind.

"Comfortable is such a strong word," I said and she laughed.

But this process has never been about comfort. It's uncomfortable to admit to your spouse that you don't know why you're not getting pregnant. The word infertility is an awful, awful word to ever say out loud (maybe only trumped by hearing it). It's not comfortable telling your friends and family that you're considering adoption. It's not comfortable browsing for books on adoption. The only part of this process that is comforting is knowing that we are opening our hearts and our home to a child that needs us. And that thought leads to the comfort of knowing that God is with us on this and He has a long history of adoption and will help us through this -- including leading the right child into our home.

"Do it," I said. "Send her our letter."

She might not like us. She might take one look at our book and say, "they're not raising my child!" She might choose someone else -- someone who reminds her of her family or someone with slightly similar ideals and aspirations or someone richer. Or she might meet us and go, "those two people are the most opinionated people I have ever met. No. Way."

But that's her choice to make. I'm not going to take that choice away from her because of one uncomfortable detail. Many of these uncomfortable things have already gone away and many more of them will go away once we're on the other side of this. Either way, I haven't seen my comfort zone in about two years and I'm not making any plans to ever return there.

So that's where we're at right now. It's not quite a nibble, but it's a potential nibble. We'll see if she bites and then we'll go from there.

Don't pray that she chooses us. Pray that she makes the right decision and that her child winds up in the right home. Pray that the right child finds our home. I would love it if this was the one, because that would make this process so much quicker and easier than any of the books led us to believe it would be. But I'm more concerned for the child. I want her to find the right fit more than I want her placed in my home. But, if you're not, please pray for us. We'd really appreciate it. And if you already are, thank-you.

the waiting game

There is an old episode of The Simpsons in which Homer buys a plow. He christens himself "Mister Plow," and puts together a commercial telling all of Springfield that he'll plow their driveways and their roads when they get snowed in. The family watches the commercial on television and afterwards, Homer says, "Well, John Q Driveway has our number. Now we play the waiting game. Ah, the waiting game sucks. Let's play Hungry Hungry Hippos!"

Me and Homer are of like minds*. I do not like the waiting game. The calm before the storm makes me nervous. The night before a film shoot is a restless one. I do not like waiting; I like doing. I do not like guessing; I like making informed decisions. While I appreciate surprises and enjoy spontaneity, I generally like to have a plan laid out before me.

I dropped two copies of our "Dear Birth Mother" books off at the attorney's yesterday and now we . . . wait? Wait for good news? Wait for the attorney to find someone for us to meet? All we really can do is get the word out there that we're looking to adopt. Beyond that, it's just . . . waiting. Waiting for a friend to run into someone. Waiting to overhear a conversation. Waiting for a social worker to contact our attorney. Waiting to make the right connection with the right person who'll put us in touch with our baby.

Kelly is much better at turning restless energy into productive energy (as you can see from her previous posts). I find myself playing more video games and watching more movies (and as I already have an unhealthy obsession with sitting on my butt, I need to find a new way to distract myself). Perhaps I'll go for a walk. Or a hike. Or a swim.

But tonight, after I've walked, hiked, swam or whatevered . . . I'll still be playing the waiting game. And the waiting game sucks.

* A sentence that will send shivers down my English major wife's back.

And now we wait....

We have finally finished our Dear Birth Mother letter (profile book) and received the printed copies back from blurb.com. They are just lovely (safely wrapped in plastic too!). Scott did a fantastic layout job and Blurb did a nice job with the printing and binding. Only found one typo post printing, but that was our fault. Sigh.

We wrote the letter to the attorney tonight to accompany the two profile books that he will keep on file to share with potential birth mothers. The letter to the attorney included a list of what kind of child we are looking for including age, race, gender and any disabilities we would potentially consider.

It is disconcerting to so definitively rule out a child who may have a physical or mental handicap. To think that with a few key strokes were are effectively turning our backs on a child who definitely needs a home hurts the heart. We've said that we don't want to take the gamble of doing IVF, but it seems even a normal, biological pregnancy is a gamble in some sense. Biological parents pray for a healthy child, but don't really know what they are going to get. Boy or girl, tall or short, healthy or not. Adoptive parents get the opportunity to rule out or accept the responsibilities associated with a special needs child, biological parents don't really get that option. Is that option the trade off for raising a child that might not look like you? Is it ethical to say no to child based on a list of fears? Is it wrong to say, "This is our first child. We don't know how to be parents yet. Infertility and adoption are hard enough as it is. Please just let us start with a healthy infant."? It must be okay to acknowledge our own weaknesses enough to say "This may be too much," or "I'm not sure we can handle that." Thoughts to ponder.

We finally decided, for now, a healthy infant under 12 months old, either boy or girl, any race is okay with us. We will leave everything else to God. He will bring us the child who needs us and who we need. We have two more copies of the profile book to share with anyone we may meet. So as soon as that packet is delivered to the attorney we have done really all we can do, except wait. And try not to fret.

So what do we do in the mean time? I vote for:

1. Pray for the birth mother and our baby wherever they may be.
2. Continue to collect children's books and necessary baby items. I have already finished refurbishing a high chair. Maybe Baby Micah will test it out to make sure it is nice and comfy. There is a pack of diapers, wipes, and powder ready to go. And a few sleep outfits are hanging in the closet.
3. Paint the guest room a.k.a. future nursery.
4. Cuddle all of my friends' sweet, sweet babies.

So now our job is to tell everyone we know that we are looking for a baby and encourage them to tell everyone they know too. It could be next month or it could be a long wait. Sigh.

-K