Worth Every Minute

There have been countless moments in the last three years where I’ve wondered if what we were doing was really worth it. Wondered if the decisions we were making were the right ones. Wondered if we were choosing the right path, and how we would know if it wasn’t. I worried we were wasting our time with appointments and meetings that got us nowhere. If we should have skipped the four rounds of clomid over two years ago to start the adoption process sooner. If we should have continued treatments after that and put the adoption plans on hold. If we should have changed something in our profile, hired the lawyer and continued until May with D last year, worded something differently in messages when other potential birthmoms contacted us.

When things aren’t going well, you feel the emptiness like a shadow over every single day and it’s easy to question every decision you’ve made. To not only wonder if the decisions you’ve made have been the right ones, but, if they were, why things continue to be so difficult. You meet people, whether in “real life” or online somehow, going through similar situations and wonder how life can be so unfair. There are times when your heart completely breaks for these people you hardly know, wondering why they and you and so many others have to endure these failed adoptions, endless negative pregnancy tests and losses. Wonder how this could possibly be the right path if you’re still going through all of this. Wonder how this could possibly be the way things are meant to be.

But then there are the moments when everything makes sense. I’ve heard from so many adoptive parents that the moment you first hold your child and know she is yours, you suddenly understand. Everything seems worth it. I’ve heard people say that they would endure ten times what they already had for the precious children that became theirs. And the tiny feet kicking me as I write this have started to make me understand what they meant.

We found out at the end of October that we are pregnant. It was not an easy decision to go back to fertility treatments, and I will probably write a separate post on this because it definitely would have helped me six months ago to read about how other people have come to this decision. We were so lucky to be successful this time, and our precious baby girl is due in July. We could not be more excited or grateful.

With the years that it took us to get here, it’s hard to not think about what could have been or think that we could have gotten here sooner if we had made different choices. But when we see our little one kicking and waving on an ultrasound like we did yesterday, we know that no other route or timing would have brought us to this specific child. We know that we were meant to be hers, and she ours.

This journey has changed us in so many ways. We have an immense love and respect for the adoption world and the people in it. We do still want to adopt, despite now understanding so much more of the heartache and difficulties that come with it. We know that we can’t really plan the future. Before we were married we wanted to have a house as soon as possible and three perfectly-spaced children. We now live in a NYC apartment again (and love it) and have no idea how many children we will have (or where they will come from) in five or ten years. And we’re completely okay with that. While nothing could really make the waiting easier, we’ve learned to take things one step at a time and embrace the stage we’re in. Treat life like the adventure that it is. We’ve grown and learned so much, and feel like we can be better parents because of it. This journey’s been anything but easy, but it was ours and worth every minute.

Adoption and Loss

I really have gotten some amazing encouragement from this blog. Emails and comments from friends, family, and complete strangers thanking us for sharing our adoption journey, motivating us when things aren’t going well and simply sharing their own stories to let us know we’re not alone. It is amazing to think that anyone other than maybe our own mothers are interested in reading about us, and even more incredible to think that the things I’m writing about our experiences have helped a total stranger in their own journey.

But then there are the nasty comments. I’ve only gotten a few so far on here, but they hurt every time. The people who call us (and other adoptive parents who leave comments on here) “selfish” and think that we’re only out to “get someone’s baby”. That all we want is a “a healthy infant” and wish for someone else to “lose their baby” so we can have it. While part of me wants to approve these comments (which I haven’t, so you won’t be able to find them) and reply back to defend ourselves, I know that this isn’t worth it. I know that these comments are coming from people who are uneducated about adoption and know nothing about us. But I also know that these comments represent a larger majority of people who view adoption on one extreme or another. We are either selfish baby-snatchers or compassionate saints for “giving a home” to a child or loving a baby that “isn’t our own”; birthmothers are either the victims who have their babies taken from them or are thoughtless individuals who “give away” their children. I know people think this way, because I’ve heard all these comments at one time or another. In most adoption situations, none of these are true, and I only hope that every person that comes across this blog will at least leave knowing that much.

Adoption exists because we live in an imperfect world. In a perfect world, every child would be born into a stable family with the resources, maturity and desire to care for him or her, and every person who wanted to be a parent would be able to conceive. No child would have to experience the loss of his/her birthfamily and no birthfamily the loss of a child. No adoptive parents the loss of the pregnancy experience for that child and the first months or years of life. Adoption involves loss for everyone and is not something that will ever go away. There is brokenness on all sides. No matter how a child comes to be adopted, there is an element of heartbreak. Some are removed from a potentially harmful situation, some orphaned by the death of parents, some willingly placed by birthparents who feel unable to provide the life they want their child to have. But there is always loss. Adoption is an attempt to acknowledge that loss and grow from it. It brings together families. Adoptive parents are given the opportunity to raise children, but will never know what it was like to physically bring this child into the world. The child may have a more stable home to grow up in, but will have parents unable to fulfill that role of birthparent in their life. And birthparents, while likely always holding onto the loss of their child, will hopefully at least have the peace of mind to know that they gave their child everything they could at the time by choosing adoption.

We don’t take this loss lightly, and believe our job as future parents of an adopted child is to not only raise them as we would a biological child, but help them deal with this inevitable sense of loss. You won’t get far into the adoption process if you don’t understand the relationships that are formed by it and at least have respect for what your future child’s birthparents are going through (obviously there are horrible situations of child abuse where feelings toward birthparents may be different, but the child will still carry that loss with them nonetheless). We have tremendous respect for anyone considering adoption for their child and it breaks my heart to imagine what they’re going through. When D first started talking to us, she mentioned “giving a family the greatest gift”. As things got harder for her and the reality of having to place her baby became more real, it became clear that she wasn’t giving baby girl to us, she was giving us to her. It was about doing what she thought was right for her child and, even though the three of us were sad to see our relationship end because of M, we can only hope that the time we spent on this roller coaster with her helped prepare her to parent. While baby girl’s life will certainly be different than it would have been with us, it’s somewhat comforting to know that she is one less child who will experience that loss of her birthfamily.

I pray for our child’s birthmother every day. Whoever she is and wherever she is. Maybe she’s pregnant or about to become pregnant. Maybe she’s already parenting. Maybe she’s doing everything she can to be able to care for this child, but knows she won’t be able to. Maybe she thought she could, but realized months later that she’s unable to provide the life she wants for her child. Maybe she’s simply not ready to be a mother. Maybe she’ll feel nothing but pain as she hands her newborn to the parents she’s chosen for him or her. Or maybe she will have a moment of comfort and reassurance as she places her 7-month-old, and the pain will come later. But there will always be pain and loss, and that is not something we would wish on anyone. I learned so much when we were matched with D and I wrote this post when we started to understand more what she was going through. Our potential gain was to be her greatest loss, and that’s not something that was ever far from our minds. Talking to so many expectant moms considering adoption over the last few months has been difficult for us as we try to manage the wait, but each one helps us understand better what these women are going through.

Adoption is beautiful, but is born out of loss and tragedy. There are always those situations with birthparents who say they regret their decision, adoptive parents who ignore the loss that their child experiences or children who end up with severe behavioral problems as a result of what they’ve been through. These are the situations the world hears about. You don’t hear from the well-adjusted children, content adoptive parents and the birthparents at peace with their decision because this is simply their life. All members of the adoption triad will have difficult moments, but you deal with them and move on. You are all a family now, united by the love for one child, whether you all maintain an open relationship or will never meet. It’s these stories I wish the world would hear more about. The stories of families who’ve acknowledged the loss and grief and gone on to lead beautiful lives together. The adoptive parents who can’t imagine their life without this precious child who is every bit “their own”, and who silently thank God and their child’s birthparents every day for allowing them to be together. The birthparents who are able to better process their grief by seeing photos and updates of their children growing, comforted in knowing that they made the right decision. And the children for whom adoption is always just a small part of their life story, who can love their adoptive parents and birthparents for who they are in their life instead of only seeing what they are not. These are the stories everyone should hear about, and the type of adoption story I hope we will have. We will be forever tied to our child’s birthparents and, even if we never meet, the magnitude of their loss and our overwhelming gratitude will always be a part of our story. 

An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet regardless of time, place or circumstances. The thread may stretch or tangle, but will never break. ~Ancient Chinese proverb

“Labor”

There are days lately where I honestly don’t think I can do this anymore. I thought I knew what this would be like. I knew that waiting was difficult, that people have on and off days and wonder after five or six months of no contact if there’s something wrong with their profile or wonder if they’ll ever be chosen. We were told by the adoption agency, by other adoptive families, by ourselves, that this wouldn’t be easy, but there is nothing that can prepare you for a roller coaster like this.

We just had our third scam. We haven’t confirmed with the agency that it was a scam yet, and we may never know for sure if they haven’t contacted any other families from our agency, but all signs are pointing that direction right now. We’ve been contacted eight times now. And don’t get me wrong, I know there are other couples who would love to have as much activity on their profile as we have, but it only makes the roller coaster that much worse. With every message we get, regardless of the minor “red flags” that indicate it might be a scam or the fact that she is only 7 weeks pregnant and chances are extremely slim that something will come out of this, we have to pretend like it’s legitimate and real long enough to write a heartfelt message back. You can only detach yourself so much. When we get new messages now, my excitement lasts for about .5 seconds before it turns to fear. Because we now know what can go wrong. We aren’t able to ask about the birthfather’s involvement unless they volunteer the information, yet it’s always in the forefront of our minds after everything that happened with D. We know that first trimester contacts usually don’t work out, but we have to pretend like it will and discuss possible plans for the future with these expectant mothers because there’s always that possibility that this is our child’s birthmother. And at the very least, we are helping her do what she needs to do to make the right decision for her baby. 

But I am totally at the end of my rope. We’ve now redone our fingerprints, child abuse clearances and medical exams for our homestudy renewal and are waiting for them to schedule our home visit with the social worker. But I really don’t know how I’m going to get through this. I don’t know how I’m going to put on a smile and talk about this last year like it somehow made us better people and made us stronger. Because I feel the complete opposite right now. I feel weak and tired. I’m angry over having to go through all of this when most people can just go get pregnant without ever having to get fingerprinted, tested for HIV and discussing with strangers (whose job is to judge you) their plans for discipline five years down the road. And now a second time because we’ve been waiting so long that the state assumes we must have become drug-dealing, TB-infected kidnappers in the last 12 months with new fingertips and a home that resembles an opium den.

http://thechive.files.wordpress.com/2012/10/inspire-others-10.jpg?w=500&h=825

Two weeks ago my future-sister-in-law gave birth to our nephew. At the end of her labor, while my brother-in-law was pacing the room terrified, I was trying to help her relax and coaching her through the contractions. When she would repeat over and over that she couldn’t do it, I kept telling her that she could because she already has. She had gotten through so many of them, that there was every reason to believe she could get through this one too. I’ve been trying to teach myself the same thing, that this is simply our labor and that if we can get through one more day and one more and one more, then it will all be worth it eventually. That these ups and downs, like labor, are what’s needed to have this child in our arms. That we have to just trust the process. That these moments of complete weakness, uncertainty and self-doubt will decline as quickly as they came on. But these waves last days instead of minutes, and this whole labor experience itself has already lasted years. The pain may be emotional rather than physical, but there are times when it feels like both. There are times when the pain of infertility, the reality of how long this process has already taken and the realization that you have no idea when things will improve all come together and just knock the wind out of you. And the rest of your life doesn’t stop so you can breathe through the difficult moments and overcome them. Don’t worry the labor references end here. I’ll spare you the metaphors for pitocin, pushing and placentas. You’re welcome.

If you had told me 18 months ago where we would be right now I would probably run the other direction. The past several months have been more than I ever thought I would be able to endure and it’s becoming harder and harder to stay positive and act like I’m still in one piece. But I feel like there’s nothing that can really be done about it. If we take a break from everything, I won’t really feel any better because we’ll only be prolonging the process. The only way out is through. If you’re going through hell, keep going.

They say you forget all the pain when it’s over. I really really hope that’s true.

Because everyone loves a cute newborn picture…our nephew 🙂

A Thousand Years

I hate that I haven’t updated this blog in over a month. I start writing posts but then I can’t finish them because I can’t find any thoughtful, uplifting note to end on. I’m sad and frustrated. Sad that we won’t have a baby this month. Sad that it’s already been this long and we’re still not parents. Sad that we had to break things off with D even though that wasn’t what the three of us wanted. Yes, the reason we started talking to her was because she wanted to place her baby with us. But she and I became friends, we would text or talk almost every day. And, aside from getting over the fact that this wasn’t our baby, we had to get over the fact that she was not our child’s birthmother. It really would have been a great situation with her and it’s been hard to let go of the visions we had of that relationship too. I’m frustrated that we’re having to put a lot more time and money into renewing our homestudy so we can wait some more. Every advertisement email I get about “the perfect gift for mom!” from every store on the face of the earth puts a knot in my stomach. It’s a reminder that it’s May. And another Mother’s Day. And the due date for the baby that isn’t ours.

I want SO badly to be over this. To be able to completely move on, and be optimistic again. But it’s so incredibly hard. I spend so much time trying to figure out why it still bothers me so much and why it’s so hard to move past. Why it makes my heart hurt to see an adorable little girl walking to preschool with her daddy. I don’t know that it’s even so much about that specific baby girl any more, because we’ve known for 2 months now that she isn’t going to be ours. I think it’s partially because we’ve had this sense of anticipation about May for the last six months. We were always cautiously optimistic, but it was impossible to not picture all the fun things we could be doing this summer with our little one or think about watching her grow up with her cousin who’s due only a few weeks later. It’s hard watching everything else in life continue around us after having to walk away from something that meant the world to us, and while we continue to wait.

I started this blog to document our journey to parenthood. I want to have something to look back on in twenty years and remember what all this was like. I want other people who read this to have a better understanding of adoption, both the beauty of the process and relationships and the difficulties that adoptive parents endure to bring their little ones home. But I don’t know that I want to remember this part. The loss. Emptiness. Heartache. Envy. Longing. Sadness. Hopelessness. Maybe that’s why I haven’t been able to write anything recently. I want our child to read this one day, when he or she is mature enough to understand it. And I don’t know that there’s much point in dwelling on all of those things we’re going through right now, because all he or she needs to know is that it was unimaginable love for him or her that helped us through this process and brought our family together. What I’m feeling now is not even sadness that that little girl isn’t ours, but more that our little one hasn’t found us yet. It’s odd being so in love with someone that you’ve never met, seen or felt kick inside you. It’s a feeling many people will never have. And one that I hope, even with as painful as everything is right now, I will remember in twenty or thirty years.

 I have died every day, waiting for you

Darling don’t be afraid, I have loved you

For a thousand years

I’ll love you for a thousand more

And all along I believed I would find you

Time has brought your heart to me, I have loved you

For a thousand years

I’ll love you for a thousand more

~”A Thousand Years”, Christina Perri

One Year

It’s been a difficult few weeks just trying to make sense of everything that’s happened and figure out where we are. I remember hearing about failed matches from our agency or from other people who’ve experienced them and people often say that they take a break and decide not to have their profile shown for a few weeks. I could never really understand why anyone would not want to immediately have their profile shown again and try to find another match, but I completely get it now.

I’m tired. The constant stress and back and forth of this situation was completely exhausting. Our profile was never taken down because we never officially matched with D through the agency, but I have almost been hoping to not be contacted the last few weeks. The thought of having to start a relationship with another potential birthmother immediately was more than my tired heart could handle. When things first ended we were devastated for a few days, but then started to be hopeful again. Family and friends held a beautiful baby shower for us and we were looking forward to moving on and being contacted again. 

Some days it feels like the whole situation with D never happened, it’s like one big blur. But there are days when it really hits me again and I realize that May really is going to come and go and we’re not going to be parents. That those little feet in that picture really aren’t ours. That I really won’t get to buy JP some adorable father’s day gift this year and we really will become aunt and uncle before mommy and daddy. That we really are going to have to put more time and money into updating our FBI fingerprints, medical clearances and homestudy report soon just to keep our profile active. All so we can continue to wait with no end in sight. So I can continue to go to work and see another one of the newly pregnant nurses every day, who will, upon learning we are adopting, rub her pregnant belly and ask me why we don’t want “one of our own”. So I can watch all of my pregnant friends become mommies, because they have a guaranteed timeline. We have just an endless waiting game. 

I try not to complain usually because we really are blessed in so many ways. But there are days lately where I am just sad and feel completely out of hope. Where I feel frustrated that it is so easy for some people and we have to endure this pain, but then guilty for even thinking that way. It’s hard being so overwhelmed and in so much pain sometimes, but then knowing that you have to keep going because that’s the only way to get where you want to be. It’s torture knowing that things will probably get worse before they get better, but encouraging knowing that if we can get through this it will just become another day. Another step forward. If there’s one thing that keeps me hopeful, it’s reading other adoptive parents’ stories about the day they got “the call” or the day they met their child for the first time. Or stumbling across a link on pinterest to an adoption blog, only to discover that the article on “waiting” it linked to is two years old and the family now has a two beautiful children. The wait really does come to an end.

Today marks one year since we sent in our homestudy documents and officially started the process. It’s really hard knowing that it’s already been so long and that we still don’t really have an endpoint. Holidays are especially hard, because it reminds you of how much time has gone by and you remember thinking last year that that would be your last Easter (or Christmas, etc.) as a family of two. Of course it would be your turn this year to buy a cute Easter outfit and take photos of your little one with a creepy oversized bunny. But it doesn’t always work out like that.

So here we are. One year, one failed match, one scam and a whole lot of ups and downs later. Really looking forward to that day when we meet the little person we’re doing this all for and understand how all this trouble is shaping us into the parents we are supposed to be.

Hope Shines Brightest

We let her go.

After thinking things through, and taking a lot of advice from family and friends, we decided to at least speak to a lawyer before making any definite decisions. We got a recommendation from our agency and spoke with her Thursday afternoon. The last few weeks have been tough since things started unraveling, first with M changing his mind again and then the agency deciding to not be involved, but we did still have some hope that things could work out using an adoption attorney. 

We knew before we even hung up the phone with her that we would have to walk away. There wasn’t really one thing that made our decision, but everything together just made us realize that this situation is not what we had hoped it would be. We were told we would need to hire three separate attorneys for ourselves, D and M (usually there are only two, but because D and M have completely different opinions on the adoption we would need three). It would have end up costing probably $18-20k, and this is if M were cooperative. The lawyer told us M couldn’t sign anything before the baby is born, and then would have 45 days after signing (if he agreed to sign at all) to change his mind (it’s 30 days in NY if you are using an agency, 45 with a lawyer). If he changed his mind and we contested it would go to court to determine what’s in the best interest of the baby. It would cost another $40k or more, and we would still likely lose her. Even if he did sign the relinquishments when she was born and didn’t change his mind, we would still spend the first 6 weeks of her life absolutely terrified of losing her. 

So much about this situation with D was more than we ever could have asked for. Some parts of it were so perfect, which is what made it so hard to walk away. We’ve gotten to know her for four months, become friends with her, and fallen in love with this baby. So much about this open adoption could have been perfect, but knowing that we wouldn’t really be able to enjoy any of the preparation or the first 45 days home with her made us realize that it really wasn’t the best situation. The thought of bringing her home and losing her 3 months later after an expensive, legal mess is just more than we can handle.

This really is just one of the hardest things we’ve ever had to do. The fear of this happening has been there for months, but nothing had definitively changed and D was still very sure of her decision. Even though things started to look bad a couple weeks ago, there was still possibility. But as we were talking to the lawyer, I could feel it all unraveling fast. All of a sudden it was as if we had nothing left to hold on to, we knew it was over. We were two months away from finally being parents, and in an instant that was gone. I thought I might actually get to celebrate Mother’s Day this year, snuggling our newborn daughter at the hospital, but that’s gone too.

We emailed D Saturday night and told her. I wanted to call but honestly didn’t think I could even get through the conversation without breaking down in tears. JP read the email before I sent it and we both just fell apart, knowing that as soon as we sent that it was really over. We didn’t expect to hear back from D, but we did the next morning. She told us she had really hoped things would work out because she couldn’t imagine a better situation for her and the baby, but that she understood why we had to let go. She told us she wouldn’t want baby girl to be home with us and “her family” and then be taken from us because of M’s decision. She said she hoped we would one day soon be blessed with our child. She didn’t have to email us back, but we were so happy she did. We knew that sending that email to her changed her life as much as ours, if not more. We immediately felt loss and emptiness as soon we sent the email to her, and even though her reply just confirmed that it’s over, it did help us to move on a little. 

So we are gathering up whatever strength we have left, and moving on. This is one of the hardest things we’ve been through and I wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone. Our only shred of hope right now is that we are one step closer to meeting our baby. It’s been a long, joyous, hectic, beautiful, heartbreaking step, but it got us closer than we were yesterday. I’m sure one day we’ll look back and realize why we had to endure all of this, and we can only hope that the next baby we fall in love with is ours.

Keep D in your thoughts and prayers, please. Pray that she has strength to get through the coming months and years- she is an amazing person and we are glad we got to know her, even if things did not turn out like we all had planned. Pray for M too. If he can be half the daddy that JP would have been to her, she will be one lucky little girl. Goodbye, little one.

Lost

We had a conference call today with our social worker from our agency and the social worker who’s been talking to D. I’ve been dreading this call for days because I knew they were just going to remind us how risky this situation is with M, and outline all the reasons it probably won’t work out.

Which they did. But then they essentially threw in the towel completely, which I didn’t even know was possible. They think that things are too risky with him, and that even if he were to change his mind again tomorrow and cooperate, there’s a chance of him changing it back the day the baby is born because he’s already been so hot and cold. Or after relinquishments are signed and we bring the baby home. They think this may turn into a contested adoption (where he gets a lawyer and tries to revoke his consent within that 30 day window after papers are signed), and they don’t want to be involved in that (in NY it would trigger a “best interests” hearing in court and be a legal mess).

Our social worker said she wants to protect us too, and obviously doesn’t want us to go through the pain of having to lose the baby after we bring her home, but knows how emotionally invested we already are. Our options are basically to find a lawyer and continue with this adoption privately, or cut off contact with D completely.

So what do we do now? (That’s not a rhetorical question. I would really love someone to just tell me what I’m supposed to do.) On one hand, we are so emotionally exhausted and just want off this roller coaster so bad. We want to spare ourselves the emotional trauma of possibly having this fall through at the hospital, or later. The last thing we want is to actually have held her or brought her home and then to lose her. But at the same time, are we giving up on what could otherwise be a perfect match and open adoption (and our daughter!) simply because we aren’t strong enough to handle this? Are we supposed to just keep swimming because there’s a possibility of everything being perfect in the end? Neither solution seems right. Even the last couple weeks have been unbelievably stressful, and it’s hard to imagine enduring another 12 weeks of that with the possibility of complete heartbreak at the end of it. But then if we were to end it now, I feel like I would spend the next several months wondering if we made the right decision and possibly regretting walking away from an otherwise perfect situation. I absolutely don’t want to have regrets, but I also don’t want to set ourselves up for unimaginable grief if we spend three more months falling in love with those little feet only to lose her at the last minute.

As far as the agency goes though, I honestly have had more stress over dealing with them in relation to this match with D than I have in actually dealing with D personally. When we talk to D we see the possibility in this situation, and are more optimistic. It’s with every conversation we’ve had about her and M with the agency that has made us discouraged and skeptical. I remember thinking a couple times that it may be easier to use a lawyer because we already do have such an open relationship with D and don’t feel like we necessarily need that intermediary with her. On the logistical side of things, we would be able to put our profile on hold with the agency in case this doesn’t work out or for a second adoption eventually. We would need to pay separate lawyer fees though to complete the adoption with D (which is money we likely would not get back if the placement failed, though I would gladly lose ten times that to not have to deal with that pain).

Sorry for this rambling, disorganized post…we just honestly don’t know where to go from here.

Out of Control

If there’s one aspect of this whole adoption process overall that’s been really hard on me, it’s the lack of control. The minute we decided on this path and chose an agency, any control we had was gone. Through the entire homestudy and profile-creating process, the wait and our current roller coaster we haven’t had any power over what happens or when it happens. And that is really hard for me. I’m pretty sure I started making a to-do list when I was about 6. I’ve been stressed out since the 4^th grade. I like making plans, setting goals, and working towards them; that’s just who I am. So the fact that there is absolutely nothing we can do in this situation makes me crazy.

It doesn’t help that this is an extremely emotional process. We’re not talking about having set a goal to buy a new car and then not being able to save any money for a while. This is a life. We’ve fallen in love with this little human that might not be ours. And we have to not only think about what we want in this situation, but how D feels about everything and what’s truly best for the little one. As much as you tell yourself ahead of time that you won’t get attached, it’s impossible not to. This isn’t just some minor thing in our lives that we’ve lost control of, it’s our whole world right now. There’s not a minute of the day when we’re not thinking about it. And I think it’s silly to try to convince myself that it should be any other way.

So I’m trying to find ways to deal with what we have. People have asked me a lot the last week if I am okay, and all I can say is “sometimes”. There are times when I am okay and feel like I can focus on something else, at least for a while. But there are days when I’m not okay, and all I want to do is curl up in a ball and cry. And I think this is just the way it’s going to be until May. I can’t expect to push this out of my mind and be happy all the time. I just need to recognize that there will be good days and bad days, optimistic and hopeless days; and those days that tear me apart, I think I just have to let them. I would rather just experience the day as it is; curl up with some wine, pizza and a mindless movie so I can wake up the next day feeling better, rather than go through every day with a fake smile while I fall apart inside. I think I’ll be able to live my life better on the good days if I allow the bad days to be what they will.

I just talked to D the other night for about half an hour about the conversation she had with our social worker and an update on how things are going with M. Basically we’re all on the same page in knowing that he will probably change his mind a few more times before May and that however he feels on the day she is born will determine who she goes home with. We’re hoping that he will become cooperative again soon, at least long enough to speak with the social worker and learn more about open adoption and what’s involved. It’s funny though because D said to me “I wish I could just pop her out tomorrow, hand her to you and John and not have M involved at all. I’m a planner. The uncertainty with him is stressing me out.” She and I have so much in common, it’s unreal. You have no idea.

We’re happy that she is so sure of her decision and willing to keep going with the hope that he will cooperate in the end. There are days when a part of me almost wishes we weren’t in this situation and that we could just go back to “waiting”. Of course, I don’t really mean that and would be heartbroken if this were to just disappear completely, but if things are going to fall through at the hospital in May I wish we could just know now so we can move on. But I think we are just going to have to continue riding this roller coaster for the next 12 weeks with the hope that things will work out. If we were approached with this situation today, knowing all the legal risk, we probably would decide not to match. But since we’ve developed a relationship with D over the last three months, and know that M was supportive and interested in the process before, it makes it impossible to walk away right now. We would always wonder what happened. So we deal with the ups and downs and just keep holding on for now. We’re learning every day how to handle the lack of control, hoping that this is our daughter, but preparing ourselves in case she is not. Some days are anything but easy, but as the saying goes, “it is the possibility of having dreams come true that makes life worth living.” 

 

P.S. The love and support we’ve gotten recently from friends and family has been amazing. I know it’s hard to know what this is really like when you’re looking at it from the outside, but just know that even a message acknowledging that this situation sucks and letting us know you’re thinking of us means the world right now. There is no solution and nothing that’s going to make this easier on anyone right now, but just say some prayers for D, M and the baby that everything works out the way it is supposed to (and that we all have the strength to accept whatever that is). Thank you all for being there 🙂

Unending Roller Coaster

I have a lot to update about lately, but the ups and downs come so frequently that I can’t seem to find the time to write a post before everything changes. I’m also finding it really hard to decide how much to share about certain things. When it really comes down to it, not much has changed with our relationship with D over the last few months. To someone looking at things from the outside, things are going well and progressing and there hasn’t been anything concrete to make it seem like we won’t match or she will decide not to place the baby with us. But the thoughts going through my head every day are a completely different story. I’m a wreck. Daily. And I hate being this way. I know it stresses my husband out and probably makes me pretty difficult to be around.

Even though not much with this situation is definitively changing, my frame of mind about the whole thing is so black and white- and that’s almost more important at this point. As much as I try to stay positive, I’m reminded several times a day of the uncertainty of things and the fact that the next few months could bring about incredible heartbreak. And unfortunately the events that set off this whole train of negative thoughts are completely unpredictable and often irrational; they are things that, unless you’ve been through the infertility and adoption roller coaster, you really cannot understand. The things that I can’t really talk specifically about. They’re well-meaning comments that come from family members, disheartening conversations with our agency and minor, harmless things that D says or does that make me think the worst.

But I feel like I can’t really talk about these things with anyone. I guess it’s along the lines of the marriage advice “complain about your husband to your mother-in-law, not your mother”. Your mother-in-law’s view of her son will never change, no matter how much you complain the annoying things he does, but your mother’s might. In a way this is similar. This is such a unique relationship that we are still trying to figure out, and I don’t feel like anyone but JP and I can really understand it without making judgements. We’ve also found ourselves over-sharing sometimes and have had to reevaluate what is ours to share. This may be our adoption journey, but now that we’re dealing with a real expectant mom and a real baby, there are parts of this story that are no longer ours to tell. This is our potential child’s story, and we don’t ever want other members of our family or friends knowing details about our child’s history or biological family that he or she doesn’t yet know.

 

And now you can completely ignore everything I just said about things going well. Before I even had a chance to finish writing this and post it, D texted me to tell me that M (birthfather) is now being 100% unsupportive of her plan. In New York, nothing happens without his consent even if he’s making this decision for all the wrong reasons. We were hoping to move forward with the agency this week so we can officially match, and now we are all pretty much powerless unless he changes his mind. I am a complete mess right now 😦

Footprints

For a long time there were only your footprints and laughter in our dreams,

but even from such small things we knew we couldn’t wait to love you forever.

Photos brought to you by D, who apparently thinks it’s funny to make me a crying mess while I’m on public transportation 🙂