Forgive me followers.
It's been more than a month since my last post.
I have reasons, like everyone who gets caught up the daily doings of life. But I won't give excuses. Not when I could discuss something important — something on my heart.
This week, nationwide, is Infertility Awareness Week. I've not discussed this part of my life in depth, but I can tell you I've been dealt my own infertility cards.
When we first felt like it was our time to become parents, we approached the idea as any young couple does. There was no reason to think we'd not biologically create our own children.
A year passed.
Every close friend of mine (it seemed) was pregnant. At the highest count, I had thirteen pregnant friends at one time. Family members were also blessed with children (in some cases, twins). The lady in line at the bank — pregnant. I was trying not to be consumed by thoughts of my own fertility, but reminders of my infertility were everywhere.
Another year passed.
We enlisted a specialist, and were told the good news that nothing was medically present to explain our challenges. This was supposed to be the good news.
A plan was developed. Our privacy was invaded. My body was under a microscope, literally and figuratively. Month after month, things were failing. I spent Thanksgiving and Christmas mornings in a sterile doctor's office hoping for good news.
Failure. It faced us at each turn. And soon after, it was clear we weren't succeeding because it wasn't God's timing, or maybe it wasn't His path for us at all.
So we gave up, and gave it to God.
Another year passed, and by then our hearts had changed. Becoming parents was our priority, and if that meant other methods we were open to God's plan since ours had apparently not worked out.
Seven years since we started trying to become parents. One amazing child later, our life is blessed.
Still, the sting of infertility is there. I still see people who conceive easily and get a little jealous. But then I wonder what life would be like if God had answered our prayers for a baby when we first began the journey.
Infertility is hard. It affects about 1 in every 8 couples. It's more prevalent than you probably realize. It affects people physically, emotionally, and financially.
Most people were kind when we announced we were adopting a child, especially after we explained we could have our own children. Which was true in medical terms (suffering fom "unexplained infertility" as a diagnosis).
But most people didn't understand we had tried other avenues first, before it got to be too much for us physically, emotionally, and financially.
Would I go back and change anything? In our case, no, because we were led to our daughter, Life is one blessing after another.
Did infertility affect our path to parenthood. Of course. I'm 33 with a 13-year-old. That one's pretty obvious...
Did the pain of infertility shape my approach to motherhood? Absolutely. I cherish the good, bad, and ugly.
For others still struggling, my heart knows what you're going through. For those who also kept their struggles quiet — I understand that too.
Did becoming a mom cure my infertility heartache — no, not really.
In the end, is being a mom worth whatever path it took to get here — that's an easy one too ... Absolutely.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
The one thing I can't give her
A flyer from K's school came home the other day.
I guess I knew this day would eventually come, but honestly I didn't see it coming.
I shouldn't be this upset. It was a simple request, really.
In preparation for the sixth grade graduation ceremony in May, the teachers have requested a few things — not entirely out-of-the-ordinary things.
The list on the flyer read:
1.) Current photos of your child - throughout the school year, doing fun things, especially if you have any with other sixth grade students included.
AND
2.) A baby picture.
I got instantly flush.
My heart raced.
I could feel my face get red as my eyes filled with tears.
A baby picture. A baby picture? A baby picture!
My baby was ten when we met.
The earliest photo I have is a keychain her former foster mother gave me — the date imprinted on the photo says 2008. She would have been nine.
My baby, as far as I can prove, has never been a baby.
I know in my mind there is no way the teachers thought about K as they typed the letter to parents.
I know there's no way it crossed their minds that some people don't have photos of their child as an infant or toddler.
And there's no reason they would think like that — most adopted children at K's school have been with their adoptive parents since birth or infancy.
The request is so normal.
But it served as a reminder that our family is not.
It served to remind me there is still one thing I cannot give my daughter — a past.
We can imagine what she looked like. We can laugh about how she might have acted. We can joke and guess about how old she was when she learned to walk. We can look at photos of premies to see how small she would have been.
But it still doesn't change the fact that I can't give my daughter something as simple as a baby picture.
And for a mother, knowing I can't give my child something to make her normal just breaks my heart.
I wiped away my tears before she could see me. My burdened heart doesn't need to be her trouble as well.
We had a choice — we could do any one of the following, so I asked for her input.
We could:
1.) Not submit anything — explain that prior to the age of nine we have no photos.
2.) Draw a picture of what she might have looked like.
3.) Use one of my baby pictures (one where you can't tell it's the late 70s)
4.) "Borrow" a baby picture from a friend or relative who might have looked like K at that age.
5.) "Borrow" one off the internet.
Her past matters. Her history matters. Her life before us matters.
It's the one thing I don't know enough about.
But here's what I do know.
As much as her past matters, her future matters more.
As much as her history matters, the history she's making matters more.
And as much as her life before us matters, she wasn't really living her best life before us.
I guess I knew this day would eventually come, but honestly I didn't see it coming.
I shouldn't be this upset. It was a simple request, really.
In preparation for the sixth grade graduation ceremony in May, the teachers have requested a few things — not entirely out-of-the-ordinary things.
The list on the flyer read:
1.) Current photos of your child - throughout the school year, doing fun things, especially if you have any with other sixth grade students included.
AND
2.) A baby picture.
I got instantly flush.
My heart raced.
I could feel my face get red as my eyes filled with tears.
A baby picture. A baby picture? A baby picture!
My baby was ten when we met.
The earliest photo I have is a keychain her former foster mother gave me — the date imprinted on the photo says 2008. She would have been nine.
My baby, as far as I can prove, has never been a baby.
I know in my mind there is no way the teachers thought about K as they typed the letter to parents.
I know there's no way it crossed their minds that some people don't have photos of their child as an infant or toddler.
And there's no reason they would think like that — most adopted children at K's school have been with their adoptive parents since birth or infancy.
The request is so normal.
But it served as a reminder that our family is not.
It served to remind me there is still one thing I cannot give my daughter — a past.
We can imagine what she looked like. We can laugh about how she might have acted. We can joke and guess about how old she was when she learned to walk. We can look at photos of premies to see how small she would have been.
But it still doesn't change the fact that I can't give my daughter something as simple as a baby picture.
And for a mother, knowing I can't give my child something to make her normal just breaks my heart.
I wiped away my tears before she could see me. My burdened heart doesn't need to be her trouble as well.
We had a choice — we could do any one of the following, so I asked for her input.
We could:
1.) Not submit anything — explain that prior to the age of nine we have no photos.
2.) Draw a picture of what she might have looked like.
3.) Use one of my baby pictures (one where you can't tell it's the late 70s)
4.) "Borrow" a baby picture from a friend or relative who might have looked like K at that age.
5.) "Borrow" one off the internet.
Her past matters. Her history matters. Her life before us matters.
It's the one thing I don't know enough about.
But here's what I do know.
As much as her past matters, her future matters more.
As much as her history matters, the history she's making matters more.
And as much as her life before us matters, she wasn't really living her best life before us.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
I totally forgot our anniversary
It passed yesterday, as if March 12th was a normal day.
Normal?
Two years ago, to the day, this happened to change our lives.
Two years ago, to the day, we became like real parents.
Two years ago, to the day, someone calling me "Mommy" started to make sense.
Two years ago, to the day, she moved into our home, into our daily lives.
And now she's become our life — the driving force of our decision making, and the reason we look towards the future with hope and excitement.
While the official "gotcha day" anniversary isn't for another few months, two years ago to the day our family was completed.
Normal?
Two years ago, to the day, this happened to change our lives.
Two years ago, to the day, we became like real parents.
Two years ago, to the day, someone calling me "Mommy" started to make sense.
Two years ago, to the day, she moved into our home, into our daily lives.
And now she's become our life — the driving force of our decision making, and the reason we look towards the future with hope and excitement.
While the official "gotcha day" anniversary isn't for another few months, two years ago to the day our family was completed.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Feeling like a failure, hoping not to fail her
How is it that you can go from the top of the mountain to the ground floor of the valley in such a short period of time?
Such is the case in my motherhood experience.
One day I'm surprising my daughter with a getaway to a theme park – just us girls.
The next day (literally) report cards come home and my daughter has a terrible grade in science, and it was somewhat of a blindsided surprise.
And I feel like I've failed her.
One day I'm really making connections with her.
The next we don't even want to be in the same room.
And I feel like a failure.
Not every day is roses and rainbows.
But there's never been a day when I wished she wasn't mine.
Many, many days are tough on the psyche, ego, stamina, and heart.
But I've never regretted our decision to adopt.
Some days I just need affirmation that my daughter will look back on her life and know she was supported and loved.
I need to know she is maturing into a confident young lady who respects herself, respects her parents, and honors the Lord.
And, most days, I just need a hug and a little more sleep.
Tomorrow, I'll get up and do it all again with a little less attitude, a lot more hope — a little less undereye puffiness, a lot more determination — a little less failure, and a lot more reasons not to fail her.
Such is the case in my motherhood experience.
One day I'm surprising my daughter with a getaway to a theme park – just us girls.
The next day (literally) report cards come home and my daughter has a terrible grade in science, and it was somewhat of a blindsided surprise.
And I feel like I've failed her.
One day I'm really making connections with her.
The next we don't even want to be in the same room.
And I feel like a failure.
Not every day is roses and rainbows.
But there's never been a day when I wished she wasn't mine.
Many, many days are tough on the psyche, ego, stamina, and heart.
But I've never regretted our decision to adopt.
Some days I just need affirmation that my daughter will look back on her life and know she was supported and loved.
I need to know she is maturing into a confident young lady who respects herself, respects her parents, and honors the Lord.
And, most days, I just need a hug and a little more sleep.
Tomorrow, I'll get up and do it all again with a little less attitude, a lot more hope — a little less undereye puffiness, a lot more determination — a little less failure, and a lot more reasons not to fail her.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Finally, my word of the year revealed
I earnestly prayed for a word to guide my year. I honestly expected to get that word early in the year to help formulate a plan, or prepare for the work my Lord was going to have me do.
The word didn't come.
In the past five years the word always came, like clockwork. As a new year began I could count on the clear message of God indicating what to hold strong to that particular year.
By January 1st I was able to write my "word of the year" on the inside cover of my Bible. I couldn't wait to write "2012 - (insert word of the year)"
No such luck.
Instead, we're more than three months into a new year, a wordless year, and I've yet to receive "the word"... and then I realized something BIG.
The word isn't coming.
Not because I'm not listening well enough. Not because I'm not praying enough. Not even because God isn't ready to share the word with me.
The word isn't coming, because it's not a word He's providing for this year. It's an overall command.
Intentional — be intentional.
I'm getting the command clear as day.
Be intentional.
It's so much more than a simple word or phrase to me. It's a direction in my interactions with my daughter, my family and friends, and myself.
Adoptive parenting is a multitude of challenges, but first and foremost it requires intentional parenting.
My choice of words affects who my daughter becomes.
My reactions to each of her meltdowns will help shape how she deals with conflict.
My ability to teach her in those moments when it's hard to even tolerate her will show her that unconditional love means being firm even in the face of emotional overloads.
This year is about being intentional in my choice to love and support her through everything. Through mistakes, bad grades, the loss of a teacher, poor choices, and times when she's downright unkind to me as her mother.
This year is about being intentional in my choice to celebrate with her. Through good grades, small victories, mature choices, a crush on a boy, her big confidence boost, and when she's so sweet I could get a cavity from all her love and affection towards me as her mother.
This year is about being intentional in my marriage. Through the choices we're making to set our family up for a strong future, the time when we don't see eye-to-eye, the times when we have very little time for each other, and the times when I can't help but smile at how much my husband loves me and our daughter.
This year is about being intentional in my walk. Through the days when reading my Bible is the last thing that crosses my mind, but knowing there is some message of encouragement Christ wants to give me, and the time I spend with Him will never be empty.
This year will no doubt be an exciting and challenging one for me as a mother, a wife, a Christian woman, a friend, a sister, a daughter, and a writer.
I've got my marching order - be intentional.
I've got my encouragement - be intentional.
I've got my mantra - be intentional.
And now, I've got to go be intentional...
The word didn't come.
In the past five years the word always came, like clockwork. As a new year began I could count on the clear message of God indicating what to hold strong to that particular year.
By January 1st I was able to write my "word of the year" on the inside cover of my Bible. I couldn't wait to write "2012 - (insert word of the year)"
No such luck.
Instead, we're more than three months into a new year, a wordless year, and I've yet to receive "the word"... and then I realized something BIG.
The word isn't coming.
Not because I'm not listening well enough. Not because I'm not praying enough. Not even because God isn't ready to share the word with me.
The word isn't coming, because it's not a word He's providing for this year. It's an overall command.
Intentional — be intentional.
I'm getting the command clear as day.
Be intentional.
It's so much more than a simple word or phrase to me. It's a direction in my interactions with my daughter, my family and friends, and myself.
Adoptive parenting is a multitude of challenges, but first and foremost it requires intentional parenting.
My choice of words affects who my daughter becomes.
My reactions to each of her meltdowns will help shape how she deals with conflict.
My ability to teach her in those moments when it's hard to even tolerate her will show her that unconditional love means being firm even in the face of emotional overloads.
This year is about being intentional in my choice to love and support her through everything. Through mistakes, bad grades, the loss of a teacher, poor choices, and times when she's downright unkind to me as her mother.
This year is about being intentional in my choice to celebrate with her. Through good grades, small victories, mature choices, a crush on a boy, her big confidence boost, and when she's so sweet I could get a cavity from all her love and affection towards me as her mother.
This year is about being intentional in my marriage. Through the choices we're making to set our family up for a strong future, the time when we don't see eye-to-eye, the times when we have very little time for each other, and the times when I can't help but smile at how much my husband loves me and our daughter.
This year is about being intentional in my walk. Through the days when reading my Bible is the last thing that crosses my mind, but knowing there is some message of encouragement Christ wants to give me, and the time I spend with Him will never be empty.
This year will no doubt be an exciting and challenging one for me as a mother, a wife, a Christian woman, a friend, a sister, a daughter, and a writer.
I've got my marching order - be intentional.
I've got my encouragement - be intentional.
I've got my mantra - be intentional.
And now, I've got to go be intentional...
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Something amazing just happened
When you choose to parent a child who has been previously hurt by people who should have provided love and safety, something amazing happens.
When that child starts to settle into a loving family and accept the love and support offered something amazing happens.
In the case of our daughter, what's happening is she's learning to love herself.
She's learning to communicate her feelings.
She's learning the difference between real and artificial.
She's learning love isn't conditional.
Each day we have moments where it's evident she's learning to love more, and accept more love.
Each day we have moments where a simple act of tucking her into bed (yes, even at 13) is another chance to underscore the importance of loving parents.
Each day we have moments where she says or does something to show us she really gets it.
Oh, gotta go...
Something amazing just happened.
:)
When that child starts to settle into a loving family and accept the love and support offered something amazing happens.
In the case of our daughter, what's happening is she's learning to love herself.
She's learning to communicate her feelings.
She's learning the difference between real and artificial.
She's learning love isn't conditional.
Each day we have moments where it's evident she's learning to love more, and accept more love.
Each day we have moments where a simple act of tucking her into bed (yes, even at 13) is another chance to underscore the importance of loving parents.
Each day we have moments where she says or does something to show us she really gets it.
Oh, gotta go...
Something amazing just happened.
:)
Friday, March 2, 2012
I'm a writer, not a speaker. But I'm also a speaker, so...
Ask a writer to speak in public, and watch the beads of sweat form on her brow... and somehow, I agreed to do exactly that – speak in front of a small crowd on behalf of an organization I love.
I took the floor Wednesday morning in front of 80 people who, as diverse as we all were, shared one common passion, and that is to help children.
I had driven three hours the night before, gotten up before dawn, and arrived at the breakfast completely unprepared for what was to unfold.
This was very unlike me. I'm always prepared. I often prepare to be prepared. For me to show up without notes, props, or any lifeline was unusual.
I was asked to simply share my story – share our family's story. Sounds easy enough. I've told it a thousand times, and it never changes. Why would this time be any different?
But it was.
I was asked to detail the changes that can happen in a child once they find their forever family. Again, that's a story I've told a thousand times, to anyone who wants to listen. Why would this time be any different?
But it was.
As I shared the ups and downs that led us to ultimately be matched with our sweet daughter, I could tell the normalcy and relatability of our path was reaching people.
I could see I was conveying the truth that we were just two regular people, not saints or adoption advocates (at the time), just looking to make the life of one child better.
I could see I was actually making sense, and not simply rambling on and on about our sweet daughter.
Something was different.
The years I've spent sharing our story from the keyboard I thought might be preparing me to write a book, and I still believe that to be true. But now I see a new window of opportunity, to speak on behalf of those of us who have walked this road to older child adoption before.
Maybe I'm to be a voice for the kids in the system who are still waiting, to say these children have so much potential – to urge people to look beyond the scary paperwork, diagnoses, and social-worker jargon and labels.
Maybe I'm supposed to take the podium more often, and not let our story fade into the comfortable background.
Maybe I'm supposed to be outside of my comfort zone, to help others get uncomfortable too – because foster care isn't comfortable. Being parentless isn't comfortable. Being forgotten isn't comfortable. Aging out of the system isn't comfortable.
I am a writer, not a speaker... but I'm also a speaker (now), so let's see where our story can take me on behalf of the children who want what K has. A family who loves her. A future with endless possibilities. Opportunities to be a normal, happy child.
A chance to be herself.
I took the floor Wednesday morning in front of 80 people who, as diverse as we all were, shared one common passion, and that is to help children.
I had driven three hours the night before, gotten up before dawn, and arrived at the breakfast completely unprepared for what was to unfold.
This was very unlike me. I'm always prepared. I often prepare to be prepared. For me to show up without notes, props, or any lifeline was unusual.
I was asked to simply share my story – share our family's story. Sounds easy enough. I've told it a thousand times, and it never changes. Why would this time be any different?
But it was.
I was asked to detail the changes that can happen in a child once they find their forever family. Again, that's a story I've told a thousand times, to anyone who wants to listen. Why would this time be any different?
But it was.
As I shared the ups and downs that led us to ultimately be matched with our sweet daughter, I could tell the normalcy and relatability of our path was reaching people.
I could see I was conveying the truth that we were just two regular people, not saints or adoption advocates (at the time), just looking to make the life of one child better.
I could see I was actually making sense, and not simply rambling on and on about our sweet daughter.
Something was different.
The years I've spent sharing our story from the keyboard I thought might be preparing me to write a book, and I still believe that to be true. But now I see a new window of opportunity, to speak on behalf of those of us who have walked this road to older child adoption before.
Maybe I'm to be a voice for the kids in the system who are still waiting, to say these children have so much potential – to urge people to look beyond the scary paperwork, diagnoses, and social-worker jargon and labels.
Maybe I'm supposed to take the podium more often, and not let our story fade into the comfortable background.
Maybe I'm supposed to be outside of my comfort zone, to help others get uncomfortable too – because foster care isn't comfortable. Being parentless isn't comfortable. Being forgotten isn't comfortable. Aging out of the system isn't comfortable.
I am a writer, not a speaker... but I'm also a speaker (now), so let's see where our story can take me on behalf of the children who want what K has. A family who loves her. A future with endless possibilities. Opportunities to be a normal, happy child.
A chance to be herself.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Being ok with one - if that's what He wants
I imagined being the mother to two children, maybe three, but certainly no more than three.
I imagined being a working woman, gracefully balancing a career and motherhood.
I imagined a lot of things that didn't go the way I imagined.
I have come to the place where I am content with my family, as-is.
We have a friend. His name is Brad. He has the gift of descernment. The gift of seeing past the outward appearance. Truly, I believe he has the gift of prophecy.
For two years now, it has been his belief the Lord would be increasing our family, in some way. I'm sure the few times we've crossed his mind he has said a prayer about our unique situation, and probably prayed for us to add more children to the mix.
Our paths crossed again last weekend, at a faith enrichment event at our previous church. He was the guest pastor and we were leading a group of crazy, wild high school seniors. Our K was in attendance as well.
As we walked through the door, he seemed surprised to see us, knowing we had moved away during the summer.
He had been telling others about us, and sincerely hoped we would somehow be there.
And we were.
Saturday night, before the worship service and group sessions began, he slipped us a note. In the frenzy of the night's activities, we waited until later to read it.
Before we left that night, he pulled K aside. He has always had a special connection to her. As an adoptive father himself, he knows exactly what to say. And, as mentioned earlier, his gift of descernment, and his closeness to Christ, gives him a unique way with words to speak truth, encouragement, and excitement into those lucky enough to have a private moment with him in a room of more than 150 people.
"You have been saved for eternity by these people who are now your parents," he said to her. "You are not defined by what your birth mom did — the blood that runs through you now isn't what you were born with."
She was glued intently on his face as he spoke every word.
Every word was so true. So touching.
Later, when my sweetheart and I got a moment alone, we read the note Brad slipped to us earlier.
(Translation: "Wow! What all can happen in a year! Crazy proud of you guys. I am still believing the Lord for your home to be blessed with more children. Continue to Hope.")
I have come to the place where I am content with my family, as-is. I am ok with one child.
Unless, of course, as-is is not how He wants it.
(To see more of our friend Brad, visit his YouTube Channel, follow him on twitter, or check his Armored Outreach website.)
I imagined being a working woman, gracefully balancing a career and motherhood.
I imagined a lot of things that didn't go the way I imagined.
I have come to the place where I am content with my family, as-is.
We have a friend. His name is Brad. He has the gift of descernment. The gift of seeing past the outward appearance. Truly, I believe he has the gift of prophecy.
For two years now, it has been his belief the Lord would be increasing our family, in some way. I'm sure the few times we've crossed his mind he has said a prayer about our unique situation, and probably prayed for us to add more children to the mix.
Our paths crossed again last weekend, at a faith enrichment event at our previous church. He was the guest pastor and we were leading a group of crazy, wild high school seniors. Our K was in attendance as well.
As we walked through the door, he seemed surprised to see us, knowing we had moved away during the summer.
He had been telling others about us, and sincerely hoped we would somehow be there.
And we were.
Saturday night, before the worship service and group sessions began, he slipped us a note. In the frenzy of the night's activities, we waited until later to read it.
Before we left that night, he pulled K aside. He has always had a special connection to her. As an adoptive father himself, he knows exactly what to say. And, as mentioned earlier, his gift of descernment, and his closeness to Christ, gives him a unique way with words to speak truth, encouragement, and excitement into those lucky enough to have a private moment with him in a room of more than 150 people.
"You have been saved for eternity by these people who are now your parents," he said to her. "You are not defined by what your birth mom did — the blood that runs through you now isn't what you were born with."
She was glued intently on his face as he spoke every word.
Every word was so true. So touching.
Later, when my sweetheart and I got a moment alone, we read the note Brad slipped to us earlier.
(Translation: "Wow! What all can happen in a year! Crazy proud of you guys. I am still believing the Lord for your home to be blessed with more children. Continue to Hope.")
I have come to the place where I am content with my family, as-is. I am ok with one child.
Unless, of course, as-is is not how He wants it.
(To see more of our friend Brad, visit his YouTube Channel, follow him on twitter, or check his Armored Outreach website.)
Monday, February 20, 2012
And the winner is ... me (and someone else)
It's been too long. I'm a horrible blogger. Life happens in the most inconvenient times, doesn't it?
I have a big announcement, a lot of life to download and compile into a post for your enjoyment, but first I wanted to share with you the winner of the "Three Little Words" book giveaway.
The emails I received were so encouraging, and so diverse. From a college student who wants to eventually go to law school and positively change the foster care system in her state, to a mother who was forced by her parents to discontinue the accidental pregnancy of a child who would today be the same age as K.
I'm changing the name to protect my winner, but her name doesn't matter nearly as much as her story.
I know you'll be touched and inspired like I was.
I have a big announcement, a lot of life to download and compile into a post for your enjoyment, but first I wanted to share with you the winner of the "Three Little Words" book giveaway.
The emails I received were so encouraging, and so diverse. From a college student who wants to eventually go to law school and positively change the foster care system in her state, to a mother who was forced by her parents to discontinue the accidental pregnancy of a child who would today be the same age as K.
I'm changing the name to protect my winner, but her name doesn't matter nearly as much as her story.
I know you'll be touched and inspired like I was.
Hello Immediate Mom,As far as I'm concerned, I'm the winner of this giveaway.
I follow your blog regularly, although I don't know if I have ever commented. Sorry, I am kind of quiet--even on the internet I suppose. I did email you once quite a while ago and you were kind enough to email me back. I find your blog inspiring...inspiring enough to respond to your recent post despite my "quietness", so here goes.
My journey to adopt from foster care began when I was 5 years old, although I didn't realize it at the time. That was the year we moved, and I made friends with the little girl down the street. Her parents happened to be foster parents, and they had adopted her when she was a baby. I doubt they have any idea what kind of impact this would have on the rest of my life. I was a quiet child too, so I never talked to them about foster care, or even asked questions about it, but I quietly observed . They had this framed poster that hung in one of their rooms. I think it was titled "Children Learn What They Live". I think I read that poster every time I went into their home. My friend and I had frequent, private discussions about adoption. These discussions planted a seed in my heart that has grown roots over time. 30 plus years later, my desire to adopt from foster care is stronger than ever.
Two-and-a-half years ago my husband and I officially began our adoption journey. I thought the hardest part would be getting approved. That actually turned out to be the easiest part thus far. After we were approved I knew...I mean I KNEW the call saying we were matched would come at any time. I obsessively carried my phone with me everywhere so I wouldn't miss the call. I checked my email constantly all day long. I waited. We waited. The call never came.
At times I thought I would go crazy waiting. I became a little paranoid too. I started to wonder if there wasn't some secret caseworker code in our home study that said "don't pick this family!". We want to adopt an older female child, and I certainly thought it would happen quicker than this. At times the wait has become so agonizing that I have considered quitting.
The thing that has always pulled me back together is knowing that our child is out there somewhere and she is waiting for us. She needs us. So instead of quitting, I have begun following blogs dedicated to the topic of foster care adoption. I read voraciously, trying to prepare myself as best I can for the journey that still lies ahead. I want to be as prepared as possible for the day the call does come.
Just last week we found out we were being considered for a 15 year old. Ultimately we weren't chosen, but that's ok. At least our study is being looked at. I believe ( I have to believe) that things will happen in due time. So I continue to wait, and I continue to read. I continue the journey to bring home our forever girl...the journey that began so long ago in the most unlikeliest of places.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
It's not too late
As I continue to celebrate both the birthday of my daughter, and the birthday of my blog, I've decided to give away an *autographed* copy of this book to one reader who is brave enough to share the story of how they came across my blog, why they keep coming back, or what attracts them to the ramblings of a wild older child adoptive mother in the first place.
So, if you've not emailed me to share your story, please do so... I've been so touched by the messages I've received so far. There are so many deserving people who read my blog, hoping to make a difference in a child's life.
So, if you've not emailed me to share your story, please do so... I've been so touched by the messages I've received so far. There are so many deserving people who read my blog, hoping to make a difference in a child's life.
Until I hear from you, I will leave you with a stunning photo I took of my gorgeous *13-year-old* daughter this weekend at her birthday party...
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