Presentment #3 - Aftermath

I've been away from the blog again for a bit, but back to finish up this last post.

Understandably, we went through grief over this failed placement. I took the next day off of work, and while I said I wouldn't ever cry in the nursery, believe me... there were tears shed in that room.

I sat on the floor, by the change table and the crib, and cried. I played the mobile, smelled the baby clothes lent to us, fingered through the books.

I wondered why this was happening, that the thing I wanted the most in the world not only was not happening for me, but was tauntingly being held close to me only to be jerked away at the last second.

I went through every question that the birth mother asked. Was it something we said? Was there something that we could have done differently? 

There are no easy answers.  We kept telling the birth mother that she had to do the right thing for her and her child, whatever the outcome. I am proud that we were so steadfast in this, because it says a great deal about who we are, and the kind of loving parents we would be.

What next? We have told our social worker that we are still interested in adopting, and thus are back in the pool of prospective parents.

There are good days, and there are bad days. We are still grieving. All we can do is take it one day at a time, and hope that the little one that was not meant to be ours is doing well with her mother.

Presentment #3 - Unchosen

Our social worker's voice quivers as she tells us that the birth mother has not given birth yet, but has decided to parent.

I can't believe it. I can't believe this is happening.

There's not much else to tell us. I'm not really sure anything else at that point would have sunk in. I feel like a grenade has gone off beside me.

We hang up with her, and it's just us on the line. I'm crying. Sobbing. The cleaning staff is nearby, emptying out the garbage bins in the next aisle over, but at this point, I really don't care who sees my grief. I am probably scaring them but I don't care.

We go into a crazed "we need to tell everyone that we told now" moment. My husband says he needs to talk to his sister, to hear her voice. He sounds broken, but adamant. While he's on the phone breaking the news to her, I get an email from the adoption agency requesting that they talk to us. We set up another conference call, me in my lonely cubicle, everyone else at home. More of the same about how she changed her mind, that she felt really really bad about it (I believe this to be true), and how our meeting with them the day before went as perfect as it could be. And they stressed that we did nothing wrong, that this was just how the cards fell.

My husband and I are left again on the phone, alone in our grief. He insists on coming to pick me up, refusing my suggestion that I just cab it home. He makes a few phone calls first, to tell our loved ones of what happened, before he comes to pick me up. I sob all the way home, interspersed with "I expletive can't believe this is happening... "

I fall asleep clutching my childhood teddy bear.

Presentment #3 - Waiting for the birth

Day 10 is Monday. I am still running on adrenaline, with thoughts zooming in my head about what I need to do. We tell our bosses at work, because we know we will need a lot of time off in the coming week before the baby comes home. And I needed to start cross-training my co-worker on my duties at work. I was worried that it wouldn't be enough time before I left on parental leave. 

So in cases like this, the baby can't come home with the adoptive parents until the Ministry approves the adoption. Since the baby was going to be born any day now, the plan was for her to go to a foster parent. Apparently this woman does this - foster parents newborn babies after birth until the adoptive parents have been approved. The birth mother, in addition to visiting us, also visited the foster parent's house to see where her baby would be staying for a short while.

Once the baby was placed with the foster parent, we would visit with them and be able to bond with our baby. We discussed privately that we would make every effort to be with the baby as much as the foster parent would allow (as obviously we would need to be respectful of her space and schedule).

I have a meeting where I announce that I am now training my co-worker on my duties. A person pipes up asking if there's a reason why this is being done now... I know he's hinting that maybe I'm pregnant. I just say I'm being assigned to other projects, and that it makes sense to have knowledge spread throughout my team. 

I'm working, but I'm also Googling. I start firing off emails to daycares, asking them about wait times, schedules, fees. Wow. For a mother who gives birth to her child, she has 9 months of pregnancy to plan, and then maternity/parental leave of up to 54 weeks. Plenty of time to get on those dreaded daycare wait lists. By this time, their baby is a year old.

Adoptive parents of newborns often have very little time to plan pre-birth. And since we are not eligible for maternity leave, we only receive 37 weeks. Sadly, 37 weeks is not enough to get on daycare lists, where infant spots commonly take 1.5 years to get.

I get a bit stressed about daycare, because I'm going to end up having a 10 month old in a daycare that wouldn't be my first choice. And I keep refreshing my email and checking my phone waiting to hear about the birth.

By this point, I'm in FULL planning mode. I have a fantastic pediatrician lined up through a family connection, I've  picked out items that I still need and register for them. I sign us up for newborn care classes, and baby CPR. 

I hate waiting.

I send an email to the birth parent counsellor, who is at the hospital with the birth mother, asking her to save as much as possible for the baby's life book. She emails to tell me they do that - they get an extra crib card, and gather one of the baby's hospital bracelets for the adoptive parents to keep.

I wish I could be there, but I understand why I can not be.

We wait, and wait some more. Our social worker books us for a call in the evening. I decide to stay late at work to continue planning while my husband goes home to feed and walk the dog. We call her, expecting the best...

Presentment #3 - Meeting

The owner of the adoption agency arrives, and lets us know that the birth parent counsellor and the birth mother will be there soon. It's just as I thought - bad conditions on the road. We sit and chat for a bit before the doorbell rings again.

I try not to stare at her wonderful, round pregnant belly. I try not to think about first impressions, and what she is thinking when she sees me for the first time. Everyone hugs hello, and coats and boots are removed. We all complain about the weather.

Right away, we go to the nursery, since it's on the main floor (our house is a bit odd... the bedrooms are all on the main floor, with the kitchen and living room upstairs). We stand there in the finished room, and I can see she's impressed with all of our hard work in getting the nursery ready. I want to show her all of the things we've carefully purchased and borrowed, but I know that my excitement over this adoption is met by her sorrow and sadness, that it has come to this. I mute myself as much as I can, but hope that she can see that we are truly ready to parent her child.

We move upstairs, and sit on the couch. I won't go into details of what we discussed. She had questions for us, and we had questions for her. One of the things discussed was openness... she was pretty sure she wanted a closed adoption, because she knew this was an incredibly difficult decision for her to give up her child. We expressed that it was up to her, but that we were more than willing to have an open adoption later on if she wanted to get into contact with us.

Because of this possibility of a closed adoption, I had a list of questions for her. What was her favourite food... her favourite subject. What kind of music did she like. What things she hated. All things that one day, her child might wonder about her.

I asked her how her pregnancy was, because I knew, once this little girl grew up and became pregnant with her own baby, she would want to know to see if their pregnancy journeys matched.

We had tea. We had pastries. She asked a question which led to me talking a bit about infertility, and old wounds bled fresh. I cried. Around the same time, she cried talking about how hard of a decision this was, placing her baby up. My only regret in our four hour meeting was that I didn't hug her at that point. I wanted to, but I held back, mainly because I think I would have completely lost it.

She was heading to the hospital after our meeting. We said our goodbyes, I said thank you a dozen times. We packed up some leftover pastries for the hospital room, joking about how bad hospital food was.

And then they left.

I'm pretty sure I fell asleep within minutes of lying down, exhaustion catching up to me. With work the next day, and potentially the baby being born, I needed every bit of sleep I could get.

Presentment #3 - Chosen

So there we are, doing groceries at No Frills and figuring out how many pears to buy when I get an email from our social worker asking her to call us.

Eeeeek. We will call this Day 1.

We get home and call. There's a baby due in three days! She tells us the little that she knows about the birth mother and pregnancy, and asks if we would like to be considered. We say yes, and she hangs up to call the adoption agency to let them know that they can give our profile to the birth parent counsellor.

At this point, there is nothing that we can do but wait. We've been at this point twice before. We try not to get our hopes up. I resist on doing anything that could remotely be considered as planning, because I know once I start, I won't be able to stop.

We try to go on as normal, except that I can't help rush to the answering machine when we get home to see if there are any messages. My cell gets checked in the middle of a meeting even though I've been eyeing it the entire time. My email gets  refreshed manually because clearly, the 1 minute auto-refresh isn't often enough.

Day 6. I send an email to my social worker with just five words: Any update? Let me know!

She lets me know that the birth parent counsellor is meeting with the birth mother either that day, or the next.

I buckle and allow myself to do just a bit of Googling. Just... in... case.

Day 7. I'm home sick from work. The Olympic opening ceremonies are on which distracts me from illness and impatience.

And then I get a call. The agency tells me we've been chosen by the birth mother. Clearly, I am shocked because I don't burst into tears at the news. I pace as my hand grips the phone, for fear of dropping it. My social worker calls soon after, and I can hear the happiness in her voice for us. I joke around about how much she's done for us, and she doesn't get to tell us the good news. We figure out that she needs to see us tomorrow, and that the birth mother, agency and birth parent counsellor will come by in two days to meet us, because the birth mother wants to meet us and see the house in order to feel comfortable with her decision.

A million things SHOULD be rushing through my head at this point, but all I can think about is that my husband isn't home, and that I need to come up with a good way to surprise him with the news. This is our equivalent of a positive pregnancy test - something we never got to experience.

I write on our white board in the kitchen where we write our chores:

     TO DO LIST.

     Get ready for baby <his last name>.

     The birth mom said YES!

I pace and rewrite the sign five times waiting for him to come home. Pictures are taken for the baby's life book. I imagine how I will tell the story to our child about when I found out I was going to be a mother, and how Daddy reacted.

He comes home, I lie and manage to get him upstairs to look at the white board right away. We go through the rest of the night shocked together that this is finally happening to us. 

Day 8. A quick visit to the neighbourhood children's store results in baby gates, baby safety locks for our cupboards, and outlet covers. I can't help but tell them the whole story, feeling like I need to explain why I'm so shaky and so having no clue what locks to get.

We meet with our social worker and go over the birth mother's profile. Since the birth mother is coming over tomorrow, she advises us that the nursery needs to be done as much as possible, so that she can see that we are ready. It's important for her to visualize that this is where the baby will be.

We call my husband's siblings to ask for some of the stuff that they've held for us. It's already 5 PM, but we figure out the best route to take to be able to visit my sister-in-law, her neighbour with the crib, IKEA, and my brother-in-law. My need to plan is in full force, and my husband is rolling with everything we need to do. Our feet have not touched the floor.


Everyone is thrilled for us. There's so many lovely baby items packed for us, that before we even get to my brother-in-law's, we have a packed car. We drive back to the house to empty out the car, pet the confused dog, and drive across town to my brother-in-law's to fully fill up the car again with items including a stroller. 

The rest of the night is a blur. We move the old dresser to the back yard to be disposed, we move my desk to the other spare bedroom. All the walls, shelves, floor, baseboards are cleaned. We don't have time to repaint, but the previous nursery's walls are a pretty green, and is perfect for a baby whose gender is unknown to us. The new rug is laid down where the crib will go. A new blind is put in, one without loops that pose a danger to little ones. The borrowed change table is assembled, and I place the diapers, formula, and bottles on the bottom shelf. The top gets the contoured change pad, cover, and a receiving blanket over top.

I sort through the books and pull out all the ones that are for babies. They get placed on the shelf. The car seat, baby mat, and baby swing gets placed in the little nook under the shelves. We assemble the crib, place the sheets and blanket on, and decorate the crib with the small stuffed animals I've saved over the years for the little one that we've been waiting for.

The newly purchased dresser takes the most amount of time. By this time, it's 4 AM and we are so tired. At that point, the instructions look like they are written in hieroglyphs. We soldier on and get it done, and decide to get up in a few hours time to finish.

Day 9. I'm up at the crack of dawn. Adrenaline is my friend. The room is starting to take shape, with all of the furniture assembled. I go through the boxes and boxes of borrowed items and place all the unisex baby clothes and blankets in the dresser. We hang up a mirror above the dresser. I cuddle with my childhood teddy bear in the mirror, so that we can figure out the exact height that would allow the baby to stare at wonderment at his/her reflection.

The rest of the house is tidied, and then tidied some more. My husband goes off to get milk from the corner store, because we typically don't have milk in the house, and what if they want milk for their tea? He also goes to the local bakery for some sweets.

Normally I'd be tempted to attack sample them to make sure they are edible for our guests, but I can't eat.

We sit for an hour or so, waiting for the birth mother, birth parent counsellor, and owner of the adoption agency to arrive. My husband tells me he is nervous. I tell him I am excited.

They are late. The roads are bad, I tell myself, but I wonder if during the car ride, the birth mother has suddenly changed her mind.

The door bell rings.

Presentment #2

Let me time travel just one more time.

On December 6th, we got an email from our amazing social worker about a birth mother. My husband and I were both at the office, in the middle of getting ready for our office move to a new location. People were frazzled trying to get everything packed on time, but we managed to duck into a meeting room and call her on the speakerphone.

So what happens in this first call? Our social worker tells us the circumstances of the pregnancy. We are told the ethnicity, ages, occupations, medical history of the bio-parents and their family.  We are usually told why the birth mother is exploring adoption.  And then we are asked if we want to be presented to the birth mother for consideration.

In this instance, we immediately said yes.

A couple of days later, we dropped our profile photo book to the adoption agency, and emailed a copy to the birth parent counsellor, who had been working with the birth mother.

And then the waiting begins. During this time, the birth mother is given a few profiles to choose from. After that, she might ask to see the home study, which is pages and pages of everything about us... from our relationships with family, to income, to what our house is, to what our childhood was like.

More waiting. I can't even remember months later, but I don't think we told many people we were being considered. We remembered what it was like in July, and tried not to dwell on the possibility that we would be picked. Work kept us busy, as did preparations for Christmas.

Finally, we were told December 14th that we were not chosen.

This wasn't a huge heartbreak for some reason. I did think about feigning illness to get out of Christmas, but I cherish spending time with our families so much that I sucked it up and went and loved every minute of it.

We carried on and tried not to think about the baby that was not meant to be ours. And that brings us back to the present...

December is the hardest month

Wow, I have been horrible at updating. I shouldn't be surprised, I have every intention of keeping this blog up, but really:
(a) there are no updates or
(b) the updates are hard to write about at the time, and then I get distracted by shiny objects.

I might as well start with December. I am backdating these posts because I've always wanted to time travel. Pay no attention to having actually been created in March.

December and I don't really get along. Christmas is extremely hard when you are childless not by choice. Out of all the holidays, it hits you the hardest. You witness the kids in your life giddy with excitement over wrapped presents. The moms are all discussing about what happened at school, or how their kids are progressing, or the newest thing that they've started to do.

If you're REALLY lucky, you get a comment from an exasperated mom about how her kids are a handful, and doesn't she wish she could just give you one?

Thank God for wine.

Truth is, I would be doing all those things if I had a child. I can't fault people for having kids, or wanting to talk about them. The situation sucks, it's difficult and sometimes I just want to go home and cry. (Confession: sometimes I do.)

Years of this hard journey has made me a bit better dealing with things. I still get sad. I don't think that will ever change. But I choose to harp on it less.

This leads me to my next post...