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.
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
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 toattack 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.
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
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.
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