“Are you guys doing an open adoption?” This is a common question. I realize that most people think there are two kinds of adoptions: open and closed. While I guess that’s technically true, the variations of an open adoption vary greatly from one family to the next. And a family can have a closed adoption, but still be open.

Typically most people perceive an open adoption as having communication with a child’s first family, versus a closed adoption where there is no communication. As our first-mom’s due date neared, many people asked us if it would be an ‘open adoption’. I would stumble over my words and end at the truest statement for where we were at the time; “We hope so”. Occasionally, I got the ole c’mon lady, don’t you even know what kind of adoption you’re going to have look. Usually, people nodded with their arms crossed in front of them. Maybe they understood what I was trying to say. Maybe not.

I just didn’t have the vocabulary at that point to answer some of the questions we received. I’m too honest by nature, and always find myself wanting to say more than I really should in an effort to connect with others on a level that’s valuable to me. It wasn’t until I attended an Adoption Knowledge Affiliates meeting about openness, that I finally found a comfortable place on this open vs. closed pendulum. It’s amazing how those four extra letters, n-e-s-s, changed my perspective and empowered me with the vocabulary I needed to answer questions.

Not only that, but those four letters released me from the tension I was feeling about open versus closed adoption. Now, when people ask me if we have an open or closed adoption, I tell them “we’ll always be very open with our son about where he came from and who his first mom and dad are” because being open is more than keeping contact with a first family. It’s about a commitment to be open with your child. A promise to be available and honest about any questions they have. A responsibility to be proactive and start the conversation sometimes. This kind of openness happens regardless of whether or not there is contact with a child’s first family.

Because sometimes, you don’t have control over contact with the first family. Sometimes, you try but they just can’t keep in touch. Sometimes they don’t want to. And sometimes, that hurts your heart for your child. But it isn’t the end-all be-all of an adoption circumstance.

Sometimes, openness in adoption means your family grows in ways you never expected. Our son has a sister, a couple of years older than him, who lives out of state with her adoptive family. While it was certainly something we considered and hoped for when we began our journey to bring him home, we didn’t really think we would be fortunate enough to know our son’s siblings. But we are. A couple of weeks ago, after emailing and chatting on the phone, we got to meet our son’s, sister’s, adoptive mom (Whew! That’s a mouth full) who we’ll probably end up calling Mama Beth or Aunt Beth. She brought bags full of her son’s clothes for us, held E and laughed with us in our living room as we talked about them coming for the summer. It felt like family. Because it is family.

So, for me, openness in adoption means I have a big job. One that requires being a historian, record-keeper, investigator pen-pal and organizer.

It means my son can always come to me.
It means he can always ask me anything.
It means sometimes I’ll tell him he has eyes like his first mom, and that I thought she was very pretty.
It means I write down all the little things I remember about his first dad and tuck them away in a shoe box.
It means my son has an aunt Beth in another state.
It means sometimes his heart may be broken, because I will always tell him the truth.

And there will always be joy and laughter when I tell him how God killed our car battery so we could be with him as soon as he was born.

What does openness mean to you?

The one who writes a blog entry about her child being three months old. (But, c’mon. If you follow me on Facebook or Instagram this isn’t news to you)

But, things are getting pretty exciting around here. There’s lots of new sounds and expressions; Little man is fully engaging his eyebrows in conversation now. He loves apple juice and has some favorite toys.

He is also keeping me on my toes. Just when we were getting a solid six hours of sleep a night, he started Green-Hulking his way out of my fabulous Aiden & Anais swaddle at about hour two. It all goes down hill from there, his arms flail about and he slaps the passie out of his mouth across the crib. And then, he’s ticked.

After a few nights of unsuccessfully attempting to hog-tie him back into his cozy swaddle, I seriously considered searching the internet for a course in baby Ninjutsu so I could outmaneuver this kid.

It has rocked my world a bit trying to keep up with his changing needs. Just when I feel totally in synch with him, understanding his little sounds and baby-babble-coded-requests, something changes and I’m back at square one trying to figure him out all over again.

And I’m really starting to get it. You’ve all heard it; Becoming a parent can reveal a lot about God’s character. In fact, I had become a little annoyed by the parenting anecdotes in sermons over the last few years (when you’ve attended as many adoption conferences as we have- you hear that stuff a lot).

But there I was on the floor of my son’s room in dim-blue-light with one arm wrapped snuggly, desperately attempting to catch the other while keeping his passie secure…

“I know what you need.Why won’t you let me give it to you?” And before all the words even left my tongue I got it.

Sitting back on my heels, I hung my head and let out the breath I’d been holding.

How many times has this been me? A million. How long do I have to flail my arms and reject His help before I ultimately have nowhere else to turn but His comfort? Days. Months. Years.

“Little dude. You and me- we’re not that different.”

I gave up on the swaddle and scooped baby boy up. Tucked tight between my chest and arms, as frustration was replaced with sympathy.

“I hate it when I’m not happy too”

And we rocked. And rocked. And rocked.

So, yes. I’m that mom writing about her son turing three months old. About a few new sounds and changing sleep patterns.

And I have more bad news. I’m also that mom who is embracing the reality that God is revealing more about who He is and how He loves through being a parent.

Happy 3 Month Birthday Eli (and Mommy who still has a lot to learn)!

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We can’t post his face online until May.

I love this kid more than I’ve ever loved anything on the planet. He twists my heart in a new way every day and I always think it can’t hurt anymore. But tomorrow, I’ll pluck him out of his bed as he stretches his arms high, puckers his lips tight and arches his back poking his baby butt way out- and my heart will twist on itself once more. The unconditional love I have for him, seems endless.

But nothing else does.

Not my energy or strength.

Not my emotional capacity.

Not my open-eyes.

Not my knowledge or instinct.

Eventually, my arms ache. I find a pillow to prop under my elbow and my back aches. I bring my nose to his curls and breathe deep- making myself very aware that these moments will someday seem so far away. I appreciate it. The out of sync beat in my chest echos in my stomach and I reach into the memory-haze of years before our son and acknowledge the gravity of this spectacular moment; holding him and remembering the days when my arms were empty.

Almost every day I imagine who he may be. What the world may have for him. What God may have for him. I always make an attempt to be realistic and begin accepting whatever his life may unfold to be.

But, eventually it all runs out.

I don’t really know what his life holds. I eventually have to put him down, into his own bed and tuck him in tight. Inevitably my eyes will be too heavy. Eventually, I end up with my forhead resting on the side of his bed, one hand securing a passie and the other stroking the bridge of his nose, hoping for deep breaths fast asleep. Sometimes, I even cry I’m so tired. The feeling of failure, however slight it may be, greets me every day as I realize I can’t always make him perfectly happy.

These are my limits and they meet me every day. This has reminded me of  the limitlessness of God. I typically don’t elaborate deep into my faith on this blog. Although, if you’ve read through it- it’s obvious I believe in God as an active and loving being. That’s not to say we haven’t struggled with our faith; honestly I even kind of loath expressing it that way. “Struggling with our faith” makes it sound as though it’s not normal to doubt. And we just don’t believe that in our house. It’s absolutely normal to doubt. And those of you who have experienced the severity of the darkness in this world may be entirely skeptical, and I don’t blame you.

But there is something about reaching the end of myself that solidifies my faith in a God bigger than me, every time.

I can’t love Eli perfectly. I wish I could. But I know at the end of the day- I have to meet my own needs too. I’ve spent time hating this. But really- do I want to be able to meet his every need? (selfishly- yes) Because of what I’ve seen of God in my life, the answer to that is no. I do not want to be able to meet his every need. I do not want to be the god in his life.

I desperately want him to have the fear and pleasure of God meeting his needs.

I can’t wait for the day he’s old enough for me to explain to him that mom and dad love him more than they’ve ever loved anything on earth, and we still can’t fulfill his needs the way he was created to have them met.

Midnight feedings have taught me quite a bit this week. Particularly, all the ways I just can’t love my son.

“God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.” (John 3:16-17)

“You are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.” (1 Pet 2:9)

God has done what the law, weakened by the flesh, could not do. By sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh and for sin, he condemned sin in the flesh, in order that the righteous requirement of the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not according to the flesh but according to the Spirit.” (Rom 8:3-4)

“All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, whom God put forward as a propitiation by his blood, to be received by faith.” (Rom 3:23-25)

“For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, “Abba! Father!”” (Rom 8:15)

“We have been sanctified through the offering of the body of Jesus Christ once for all.” (Heb 10:10)

“Beloved, we are God’s children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is.” (1 John 3:1-2)

In adoption, particularly a situation where there is communication with the first family of a child who is adopted, there can be an extra layer of complication added when your child is sick or injured (and I’m throwing in developmental delays and special circumstances similar, as well).

Guilt, insecurity and shame can hover over the relationship with your child’s biological family if your child was injured over something that was technically “under your control” (say a broken arm from falling off a bed or perhaps something even more serious like a car accident). When I write it out, in black and white, it seems silly. Logically, we know that kids just get hurt. Every parent expects it at some point. And although when you adopt a child, he is yours and you are his, sometimes there are other people to consider as well. If you haven’t adopted, just imagine the emotions that might well up if a child entrusted to your care by someone else fell and busted his lip open or knocked out a tooth under your provision. Imagine making the phone call that you’re headed to the emergency room or cringing as you wait for her parents to get a look at the missing tooth or giant knot on her forehead.

You would apologize profusely.

It’s likely you might say “I’m so sorry…I just feel terrible…”. And it’s likely that you would feel terrible. For a while.

Okay, so multiply that by ten and you may get close to what it can feel like, at least in the beginning of an open adoption, when this happens. Adoptive parents have been put through the ringer and taken steps that most biological parents will never have to take in order to parent. There were times during the adoption process when we felt like we were trying to prove we were capable to parent. We did this over and over again for two years- switching agencies three times. And it’s not over yet. Every month we meet with a social worker who writes a report to send to our agency. Every month we have a form to fill out on E’s development to send to the agency. It seems like the harder we’ve worked to be “ready to parent” in the eyes of someone else, the harder the fall into the realty that we are not perfect parents*.

This guilt and insecurity can certainly rise up in an adoptive parent even outside of an open relationship with the child’s first family. When you’ve crossed the bridges that must be crossed to get to an adoptive child, there is a desperation to protect them. I’m not saying that biological parents aren’t desperate to protect their children. I’m just saying that it can make some of us a tad more protective than someone who hasn’t had to fight as hard to bring a child into their family. I would imagine these emotions might be similar for a mom who endured (or barely survived) a very difficult pregnancy or previously lost children.

The other side of this coin is there are legitimate reasons to be more protective with children who are adopted than most biological children, at least when you first bring them into your family. This is true for infants, older children, domestically adopted,  internationally adopted and seemingly well children. If you’re not surrounded by patient understanding friends and family, this can be a very difficult transition and give way to very deep insecurities about parenting abilities, right on the heels of an emotional, long-awaited homecoming.

There can be anger, resentment and bitterness present if your child struggles with development delays or disorders. Regardless of whether or not these issues are related to the child’s previous environment because of something in the first-parent’s control or out of their control, it is heart-breaking to watch your child struggle. While I’m not yet able to relate to watching my son struggle developmentally, or relate to having a biological child (with developmental delays or disorders), it’s a safe bet anger happens in there at some point. If it’s a biological child, you might blame yourself (although you shouldn’t) wondering if it was something you did during pregnancy. Likewise, if you’ve adopted your child- you may blame his first parent or previous care-taker. The web of emotions can become even more entangled if reasons for delays or disorders were caused by choices. Something totally in first-mom’s control.

I am most certainly positive it takes peace beyond understanding, provided by a God much bigger than us, to let go of anger and resentment over something like that. May God grant any of us struggling with this issue the compassion to love that first-parent as best we can (whether an adoption is open or not).

Since I just spent about ten minutes generalizing, I’ll end this by saying everyone is different. Every situation has it’s unique struggles and rewards. So, I’m not speaking for every adoptive parent or every adoption situation. But, for many of us, there is truth in these words- even if the feelings are momentary and fleeting.

*No adoption agency or social worker expects perfection. But, that doesn’t keep some of us from placing these requirements on ourselves.

Last night, after more than nine hours in the waiting room and finding out that L was apparently still in triage, we left the hospital for a change of scenery (and I’m not gonna lie, a change in beverage). After dinner we came back to the hotel feeling frustrated by all the red-tape keeping us from being with L or even communicating with her, wondering if she had been able to eat and how she was feeling. Our emotions were fried and feeling such a lack of control made me want to crawl in a hole and not come out until it was over. I can admit now, the frazzled frustrated look on Chris’ face for the last several hours of waiting stole my heart away. He was a bit of a disaster with dark circles under his eyes, pacing the hall between the area we’re loosely calling a waiting room and nursery. Seeing the pain of a father, desperately wanting his child, filled my heart with emotions from all parts of the spectrum.

After dinner we walked back to the hotel defeated, showered, put on pajamas, crawled into bed and searched through channels for some form of mindless entertainment.  We were just about to hit the lights….

“I’m gonna run back up there” Chris said, already grabbing our keys and his wallet.

I closed both my eyes tight against the lamp light I was desperately trying to escape. “To the hospital?”

“Yeah. I would just feel better.”

Earlier we discussed our gut-feeling, based on the day we’d had, they wouldnt’ call us if he were born after hours. He suggested I stay at the hotel since my emotions were a little over-easy and I’d already found my comfy spot in bed.

“I’ll just run up there and call you if there’s anything going on. I’m just doing this to make myself feel better before I go to sleep”

I agreed and fell fast asleep.

The next thing I know, I hear this loud BANG! I jump up out of bed to see Chris’ shadow against the bathroom light.

“GET UP! GET DRESSED! You need to come meet your son.”

I swear I could see his heart beating right through his shirt.

Confused, I looked around and remember who I was and what I was doing in a hotel room.”Wha– ARE YOU SERIOUS?! WHAT?! WHAT TIME IS IT? WHAT HAPPENED?!”

Y’all should have seen me. I practically fell out of the bed, one foot hung in the twisted sheet. With one hand reaching for my glasses and the other for my shoes, I was still asking questions and leaving no room for answers.

“Here. Look.” Chris turned his phone towards me and I can not believe my eyes. There was nothing at all about that moment that felt like real life. Not mine, anyway. How could I ever deserve such an amazing moment? But, there he was; all hunched over with a mop of black hair, his face sitting in the hands of a nurse dressed in blue scrubs. I continued to hop around the hotel room with one shoe on and one in my hand, grabbing things I thought I’d need, and then putting them all back. Finally, I got that second shoe on, grabbed my purse and we ran down the hotel hallway, out the lobby to the car and Chris drove like a crazy-man down the block to the hospital.

We stood at the nursery window and stared at him through the glass for what seemed like an eternity. I just couldn’t believe how perfect he seemed. How can anything be so perfect?

 

When we finally got to see him in person, I was amazed at his size. He was so small. It wasn’t until we were sitting alone in a room with him in our arms that Chris told me what happened.

When he left the hotel room, he realized the battery on our car had died. After finding someone to jump the car for him, he was able to get the car over to Auto Zone to recharge the battery. Unfortunately, it was totally dead so he ended up having to replace it with a new one in the parking lot. An hour and a half later, he made his way to the hospital, five minutes from the hotel. When he walked up to the nursery window, Eli was still being cleaned up from being born twenty minutes before.

If our car battery hadn’t died, it’s likely we wouldn’t have even met him that night.

I’ve been absolutely amazed at how our prayers have been answered. We didn’t have to meet our son that night. But, we (and most of you) begged God for it anyway. Holding our son, I really understood that God is more than a distant being who does what’s best for the greater good. I was reminded that He isn’t uninvolved. He looks us in the eye and, when it’s good, wants to give us the desires of our heart just like a parent wants to give their child the same. And through a dead car battery and a dad desperate to meet his child, He delivered us the greatest gift either of us has ever received.

Needless to say, we’re completely head-over-heels in love with this little guy.

Good morning! Right now I’m sitting in the waiting room at the hospital. It is not comfortable. Not even kind of. Well, okay- the butt of this chair has a cushion. That’s about as good as it gets. We just spoke with our caseworker from the agency who has been trying to reach the social worker here at the hospital all morning. Until we can reach her- we know nothing. The nurses can’t tell us anything; We’re not even entirely sure that L is here yet. So, our agency caseworker is working hard for us today. I jokingly told her we have no where else to be and not to worry about us. But it’s true, I’ll wait. My heart has been waiting for so long, I’m actually pretty happy to be sitting in a waiting room or hotel room with no other obligations, doing the for-real-kind-of-waiting. The congruency is a nice change of pace.

On our way to the hospital this morning we stopped by Starbucks to feed our addiction and pick up a few bribes. Hey- I have no shame; I want the nurses to like us. I want them to take care of L. I want them to smile when I ask them the same question a million times even if it takes vanilla scones and a jug of blonde roast to get it done.

While we were waiting for our travel-pack to brew at the ole S-to-the-B, I noticed the hub and I are extra cool today.

Yeah, that’s right. We accidentally dressed alike. Um. This is not cute. Thanks for hanging in here with us. We’ll keep you posted.

Almost 1pm and Still Waiting

Unfortunately there’s no news to report. Since we’re unable to see L we have no idea what’s going on… We’re taking a break from the waiting room to have lunch in the hospital courtyard. We heard the food isn’t terrible;) We’ll see. I’m thankful for this beautiful weather today. Now that I know There’s a courtyard, this is probably where I’ll stay.

Frustration Is Setting In

Just got an update from our caseworker who was able to talk to L over the phone. She is still in triage. oh. my. goodness. 

I realized L probably hasn’t eaten anything since midnight as I was finishing my lunch, and lost my appetite. Well, the bee that was after my Pepsi contributed. After lunch, Chris wanted to go to the nursery again to see the newborns who amaze me in every way.

The hospital social worker hasn’t called us. I know she hasn’t been to see L. And I’m just so angry that this can’t happen the way L wanted. There are other things too. It doesn’t look like she’s going to be able to spend the 48 hour waiting period with the baby, like she wanted. And we can visit him, but it doesnt’ seem like a Family Room is an option, so we can’t stay here at the hospital unless it’s in this waiting room (Which I admit, we pictured a little differently. It’s more of a hallway with a TV and a few chairs).

So I’m frustrated for all of us.

During a time when people would need to care the most, it seems like no one here at the hospital cares at all. But, maybe I’m being sensitive. I think I’m reaching my emotional limit for the day.

*sigh*

Reading back over these words and remembering the anticipation, even the frustration, makes me smile. I wish we’d taken more photos and written more down. I could barely see past the minute or hour ahead. But what really sends my head back in laughter is hearing his squeaky baby noises right now as I read back over this, knowing where this story ends up.

So, if we’re connected on Facebook this is no big news but our life has changed quite a bit. Our son was born in November.

Our son. He’s pretty amazing.

The two year journey we spent to get here, is a blur. The paperwork, agencies and fundraising are all hazy. I can’t believe it.

Today, I’ll begin unraveling some of the story of his birth. One thing we did for close friends and family was set up a password protected website through Posterous Spaces several weeks before we knew baby boy would arrive. It’s a very simple blog-like set-up. We included contact information (so our friends and family members could all contact each other) as well as information about how domestic infant adoptions work and how we had all agreed we wanted his birth to go. Then, I had a private forum to share, all-at-once, what was going on as it was happening while we were waiting. This helped our family and friends feel connected and present while still respecting our son’s first family and giving us the space we needed. So, some of these entries are from that website:

We received a call on Thursday two weeks ago that L may be close to labor. We thought we’d get the call that weekend, but we didn’t. So we just pretended to do life for two weeks when really- in our hearts- we have been doing nothing but waiting for the gap between us and our son to close and hoping L wasn’t too uncomfortable. It’s been terrible. But terrible in a good way, I guess.

So when the doctor scheduled L to be induced, we actually felt a bit of relief. A date. We had a date. And now that date is here. We get to be with them both tomorrow. Several of you have asked how we are feeling.

We’re excited.
We’re nervous (about the birth and bringing him home).
We’re happy (for us).
We’re sad (for baby boy’s mom and dad).

That’s the extent of our emotions right now. They’re simple, but each are running deep tonight.

So, we’re all checked into our hotel. Tomorrow, we’ll snag breakfast about 6am and head to the hospital where we’ll wait. We will wait for him to be born. Wait until we can see him. Wait until we can see L. Wait until 48 hours pass. Then, we’ll bring him to the hotel with us, where we’ll wait until we can sign placement papers.

Then. We’ll come home. With our son. Your newphew. Your grandson. The newest Lightening Cat (don’t ask questions). 

While we all wait, why don’t I entertain you with a couple of pretty cool things that have happened in the last three weeks. Okay- it’s possible that we’re just reading way into this. But, I do believe that our God knows us and loves us intimately. I believe he loves us in ways only we could possibly understand sometimes. So we have really enjoyed all the little ways He’s revealed Himself and given us peace and comfort over the last couple of years.

*sidenote: The middle name we’ve chosen is Fox. It was my grandad’s last name. Unfortunately, I only knew him for ten years before he passed away. But, my best childhood memory was with him. The day I met him, he bought a doll for me in the airport (A doll I still have, although her nose has been replaced with a push pin) This man who I didn’t even know bought a gift for me before he even knew who I was; He was excited to meet me. Then, I sat in his lap and fed him fudge while we watched Alice in Wonderland.

Well, I’ve seen two foxes in the city since September. The last one we saw, walked right across our backyard one night as we happened to be standing together looking out our back door. He was HUGE. We both stood in amazment as he walked gracefully by as if he’d done it a million times. Last week we received a package in the mail from a coworker who adopted her son thirty years ago. She sent us a children’s book about adoption. Tears filled my eyes by page one.

More next time….

So now that we have a few boxes unpacked are are (finally) able to wash our clothes and dishes (long stories), it’s time to buckle down and bring our fundraising to a close. We are just waiting for a phone call that ‘E’ is on his way into the world. I’d be lying if I said it was exciting. To be honest, it’s actually pretty difficult. I’m on edge. I’m trying trying trying to remember who is in charge here. To remember who really began this process and who has brought us this far financially. In the beginning, I saw the mountain of $20,000+ and stepped into adoption really believing there was no way this could happen for us. In my heart, I didn’t believe we were “the kind of people” who God provided for in such huge ways. Shortly after those first thoughts, we received an anonymous check in the mail for $1,000. I sat on my kitchen floor and cried; over my doubt and His grace. So shame on me for freaking out today when I realized we are still $8k away from our fundraising goal, and then for burying my face in my hands when I heard the words “we can’t make the placement unless all the legal fees are paid for…” So yes, I freaked out today. But, I’m in a good better place.

Here’s where you come in. We’re hoping to raise $5k of that $8k in only a few weeks. So, for every person who donates $250 or more to our adoption fund, we’ll gift you a photo session plus 50 professionally processed digital images on DVD from Chris Michael Photo. That’s more than half off our regular investment for a session.

And, everyone who shares this blog post on Facebook and tags either Chris, me or the Chris Michael Photo Facebook Page will get their name in a drawing for another session. You are welcome to use the sessions for yourself or gift them to someone else.

So, what do you say? Will you spread the word? Oh, and if you’d like to make a donation now:

Nine days ago on May 19th, we recieved an email from our agency

“Hi Erin,
I just wanted to let you know that we received your wonderful photo book and other paperworker. I hope things have settled down for you, but please let me know if you need anything!”

Within 24 hours, we had another email:

“Hi guys,
   I have a special case that I wanted to present to you. If you would like to be shown please let me know. We do not know the gender yet, but she is receiving prenatal care already. Her name is L—– and she is…due November 9, 2012…”

It’s now May 24th. Since that first email we’ve experienced more emotions than I really ever thought a person could. Apparently you can die and live, with your guts spilled out and heart full, all at the same time; We’re complicated creatures. Our google searches have spanned from all the “worst-case-scenarios” to cloth diaper reviews, and the nights have been sleepless. Today we agreed to move forward. Today we agreed to be parents. 

And I am not freaking out (entirely). I am, however, trying to keep this in perspective and pace my emotions. What does that even mean?Who’s perspective? I guess I just mean that I’m trying to keep the big picture in mind. And what is that exactly? I really don’t even know. I guess it just means, there’s a lot on our minds and we have no control. Yeah, that’s what it means. I suppose.

It also means that our baby is in a delicate situation and we’re a little scared. It means that we haven’t met “L” yet and we already feel so much compassion towards her. It means we have some high-hopes and we’re afraid to let ourselves acknowledge them. Yeah, it means all of this too.

You’ll be glad to know that our nights have held more sleep, we’re not nearly as scared and I’ve mostly embraced the lack of control I have over any of this. In the last couple of months, we have met the baby’s mother, found out its a boy, spoke to his father on the phone, chosen his name (so now I’ll be referring to him here as ‘E’), put our house on the market, began the process of purchasing a new house, became unexpectedly “homeless”, lived in a hotel, moved into our new house and had one of our vehicles stolen.

Each of these events is really just the tip of the iceberg. The sub-stories are the best; for example the way L (the baby’s mom) was immediately put in a better situation than she was in when we first found out about her. One where she’ll be more protected and have more consistent care. And just like that, half of our fears were put to rest. And the confirmation we received from God about the name we chose, what we went through to get our house on the market and the fact that it sold in only five hours. How our friends left town for a family emergency and let us move into their home until we knew what was going to happen with our prospective new house. How after being thrilled we could move into our new house, we realized we had no hot water, dishwasher or microwave (and all we wanted in the midst of getting moved in and doing repairs was quick easy meals and hot showers). And how a few months ago we kicked around the idea of selling the vehicle that was stolen to make room for E, but the hub was won-over by the sentiment of still owning his first vehicle and said, only semi-jokingly “it would almost be easier if someone would steal it…I can’t bring myself to sell it.”

Are you seeing this you’re-not-in-control-but-its-okay-because-God-really-is pattern that we’ve been living in?

Then, there’s the less obvious thread. The one that held it all together- the people in our life. The ones who are so involved, they see God’s hand moving in our life the way only someone with their nose pressed up against the glass can see. The ones who are willing to get messy and let moodiness slide, because they know I’m doing the best I can. Or the ones who tell me they don’t know how I’m keeping it together (and I think oh, that’s so sweet of them to lie like that) The ones who bring wine or cupcakes, and always flowers. The ones who are already calling our soon-to-be-son by his name.

I didn’t know how prophetic my statement was back in May.

Apparently you can die and live, with your guts spilled out and heart full all at the same time…

I have a feeling this is exactly what being a mom is all about. Living and dying. Guts and heart. So, I’m considering these last few months a bootcamp in mothering.

There was no nodding-and-smiling, for lack of knowing how to actually respond to people comparing this waiting to “every pregnancy” because I never had to explain myself. Friday was so awesome my face could have exploded y’all. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, I had a letter from the baby’s mom and an ultrasound picture waiting in my mail box.

Our. very. first. picture.

After I stared at his little face for what felt like an hour. I sent it to the hub’s phone.

Then, to my parents…Then, to two of my best friends…Then, to Chris’ parents.

Then, it went on our fridge.

Several hours later…I realized how very very wrong I was. It hit me like a ton of bricks.

This sweet boy, isn’t ours yet. And we’ve been acting like he is.

We’ve shared more details with a handful of our close friends than we intended, because we needed people to talk to. And I can’t undo that. But, I’m not sure I want to. But, I feel like I should want to. Selfishly, there have been days when I needed to see a friend look back at me and really see how scary this is and not just take my word for it. Selfishly. And then, I want to celebrate with those friends when we have good news because holy-geeze we’ve been so down-in-the-dumps or freaked-out waiting on one tiny piece of information that it’s necessary to put them out of their misery too.

So is it better to say nothing? To deal with this alone because it’s someone else’s private life involved? Probably.

Because their privacy trumps my needs.

And so I’m sick to my stomach. Because I don’t know what the right thing is. All I can do is be honest, handle my emotions a little better and start over tomorrow.

So, I will continue preparing for him,  calling him by the name we’ve chosen and writing him letters. But, I’ve repositioned my heart this weekend and acknowledged that he isn’t our son yet. We hope he will be. But at this moment, he belongs to someone else.