Our Instant Family: Part 3

Once in the visiting room, the atmosphere relaxed. Kids scattered every which direction to explore the toys. We approached each one by one, offering to play with or help them.

We expected to have a supervised visit for about 30 minutes or so. We were truly surprised when all the caseworkers disappeared, mentioning they’d be back in a few hours. As they walked out the door, I overheard a woman say, “I’m not sure who looks more scared: the kids or the parents!” I can’t speak for the children, but Ryan and I were most definitely petrified.

Luckily, my sister had recently given me a book about international adoption. I had flipped through it to help get in the right mode for meeting the children. Thanks to its suggestions, we wore soft clothing and equipped ourselves with toys, snacks, books, and a blanket.

Sure enough, after playing for a bit, the kids said they were hungry. I pulled out our juice boxes and Animal Crackers. We played together some more, changed diapers, pulled the baby off whatever he was climbing at the time, then decided to venture out. We borrowed three car seats from the State; one of us struggled to figure out the installation while the other chased the kids around the parking lot, yelling “Stop! Danger!” Eventually, we made it to McDonald’s for lunch. Rather than chance eating inside, we stuck with the drive-thru and headed to the park.

Ryan was delighted by the fact that the kids ate everything. No picking out pickles or scraping off cheese! While eating, we asked some simple questions to get to know these little strangers. Estela soon put her head on Ryan’s arm and announced, “I like you!”

I admit I was jealous.

As we finished eating, Josh began to fall asleep. I wrapped him in our blanket and rocked him gently. I sat on the park bench, watching Ryan push the others on the swing set. I said a silent prayer. Seeing as how we had a momentous, life-altering decision to make, I prepared myself to receive a definitive answer. The thought crossed my mind that the prophet Moses was adopted . . . I figured a burning bush was out of the question, but I looked around for some smoldering moss or pine needles. All I saw was a sweet little slumbering face and my arms finally performing what they were designed to do. I also saw a happy husband and some giggling children.

Confusion ensued. Was that the answer? Where was the warm, burning feeling in my heart?  Where was the voice of God? Where were the tears and intense gratitude that were supposed to accompany a day like today? I mostly felt concerned. I worried about Josh’s physical and mental development. I worried about Estela and Luis’ emotional attachment to their birth mother and foster parents. I was frightened to hear how much Mark struggled at home and at school. This wasn’t just three or four kids. They each came with their own baggage, jam-packed with issues of varying colors, shapes, and sizes. How could we possibly commit to spending the rest of our lives cleaning up after their birth mother’s catastrophic mess?

I knew I needed to pray with Ryan and discuss our thoughts and impressions. But for now, it was time to take the kids for a walk along the river. I passed Josh, now awake, over to Ryan. Estela and Luis oohed and aahed over the swimming ducks. They ran ahead to meet other people walking their dogs on the trail. We were content to watch their little legs so determined, and relieved to see them enjoying themselves. We saw Estela approach one old man and faintly heard her inquire whether she could hug him. It was both darling and alarming. Fortunately, he told her he wasn’t sure her parents would like that.

We eventually meandered to the car and back to the State office. As we handed over the car seats, diaper bags, McDonald’s toys, and the children, a caseworker chirped to us about how exceptional the kids are. We then said our goodbyes, coaxing out little hugs. They drove away in a government-issued van, headed toward the daycare center. Through the tinted window I made out a tiny hand, fervently waving goodbye.

More confusion set in. I was feeling relief at being able to leave now. But if the children were meant to be in our family, wouldn’t my heart ache at being separated from them?

On our long drive home, the image of a waving hand drifted in and out of my mind.

Our Instant Family: Part 2

Exactly seven days later, we received another call, this time from the State. They left us a message saying we were one of the top two couples out of the nine they had considered. Were we still interested in the sibling group?

The reality of the situation struck us both. For me, the excitement and wonder had slowly faded throughout the week. I had begun to think less and less about the adoption with each passing day; perhaps this was how I protected myself from disappointment. The phone call reactivated my enthusiasm and joy at the prospect of finally having children in our home. Ryan—having initially agreed to this because the odds had rarely been in our favor—felt like the State was calling his bluff.

We called them back to inform them of our intent to proceed. We were given more information, including: ages, names, race, and their foster situation. Mark, 6, is Caucasian. Estela, 4, and Luis, 2, are half-Honduran. Josh, 14 months, is Caucasian. They have three different birth-fathers and are currently in three separate homes.

There was so much more we wanted to know, but we allowed the State to set the pace. According to their timeline, the following week we made the two-hour drive to meet our potential children. We first met with five of the social workers involved in their case. They let us read health and assessment files on the children, whose circumstances were illuminated to us even further.

“We are not expecting to place Mark with you until he’s ready for healthy relationships. He was brought up in chaos, and he tries to recreate it everywhere he goes, since for him that is normal. But we would expect you to arrange regular visits with Mark. Keeping that sibling bond will be paramount.”

“Oh, and as you’ll see in Josh’s paperwork, the birthmother had a C-section 6-7 weeks early. Both meth and opiates were found in her and the baby’s systems. He’s had some corresponding health problems. We’re waiting on the results of an MRI; we hope to rule out stomach cancer.”

We tried not to look overly stupefied. Ryan felt they should have mentioned all of this two weeks ago. I clung to an inexplicable hope that everything would turn out okay. The panel answered a few of our questions, then two caseworkers left to bring the children in to meet us.

We had long imagined this magical moment: someone would tenderly place a baby in our arms and we would gush over it, our faces wet with emotion. We would feel an instant kinship with the infant and know it was meant to be part of our family. He or she would have some strange, remarkable resemblance to us, even though we weren’t blood-related. Everyone would be humbled, happy, honored to be part of the occasion.

Instead, the two women ushered the children into our room. The one holding the baby sat with him on the floor several feet away, while the other lady tried to stop the two older ones from slinking back into the hall. We all sat there awkwardly. The social workers watched us expectantly, but we were still taking in the kids. We forged smiles. Apprehension overcame us. There was no instant connection, no heavenly bond or recognition. What had we gotten ourselves into? Ryan and I didn’t know what to do or where to start. Here were our three prospective children, two of whom were already trying to run away. I knew I should do something, but my feet refused to move. When the feeling in the room became painfully uncomfortable, my face flushed. Neither our future children nor their social workers were going to make the first move.

I finally reached into my bag and pulled out a soft, colorful, rattle worm for the baby. I wiggled it to get his attention, then held it out while he advanced toward me. He let me pick him up and set him on my lap. He immediately mouthed the worm. One lady commented on our toy choice. I was relieved to know we’d at least done something right. It was then suggested we bring the kids to the visiting room. Ryan and I tried to hide our eagerness to leave that bizarre experience behind us. Our large group paraded through the building and right past the kids’ foster parents. It seemed like we were moving in slow motion. I wondered if they were sizing us up. Did we even look like we could be parents? Did they think we could handle all these kids, or did they deem us absolutely nuts?

Our Instant Family: Part 1

Every adoption has its own unique and wonderful story
filled with ups and downs. Here’s ours!
(Some names have been changed for privacy reasons.)

I woke up with cramps. I spent the majority of the morning sitting on or standing over the toilet. Between trips to the bathroom, I managed to call the fertility specialist and schedule another appointment.

Then I got a phone call from our adoption agency. (This wasn’t too unusual; we had been in touch because we were helping put together an adoption conference.) I answered it on the toilet, assuming it was in response to an important call I had placed earlier.

“Hi, this is Jan from the LDSFS office. Is this Tawny?”

“Yes, it is. How are you, Jan?”

“To be honest, we’ve got a lot going on today and it’s a bit overwhelming. But I’m calling about a family of 4 the State told us about. The oldest is 6, and although it’s not expected you take them all, it would be preferential since they are a sibling group. Oh, I didn’t even check; are you guys willing to take that many?”

Trying not to choke, I managed to reply: “Umm, we hadn’t really expected it, but yes.”

“Like I said, the oldest is 6 and in counseling; the youngest is 1 year old. It goes boy-girl-boy-boy. I think they are Hispanic. The foster family they’re with now says they’re really great children. Anyway, I need to know if you’re interested because I’m supposed to send some home studies off to the State in response. So go ahead and call your husband and get back to me.”

“Okay, I’ll do that. Thank you so much for calling.”

“You bet. I’ll wait to hear back from you.”

My heart was pounding. This was crazy. But something about that call resonated with me. I reminded myself not to get my hopes up if it wasn’t meant to be. Before calling Ryan, I finished up in the bathroom, then went and knelt down in a nearby bedroom. My prayer was brief, but full of emotion. This was the first time our agency had contacted us about an adoption in the 18 months since we’d been accepted. This certainly wasn’t what we’d envisioned happening, but I wasn’t opposed to it.

Ryan was more hesitant. He immediately pointed out the fact that we didn’t have a car big enough to hold that many children, let alone beds and necessities for them all. Nevertheless, he was willing to consider it. I called Jan back and left a message saying we were interested and would like more information.

That whole afternoon was spent imagining how our lives would change if this adoption went through. I had a hard time wrapping my head around it. My heart continued pounding and my body shook. To relax a bit, I put on some soothing music and half-heartedly read a book while my thoughts swirled with the text. Then, unexpectedly, on page 129 of Daddy-Long-Legs, the words “a mother and father and four children” popped out at me. I let out a gasp. Could this be a sign? I wouldn’t dream of basing such a huge decision on a random phrase in a book, but still. What if it were a divine message? I couldn’t ignore it.

(Our lives have never been as hectic, but we will post again soon!)