Saturday, February 1st, 2020
My phone blinks in the dark of evening
A notification on Facebook says:
New Birthmother Situation
I click like I have done so many times before
Wondering,
Is this the one?
Kevin and I have been praying about fostering and adopting since early 2018
After years of an empty womb
After tears of confusion, dripping off my face
After research and conversations with respected friends and pastors
Nudging us toward welcoming home children not of our blood
But still, my heart ached
I begged God to give me the strength to release my infertility to Him
So that He could bring us
Our family
I open the file to see a short blurb posted by a case-worker at an attorney’s office
Baby girl due any day. Bi-racial. Please call Sue if interested.
I glance at the clock and walk toward Kevin lounging on the couch, head tucked on a small pillow
The phone glows and his eyes match mine as he reads
“Can you call her?” He asks
He is all in
He has thrust forth his chips, his finances, his future.
He eagerly waits for God to bring us our family
The bedroom light is wild, shining a spotlight on my shaking hands as I dial her number
Leave a message
Send an email
And then go to bed,
heart pounding
Sunday, February 2nd
Sue is in Colorado, flying back to Florida
“Call me at 2pm” She says
I watch the clock, text my family, bounce my leg up and down during church
And
Pray
Pray
Pray
We are at Sonny’s Barbecue for lunch and the food is slow as snails, not reaching our plates
Kevin and I stare at my phone
Then each other
Back and forth, our thoughts spinning around in our heads like hamster wheels
Is this the one?
Are we going to remember this moment forever?
Or is this another child dangled in front of us before being snatched away?
I had gotten used to letting go of plans
Of dreams
Of wishes
And even sometimes…
hope
My heart, once soft and open, was now steeled
Caged
Protected
To avoid rejection, I turned my back
Against the possibility of another dripping wave of disappointment
Of hurt
Of bone-breaking pain
But when Sue’s voice came on the phone before 2pm
My eyes were wide with expectancy
Possibility ballooned in my chest once again
Kevin saw me scrambling for a pen and unwrapped the silverware,
thrusting the restaurant’s paper napkin in front of me
He held the edges down securely while I took notes
Ashley’s due date is February 27th, but she has shown signs of early labor
All six ultrasounds show a very healthy child
Baby is expected to stay in the hospital for five days after birth for monitoring
I only have one other adoptive family profile to show to her on Wednesday.
I write to Kevin,
BETWEEN TWO
And circled it twice.
We have never
Ever
Ever
Ever
Been this close to being matched with a birthmother
We choke down half our food and box up the other half to let sit on the car floor while we run into Staples to print documents.
I mail the documents overnight to Sue
and then….
more waiting
Wednesday, February 5th
Kevin verifies the procedure before he leaves for work
“So you’ll call me if you hear anything?”
He is holding his lunchbox and water bottle, ready to go
“Yes.” I nod, still wondering if all this would be for nothing
Still thinking I might be left empty
Still expecting to be told, “no” once more
I am tired of holding my breath
“What time are they meeting?” He asks
“Uhhh afternoon. That’s all I know.” I say, and he puts his phone in his pocket
“K.” He says.
“K.” I say.
We have no other words
At 2:25pm
I have done my work for the day.
I have felt the jitters run through my veins like the sugar in a gallon bag of Skittles
I have used up every ounce of patience I can muster
And I am treading on thin ice, praying not to break through
Sue texts me.
.
.
.
.
.
“Do you have a name for this baby?”
The thumping is my chest is the only sound I hear
I type the few names Kevin and I had been talking about,
hoping Ashley won’t be detracted by our choices
I wait a minute and then couldn’t help but ask,
“Does this mean she chose us?”
The late afternoon sun split through my window, warming me as I read the answer
“Yes.”
Friday, February 7th
Kevin and I hop in our little red car for the hour long drive to meet Ashley for the first time
She is tall and strong in a black dress, her 37 week pregnant belly jutting low
Her eyes are deep and dark and her smile is wide
her skin is deeply tanned with Italian flavor
She is beautiful
At Outback Steakhouse, we scarf down bread with lots of butter
And talk about animals,
Baby names,
Her parents and siblings
She teases us and we tease her
She is blunt and sarcastic and makes me laugh
I instantly like her
She asks about our youth group and church,
And quotes her favorite Bible verse
When we leave, she waddles and comments about how big she feels,
How uncomfortable she is,
And how this baby is perfect, healthy, a miracle
We look into her eyes in wonder
At the possibility of this adoption actually going through,
My eyes can’t help but see through that belly to a curled up child
that doesn’t belong to me…
Yet
Monday, February 10th
Ashley wants an ultrasound
And we offer to take her
She climbs on the table,
Stretches her arm over her head
And looks up to one of the many screens in the room
The gel is rubbed gently on her belly
The transducer kisses her skin
And suddenly,
Baby girl is everywhere
The technician clicks photos and types measurements,
Her keyboard taps filling up the dark room
She points out baby’s fuzzy hair on top of her little head
And quietly mentions that baby is over 6 pounds
We are mesmerized, frozen in the juxtaposition of
Life
Adoption
Humanity
And Ashley’s unspeakable pain as she breathes in sadness and
breathes out a cough of heartbreak,
Gulping air and spilling tears
They roll down her face
And I am there,
Rubbing her arm,
Patting her in reassurance
And whispering,
“I know, honey. I know. It’s okay.”
She chokes out the words,
“I’m happy but I’m sad
She’s so perfect.”
I see baby girl,
Hand tucked under chin
My heart isn’t open wide enough for both of them
I hold Ashley first
I want to believe baby is ready for us,
But so many things could happen and my doubt gets in the way
It’s too hard to open up and accept a beautiful gift that isn’t here yet
So I hold back
And focus on Ashley
Baby has to stay warm and cozy for a little while longer
Before I have the freedom to call her
Mine
Mine
Mine
Friday, February 14th
My friend texts me, begging to help with preparation for baby
I am busy working on the registry,
Collecting diapers and wipes,
Researching pregnancy, labor, adoption and local hospitals
My phone is constantly plugged in to retain power
She is desperate to help
But doesn’t know what to do
I am overwhelmed and worried about one big thing:
How do I feed the baby?
The milk banks do not have extra supply for adoptive mothers,
only preemie babies in the NICU
But then through online Facebook groups
Mamas are stretching out their arms, offering me frozen breastmilk
from their bodies
from their freezers
A wealth of generosity that measures far deeper and wider than I could have imagined
So my friend flies into action, driving all over town,
communicating with the donor mothers
picking up bags of frozen milk
Her freezer fills up
But she is willing to get more, and finds someone else to help store it
I am humbled by her kindness
and relieved to know I am not alone
Before I am a mama,
I am seen as a mama
Friday, February 21st 1:30am
The darkness peels from my eyes as a melody floats into our room
My phone is ringing
It is Ashley
“We’re going to the hospital” she says,
Her voice faltering, like a ball slowly falling down the stairs
My legs slide to the floor and I nod along, cutting through brain fog to focus on her words
“I can’t stand the pain anymore” she croaks
and I can hear the strain in her voice
I soothe her as much as I can before she hangs up to finish out in strength
the final moments of her pregnancy
Kevin is moving toward his hospital bag that he packed days before
And I am zombie-ing around the house to make sure I have everything I need
Then we are gone,
Into the chilly night air
Under a twilight sky
We walk arm in arm to Labor and Delivery
and knock on the large wooden door
On the right lay a small wrapped bundle in a bassinet,
On the left, a bundle of blankets stretched out and exhausted on the hospital bed
I walk gingerly up to Ashley,
Set my bag down,
And give her the joy bursting from the waterfall within me
“You did it, honey! I am so proud of you!”
Her hair is wild and free, her face filled with relief and then tears.
She has brought life into the world, and as I clasped her hand
I tell her it is no small thing.
She knows
She smiles because we are here
and her great physical pain is over
Her eyes float to the baby, and she tells me to go see her
Kevin is standing over the bassinet, gazing at the tiny package of 6lbs, 14 ounces.
I watch the nurse put a thermometer in her armpit
And marvel at the tiny squeal that baby girl makes,
Her virgin skin turning even more pink.
Ashley says she labored without pain medication,
Giving birth nearly in the hallway
But making it to a bed at the last minute
“Stop and drop”
The nurse says as she checks Ashley’s blood pressure
Ashley is wagging her head back and forth,
rubbing her tired eyes,
Bragging about how perfect the baby is
How healthy
How strong
How absolutely beautiful
Kevin and I slide the little tiny pink and blue hat off baby’s head
And stare at the thick, black hair that sprouts mere inches above her eyebrows
Before Ashley asks me to dim the lights so she can rest,
We take a picture all together,
Birthmother, baby, adoptive parents
Ashley beams with pride,
then looks toward us and hands us sleeping baby
“What is her name?”
I let Kevin answer
It is a first and middle name rich with meaning,
a thousand stories living behind the letters and cadence
“Eden Renee”
And suddenly,
She feels like ours
