It's been a year

A year ago today our precious birthmom endured an agonizing labor and nearly lost her uterus all for the sake of giving her baby the best possible home in her eyes: ours.

A year ago today I waited to learn if her sacrifice of months of her life to give us that baby would cost her ability to have another. It didn't.

A year ago today, precious friends and family caught the call to pray in the middle of the night for miracle after miracle. They did.

A year ago today, a tiny five pounder was born, not breathing, with an apgar score of 1, was whisked away to be bundled up and held safe by a bunch of machines and wires, pausing only for a brief photograph.

A year ago today, I went to visit our tiny little one in a NICU that seemed hostile to the idea of a rich white pregnant lady with 10 kids coming down here to take this poor woman's child out from under her.

A year ago today, a doctor was kind, a nurse was kind, and I began to learn what length our journey might have.

A year ago today, I saw her, touched her, prayed for her and sang to her and loved her, our darling baby girl.

A year ago today, I wept for her birth mom, for the heartache she endured, for what she experienced, for what she gave us. Her trust, her life, her child.


Today we celebrate, not just a healthy strong one year old, doing all the things one year olds do, measuring in at the 97th percentile, smiling, eyes shining, initiating games of hide and seek, singing (sort of), loving and being loved by brothers and sisters, the apple of her daddy's eye, making her mama's cup overflow with joy, but also, and just as much, the enormous sacrifice made and gift given by another beautiful wonderful amazing girl. Both strong, both precious, both amazing, both very near to God's heart.

Love. It can grow so much in a year.

Update: 8 months

Eight months ago we became the tentative parents of our eleventh child, given to us by the Lord through adoption. I talked to someone recently about adoption, someone who also had a number of children biologically, and she asked me the same question I asked another adoptive parent when I was thinking about adoption: Does your adopted child really feel like your child?

The answer is a resounding yes. She is mine. As if she were flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone. Lying in my arms right now, sleeping, her beautiful long eyelashes, her hand reached up touching my face, being sure of me, she is mine. She reaches for me from other people's arms. She lights up when she sees me and quiets when she hears me sing. She cries when I walk away and explodes with joy when I come back. She is my daughter.

She has part of my heart all day and all night. Her eternity is, in part, my responsibility. And she fits just right under my chin.

It is strange to think, and too high for me, that God made her with the reproductive cells of people who didn't intend to make a child, and knit her in a womb of one who felt she could not best be her mother, and formed her from eternity in His heart for me. I am her mother. She is my daughter, my child, my pride and joy, my love, my treasure.

In some ways she is different than my other children. Her tender skin and hair need a different kind of care. Her hunger is satisfied not by milk made by me. And when she cries it breaks my heart. My other kids can cry, and I am okay with it. Not her. Her cry puts me on high alert from anywhere. I will not let her cry. Not when there is something she needs that I can give her.

I'm not saying I spoil her, or that she won't learn to wait for things - in a family our size, she will not forever remain the happy center of the universe. But having been there when she was born and tiny and not breathing, she has my heart. I love this baby girl.

I make a continuous effort to make sure I still get her as often as possible. This is tricky because technically she doesn't need me, and her fussy, cranky, always hungry baby brother does. She can go to anyone. She is a happy, content, easy girl. But even though she is easy to please, she really wants me, loves me, her mama. She is happiest with me or her daddy. So if you happen to be close by, and are wanting a baby to hold, it is easy to give her to you, I know she won't fuss, but I'd rather give you him. Because even though she doesn't need my milk, she needs ME.

Because I am hers, and she is mine.

Creme de la creme

On Wednesday nights, we drop off 9 children at Awana Bible club at a nearby church and then run errands with the three youngest. We talk about just having one of us stay home and the other one go to the stores, but neither wants to be the one to stay home, and I want so badly to have some time with my husband that I'd rather take 3 babies to Walmart or sit in the van with them while he runs into other stores than not go.

Which means, we walk around the stores with 3 very small people and attract sometimes a large amount of attention. Especially from Black people who notice our 11th child who is adopted and has beautiful brown skin.

To tell the truth, she has beautiful everything. She is stunning. Her eyes, her hair, her skin, her smile, her personality and temperament - she is exquisite. She could not be more spectacular in any way.

And people notice this, and comment. Of course, for those brave enough to ask, the first thing they want to know is why we have so many in a short span, and are we babysitting or fostering. But when the reality dawns on them, as it did last night when my husband said, no, they are all ours, they say something like, "Wow. Somebody gave up a beautiful baby."

And I feel bad about it. I feel guilty. Like it would be okay if I had adopted an ugly baby. But I didn't. I adopted the creme de la creme. The cream of the crop. She is as beautiful a baby as I have seen in my life. And she is the most pleasant, delightful, easy to parent baby we've ever had in our family.

It doesn't matter to the strangers who comment that we said yes to her before she was born. We knew she was a girl. That was all. When we walked into her birthmom's hospital room and met her for the first time, we were both struck by how beautiful she was. But it didn't matter. We were already committed at that point. Healthy, sick, weak, strong, physically, mentally, spiritually perfect or marred, we were in.

It is the same with our other children. We have 12 healthy, beautiful, wonderful children. People like to call us lucky. I don't believe in luck. Luck is a way we account for good or bad things without crediting or blaming God. To say God has given us 12 blessings is to acknowledge that He is also involved when someone tries to have children but doesn't, or has a miscarriage.

If someone survives a disaster and we say they were lucky, that's okay, because the people who didn't survive just weren't lucky. But if we say God protected them, we acknowledge that He allowed those who perished to do so. He didn't protect them.

No one is comfortable with the idea that God is involved in that way. Believers don't like to think about a God who gives to some and not to others. Luck is a much easier friend/villian. And some feel God is as unpredictable and unworthy of trust as is Luck.

How deeply involved is this God? Big things, small things? Stock market, tsunami, card games, ball games, regular season only, or championships as well?

I think He is very involved. I am uncertain what is caused and what is allowed, but the fact that He CAN prevent or protect or provide and sometimes doesn't makes that somewhat of a mute point. If He didn't cause Job's family and fortune to perish (and I think an argument could be made that He did pick that fight), but could have prevented it from happening, it makes precious little difference if He is passive or active - His passivity is itself an act of indifference.

Or is it?

This is what I am certain of.

1. God is good. He is only, always, ever good. He cannot be anything but what He is, and that is good.

2. He loves me. Not only that, He loves every single human He made. He IS love. He is a more true definition of love than any feeling or relationship or experience any of us have ever known. Every manifestation we know of the concept of love we know because of a creation of His that gives us a glimpse of love, but only a shadow.

3. All power is His. He is God. He can do anything. Nothing can oppose Him.

Since He is good, He is love, and has all power, I trust Him.

You might say, "Well that's easy for you, everything goes your way. You have healthy children and food to feed them and good health insurance." And that would be a legitimate point. Satan made it, regarding Job. Of course he trusts God, he has everything. But, take away his wealth, his children, his health, and then what will happen?

I don't want to take that test, but I hope I would pass.

I don't know why God has blessed me. I don't know why some ask for children and don't have them, but I have a full dozen. But I believe God gives them and knows what He is doing. Children are a blessing from the Lord, and the fruit of the womb is His reward.

As for our adopted treasure, we said yes. We showed up. A young woman was unintentionally pregnant and felt the best thing she could do for her daughter was to place her for adoption, and eventually decided the best place for her was in our family. She had every opportunity to change her mind. She didn't.

I don't want to spend my life apologizing for God's goodness in my life and trying to explain what He did or didn't do for someone else. He is good. In the end, every eye will see and every mind will know His goodness.

For now, I just have to say, yes, we are ridiculously and inexplicably blessed by God. Not only do we have an abundance of biological masterpieces, we also have the Mona Lisa of adopted babies. We said yes. Over and over, we have said yes.

Happy Finalization Day!

It is finished. Our adoption is finalized. As of approximately 12:30 p.m., c.s.t. It is as if I carried her in my womb, she is our daughter. She belongs to us and we belong to her. Until death separates us.

It was a beautiful moment: my husband and me, our little treasure of a daughter, the notary, the attorney, the judge, and a speaker phone. We gave a vow, answered some questions, the judge complimented our family picture and said he will keep it.

I feel like passing out cigars. The day our precious birthmother signed, we went out to Olive Garden, and I wept. There was no joy. It was not a day to celebrate, not a day for dancing.

Today is the time to dance. It's a girl! We have labored and delivered, and great joy is ours.

God gives good gifts. He gives and takes away, and I pray for grace to worship Him when He takes, but today is not that day. Today He has given. Today we celebrate. Today, we dance.

Birth stories, part 5.1

I skipped the birth story of my eleventh child, because I didn't give birth to her, at least not in the traditional way. (disclaimer: I may have covered much of this in earlier posts, but will be redundant here for the sake of having her birth story with the others)

My little sopapilla was "conceived" in our hearts on January 31, 2010. We were at a church service, Lou Engle was speaking. I don't think the focus of his talk was about adoption, but he did talk about a small church somewhere in the south that has adopted a large number of children out of the foster care system. And I think he may have talked about the idea that we, the Church, can't say we are against abortion unless we are willing to open our arms, pockets and homes and receive those babies that didn't get aborted.

Each time I had heard people say those things in the past, I had been very moved, but knew it was not for us, not now, simply because we had so many kids, I run a pretty disorganized shop, I didn't think we could get through a home study, didn't think a birth mom or adoption agency or home study agency would ever say yes to us. But I had heard a few stories to the contrary about that time. And while Lou was speaking, and I was thinking my same thoughts, I felt like God said to my heart, "Why don't you try and see what I will do?"

After the service was over, my husband and I talked and he had had a similar conversation with the Lord. In his case, it went something like, "Why don't you take [That thing I spoke to your heart about being] Not Ashamed out for a spin?" So we took some time, prayed, talked, listened, waited, weighed, researched, and landed at the following conclusion:

God wants all of us to do something for the widow (a woman who has been left by a man, either through death or abandonment) and the orphan (fatherless). The question is what? What we had to offer was us. And we felt like we'd been given an invitation. So we said, ok, we will start walking until we meet up with a closed door.

First door, Tracie Loux. Tracie is the sister in law of our beloved Derek Loux, minstrel, writer, father of a total of 12 biological and adopted children, one of whom is in heaven with him, since he was taken from us in a car wreck around Christmas of 2009. Tracie is carrying his torch as an adoption consultant (www.thespiritofadoption.wordpress.com) helping people find the need and bringing adoptive families together with babies whose birthmothers are placing them for adoption.

Our first questions to Tracie were a little crazy, but what we were really asking was, do we have a chance? (reminds me of Dumb and Dumber, "What are the chances of a girl like me and a guy like you?", "Not good", "Like one in a million?", "More like one in a billion", "So you're telling me . . .

There's a chance."

That's kind of how we went in. Yes, there were big families adopting. Ok, we said, door number one, open, at least slightly. We accumulated the myriad of pictures and completed the many page profile prep document to give Tracie so she could use all that to make the magical family profile book for us to send to birthmoms, so she would know what our family was like, and what her baby's life would be like if she were to place him or her with us.

Door number two was the dreaded home study door. We had two families ahead of us on the journey, who had both used the same home study agency, and who both agreed that we should NOT use that agency, that they wouldn't know what to make of us. So we went with the other agency, Adoption and Beyond in Kansas City. They would have a contract social worker do our actual visits, and we would go there for a class. That seemed good to us.

Amazingly, (really, I was amazed) we found favor in the eyes of our social worker. She seemed to enjoy (not be overwhelmed by) our children, and each encounter with her was pleasant. This agency does most of its information gathering in the form of a written interview, which worked for me, being a writer of sorts (means: I like to write; not referring to skill), and we did my husband's portion in a sort of dictation/interview/review format, 1 or 2 questions at a time. The funny thing was when a question was something like, "what are your parents personalities, roles in the home, what did you do in your free time and on vacation?" and he would say, "That's ONE question???"

Incredibly, in late June, we received the rough draft of our home study to review and send back. We were thrilled, amazed and worried sick. I was late. Not tardy. Late for not being pregnant.

Now, lest you think us irresponsible for not preventing pregnancy (even though we established in the first few birth stories that we are not very good at preventing pregnancy, and that we think children come from God and are a blessing to be received with joy), remember that we also believed (and still do) that we were a long shot, and that the only way we would adopt is if there was a true need and if God wanted us to.

Not only that, but we are pretty firm on this concept: that children are an unqualified blessing. Period. Whether they are biological or adopted, typical or chromosomally enhanced, and regardless of the specific shade of brown their skin is and the number of alcoholic beverages the mother consumed while she was carrying them.

If God, Who opens and closes all wombs and creates all life from nothing and knits each child from conception, if He put a baby in my belly while we were in the adoption process, then either He would close the adoption door, at least for a time, or He would give us both babies. But honestly, we figured if there was a pregnancy for us, that would be at least the temporary end of our adoption story.

Secretly, I was hoping the whole process would move quickly enough that a pregnancy wouldn't be an issue.

So, as I was suspecting, but didn't feel pregnant, I asked Tracie - what happens if, hypothetically, I were to get pregnant. The answer was basically that if we found out later, it would cost money - because we'd have to update the homestudy. So I went upstairs in the middle of the afternoon on a Friday and took a test. Dark, positive, immediately. K.

So I sent out two emails and a prayer, to Tracie, to the homestudy people, and to God.

I was not excited. I was nervous. I was wrong. I realized I wasn't rejoicing over what God was doing, so I made a conscious decision to tell the people I was with and celebrate with them. 5 minutes later I got an e-mail from the home study people saying congratulations, you're still approved. Unbelievable. My biggest fear - gone.

The 3rd step (door) was sending out applications (filling out applications) - there is a lot of paperwork in adoption. We sent them to a few places, and over the summer had very few opportunities come our way. We said yes to them all, and they all said no to us.

Until a few days before Labor Day, when we learned of a situation that an agency was trying to place. Leaving out the details, a birthmom chose us. She was presented with just one family, but was told repeatedly that if she wanted, they would find more. She picked us.

Fast forward a very few weeks to the actual birth. (Sorry this is so long). We got a phone call on Monday morning that our birthmom was at the hospital with nausea, headache, high blood pressure, admitted with an i.v. magnesium sulfate drip, and was alone. I believe now she had a family member visit, but for the most part she was alone, and I knew they wouldn't take her off the mag, and I knew she was in till delivery, and my heart said, "let's go."

A day later, we had rented a car, packed for 5 (4 going down, 5 to return, we hoped), placed the other 8, and were on our way. We drove all night and I walked into her hospital room at 6 Wednesday morning. After about 5 hours, they announced they were going to begin inducing her. Her platelets were low also, so she couldn't have an epidural. She was not very dilated either, so they started with a cytotec tablet smashed into some gel. This caused her contractions and pain to increase but no dilation. They gave her some pain relief when they could, but she was working all day. She had a friend and a family member there, and her previous labors had been quick, but this was early (36 wks) and her body wasn't ready. After 8 hours, they started the pitocin drip, and it got pretty tough. I was glad to be there, glad to pray with her, glad to help her with contractions and hold her hand when they checked her.

Eventually the family member left, and the friend and I were still there. Her contractions were still strong and hard and she still wasn't progressing. Around midnight or 1 (all fuzzy now) the baby's heart tones began dropping between contractions. I knew from my experiences with The Show and Dimples that we were in trouble, especially since she wasn't progressing at all. So we prayed again, and I sent out a prayer request on facebook. 15 minutes later, because they were worried, they checked her and she was at 2-3 centimeters. Still praying, heart tones still dropping. 15 minutes later, 4-5 centimeters. Prayer, heart tones, 15 minutes, 7, rinse, repeat, 9-10! Thank You Jesus! My girl was ready to push.

45 minutes earlier she had had another dose of pain meds. Between that and the problems with the heart tones, we were told that our baby (which still in my mind was just her baby - none of this was for us yet) was probably going to need some help. She did. She was born with an apgar score of 1, and I'm not sure what that point was for. She wasn't breathing or moving and didn't look good.

Either because I knew God would take care of her and that she was in good hands and because they told us she would have trouble, or because my mind was just on mom at this point - I wasn't afraid. Not for the baby.

Mom, I was worried about. She was bleeding an awful lot and they were repeatedly doing painful things to try to get it to stop. I knew how much it hurt, and I hated it. And they wouldn't stop, couldn't stop, because she needed them to get the bleeding to stop.

Headache, blood pressure still high, platelets still low, our mom was in bad shape. Finally a doctor who seemed to have more authority came in and talked to us, to her. (The medical staff did not know what to do with me, by the way.) They were going to give her general anesthesia and do an emergency D & C. (good.) There was a possibility that she would need transfusions. (okay.) There was a possibility that she would lose her uterus. (not acceptable, not to me. she was okay with it, but i was not - not if she was placing this baby, please no.) We prayed, again, and they took her.

Back on facebook, please pray. Prayer warriors, hundreds of miles away, putzing on facebook in the middle of the night, called to arms. Praying, praying they said.

We waited, her friend and I, for a long time. We talked about lots of things. She was less nervous than I. And it seemed like forever, but God was in that too. This was a friend who was not happy about the adoption. Actually she was pretty angry. And having hours of building relationship with me may have helped some, for her, for mom.

They eventually came and told us she was okay, was given blood and platelets, but still had her uterus. Thanks again Jesus.

From that point on for a couple days, I felt like a new father, taking care of my baby in the NICU, who was on oxygen, feeding tube, eventually taking bottles but without much passion, trying to gain weight; and my baby's mom, in the ICU, no food yet, blood pressure still high, headaches and blurred vision, so that she couldn't even see the pictures I brought her of the baby. My heart was torn between two floors. Between visiting hours and pregnancy and loving two humans that I barely knew, I was exhausted and emotional.

I prayed. I prayed as I walked to the Ronald McDonald house. I prayed while I gave my baby girl bottles (although she didn't feel like my baby yet). I prayed on the elevator between floors.

Our birthmom hadn't signed yet, couldn't sign because she was still on meds. And I told her, on multiple occasions, "If you decide not to place her, it's okay. I'm glad we came, glad to be with you, glad to be here. It's okay." I always treated it like it was a decision yet to be made. I never wanted her to feel like it was too late to change her mind, so I just spoke as if she hadn't made it up yet.

But she told me again and again that she hadn't changed her mind, that she was going to do what was right. She wasn't deciding because of herself, but because of what was right for the baby. And she signed the papers.

It was one of the saddest days of my life. I knew I should be happy on some level. I wasn't. I wept. I cried through dinner. I went to see the baby and ran into mom and the friend who was not happy, so I went somewhere else and wrote in the baby book we had summoned the courage to buy earlier, and prayed, and cried.

It reminded me of Jesus, "And can it be that I should gain . . . " And it seemed horribly wrong. And I felt like I was stealing.

Eventually birth mom was released from the hospital. We didn't get to say goodbye. She was still sick, and unable to come back. After a couple more days we drove away, the five of us. It still felt mostly like we were gaining at someone else's loss.

I still struggle with that. I have to be reminded fairly often that the choice was hers, before she knew anything about us, to place her child, and that she chose us for her child. That she felt like being adopted by us was the right thing for her baby, that she saw it as the right thing to do.

I hope she still feels that way, or at least remember that she felt that way. I hope she remembers that I told her it was okay to change her mind. I hope she remembers that she was and is important to us.

We wanted to give relief to the widow and the orphan, the mom and the baby. The baby is happy. She is fine. She will be well. She will be okay.

But the mom is out of our reach, mostly. Our ability to bless her, to love her is limited to prayer, pictures, texts and facebook communication. How much to reach out to her is a mystery to me. I am not sure all her fb friends know about her decision, and, well, my profile pic is me and the baby.

My heart is for our birthmom. I pray for her. I want what's best for her. She is in my heart forever. I think it never occurred to me that she would perceive us as hurting her so we could have the blessing of her baby. I believed and hoped it would give her relief to know that her baby was in a good place.

I hope that's true. I know she will have bad days. I know I am not to blame for her bad days. But I hope, and I do pray, for joy, for freedom, for hope, for peace, for a good healthy future for this heroic, beautiful, strong woman who somehow allowed us to be part of her life for a moment, and to have part of her heart for a lifetime.

A year ago today

A year ago today I was different than I am now.

I thought adoption was something I could not do, or would at least have to wait until my children were older.

I thought perhaps 10 children was all I would have.

I did not know how powerfully God could speak through my children.

I was unaware of the blessing that Down syndrome can be.

I did not know what amazing young men and women my older children would be today.

I would not have believed that today I would be holding a beautiful baby girl with long black eyelashes, warm brown skin and curly black hair, or that she would have such an amazing smile and would laugh when she sees me.

I did not know I'd spend 12 life changing days 12 hours away getting to know other people in another world, or how much I'd miss my people back home to the point that my heart would almost break.

I didn't know that my older children would blossom in the areas of music and prayer as they participate in their worship training set.

I didn't know the next generation of children in my life would grow up so much and take on leadership qualities of their own.

I have learned much about baby formula, premature baby, nicu time, nursing, adoption, empathy and loving than I ever thought there was to know.

I have developed some marvelous new friendships in the last year, and have also deepened friendships that I've had for years.

In the last year I have learned some about heartache and betrayal, some about depression and weakness, some about failure and trudging.

I am also more convinced than I was a year ago today that God is gracious, holy, mighty, kind, and ever present in my heart.

It has happened!

It's a little thing, not logical, may not mean anything to anyone else, but something I was worried (worried is a huge over statement - I just wondered and hoped and didn't know) about. A thing has happened with my adopted daughter that is true of my biologicals. I shall attempt to describe.

When I look at my eldest and my seventh, I can get lost in their freckles. I simply love the varying sizes and shapes of golden brown flecks on their noses, faces, and on my daughter's lovely lips. I love my little one's curls on the back of her neck, love to play with them and touch them. I derive great pleasure from kissing my oldest son's cheek and having his moon-worthy dimple cave in under my lips. My 3rd daughter doesn't have one dimple, she has six or seven! I love my children's smiles, the way they dance, the sound of their laughter, the different colors of their eyes, grayish blueish green (like the sea after a storm, said Buttercup), or chocolatey brown, or hazel like mine, or blue in a way that makes me want to go swimming. I love to look at them and explore their features, awake or asleep, at work or play. I love my children.

Today, sitting in my room, near the cradle made for my husband by his grandfather before he was born, I sat and watched my newest daughter, the one born from someone else's womb. And this is what I was thinking. My baby girl has THE MOST BEAUTIFUL SKIN - I could just sit and enjoy the color of it for hours and days. Beautiful beyond words that I know. I'm trying to quantify the tone, what does it remind me of? There is no food that comes close. Probably there is a specific rich wood that might somehow begin to portray, I don't know. The beauty of it is a wonder and a joy to me. I LOVE to look at her.

I didn't know if the kooky way I feel about all the biologicals comes from finding myself or my husband in them, if it is some narcissistic instinct, or if it is just the familiarity, they are mine. It isn't. It is just the joy of a mother, marveling at the beauty of God's creation. Certainly I marvel also that He made That in Me. But I am also in awe that He made this lovely, lovely darling baby with the most beautiful skin, deep unfathomable eyes, ringlets of soft black hair, tiny long fingers and an exceptionally cute brown bottom, He made her and somehow out of the riches of His grace and mercy, saw fit to place her in my care, in my arms, at my breast, in my heart.

And that is delightful too.

Oh please, God, bless her birthmom today. Give her strength, heal her heart and body, open doors, give her favor and wisdom, give her big dreams, a hope and a future. Mostly, Lord, I pray that she would know You, Your comfort, Your strength, Your friendship, Your presence, Your forgiveness and salvation. Amen.

Are you my mother?

It was one of my favorite books to have read to me as a child, and is a favorite to read to my children. And it is how I wonder if my recently adopted daughter feels when she looks at me. I know it isn't. She isn't thinking, "who are you?" She is still limited to thinking, "this feels good," or "this feels bad". She doesn't even know the name of what feels good or bad. If she could speak, she isn't self aware enough to say whether it is a messy diaper, empty belly, gas bubble or exhaustion that is causing the "bad" feeling.
I guess it is possible that she connects my voice, smell, feel to "feels good" or to "the end of feels bad". I think she is comforted by me the way newborns are comforted by their mamas.
She doesn't know she's in the wrong (right) family. She has no idea that she is the lone black child being raised by a pack of wild caucasians. She doesn't know she's beautiful, doesn't know that she has an umbilical hernia, doesn't know she's constipated, doesn't know she has a dry scalp. She doesn't know that I don't know what I'm doing, even though she's the 11th child we've brought home.
But I know. And I feel a little inadequate.
Some adoption situations seem easier for the mind to fully embrace that this child belongs to the new parents. A child from an orphanage, for example, or a child who was likely to be aborted. But my little one was loved, and desired, if not to raise, at least to live. And there were people in her world who wanted her. Perhaps her birth-father, if encouraged, would have wanted to keep her with him. My situation is not as easy as a baby who has no one.
What I have is that her birth mom believed that our home was the very best place for her to be, superceding culture, race, geography, faith, socioeconomic status, and, ok - I'll say it, common sense. She believed that no matter how it felt or affected her, that putting this baby girl with us was the very best thing for baby girl.
She had a miserable nasty crappy time. Magnesium sulfate for 5 or so days, no food, transfusions, no epidural, emergency D & C afterward, ICU, headaches, nausea, vomiting, blurred vision, not to mention frustration, anger and lack of understanding from her "support" network as they processed her decision with difficulty. And after all the horrible week she spent in the hospital, her reward was to go home with empty arms and a necklace she said was too special to wear.
And now I'm here with her incredibly beautiful darling baby girl, feeling inadequate, trying to figure out which formula to give her, and how to deal with the rash she has on her face and if it is normal baby stuff or if I'm showing my 'caucasian' ignorance of the needs of the skin of persons with African ancestry.

I love this baby. I love her mother. I love that Jesus gave her to me. After all she went through, our birth mom still chose us, chose adoption. But I'm horribly aware that all of who I am and can be as a mom, all of who we are and can be as a family, even all of who my wonderful husband is and can be, it's not enough. We can't bridge the gap between what is and what ought to have been. Her birth father and birth mother, loving her, loving each other, caring for her, bringing her up in her own family and world. We cannot heal, cannot forgive on her behalf, cannot fill the hole left.
We can overwhelm her with love and kisses and with the glory of us, but that cannot be enough. We cannot fill in the cultural blanks (that is a whole. nother. blog.), cannot heal the racial tension in our land that she will face someday.

What we can do, is show her at every opportunity, good and bad, that she has the option of giving it all, pain, confusion, whatever, to a perfect Savior-Redeemer-Healer. We can lead her to the cross. Over and over and over.

And I suppose that is where my adequacy, legitimacy, peace lies. I want to somehow reach across the nation and heal her mom, her dad, her mom's friends and family. I want to make it all better for them, but how can I, when I have the sweet spot, and they have a hole where she should have been?

This yoke is not mine. Even my daughter's happiness is not my responsibility. It is between her and the Lord. What is my job? Do justly, love mercy, walk humbly with my God. Pray without ceasing. In everything give thanks.

Mary pondered these things

Been doing a lot of pondering lately, a lot of thinking, a lot of nodding off.

I am enjoying my lovely girl, well, all my lovely girls and all my boys. My oldest son's voice is changing. We watched Toy Story 3 last night and I cried at the thought of him growing up. On the other end of things, #5 son, whom we call The Show, put some poop in the potty today, finally. I gave him prune juice, which today was a magic feather, and tomorrow will probably mean a mess to clean up. But maybe not. He went for it today.

My youngest sister had a baby this week. Looking forward to introducing his brown skinned cousin to him.

I am finally feeling the baby in my tummy move. My placenta is typically out front, so I don't feel the child until he/she is bigger than that placenta. But I'm there finally. I'm tired. Reflux has struck - I won't be going to bed without my zantac again, let me tell you.

With our little bottle fed girl, Daddy is playing a much bigger role, which works with my pregnancy, if you know what I mean. He has become the expert. If she is fussing or sputtering, he says, "here, give her to me". It is sweet.

And all the while, I am thinking about the new one and who he or she is going to be. The end of February is a very long way away.

Giving up . . .

on the supplementary nursing system. It has been a great thing. I nursed my adopted daughter. I bonded with her. And if I were not 4 whole months away from being physically able to really produce milk, and if my pregnancy were not in conflict with my ability to make milk, or if she was consistently taking in all she needs in a relatively appropriate amount of time, I would keep it up.

But the situation is that I am only 5 months pregnant, she doesn't eat well or fast with it, and I need to sleep. Getting up 2 or 3 times at night is one thing. Getting up for an hour each time is something else, and it doesn't have to be that way. She can drink a bottle in 10-15 minutes.

My pregnant belly is getting bigger in front of me, and wondering about the person growing in it is growing in my mind. I've begun that pregnancy obsessiveness. It is so fun, to hold my sweet girl and just enjoy her and at the same time wonder who her brother/sister will be.

I know for certain that God has a very specific plan in the timing and details of this whole adventure. I don't have the full picture of His reasons or His ways, but I am trusting His goodness.

true confessions of a crazed hormonal maniac

The Amazing Super Mom is chilling out.

Here's why:

From what I understand, baby girl eating her quota is something she will just do, when she is ready. It will happen. Like so many other things, potty training, labor, reading, riding a bicycle, it will happen. I can work with her, but I also need to trust what the docs and nurses are saying and not blow a small gasket every time she doesn't finish a bottle.

I have no real idea what a gasket is or what it takes to blow one or what the consequences would be if you did in fact blow yours. Do we all have gaskets? Are they easily replaced?

My other children are fine. Even the littles will be okay. I am only one part, albeit a significant part, of my children's safety zone. They are not missing me all the time. The youngest misses me when she wakes up. (My friend said she's in her own personal groundhog day.). The Show misses me when he's sleepy. But most of their world is in tact.

Time and everything related to it is within the realm of the King's authority. I can trust Him. He got us down here at the right time, He will get us home when we need to be there.

I think the scariest part of adopting is the question, 'will she change her mind?'. She didn't. She is hurting now, but was resolute throughout the process. Heck, if she wasn't grieving, we'd worry about her a whole lot more. There's a word for that kind of strength: denial. Doesn't make it easier. Does make it less scarier.

I made me a whole milliliter of breast milk. Yippee!

It is starting to feel like that little baby girl in the NICU is mine. One nurse, who I'll call Tammy, cuz that's her name, treats me like the mom (as opposed to the illegitimate sneak), and I practiced introducing her to a couple of the nurses as "my daughter".

And I think, but could be wrong, but I think the baby in my belly kicked me, and that is a miracle that always reinforces my conviction that God can do anything. He can make something from nothing. He hung the stars and spread out the heavens like a curtain. He is weaving a human in my unseen places. He is worthy of my trust.

Therefore I will not fear.

Surprises

When I had my first baby, I was completely unprepared for the way that I loved her. Immediately, irrevocably, unconditionally, love. Here was this teeny tiny person whom I'd never met, the nurses kept calling her by the name I gave her, and calling me "Mom". She was a complete stranger. She did very little, nursed, cried, pooped, peed, spit, slept. That's pretty much it. But I was immediately smitten with the deepest, strongest, most pure love I had ever experienced.

As I prepared for the birth of my second born, I was concerned (I'm not kidding), knowing how much I loved my first, how could I love the second less. But I didn't think it was possible to love that way again, and at the same time.

Then my son was born and I was reminded of the story How the Grinch Stole Christmas, when "the Grinch's heart grew 3 sizes that day" - my heart grew and I found I was capable of loving 2 humans in that amazing way.

Of course now, having grown so many times, my heart fills my entire rib cage. And I have anticipated that when I meet my baby girl, currently residing in her birthmom's tummy in Florida, I will also fall completely in love with her. We have prayed for her, longed for her, prepared for her, gone through all kinds of weird adoptive self-examining form-filling out for her - I will love her.

The surprise for me is how I feel about her mother. I have talked to this woman twice now, for a total of maybe 20 minutes. I've been praying for her and others for months, and praying just for her for a couple weeks. I've been nervous about talking to her, I've thought about what it would be like, I've tried to imagine how she feels.

But I didn't know I would love her. I just want to hug her. I can't wait to meet her. She is a treasure too. I knew this, that the mother is as precious as the baby, that Jesus died for her, that He loves her, that she is important to Him. But I have, in the last couple days, experienced how much He must love her, and I'm overwhelmed with love also. I had no idea.