Thursday, May 11, 2017

One year down, and our first training class

A year ago today, Pat and I learned that we could not have babies that were biologically both of ours. After we got the call telling us this - definitively, for 100% sure - Pat worked from home, because he is Pat, and I cried on the couch, quietly, trying not to let him hear me.

Then I took a nap. (as one does.)

Then I started my research.

As I mentioned, I landed pretty quickly on the idea of foster-to-adopt. When I thought of our kids, I'd always theorized whether my genes would beat out all of Pat's; with my darker hair and darker eyes. I looked forward to seeing our family resemblances in the kids, figuring out who had whose eyes and nose and singing voice and athletic talent or lack thereof.

But if the kiddos weren't going to be biologically both of ours... I thought adoption would be our next best plan.

By the end of May, I can remember filling in my father-in-law on what I'd learned about adoption and sending him links to articles online. I checked out books from the library and started looking at what local agencies required.

Pat was a little slower; he was leaning toward private adoption.

In August, we attended an orientation for our county's foster care, and Pat agreed: Foster-to-adopt would be our path. About a week later, I signed us up for our Core Training class, months in advance because of Pat's work schedule.

There has been a lot of internal reckoning for me since we landed on this path. There are heartaches already. Our babies will not be mini Patricks running around, as I'd once imagined. They won't have my dad's eyes, as I do, or my mom's everything else, as I do. They will be named by their birth families, and Pat and I will honor those names as gifts from the ones who also gave them their lives. And there may be babies who are ours only for a short time, and then go back to their families of origin.

But we will be their mom and dad, while we have them, for as long as we have them.

Last week, we started our foster care certification classes - Core Training. There was some computer trouble - the computer ate our initial registration, and we didn't get updates we should have. We showed up in the wrong city and a week into the class (as they had changed the dates and the location). We'll do Weeks 2-8 then do Week 1 with the next group. Just more bumps in the road.

Still, it feels good to be taking steps toward finding our family. We are finally doing something, on the path, making it happen.

More to come, when there's more to say. Love to all.


1 comment:

  1. Thanks for sharing! I'm so glad you guys have started. It's a scary long crazy journey but I am so grateful. Funny. Tonight, with my kids, I saw one of the caseworkers who so nonchalantly took our previous placement from us. It wasn't that it didn't need to happen and/or that it wasn't time bc it did and it was. But it was the way she was so flippant and cheerful as she watched us give up the infant we had cared for for 3 months. And I thought about where we are now. And I wondered if she wondered who these kids were with me and if they were mine or what had become of us. And I was so proud. I was proud to parade my children in front of her to show her how much I craved being a mom and how much I loved and was human. It also allowed me to reflect proudly on the vicious email I sent her after that horrible experience that I have no regrets on! But I digress.

    I have realized that, although I am incredibly grateful, my biggest loss in this process is that my children will not have my tan skin, my husband's adorably crooked smile and/or my dad's infernal oily skin. I won't have medical information if my children become sick and the doctors need background. And it does give me pangs of regret and inadequacy. Like I couldn't give to them something they needed. Or like they will always crave their own blood or feel like they don't truly belong. And I grieve this. I fear this. It saddens and terrifies me. I get it. If you ever are in town (you're not, right?) I'd love to grab a cup of coffee and just talk. And relate and grieve and laugh and share. I think we'd have a lot of things to talk about! Good--incredibly good luck to you both! I hope with all of my heart you obtain your family.