Impatiently Waiting

It's Monday. No phone calls this weekend. Well, no calls from CHOR or the county. The foster mom for the baby's older sisters did call. She didn't know I was getting the baby, so she was calling to let me know he was born. Yup, it's a boy! Anyway, the foster mom told me about her meeting with the grandmother, who lives about an hour away and how the grandmother was glad her granddaughters were being taken care of because she could not do it, she could not care for them. Apparently, the children's mother was adopted when she was Primero's age, but she has some mental health issues. The other foster mother was happy to hear I will be getting the baby and she was still willing to provide child care when I go back to work. She also reiterated her request for me to take the little girl for the weekend of the fourth. For the record, that's a teen, a toddler, and an infant for three days and four nights. Thank goodness I won't be working!

So, I am feeling nervous as I type this. I've sat around and waited for a baby before that I never got. The longer I wait, the more nervous I get. And a little irritated too. I took off of work, I cancelled my weekend trip and for what? To sit here an wait? Ugh! I have the house set up - the bassinet is in my room all ready for the baby, the baby clothing is washed and stashed in a plastic set of drawers I procured from the basement, the car seat is strapped in the car, the diaper bag packed, bottles washed and sanitized - everything is ready. But, I've been here before too. Even Primero mentioned how frustrating it is to dig everything out of the basement, get it set up, and then have to put it away again after the baby leaves. I told him this is the fourth time I'm doing this, so I totally understand. Trust me, I do. As every moment ticks past I worry more and more that "it" won't happen, they've changed their mind, I'm not getting the baby. Not hearing a thing, not knowing anything, it's maddening. I am going to wait until noon and then contact CHOR to see what they know. Because knowing is half the battle...... 

Total Bliss

I'm supposed to be in Virginia with my mom, aunt, and sister. We had been planning for a girls weekend for several months now. But, the phone call I got Friday changed my plans. Now, I am preparing for a baby! Yes, a newborn. Born sometime on Friday. I will be getting a call to let me know when (Sunday or Monday) I am supposed to pick up the baby. He/she (I'm not sure if the baby is a boy or a girl) is the sibling to the girl I've had in respite and this, coupled with the fact that I will be using the other foster family as my daycare, is why the county chose me. Their only request was for me to take the next two weeks off of work. More FMLA for me. I took care of everything on Friday and I did two loads of baby clothes. I'm cleaning the house and getting everything in order. I am staying remarkably calm about all of this. Of course I am excited but I am also terrified - I've been here before! So, I am preparing but also aware that nothing is over until the fat lady sings.

On a few occasions when I have told people my news, they ask me what will happen to Primero. I was perplexed by this question. If I had one biological child and am about to have another, no one assumes I would get rid of the first child to have the second. Why would anything happen to Primero just because I'm getting a baby? Primero is my son. He will become a big brother (again), if I get the opportunity to adopt this baby.

So, that's the news! I will try to stay up-to-date on how things are going with a teenager and a newborn in my home! Total bliss!!!

Pushing Things Along

It seems like the county and CHOR are pushing things along for Primero’s adoption and I am glad. I worried that the process would take a long time and that we might feel discouraged by the length of time we would have to wait. But, it seems like they are trying to get Primero’s child profile completed before the next court date in September and it seems like perhaps we could be getting an adoption court date then or maybe even before then? I’m only speculating because of the language the case worker used, she didn’t specifically say these things I (perhaps erroneously) inferred them. I’m glad that things aren’t moving at the snail pace I am accustomed to because I think now that the decisions have been made, it’s only cruel to keep Primero and I in limbo before completing the process. Primero seems to think he will be adopted before his birthday in the beginning of November. With the next court date set a week before my birthday, we joked about the adoption happening on my birthday and that I would get a son as a birthday present. I said it would hands down be the very best birthday present ever! Let’s keep our fingers crossed!

 

We had the little girl in respite care again last weekend. She does very well with us, other than having issues with wetting herself (as it was explained to me, many times young children in foster care feel helpless and have no control over what is happening in their lives so they control the only things they can – toileting and eating) now that she is more familiar with us. Primero is still leery of her, declaring he hates her (insert eye-roll here). We did have an issue at church. I tried to take her upstairs for the children’s church and she had such a fit I think it bordered on a panic attack. She just did not want me to leave her. When I did try to walk away, she broken down the child gate and ran to me, latching onto my leg ferociously. She was so upset she was shaking and crying so hard she could hardly breathe. I picked her up and she bear-hugged me so hard I got a stiff neck from it. I calmed her down and took her to the bathroom to wash off her face that was slimy with tears and snot. Then I took her downstairs with me. Apparently, this child is dealing with some pretty intense feelings of abandonment and I refuse to add to that just to satiate the rules of small children being upstairs for church. She sat quietly (well, quiet for a toddler) during church after clinging to my neck for a full ten minutes. It’s so sad to see such brokenness in such little children. I felt badly for trying as hard as I did to get her to stay in the children’s room. She had been telling me all morning she didn’t want to go upstairs, that she was afraid I would leave her. I guess I should have listened…..

 

Primero and I had our first fight last Friday. And, as usually is the case, it was over something incredibly stupid. Primero stopped talking to me and began cleaning up his things (I thought he was packing). I sobbed while he was in the shower and then went to bed where he came to find me and apologize. I told him there was nothing he could do to make me stop loving him, that was the definition of unconditional love, and that even if I get angry with him it doesn’t mean I will stop communicating with him or shut him out (I know he had told me story of his mother not talking to him for several weeks after they had a fight – this is torture to me!). We kissed and made up and life goes on. I think for a hot minute he thought it was over because I got mad. Still, I would describe our situation as bliss compared to the horror stories you hear about teenagers (just in general, not just teens in foster care). Heck, compared to the horror stories from me and my siblings teen years! My sweet Primero is (thank God!) a total cake walk compared to my brother when he was a teenager. Ok, to be fair my brother was still human when he was Primero’s age. It was about a year after that when he turned into an alien. Oh dear God, don’t let that happen to Primero!

 

I’ve experienced another small issue that is bugging me. In meeting with the general public for my job and in working with the Latino population, who’s culture is more forthright in asking personal questions, I have changed my answer to the “do you have any kids?” question from a shrug and sigh, “no” to a big beaming smile, “Yes!” And, since there are pictures on my desk of me and Primero, people naturally assume he is my son (although I had one person ask me if he was my brother!). Without fail, when his age is revealed either in pictures or follow up questions, the response is “but you’re so young!” And I am! So, I find myself reassuring them (me) that he is adopted and so I didn’t have a baby when I was a teenager. But, I don’t want to always be telling people he is adopted. I just want to acknowledge him as my son. We don’t really look anything alike – he’s tall and lanky and I’m short and fat. I have green eyes, his are brown. Although, I suppose if Flaco and I ever had kids, Primero could resemble Flaco – their hair is very similar in texture but Primero’s natural hair color (he had me bleach some of it) is darker than Flaco’s. No one in my family has brown eyes, we are all blue/green or gray eyed. But, I digress. I need to practice not caring if people think I was a young mother. Yes, it does bother me because, well not only was I not a pregnant teenager, but I’m not able to have children at all, so there’s that. But, I also made a decision to abstain until I was older, so yeah it bugs me a bit. However, I need to nip this in the bud because I don’t want to respond this way in front of Primero. It doesn’t matter what other people think, those who matter already know the score and those who are too curious for their own good, well I guess they will just have to walk away wondering. So, yes I have a son and yes I am young, thank you very much!   

 

She's Back

Mom’s back. And for some reason this has my insides quivering in dismay. I guess I had gotten used to her being absent and unreachable, but now she is back. We got notification of her release yesterday afternoon and this afternoon Primero spoke with her via Facebook and has plans to chat over oovo. And this makes me feel sick to my stomach for some reason. I guess it’s fear, not that her being back in the picture changes anything in terms of Primero’s adoption goal. And we are bonded and I’m 99% (ok, more like 80%) secure that our bond could withstand nearly any chaos she might involve us in. But…. She’s back. She’s in our lives again. She’s the “other” woman, the one who came first. This is one of those situations where both sides claim the other side has the advantage – she’s biological mom, the one who gave birth and was (mostly) there for all the developmental mile stones in his life. And then there is me. I’m new. I just stepped into his life the beginning of January and I’m only starting to feel like his mom. I feel like sobbing and vomiting at the same time. She is back and I have to put my game face back on. Just this morning he called me “Mom” via text. Oddly, it is only via text messages that he calls me Mom. Generally, he still calls her his mom. Me, he calls by my nickname, the one I only let those close to me use. It’s stupid, it’s a very dumb thing to get upset over. Her return changes nothing and yet I’m in turmoil. I got used to having her being a memory and not a force to reckon with. And here she is again. I know he will always love her and she will always be his biological mother. I understand that. Heck, I even embrace that. I know it is important, for the child, that the grown-ups get along and work together in the best interest of the child. It makes everything better. But, I’m ready to be Mom now. Capital “M.” It’s not something that can (nor should it be) forced; he has to come to it on his own. I felt like we were nearly there – then she came back and now I think we’ve back-tracked a little. How hard must it be for a child to feel like their loyalties are split? Good thing I have this blog so I can reveal my insecurities to everyone but Primero. He doesn’t need to deal with my issues as well as his own. I wonder if all adoptive mothers feel this way and I wonder if it goes away eventually? I wonder if it is any easier for the adoptive mothers of infants versus older children who can voice their confusion? I know it’s just my insecurity and all the baggage from what has happened in my quest to become a mother. I know that, but still I find myself getting worked up over it. Will my place in his life always feel tenuous? It’s one of the downfalls in adopting a teenager. It goes hand-in-hand with the feeling that our time is so limited. She had umpteen years and I get only a handful. Will she try to pull him away or will she let our world evolve as it has been? Does she know what she missed at court last month? I know Primero told her on Mother’s Day that he wanted to be adopted, but to have it made real in court is another thing. He said last night he wants to see her and I told him she needs to get in touch with CHOR to make that happen. She told him she’s been clean for 6 weeks now and I know that makes him happy but I also know that it’s much harder to stay clean when you are free to make your own choices. I know he wants to believe her, to believe she’s going to get it together “this time,” but it’s so, so, so hard to watch him get his hopes up. I hold my breath and hope and pray she does make it work this time. But, I know so little of the story and what I do know leaves me with such little hope. I don’t want to see her fail, truly I don’t. But, for the first time since the first foster baby, I have let myself fully fall in love with a child. Once I was asked to be his permanent legal guardian and he asked me to adopt him, I opened the flood gates. At first, the feelings only trickled in because fear and self-preservation are so powerful they could still hold it all back. But, when he got sick, the walls came tumbling down and now the feelings I have are on full force. Honestly, if something were to happen and Primero were to leave me or be taken from me, I don’t think I could come back from it. It would end me. All those pent up emotions that I have been saving and holding to shower upon my child were released when I realized he was mine. It would drain the life force from me if he were gone. I would never, ever discourage him from communicating with his biological mother, rather I always encourage him. When he says disparaging things about his mother, I admonish him and put in a good word on her behalf. But, he is mine now. The legal wheels have been set in motion but more importantly, I have left my guard down. I don’t hold my breathe when I say he is my son, I say it boldly, loudly. I love with abandon and so wholly that it does truly hurt at times. He is my son. My sweet boy. I’m sorry, but she can’t have him back. I pray for the grace and mercy to endure her return and for wisdom and clarity to continue forward. May I always be mindful that my greatest blessing is her greatest loss.   

Resident of the Year

Yesterday was a good day. After work I picked Primero up at camp and we went home for a hot minute (literally, it was crazy hot out yesterday - 94°) then went to the end of school year banquet at CHOR. Before we went there, I had a conversation with the mother of a friend of Primero’s because he was invited to an end of school year anime party on Wednesday (today). The friends mother agreed to pick Primero up at camp and keep him until I could pick him up after work. Primero wanted me to just let him go without ok-ing it with his case worker. Nope, sorry I can’t do that. As much as I wanted him to go, I didn’t want to jeopardize anything with the county by giving permission that is not mine to give. Call me an over-cautious anal Annie if you will, but I don’t think I could handle it if I did something wrong and the county took Primero from me…..  At the CHOR banquet we spoke to his case worker and, while I fully expected to have to strong arm her into agreeing, she easily gave the go-ahead and Primero happily text his friend the address of his camp, confirming his attendance at her party. When I expressed surprise at the ease with which the case worker agreed to the arrangements, she said, “Things are different now. The county isn’t as strict now that the paperwork is in.” I’m guessing she means the PLC/agreement to adopt paperwork. It’s both nice and somewhat strange to see the county/CHOR backing out of our lives.

 

At the banquet all the children were recognized for one reason or another – academic success, personal success, or extra-curricular activities. The case workers also each nominate a child for resident of the year. Much to his surprise, Primero was nominated by his case worker and then voted as the Resident of the Year. His case worker wrote a lovely blurb about why she nominated him which they put in a frame and gave to him. This is what it says: 

 

"I am nominating Primero for Resident of the Year.

 

He came into placement after going through many unpleasant experiences in his young life. Despite these, he has been strong enough to face them with a big contagious smile on his face. He has proven to be a resilient young man who captivates others with his colorful personality and excitement about his favorite things in life. Primero is very talented and artistic; he loves to sing and make amazing drawings. He is very sweet, easy to love and caring towards the people he loves. He stands up for himself and knows he deserves the best as he give his all to those whom he cares about. Although he has had some academic struggles, Primero has come to the realization that school is important and is learning the significance of being academically successful in order to achieve his future goals. He had applied himself at school and is giving his best effort by completing school assignments, joining the track team and other extracurricular activities.

 

Fate and good grace eventually paired him with the most amazing foster parent he could have...someone who gets him, understands him and truly loves him. He is on a journey to find himself and with the help of his soon to be adoptive parent he will surely get there." 

 

 As you can imagine, it had me teary eyed as the case worker read this before the group. He also got a plaque and a $100 Visa gift card. So, it was quite a successful night for him! And I couldn’t be prouder. I know he has a bright future and I feel like now he can actually concentrate on achieving his best, rather than worry about his home life.

 

For me, the day was a good day because of how happy Primero was but also because I received good news too – the two potential infant referrals. Even though I don’t want to dwell on it (who am I kidding?!) and the end results could be mean disappointing heart-break, it makes me happy to at least have something brewing. And it’s not like before. Even if the county finds someone else for both babies, I still have Primero and that means the world to me. Still, it’s hard to not think about how wonderful it would be to “have it all” – ok, not quite all unless my Prince Charming comes riding into the picture – but my life would feel complete with my son Primero and a brand new baby brother or sister. It would be absolute perfection in my book! Think good vibes, happy baby thoughts!

 

Of course, I am struck by the juxtaposition in this situation – my happiness is dependent on someone else’s tragedy. I joyfully receive what someone else will painfully lose. I am fully cognizant of this give and take and sometimes I feel guilty for being party to the whole debacle, but life is full of good and bad. I never asked to have fertility problems, it was a genetic defect dumped onto my lap. I am not asking for these mothers to feel the razor-sharp pain of losing their brand new baby to the system, but if they are deemed unable to provide for these precious little babies I will gladly take on that role. Despite the pain of the biological mothers, my joy would know no bounds if I were chosen to be the foster mother for one of these little treasures. Oh these babies are going to consume my thoughts until I hear of their fates!

Summer of Possibilities

School is over and summer vacation has begun. I enrolled Primero in a summer camp for the arts and he was reluctant to attend, but when I picked him up yesterday afternoon after work, he was all a-twitter about the new friends he made. As I suspected, he enjoys the camp and is making new friends. Making friends comes easy to Primero, but I worry they are all just superficial, since he has been unable to hold onto friendships in his childhood because of moving around constantly. Someone he has known for a day is his “bestie.” But, I worry that he will have a hard time making lasting relationships and having friends that are with him through thick and thin. I suppose I worry about too many things, just as any mother would.

 

After talking it over with Primero, I signed up to get notifications from the state and local prison systems when his mother is going in or getting out of jail. I guess it’s the only way we will be able to keep track of her at the present moment, unless CHOR advises us of her whereabouts. Primero has not seen her since before Mother’s Day. We did bump into one of his aunts at Wal-Mart over the weekend and she became very emotional when she saw him. She is dealing with serious health issues and had been hospitalized for quite some time over the winter. She wanted us to come see her at her house. Her daughter, Primero’s cousin, was also there and she kept saying she had goose bumps at seeing how happy Primero was, at how good he looked and she kept thanking me for that, which I found a little awkward. I mean, “you’re welcome” doesn’t sound adequate when you think you are the lucky one in getting to be a mother to such a wonderful kid.

 

Things between me, the Pastora and Primero are still on shaky ground. On Sunday, the Pastora asked the other Sunday school teacher to tell me she wanted Primero to stay with the adult congregation rather than go upstairs with the other kids for Sunday school (as he has been doing since he started going to church with me). It irritated me that Pastora asked someone else to relay this message to me, rather than telling me herself and it also irritated me that she wants to parent my child since apparently, I’m not doing it right. Or at least, that’s my bad attitude about it. I’m sure she means well, but it grates on me. Perhaps it wouldn’t if she hadn’t tried to talk me out of adopting him because he’s effeminate. [I found this definition on Wikipedia which describes exactly why this interchange with Pastora bugs me so much - Since the 18th century, the civic dimension of gender identity has been eclipsed by the sexual dimension of gender identity, and today effeminacy has often been considered a vice, indicative of other negative character traits and often involving a pejorative insinuation of homosexual tendencies in men. When you read it like that, it doesn’t sound very nice does it?] I don’t want to make this into a thing that becomes a wedge between us, but she has to understand what she has said was hurtful, especially coming from an authority figure. I know she wants me to be harder on him, to make him into the perfect teenager like the 4 she raised. But, it’s different. We are different, our situation is different and therefore her tactics with Primero cannot be the same as with her own children (who are all grown now, I think her youngest is a few years younger than me). He hasn’t been my son for 14 years, he’s been with me for little more than 14 weeks (at least, from when he officially moved in). It takes time to break bad habits. And I’m sorry if I don’t believe cracking the whip is the best way to work with Primero. He’s a sensitive child and brow beating him into submission just isn’t going to work, it would hurt him more than help him. And I just don’t think he deserves that, in my humble opinion. He’s been through a lot and I think he deserves to just be loved on for a little while before smacking him upside the head with rules and behavior modification. Besides, shouldn’t the job of parenting be left to me as his mother? [Maybe I should suggest Pastora read these articles https://www.childwelfare.gov/pubs/factsheets/parent_teenager/parent_teenager_a.cfm (I am definitely doing the last four things listed in the article) https://www.childwelfare.gov/pubs/factsheets/parent_teenager/parent_teenager_d.cfm  ] I guess it just touches on a nerve for me, since parenting a teen is not something I had planned on doing in my early thirties and because it has taken me so long to finally become a parent, I don’t want anyone else doing it for me. I need to just get over it – let it go and move on. But, I sense that something is building here and I’m afraid it’s only a matter of time before I step on a landmine.

 

Last night after we got home from therapy we mowed the lawn and I pulled weeds in the flower beds. As I was in the bathroom taking my hair down (I had an interview yesterday for a supervisor position and so put my very long hair up in a French twist secured with ample bobby pins), Primero came in to help me. Then he squeezed me in a sideways hug and said, “I love our bond.” It’s moments like those that melt my heart. It’s simple little unexpected times like those that make me realize I’ve done the right thing and that it doesn’t matter what other people think about my decision because I know in my heart of hearts I chose the very best option. Last week during our meeting with the Pastors, Pastora asked why Primero was the only one of his siblings to be in foster care. He answered frankly, “Because I’m the only one she beat.” I gasped when he said it and gave his shoulders a squeeze. It hurt to hear him say it so boldly and so flippantly. He didn’t deserve to be hit, he didn’t deserve to be yanked away from his family and stuffed in a home he hated. I too love our bond and I hope he can feel secure enough in it that his emotional wounds can heal. At dinner last night he made some mention of being a “true orphan” if anything would happen to me. I assured him that my parents wouldn’t let him be tossed back into the system, that they would take him in as their grandson. He seemed mollified by this but he also asked if his aunt could be his godmother and I said we could look into doing some kind of adoption/godparent ceremony.   

 

In other news – I got a phone call this afternoon from CHOR regarding placements for unborn babies. No, not like fetuses, but apparently women about to give birth who will not be able to keep their babies (how sad!). One is for a sister to the little girl I’ve been caring for in respite. She is apparently due in July. And the other is for a baby boy due in August. CHOR is not sure if the county (this is BCCYS) will make a decision before the babies are born or wait until they have arrived. Of course I said “YES!” I would absolutely be willing to take a newborn and reiterated that I was more than prepared both physically with all the necessary equipment and emotionally. We shall see what the county decides, but it’s something to be excited about for sure! Of course, I will drive myself insane thinking about it until I hear news one way or another. And, I forgot to ask if these would be “just” foster care placements or if they are looking for legal risk/adoptive homes. I don’t suppose it would matter much, I would still gladly take in an infant. I know for the little girl I’ve had in respite, the foster mother mentioned that their mother has had numerous other children removed permanently from her, so it could be a possibility that, if they chose me for that baby, I could keep her! And, in my mind that would be so, so, so perfect – an older son and infant daughter, what could be better? Although, I know I would be just as happy with a baby boy as I would be with a baby girl. I need to try very, very hard not to get my hopes up because of course this would be the best thing ever! If it actually comes to fruition. If not, it could be another huge disappointment. I will say a little prayer and let the chips (babies?) fall where they may.

He's Fruity

How is it that when you know in your heart of hearts that you are doing the right thing, that something was divinely orchestrated in your life, someone else can have a completely opposite opinion? Even a damaging opinion. I have not been shy in declaring my relationship with Primero as an act of God – how else do you explain a woman, dead set on adopting a baby, agreeing to adopt a teenage boy? How else can you explain the connection we have, the ease in which we slipped into our roles of mother and son? I say, it was God, He ordained this relationship from the beginning. How do others not see it the same way? Is it because they have not been through what we have been through, that this doesn’t make sense from the outside looking in? I can understand not getting it because it’s kinda kooky at face value, but once I tell the story and weave the tale of how each step was guided by the mighty Hand of God – how do you still view this as trivial?

 

I am speaking of an experience we had last night with my Pastor and his wife, the Pastora. I love them both as my pastors but our meeting last night left me feeling hallow and like every effort I make in this life is simply a worthless endeavor. We met at a local Dunkin’ Donuts to discuss the paperwork for my pastoral training. Of course Primero was along with me and for whatever reason he was having a hard time with the attention not being on himself – I think there is something about the Pastora that makes him feel uncomfortable. Let me explain.

 

We talked about a lot of things and at one point I told them our tale, the story of God bringing us together, of how initially I was called to take Primero in respite in November last year and during that same call I was asked to take him as a foster care placement, if everything went well during respite. I agreed to take him in respite but I was angry that CHOR would ask me to take him as a foster care placement knowing I was dead set on adopting and only interested in legal risk or adoption placements now that my home was empty. I remember seeing Primero at the Christmas party where my friend thought he was a new member of the staff because he was hanging out with his case worker and not his foster family. A few weeks after that I was again called to take this teenage boy in respite and again I agreed. That one weekend evolved into every weekend in January and every weekend in February. The beginning of February I was again asked to take him as a foster care placement and again I said no for the same reason – I’m waiting for my baby. The end of February rolled around and the county had not found a home for him and were left with the option of begging me to take him temporarily to buy them more time or putting him in a shelter. I couldn’t let that happen, not to the child I knew as sweet and sensitive, so I begrudgingly agreed to take him temporarily, just until they could find him a more suitable foster home. He was ecstatic to be staying with me because that is what he wanted all along. I tried to temper his excitement by reminding him it was temporary. I was waiting for a baby, you see. Then came the planning meeting when the CHOR case worker told the county case worker in front of our faces at my kitchen table that should I get a call for a placement, they would want Primero out that same day. Back to the shelter situation or worse, a facility for juvenile delinquents which I knew Primero did not deserve. I searched my heart and I found no peace until I had a plan to keep Primero in my home while still waiting for my elusive baby. The next week CHOR found another foster home for Primero, another temporary situation. But, I had already promised Primero could stay as a foster placement and it was decided this was the better option. A few weeks after that Primero asked me to adopt him because he was frustrated by his mother’s lack of progress and missing so many visits. He mentioned this to his case worker and she timidly asked me via email if I would consider taking legal custody of Primero should things come to that. And it was all decided at the court date last month that the goal for Primero was no longer to go back to his mother but to stay with me and we would move towards adoption. Can you see it in the story? Can you see God’s Hand guiding our path? Despite my reluctance and several “no’s” what was meant to be happened just as it was meant to happen. To me, it’s a breath-taking story of faith and grace and listening to that inner prompting, that quiet whisper from God. But, others don’t see it that way…..

 

Last night Primero went to the bathroom and the Pastor began to ask me a question about the paperwork but the Pastora interrupted him, impatiently putting her hand on his forearm. “You know he has a problem right?” She asked me.

In my mind I’m thinking, “Um, I thought we just fixed his problem?” Instead I said, “What do you mean?”   

“He’s feminine.” I opened my mouth to respond and she declared, “He’s fruity.” Oh, that. “I mean, would you really adopt him at his age? He will be a man in three more years. Just do legal custody. You will have problems with him when he is older, this demon inside of him will come out.” And before I could respond Primero was returning from the bathroom and the topic turned back to the paperwork. And my heart turned to dust.

 

Am I blind? Can I not see the imperfections in this child through the haze of love I feel for him? He’s not perfect, I know that! He’s broken countless pairs of headphones, lost the $50 track shoes I bought him a half size too big so he could wear them again next year, he lost two inhalers, and yesterday lost his house key. He’s irresponsible and glib about losing the things he loses. He barely passed this year in school and was nonchalant in completing his school assignments unless it was related to art or chorus. He stays up too late and curses a lot (he doesn’t use super-foul language in front of me but things like “hell” and “damn”) and he’s a picky eater who loves sweets and junk food above all. His phone is glued to his hand and he watches inappropriate anime cartoons. So, basically, he’s a teenage boy! I know, as my mother has told me, I cannot love away his past or make up for the pain he has had in his life. I know that. And I know that many times love cannot overcome the painful past these kids in foster care have had to endure. But, this kid just wants a mother. He wants someone to mother him, to fuss over him and make sure he’s doing the right things even when he tries to slip under the radar. He wants someone to care about him, to worry about him, to make him clean his room and do his homework. He just wants a mother. And isn’t it funny that I happen to be a woman who wants to have a child to fuss over, to care about, to make sure they are doing the right things, to make them do their homework and clean their room? When people tell me things about Primero all I can think is, “How is it that you cannot see how special he is?” I’ve had experience with an older child in foster care and it was horrendous. The things that happened to her in her young life made her very hard to live with and her behaviors were beyond my ability to parent. I could see the irrevocable damage done to her and, without a drastic change in her heart, I saw no hope in a brighter future. But, that’s not what I see in Primero. His case worker once told me that she thought he had been on his best behavior because he didn’t want to change homes again, but I think it was because he finally saw hope. He finally found someone who didn’t look at him and label him as “fruity” or “effeminate” or “gay” but someone who loves his quirky personality, his big heart, and his openness. He found someone who loves him not for what he is but for who he is and he is beginning to blossom – he managed to pull up all his grades and he will pass this grade in school. He is well-behaved and minds his manners and he is respectful to me. Maybe it is because my expectations for an older child in foster care are for the same hard-headed, disrespectful, set-in-their-ways attitude problems like the girl I had two years ago. But, that’s not Primero. Do I get irritated at the things he has lost? Yes, I do. Does it bug me that he cusses and watches anime laden with sexual innuendos and double entendres? Um, yeah! It bugs me a whole lot. But, I cannot expect to take umpteen years of bad habits and turn them on their ears overnight! I’m working on these things with Primero, but he’s the kind of kid that if you hit him square between the eyes with things it will only serve to make him do that thing more. It takes a subtle approach and coaching to get him to change his ways and this is not the fast way of doing things! If I down right outlaw things, he will just start shutting me out. If I let him tell me about it and express a distaste for it, he slowly loses interest. It’s a learning curve that we are both on together, but thank you for judging me and him and us. I don’t think I published the post I wrote about how judged I felt during our church retreat a few weeks ago and this feeling is growing. The church I attended as a teenager had the same issue and it eventually chased me away. I sure know I’m not perfect and I don’t take kindly to the holier than thou types who constantly remind me of my imperfections. Because, news flash here, they aren’t perfect either! So, Primero is fruity? Should I kick him to the curb because he’s not perfect and not manly enough? Yes, I’m sure that’s what Jesus would have done, He would have denied this child the loving relationship he craves simply because he was effeminate. I’ve talked about this before, I’ve worried about this before and I came to the conclusion that even if Primero does come out and declares he is gay (which he has not done and in fact vehemently denies) it won’t change how I feel about him. I love him regardless. I love him unconditionally. If I couldn’t do that, I have no business being his mother. Here’s another way to look at it – if I don’t take this kid in who will? What will become of him, if he languishes in foster care with no real family ties? Does a teenage boy not need a mother because he will be 18 in another couple of years? I surely still needed my parents when I was 18 and 19 and 20 and even until I was 22 and graduating college. Heck, up until my mom got sick, I would still call my parents with my little issues to get their opinions on things. Doesn’t Primero deserve that? He wasn’t with me for long when he was already telling me I was more like a mother to him than his past foster mother or even his biological mother. What does that tell you? It tells me how starved he was for that mother-son relationship, how he missed that more than he realized and how content and grounded he felt once he finally made that connection.

 

All of this makes my heart hurt. Just like I wanted to scoop him up out of the hospital bed after the awful urologist jammed the catheter in him, I want to wrap him in a big bear hug now and kiss away all the pain. I know I can’t. And he is getting to the age where I have to sheath my claws and let him fight his own battles. But, when I remember watching him sleep, he looked like such a little boy, so sweet and innocent, demanding nothing but love – I want him to forever stay that way. I know the world has already left its mark on him – he has visible scars from the abuse he suffered. But, for the next 3 ½ years I want him to feel nothing but kindness, I want him to fully recover from the nastiness of the world so he can go back out there stronger than ever. Right now he deserves gentleness and acceptance. I can’t stem the tide of world, I cannot hold back the waves of unpleasantness from crashing on our heads – that’s life. But, I can buffer as much as possible, keep at bay the worst and the nastiest. And I will do that, as much as I can. Even if he’s fruity.

Recuperating

It is done. After wearing a catheter for two and a half days, Primero is now officially able to urinate the good old fashioned way. He was simply elated that he didn’t have to literally squeeze the pee out of himself and described his stream as a torpedo. Boys! His surgery yesterday was rather uneventful and by all accounts went off without a hitch. We were at the hospital at 6 am for his pre-op paperwork and preparation. The anesthesiologist had him use the nebulizer because he was a little wheezy due to his head cold and all the stress of this past week. There was a minor issue of the pre-op nurse not having the consent but I assured her I had spoken to the doctor’s P.A. and she told me they had the consent from the court order via BCCYS. Two men came to wheel Primero away and allowed me to follow them until I reached the waiting room. As they turned the gurney towards the door I cried out “Wait!” They paused and I sheepishly asked, “Can I give him a kiss?” The taller (younger and cuter) guy said to Primero, “Darn, I thought she was talking to me.” I explained I didn’t want to embarrass him in front of everyone, so I wanted to give him a kiss before they pushed him out of the room. With the gurney being nearly chest high, I had to stand on my tippy-toes to reach his forehead. The nurse anesthetist joked with me telling me I can kiss Primero as much as I want and stopped outside the waiting room for me to kiss him again, calling for all those around to watch the embarrassing kiss. Primero, not a kid who gets embarrassed by much, took it in stride and smiled as they wheeled him away.

 

I walked into the busy waiting room and sat down, my stomach churning. I was nervous. I don’t know why I was nervous, I trusted the medical staff taking care of Primero and I knew he would be fine and that he would sail through surgery with no problems, but still my stomach was in knots. I sat in my chair and tried to read, finding my story held no interest. I text friends and posted something on Facebook and checked the large TV screen that held the color coded numbers of all the people in surgery that morning. I would stare at the screen until Primero’s number (37688 – I memorized it) showed on the screen. Every time I would feel my stomach summersault, I would say another prayer for my boy. That’s how I began seeing him and thinking of him, as my sweet boy. It didn’t help that my active imagination had me visualizing what was happening to him at that moment, picturing his sweet face obscured with the breathing tube, his eyes taped shut and his neatly coifed hair mussed in an ugly blue hairnet. I saw all the medical staff gathered around him, checking his vitals as he doctor tugged the catheter out and began slicing. These are not mental images a mother wants when trying to wait calmly. At least the hospital was treating me like his mother, allowing me to stay with him and to be with him in the recovery room.

 

“Is Primero’s mom here?” the receptionist in the waiting room called out. I jumped up (thinking “Hey! That’s *ME*!!) and went to the wall phone where she directed me. The doctor was on the other line (the urologist I don’t like) and he told me that Primero did very well, that things were pretty sore but he expects a full recovery and that Primero could go back to school the following day. I was happy to hear the good news and resumed my position waiting for another 15-20 minutes or so before a nurse came in the room and called my name and another name. Me and the other mother followed the nurse down the long hallway to where our children were recovering from their surgery. She pushed open the door and indicated we should find our children. “There’s mine,” I whispered and walked to Primero’s bedside. He looked peaceful and sweet in his sleep, but the oxygen tube in his nose bothered him, so he wiggled it out and had it on his upper lip. The same nurse who teased him about my kisses was there and joked that Primero would get oxygen through osmosis. The recovery nurse and I tried to get Primero to keep the tube in his nose, but he kept pulling it out. I stood beside his bed, watching him sleep, staring at his sweet heart-shaped face and thick, dark eyelashes, the freckles across his cheeks, and his lips hanging open and I thought about how lucky I was to be his mom. He began waking up and when he looked at me I smiled. I stroked his cheek and tucked his hair behind his ear. I spoke softly to him, telling him he did good and it was all over. Later, when he was more awake, he told me my voice was the first one he heard as he was waking up. I’m so glad because for some reason, this whole debacle has made me feel deficient in expressing to Primero just how much he means to me. I feel like I can’t do enough to make him feel loved, wanted and cared for. I want him to know that as long as I am drawing breath, I am here for him.

 

Any residual worry or doubt I had about feeling like I was a mother evaporated this week during the ordeal. In fact, I’ve been irritated by people who have said, “welcome to parenthood” in response to what we’ve dealt with this week. This is not my first parenting experience. I’ve had other children in foster care that have required medical attention or had minor accidents. Certainly, dealing with a toddler meltdown in public could be considered an act of parenthood! Or having a toddler throw up on you in public? Not to mention getting in touch with my inner mama bear when the transportation company neglected to call me when Primero’s van was damaged in a hail storm and he was expected home much later than his regular time. Or how about the time he got stuck at school because the track coach wouldn’t let him go to the game for missing practice and I called the school in a huff over them letting him unsupervised at school without a ride. How many bad dreams have I soothed? How many boo-boo’s have I kissed? How many time outs have I administered? Do none of these things count as parenting? By my own estimate, I’ve been a parent now for three years. Primero is my eighth kid. This was not an introduction to parenthood because I’ve already been there and done that. It was just a traumatic event that we both endured together, making our close bond all the stronger due to this calamity. Never have I felt more love for another human being than when I walked into the treatment room in the ER Monday and saw Primero’s face and the blood between his legs and I felt his pain as only a mother could. Never has my mothering instinct been stronger than when I stood over him as he awoke from anesthesia and blinked sleepily up at me. It’s unbelievable how much I love this child and I want nothing more than for him to know and to feel how much I love him. I want him to take it for granted because that’s how it’s supposed to be as a teenager. Don’t worry about pushing Mom away because you can’t, she’s not going anywhere. Rebel, yell, scream, she’ll scream back but she will always await with open arms for you to come back to her. I want him to feel that security in me and our relationship. He has told me thank you for being there with him, but I don’t think he should have to thank me for simply doing what a mother is supposed to do.

 

Last week, before all the drama, I had ordered some pictures (selfies!) Primero and I took of ourselves and a few my photographer friend took of us. They came in the mail on Monday, so when I was at work Tuesday, I plastered our pictures around my cubicle. I took a picture of it and told Primero that I made sure to have an image of him at every angle so no matter where I looked I would see him. He giggled at this, but I knew it made him happy to hear it. I got him a get well soon card today and this is what I wrote inside:

 

“I waited a long time for you my beautiful son. I prayed daily that God would guide you to me and that is how I describe our meeting, divine intervention. I knew I would love you very much but I never thought the feeling would be this strong. You are not blood of my blood nor flesh of my flesh but you are very much mine. My beloved, my adored, my cherished child. I knew I would love you and it was so easy to fall in love with such a beautiful, amazing boy like you. You are smart and funny and you bring so much joy to my life. You are a very talented young man with such a kind and caring heart. I can’t tell you enough how much I love you. You are my son. My beloved, much anticipated son. I knew I would love you but I didn’t realize I would be so proud of you, so impressed with what a magnificent young man you are. I can’t promise a life of ease with no problems, but I can promise to be there for every bump, every twist and turn. I am yours and you are mine. Forevermore I love you my heart, my most precious son. Love, Mom”     

Feeling like Mom

I never felt more like a mother than I did Monday. My entire world was focused on Primero and getting him well. Unfortunately, even though we acknowledge in our hearts that we are mother and son, in the eyes of the law, we are nothing more than foster mother and teenage boy. This was evident by how I was treated by some of the medical staff. The nurse and the first doctor took me as mom and treated me as such. They didn’t chase me from the room while examining Primero (I had told him he could ask me to leave at any time if he felt uncomfortable – I averted my eyes to give him some privacy, although there were plenty of eyes on his private parts) and they spoke with me, not to me or through me. The urologist and his P.A. were not nearly as courteous. The urologist looked at me when I answered a question he asked and said, “And you are what relation to him?” Excuse me? Who do you think I am, the neighbor? With my hair bristling, I declared, “I’m his foster, soon-to-be-adoptive mother.” He stopped listening after the word “foster.” He asked me to leave as they began the procedure and I felt so helpless. I wanted to be there for Primero, hold his hand and explain to him what was happening (I’m not saying I was upset being asked to leave the room and I understood why, I just wish there was someone like me who took the time to tell him what the hell was happening). Like me (and probably so many other people) he can keep calm a little better if he understands what is going to happen. But the urologist (is it wrong that I called his urologist a dick?) seemed to be in a hurry and he didn’t care. He told Primero he was going to give him a “block” and then put a catheter in him. Primero and I had discussed the potential for a catheter and so he looked at me panic-stricken and said, “Catheter? What’s a block?” I was shooed away before I could explain. But, it’s not like the doctor let the numbing agent work. He gave Primero the block and then immediately proceeded to tear an opening in the closed foreskin and jam the catheter inside. I knew, when the doctor said what he was going to do, that it would cause Primero pain. I knew the morphine had not yet kicked in enough to take the edge off. I knew he was scared and not sure what they were doing and that only added to his anxiety. But, I’m “just” the foster mom and so I was relegated to behind the curtain listening to them torture my boy, gasping as he screamed, hot tears pressing against my eyes, my stomach churning, knowing! Knowing but unable to *do* anything. I held my breath as I heard them say the worst was over and I heard Primero groan in response. I clenched my hands into balls, willing my heart to touch his, to let him know there was a kind word and soft touch waiting to embrace him, to soothe him, to cuddle the hurt away. In other words, his mother was there for him. I was there for him, even if that just meant my presence, as I was helpless to do anything to help him.

 

When I was finally allowed back in the room, anxious to see him, to touch him and reassure him, I was distracted by the P.A. telling me the next steps for surgery and the nurse asking to get the consent. I was calling CHOR and texting his case worker, finally getting the county case worker to call me and passing my phone around to the P.A. and nurse. I couldn’t stand still as I swayed to peer over the nurses shoulder at the child in the bed, a sad sight to see. In my mind’s eye I keep seeing him like that – splayed on the bed, his legs apart and his arms hanging limply at his sides with his robe hiked up too high revealing the bloody aftermath and the serpentine catheter snaking to the rapidly filling urine bag. His skin was gray from the pain and his eyes were red and teary from screaming. He looked like the mere act of breathing was nearly too much for him; he was totally wiped out from the anxiety and pain the night before and all morning in addition to the traumatic insertion of the catheter. When I was finally able to make my way to his side, I kissed his forehead and stroked his cheek. He grabbed my hand and squeezed it, then giggled as the morphine finally took hold, erasing the residual pain. His color returned as he cracked jokes about his predicament and he glibly told the nurse his pain, on a scale of 1 – 10 with 1 being no pain and 10 being the worst pain ever, his pain, which had been at 10 just minutes ago, was at 1 now. I fussed over him, like a little mother hen herding her chicks under her wings to protect them from the elements or whatever dangers were lurking.

 

On our way home from the hospital, we stopped at the red box to get some movies and Primero joked that he had a new super-power. As we made our selection he whispered to me conspiratorially, “I’m peeing now and no one knows it.” And we laughed at our secret joke. At home, we practiced emptying the bag, which he does fastidiously because he hates feeling the pee against his leg. His concern right now is related to his part in the chorus recital, which he insists he will not be missing despite it being the same night after his surgery. I had him email his chorus teacher to explain that while he would not be in school, he still wanted to attend the rehearsal Wednesday night and be in the recital on Thursday. I honestly don’t think he will feel up to going to the recital and I’m not sure the school will let him attend the rehearsal if he’s not in school. It’s just a big slice of life right now. I’m just so thankful that I am healthy and able to care for the various people in my life who are not so lucky – my mom, the baby, Primero, my grandfather. It’s been crazy and at one point on Sunday when the little girl was lying on the bathroom floor in the ER screaming and pounding the wall and my head was throbbing as her wails echoed off the tile, I wished I had a partner to help manage the chaos and share in the load of duties. I squeezed my eyes shut, took a deep breath and waded in because there’s no use crying over spilled milk. The good news is that Primero will be ok, once he has surgery on Thursday. And, what we endured together has only strengthened our bond. The fact that I was there for him, even I was utterly inept at doing anything other than physically being there, made him feel better. In times of crisis it is better knowing that someone cares for you and is looking out for you. I love this kid more than words can accurately express, more than I thought humanly possible. Yes, I loved all the children who have come into my home, but knowing this one is mine makes him extra-special and the love I feel for him is more than I believed I would or could possibly feel. It’s intense and even painful sometimes (like yesterday when I hurt for him and wanted nothing more than to take all his pain away) but it is also more beautiful than I could have imagined. Yes, if I am honest, there are still little twinges of sadness when he talks about his mother and family and while he usually refers to me as his mother, he still says foster mother most of the time and he still calls me by my first name. But, these things will smooth over the longer we are together. And I can understand his hesitancy in calling me his mom in certain situations because in reality I am not his mother *yet* - this day will come but we have numerous legal loopholes to jump through first. I guess it’s true that the best things in life don’t come easy…..

 

Trauma

He's sleeping now. After two visits to the ER in two days, I'm certainly not going to disturb him! This morning was so traumatic for this poor child, I shiver just remembering it. He reported to me on Friday that Thursday he had some blood in his urine and it hurt a little to pee. I told him I would make an appointment to see his doctor. Later on that same day he told me everything was fine, so I figured I could take my time in making the appointment. Saturday he began complaining of having a hard time voiding his urine. I promised to get him an appointment for sometime Monday afternoon. But, it's the weekend and we had a three year old girl in respite, so of course things won't wait until Monday. At church he came downstairs from Sunday school to report he couldn't urinate. After church we took a trip to the ER. So while everyone was enjoying the glorious late Spring weather, we were enduring a grueling wait to see a doctor replete with an epic toddler meltdown. The doctor was nice, he suspected a UTI and there was also an issue called phimosis - this is when the foreskin fuses to the head of the penis. This is what was causing the issues and making it difficult for Primero to urinate. He only had a very small opening to express his urine and because his penis was becoming swollen, he had to use his hands to press the urine out. The doctor gave him an antibiotic and referral to a urologist and sent us on our way. The little girl went home and the migraine I was battling finally left, so we just spent a quiet night in. Until it was bedtime. As the night wore on Primero became more and more agitated about having to urinate because it was becoming increasingly harder for him to expel the urine. It would collect under the foreskin and he wasn't able to get it out beyond a few dribbles and droplets. Up until midnight, I stood outside the bathroom trying to keep him calm as he tried to urinate.  He finally slept sometime around 1 am.

Our plan for today was for me to try to work in the morning, allowing Primero to rest (we already knew he wasn't going to school and had gotten a note from the ER doctor) and make an appointment for him to see the urologist. Right before I left for work I called the urologist only to find out they wouldn't see him because they don't take his state funded insurance. I left for work vowing to find someone to see Primero and soon. I didn't even make it to work and Primero was calling me. He was sobbing. "Nothing is coming out!" he was crying, choking on phlegm because of course he caught a cold the end of last week. He was panicking and I was feeling guilty for leaving him. I quickly went into work and got permission to leave, hoping to return in the afternoon. I raced home and found a very distraught and pathetic-looking Primero. After finding him his shoes and grabbing the discharge papers from the day before we headed back to the hospital. I called CHOR on the way to advise what was happening and to ask for consent to be given for treatment. Luckily, we only live 6 minutes from the hospital. Unlike yesterday we did not wait at all. Fear and pain was written all over Primero's face and I'm sure the nurses sensed the urgency of our situation. As they usually do in the ER, events unfolded slowly until the main event, which involved a very painful insertion of a catheter, Primero screaming, and quite a bit of blood. I found the urologist to be rude and uncaring, declaring Primero could and should go to school with a urine bag strapped to his leg and telling me they would perform surgery on Thursday. What?! Today is Monday!!! Before the painful procedure they had given Primero a dose of morphine which had finally taken hold, so he was in la-la-land when I walked in the room. His hospital gown was shoved up to his hips and the evidence of the trauma he was just subjected to was evident. When I was standing outside of the room listening to him scream it took every ounce of will-power to not go charging back in that room and hold his hand. The look on his face when I re-entered the exam room was heart-breaking and I just wanted to give him a hug, but I needed information from the physician's assistant and the nurse was pesting me to get the consent (the county case worker could not be located and Primero's mom was M.I.A.). After the flurry of activity died down and the case worker called with consent and to get the information she needed to get a court order for the circumcision on Thursday, I went to Primero. I tugged his gown back down to his knees and stroked his cheek. He asked for his phone and in his state, I refused to let him text anyone. Lord only knows what he would say under the influence of morphine. He didn't have a care in the world. He finally felt relief as the urine bag quickly filled. While we waited for the antibiotic to drip into his IV, the nurses showed us how to empty his bag that was taped to his lower right thigh. We were given a cream to slather on his penis and a note to be excused from school all week (I insisted) then we were on our way back home.

I can now better understand what my parents meant when they told me I would know their pain when I had my own children. Primero is not technically my son in the eyes of the law, but he is in my heart. If there had been any way for me to shoulder his pain last night and this morning, I would have gladly done it. I hate that he had to go through what he went through. My only consolation is that at least he was in a home where he felt comfortable enough to explain and describe what was happening to him. I shudder to think what he would have done, keeping silent and hiding his pain, in a house where he didn't feel comfortable enough to freely talk about his medical issue. I am also very sorry that this condition is something he has been enduring for most of his life, as the foreskin fused to the head of his penis and he didn't know that it wasn't normal. Just a side effect of foster care, I suppose. After his bladder was finally able to empty, he was in much better spirits. Knowing that the worst was over and the problem was going to be fixed for good gave him comfort. He still has to endure the circumcision, which I think he thinks is no big deal, but I'm sure he will be sore after it but nothing compared to the trauma he experienced today. Since I can't take off of work all week, Primero will be going to stay with the foster family that kept the little ones for me for most of last year (until the 3 year old got them kicked out). I wanted him to be someplace quite, but it seemed like all the foster homes were unavailable, so we will make do with what is. At least Primero is no longer in pain, thank God!