Reflection (From September 17, 2014)

Do you ever have one of those moments where you pause and look at your life? Yesterday morning, as I was putting face wash on my toothbrush, it struck me at how crazy different my life is right now than it was last year this time. Last year, the end of September was hard because I was packing and saying good-bye to two precious little children I had been caring for since January. My heart was breaking yet again as my house fell silent and my schedule yawned wide open. The kids left on my birthday, so it is a date I will never forget. I still think about them often, wondering how they are doing, how big they have gotten. Sometimes I stalk the little girl’s grandmother on Facebook to catch a glimpse of her in photos – she is so tall and turning into such a beautiful little girl! My parents, especially my mother, still lament the loss of the little boy I know they wish was their grandson. My birthday is exactly two weeks from today and it’s going to be much different this year. Primero has court the day before my birthday. Unfortunately it is not his adoption date, but just another permanency hearing in which nothing will be discussed because nothing has changed. His mother is back in jail, so it’s unlikely she will be there. Maybe his goal will be changed from PLC to adoption? I don’t know and no one has said anything to me about it. So, as I wiped the face wash from my toothbrush onto my forehead and thoroughly rinsed the brush under hot water, I contemplated how this past year has gone and how things have changed. After the little ones left I had a slew of respite placements for various weekends in October and then nothing. I tried to stay busy with other things, like a writing course and online dating, but coming home to an empty house (minus the animals, of course) night after night was devastating. After more heartache about a baby I dubbed my Christmas miracle, the new year began with another respite placement for a weekend, which turned into every weekend for two months then a temporary placement made permanent and now on the way to adoption in five short months. Things were looking good, we were settled into a routine and then summer came, bringing with it another respite placement that stretched from one to multiple weekends. And then our world was disrupted by a new placement for a brand new baby followed shortly after with his sister, the persistent respite placement. So, here we are. The house is full to the gills and I don’t remember what it was like to come straight home from work to a quiet, empty house.

 

People continually ask me if I am adopting the baby. I would love nothing more than to keep him and call him mine, but the process is not quite that simple. I don’t really know anything about his case, although I was told he was a legal risk placement. He’s not as easy as the first newborn I had (which I now know was a ridiculously easy baby!) and I have lost more than my fair share of sleep these past couple of months, but I love him dearly and pray he can stay. I know, I know, I’m supposed to be advocating reunification because, as far as I know, that is the goal. But, at the godforsaken hour of night when it’s just me and the baby and he is fed and clean and has fallen asleep in my arms, it’s really very hard to consider giving him back to a mother who hasn’t rocked him to sleep every night. Not that she was given that option, since he was taken from the hospital. As happy as that day was for me, I felt her pain too. When the case workers walked in and spoke to me about court and whatnot, then told me they were going to notify the mother she wasn’t taking her baby home, my insides twisted into knots for her. How horrible it must have been, hearing the baby you just gave birth to was going home with some stranger. It had to be the worst thing ever. I still shudder just thinking about it. But, unfortunately, her pain was my bliss. I had this tiny baby to take home and hold and kiss and love. He was a fickle eater back then and I had to nearly force him to eat at times, but it paid off when he finally got on the right formula and began eating like a champ. Now, he’s chubby and adorable with bright eyes and the longest most beautiful eyelashes ever seen. Now my life is in essence running children around the county for one reason or another. I have two full-time jobs and one of them is 24/7. I long for the nights when I can sleep a solid 5-6 hours straight, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. Because I am single and now caring for three children, I make it a point to try to have alone time with every child for at least a few minutes every day. I want each one to get my undivided attention so they don’t feel like I am neglecting them. Generally, the little girl gets this time when I am giving her a bath and putting her to bed. That’s her time with me. The baby gets my time after chores are done and before he nods off. Once he is asleep, Primero has my attention. I promised Primero that once every month we will do something just the two of us. It can be something simple, like going to the movies, or a planned event like the Fallout Boy concert we went to over Labor Day weekend. I think next month we will visit a haunted penitentiary in Philly because he likes things like that and I am crazy. I don’t like scary things, they give me nightmares. But, it’s important that he doesn’t feel pushed aside by the little ones. We need to keep our bond tight as we move into finalizing the adoption.   

Life is Busy (From September 16, 2014)

Life is busy right now. With three children in the house it’s almost a guarantee on any given day I will need to be attending to someone’s need for a medical appointment, case worker visit, or school/daycare issue. Right now I am working on getting Primero fully enrolled in cyber school while simultaneously trying to get the little girl caught up on her vaccinations. Since there is no record for her, we are starting from scratch – that’s roughly 24 shots over the course of the next 6 months, give or take. And since the county did not approve my request to change health  care providers, it means a lot of wasted time explaining and re-explaining myself to an inept and inadequate clinic. I feel like I need a drink, a booster Hepatitis shot, and a long hot shower every time I leave that place. But, it is important to get the child caught up on her immunizations, so I suck it up, put on my big girl panties and just do it.

 

The baby is getting big, he’s up to 10 pounds now and eating like a champ. His two month checkup and the start of his immunizations had to be postponed due to training I had for work conflicting with the pre-established appointment date. When I called to change the appointment I was flabbergasted and more than a little irritated when they told me he couldn’t be seen until November. They called back and gave him an appointment the beginning of October, which was still a month later than the initial appointment. Sheesh! No wonder people eschew their PCP for the ER and urgent care facilities. It’s a nightmare dealing with these places!

 

So, a few weeks ago when Primero’s adoption case worker was over, Primero asked her how soon the adoption could take place. The case worker explained the process and said the first thing that needed to happen was to terminate parental rights for his biological father and mother. She talked about the county and CHOR not being able to reach his father and therefore they would need to put an ad in the paper as a final attempt to reach him before terminating his rights. They were hopeful that his mother would just sign over her rights and avoid the whole process of the court removing her rights. Primero seemed to think she would do this, but I’m not so sure. It’s one thing if the court “takes” her rights from her – she could still play the victim card. But, if she voluntarily signs them over, it’s like giving him up. I don’t get the sense that she would be willing to do that, but I could be wrong. In any event, once both parents rights are terminated the court will set a date for his adoption and that will be the end – and also the beginning……

 

I expressed my concerns to Primero’s case worker about the county all of a sudden dredging up the past. I flat out told her I was paranoid and worried. She said it would be irresponsible of the county to revoke the adoption plan at this point, but they said I would need to be divorced in order to proceed. So, I did a little digging online and it seems I could get a quickie divorce, assuming I could shell out $400 to make it all happen. I’m working on it and I hope I can make it happen as quickly as I can so as not to delay the adoption. I know I’m under the microscope of the county and so I am trying to be sure I am following every little rule to the T. This is why I am not making more of a ruckus regarding the horrendous clinic where I take the little girl. The great and powerful county has spoken, so I shall acquiesces to their decision, no matter how abhorrent and subpar I find the clinic to be……   

It's Happening Again (From September 2, 2014)

I can’t breathe. Fear and paranoia have a death grip on my windpipe and I can’t get enough air. I stand staring at the unimaginable, the unthinkable as it slowly becomes a reality. I won’t survive this a second time, I barely survived it the first time…..

 

Last Thursday we met Primero’s new adoption case worker. She was very nice and she seemed to like us. All records from CHOR indicate Primero has been doing well. Staff have commented on how much he has grown, on how his behaviors have evaporated and for six months there have been no issues, no problems to complain about. The case worker was pleased with our match, stating if she had looked for a family for Primero she would never have found such a good match. We agreed. We glowed, basking in the wonderfulness that is our little family in the making. We felt like we were making progress to becoming a forever family. Until Friday that is.

 

Right now, each kid has their own CHOR case worker, which means that I need to have three different case workers traipsing through my home at three different times and various intervals. Primero only needs to see his case worker once a month since he has now been with me for 6 months (on Thursday, it was 6 months, can you believe it?). When we get a new placement, CHOR needs to come out weekly for a month, then bi-weekly for a month, and then just monthly unless there are issues. The baby is bi-weekly now and the little girl is still weekly. So, after Primero’s case worker and county adoption worker left, the baby’s case worker stopped by. On Friday, the little girls’ case worker was knocking on the door as I was answering the phone call from Primero’s case worker.

 

We have been asking if Primero can do cyber school instead of attending the local junior high because neither of us want him there for various reasons. The adoption case worker promised to ask about it back at the county agency and felt that since I would be sending him to cyber school after adoption, there might be hope. So, the CHOR case worker started the conversation by telling me the adoption worker went back to the county and when she inquired about cyber school she learned of a previous issue the county had with me. Something about the divorce, the CHOR case worker said. And in that moment, I felt my world tilt, my stomach clenched into a fist as anxiety tore through my system, shaking me to my very core. I forced myself to exhale, to take a calming breath. I told the case worker my story. I didn’t hide, I didn’t try to justify what was done, I just told her like it is. And I told her if the county refused to let the adoption continue, they were being vindictive towards me. I’ve towed the line ever since that incident 2 ½ years ago and I’ve had nothing but glowing reports from CHOR. Everyone was/is so happy that Primero found a loving home where he wants to be. I think it would be detrimental to Primero if the county decides to start looking for a different adoptive home for him or if they remove him from my home. But, I know better than to go toe-to-toe with the county. I will grovel, I will beg, I will jump through as many hoops as they decide to set in front of me, just so long as they don’t take my son from me.

 

I’m just so scared, so, so terrified that “it’s” happening again, that I will lose it all. I fear I will wake up one morning and all the children (they are all the same county) will be gone. I truly don’t think I could emotionally survive that again, losing the first baby was hard enough. He was only with me for a short period of time, Primero has been with me much longer and we have been through so much already. In our heart of hearts, we know we are mother and son, we have bonded and we have embraced these roles. But, it is a house of cards that can be easily torn down. I have said that nothing is solidified in adoption until the ink dries on the paperwork and I was right to be so pessimistic. It’s like I’m Frodo and I’ve slipped the ring back on my finger and attracted the unwanted attention of the great burning eye of Sauron. [“Concealed within his fortress, the lord of Mordor sees all. His gaze pierces cloud, shadow, earth, and flesh. You know of what I speak, Gandalf: a great Eye, lidless, wreathed in flame.” Saruman].  I am uneasy, worried about every action I take, every decision I make, that it could cause the county to swoop in and take everything away from me. I won’t be able to breathe, I won’t rest easy until the adoption is finalized. Even then, I’m sure I will be looking over my shoulder……

My Hang-Ups (From August 14, 2014)

I think I thought that there would be some kind of release when I finally achieved my goal of motherhood – some sense of centeredness, of rightness, a lessening of pain and fear and worry. Thus far, this has not been my experience. I find as much angst in my new role as mom to a teenager as I did in my role as an infertile. Motherhood is wonderful, but there is still an awful lot of pain involved (and obviously, I don’t mean childbirth). Weekly, sometimes daily, I find myself in tears over being “mom” and not Mom to Primero. It’s stupid stuff and my hang-ups not his. I don’t tell him about it because he shouldn’t be concerned with it all. I only talk about it here, where I feel safe to express my inner fears and insecurities. Primero had posted something on Facebook asking people to give him a nickname only they would use with him. A bunch of his camp friends posted silly things and I posted the name I use for him here, Primero. He responded online with a “thanks [My Name]” in the same sentence mentioning others who posted. His biological mother posted “Adorable” to which he responded, “Thanks Mom.” I can’t tell you how crushed I felt. Maybe things will change with more time, but we are fast approaching six months together and I am still my nickname or (less often) my full name to him. Occasionally he will address me as “Mom” in a text and he has me listed in his phone as “mom” but he does not call me mom. It’s an imbalance that I don’t think will ever be rectified. To me, he is the world, my first son, (right now) my only son. He is my everything because I have no other children (I’m sorry if it sounds callous but I cannot count the foster children I have right now because their future is unknown and I know how hard it is for me to let go once I believe that a child is mine – call it self-preservation). But, to him, I am number two or even three because he considers the aunt that raised him until he was 5 a mother too. And while it is nice that he can be so inclusive and have such a big heart to love so many “mothers” it stings a little to someone who has spent nearly 6 years trying to become a mother. I don’t want to have to share that privilege with anyone else. It’s selfish, I know. I’m working on getting over it, I just don’t know how. And it’s not like I can ask him to stop calling his biological mother “mom” and stop calling me by my name. I might always be my name and never “mom” to him, so I have to come to terms with that someway and somehow. Oddly enough, the little girl calls me “Mommy” exclusively. She has since day one. She never calls me by my name, although I know she knows what my name is. So, I should just be content with that. I know I am important to Primero, I know he loves me and he feels like I am his mother, so what’s in a name? Would a rose by any other name smell as sweet? I guess this issue, coupled with the common assumption that I gave birth to the baby, grates on very sensitive nerves. Shall I never be free from infertility’s grasp? I suppose not, for as I read in an article a few weeks ago, adoption cures childlessness but it does not cure infertility. The children I have now cannot be expected to “make-up for” the children I was unable to have biologically. So, perhaps this is where I have gone wrong, expecting those feelings of maternal longing to be fulfilled by adopting children from a stranger. Why can’t I just be content with what is? I have made peace with my reproductive shortcomings and I have travelled the painful road out of infertility. Motherhood is upon me and so I should gratefully embrace it and not look back, not think of what could have been, but concentrate on what is here and now. I have a son. I have a foster daughter and a precious newborn baby to love to pieces. I could not ask for more.     

Breast-feeding vs. Formula (From August 6, 2014)

Breast-feeding vs. formula. The age old debate coupled with guilt-ridden mothers trying desperately to do what is best for their babies. Biology has eliminated the choice for me – the little boy I have is strictly formula fed since he can’t get a drop out of me – no pregnancy means no lactation, thus no milk for baby. Most of the time I don’t even think about it, the baby gets formula, it is what it is. But, in perusing the mothering websites for advice about colic, I bumped into the debate and felt the sting of guilt for formula feeding the baby. I had hoped to breast feed my children just as I had hoped to feel them move inside of me, feel my body expand as they grew. Biology robbed me of these experiences and so, like many, many things, I need to come to terms with what is, not with what I wanted or what I thought it should be. And this is true for so much of my life as a foster-to-adopt mother. Primero and I had a rift yesterday and something he said really hurt my feelings. But, then I realized he was just being a teenager and I was taking it too hard simply because I haven’t had umpteen years leading up to this point. It’s just so hard, wanting to be a mother hen to gather my son under my wings and tuck him in safe and sound, but he’s a teenager and he needs to cut the cord and learn to be independent. Sometimes I have to hold my breath so the tears won’t reveal my internal struggle. While Primero is my everything, my only child (at this point – I’m not trying to put the little ones down, but I can’t call them mine, so it is a different feeling with them), I’m just one more person to him. Yes, we have a special relationship and I know he loves me, but let’s face it – I’m number two. Most of the time he still calls me his foster mom (and that’s what I am, but I dropped the “foster” a while ago, when referring to him I call him my son) and he uses my name to address me. His biological mother is still “Mom” and his biological family trumps any new relatives I’ve introduced him to hands down. I’m sure all of this is perfectly normal, but that doesn’t make it feel any better. I feel like I’m adopting a whole new family, not just Primero. I’m getting aunts, uncles, siblings, cousins, former step-fathers, family friends and of course, the “real” mother. I feel superfluous, just the taxi driver, the bank, the provider of home and food. I especially felt this way yesterday. The motherhood I wanted simply does not exist. I have to make the best of what I have and try not to hold my reality to unrealistic standards and expectations I have in my mind. I wish there were other single adoptive mothers that have battled infertility that I could talk to about this feeling, about how hard it is to adopt an older child and accept all the baggage they bring with them. I wish I could hear someone else had the same fears I have, that once he turns 18 he will leave and go right back to his biological family or that I will always be “My Name” and never “Mom.” I’m not saying these things because I am doubting my decision to adopt Primero, I want that to be clear, these are just the hang-ups I have about the whole situation – they are my issues, not his. As far as I can tell, he’s already come to terms with having a biological family and an adoptive family. My struggles are my own. I guess, in a way, it’s just the monster of infertility rearing her ugly head again. If I stop and contemplate everything that has occurred in the last several years, I break down. So, I let myself think of pieces at a time, but never the whole thing because it is too overwhelming. I didn’t sign up for this. I didn’t ask for it and I prayed with all I had to make it not so, but in the end the path I’ve been on has been the one less-travelled and while I know it has made me into the woman I am today, sometimes I still resent the whole journey. There are still moments when the mask slips and I wish things had gone like they were supposed to – love, marriage, baby in the baby carriage. But, I can’t move forward if I’m staring in the rearview mirror, so I have to just move on and let the past be the past. Still, I have never been good at letting go of my expectations, so I’m sure it will take me some time before I truly get used to mothering a teen who (naturally) is seeking independence and freedom. I don’t consider myself a helicopter parent, but I feel like I’m hardly being given the opportunity to parent at all – I lecture on the importance of finishing school, of not using drugs, of using protection when having sex (or even better, waiting…..), but am I really a “mom” if the child I have is nearly ready to leave the nest? Maybe I am simply too sleep deprived to be contemplating these issues. Surely my emotions are less inhibited by my state of mental fog. And who can trust emotions anyway? They are so fickle even in the best of times. And so what if Primero hurt my feelings? I’m a grown up, I can put on my big girl panties and get over it. It’s not as if I have nothing else to worry about right now. The list of things I need to keep on top of is ever-growing and I fear I’m about to hit maximum capacity. In addition to the house being torn apart as the basement room crawls towards completion, the little girl needs to see a doctor for her cough, Primero needs to get enrolled in school, I need to switch the little girl over to my WIC account, I need to get enrolled in the county assisted daycare for both her and the baby, the baby has medical appointments that coincide with my mom’s next round of chemo, Primero’s theatre camp is ending and we have to attend all three of his performances, there are three different case workers clamoring for my attention, I don’t know what happened in court yesterday, I’m supposed to be preparing for a short vacation with Primero in two weeks and need to find respite, the little girl needs blood testing done and might be starting behavioral therapy soon, I desperately need to check on my honey bees, I need to get Primero’s kitten vaccinated, and if I don’t cut my grass and pull the weeds around my house I’m sure I will be fined by the city. It’s utter madness!   

Superwoman (From August 4, 2014)

I am Superwoman. It’s the only way to understand this morning’s activities. The baby had me up around 5:30 and he didn’t want to quiet down and return to his bassinet, so I held him and dosed for a bit until my alarm went off at 6. Then it was a mad rush to get myself ready, eat breakfast, feed the little girl, give the baby a bath and dash out the door. I was two minutes late for work after dropping Primero off at his camp, the little girl off at her camp and taking the baby to the sitters. The little girls camp is just a hair too far away, but I will have to make do the next several weeks until I move her to my friends daycare. By that time Primero will be back in school and I’m hoping he will be able to get a ride on the bus – this depends on where he goes to school, which has still not been decided……. So, for the immediate future the morning routine will be a hot mess. Primero’s camp ends this week and I have enrolled him in another camp for next week because he needs to be somewhere while I am at work. He will be taking a bus to the camp because it is a little further away and the camp has a few routes, one that works with where I will be taking the little girl, so I think next week will be easier. Easier? No, with three children nothing is really “easier.”

 

I remind myself that I’ve had three children in my care before, only the oldest of that group was much younger than Primero. With those three girls I felt like I couldn’t go out with them by myself. I needed to enlist help to go grocery shopping and any other errands I had to do. I’m so much more confident now than I was back then. I distinctly remember a time when I had the first baby and I was by myself. I wanted to take him into Chick-fila for lunch and to play in their play area but I hesitated, unsure if I could do that on my own and so I opted for the drive through instead. Now, I wouldn’t hesitate to take the kids to the store or to play at Chick-fila, or the playground. I trust myself a lot more now than I did back then and sometimes I forget just how far I have come in my role as foster mom. So, the three I have now have all come to me at different times, one by one. The newest member of our ragtag family, the little girl, moved in this weekend. The house is in total disarray because my new bedroom in the basement (yes, I decided I’m the one to move downstairs) is not quite finished. I haven’t officially been able to unpack the little girls things and so they are dumped in a pile in her bedroom where all of Primero’s clothing and personal items still reside. My things are still in my room because nothing can yet get moved downstairs due to space constraints. The only way to move things in the house it to move something else first. We are working on it and I hope by the end of this week everything will be in its new place and all inhabitants will be situated. It’s kind of insane, really. So, I am anxious to get everything back in order and get settled into our new routine. As much as I buck routine as a damper to creativity, I have seen firsthand how much a simple routine does for little kids, especially those with behavioral issues. Knowing what to expect each day is so helpful to little ones. Our days are regimented mostly due to me being a working mom, but I think even if I were not a working mom I would try to establish a well-defined routine to help the kiddos coming into my home adjust and feel like they can rely on something. I’m hoping this will help the little girl get adjusted. All I need is a good night’s sleep and I will be right as rain.

Patchwork Family (From July 31, 2014)

I’m sitting here on the precipice of welcoming a third child into my home and I’m struck by how differently life is going than I had thought and planned it to go. Things are moving along for Primero’s adoption and I am still trying to get him enrolled in a local Catholic school, rather than the public school where we live. He is grateful for the opportunity to attend any school but the one he seems destined to be at. I’m praying it will all work out for him. His summer camp is almost over and the final rush to practice and perfect their play has him giddy with excitement. I can’t wait to see him perform and I know he can’t wait for me to see the show. He’s such a great kid, I am reminded nearly every day what a wonderful young man he is. And because I know he’s so fantastic, I get frustrated with his family when they flake on him. He was supposed to spend the day with his eldest brother today, they set it up two days ago. Primero was so excited he literally couldn’t sit still. He planned on what outfit he would wear and he assured me his brother would give him the biggest hug when they met – after all, it’s been over a year since they’ve seen one another. As I was going to bed last night Primero informed me that he would be going to camp instead. His brother bailed with some lame excuse about needing to practice his parking and that his guardian needed to run errands. Outwardly Primero was ok but I know inside he was crushed. I know how much this day meant to him. His brother said maybe next Tuesday. I wanted to punch him in the throat. The older brother, that is. It’s bad enough that the kids mom flakes on him and that his older sister brushes him off when he tries to get together with her, but he really looks up to this brother, so to have him make plans and then break them, well it just downright sucks. Primero asked me while I was at work if he could still go over later on in the day because his sisters will be there too. I said of course. It would mean all his siblings but one would be together for the first time in over a year. It’s good for him and I’m happy to make sure he stays in touch with his siblings. It’s a little strange for me, but everyone has been cordial and I don’t mind feeling a little uncomfortable, if it helps Primero.

 

We went to the beach on Saturday – or at least we tried to. We ended up on the boardwalk rather than the beach due to traffic and the weather. And as we marched up and down the boardwalk, me with the baby strapped to my chest via the infernal Moby wrap (is it just me or do you need an advanced engineering degree to get that thing on?!); the little girl with a bucket on her head because I bought it for her to play in the sand and she wanted to carry it with her all day; Primero intermittently checking his phone while also leaning over to whisper something in my ear about the various people around us; and my friend, who is 70 years young and full of vigor – I thought about what a strange band of misfits we were. My Italian friend with her dark tan, dyed blonde hair and tattooed eyebrows, me the plump and sleep deprived green-eyed foster mother with an infant of a different race pappoosed to my ample bosom, tall and skinny Primero with his fake nerdy glasses and ever-present cell phone, and the little girl with the wild curly hair and a pull-up because she decided she no longer wants to be potty-trained – how do we all fit together? None of us look alike with the exception of the baby and the little girl. Our ages reveal little correlation, since my friend is a tad too young to be my grandmother and a tad too old to be my mom, which I guess  could be the same argument for me and Primero – too old to be his sister (which is what a lot of people surmise) and too young to be his mother. I suppose it would be easy to assume the baby is mine, since I am of childbearing age and the little girl calls me “mommy” so that would make sense. But, despite our ragamuffin appearance, we are a family by choice (even if it is temporary for the little ones) and so we conduct ourselves as a family. And so I guess this is how it goes when you choose to adopt – the family is like a patchwork quilt built of unique and differing color squares that complement one another and make a beautiful, warm blanket when sewn together.