Sweet Sweet Fantasy Baby

A friend of mine at work caught me off guard one evening as I was leaving work. She said she had thought of me because her niece was having a baby she couldn’t parent. She was trying to find a family member to adopt her daughter, but had not been successful. My friend explained they thought a cousin who lost twins might take the baby, but she didn’t. My friend didn’t feel she was in a stable enough situation to take on raising an infant. I told her it was sweet of her to think of me and that I wished them all the best in this trying time. She later reported the baby was placed with a waiting couple over an hour away. Out-of-the blue my friend sent me a picture of this precious, beautiful baby and it threw me for a loop. I know she is trying to process this and I might be the only person she knows who has adopted a child, but I find it just a little inappropriate and slightly painful. It’s not as if I would even entertain adopting this baby for a whole host of reasons, but just the mere mention of it made me envision a tiny baby in our home again. I think if my friend had just made mention of it and let it at that, I wouldn’t be writing about it, but she took it a step further. She made it real by sending me a picture of the baby. Again, I think she might feel like she can’t share this with anyone else and I’m not angry about it, just mildly perplexed. The picture looks like one of those newborn photo shoots, so I’m guessing it was shared by the new adoptive parents. My friend made sure to mention they had until this coming week to change their mind. The timing of this interaction couldn’t have been worse, given all that has been going on with Chica Marie. To not emotionally unravel over this, I’ve envisioned the delighted adoptive parents and the opposing bereft mother; the sweet and bitter of adoption. And, I’m hoping my friend has gotten this all out of her system now because I have zero extra emotional energy to devote to such fantastical dalliances.

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Finding Our Footing

I’m feeling under the weather. I have been fighting a head/sinus cold that kicked into full force yesterday. All day long at work I thought of how good it would feel to sink into a hot bubble bath and let Calgone take me away. I was impatient for my bath, sluffing through the nighttime routine, which now includes dealing with very trying behaviors from Chica Marie (more on this later). Primero was not home, leaving just after Chica Marie and I returned from the lab for her EKG (more on Primero later). After I washed the dishes and got Chica Marie to bed, Love Bug was engrossed in watching Peppa Pig. “Now’s my chance,” my inner hubris whispered, spurring me on to draw the bath water and light tea candles for ambiance. I put a show on my phone, arranged the soaps so I could reach them and settled down into the steaming, welcoming water. Sighing, I inched lower into the water, closing my eyes for full enjoyment. I heard the door creak open a crack. Love Bug called out, “Mommy?” He marched into the bathroom and declared he had to pee. I moved my phone and one of the candles while he blew out a candle behind me. After he was done, I settled back into my tub, thinking ignoring the toddler in the room would make him go away. But, the pull of the bubbles and mommy in a bath was too strong and he came over to investigate. After swirling a few handfuls of bubble bath around, he decided this was perfect for him and stripped naked, plopping himself in my tub. The water was hot, hotter than he liked it, so he sat on my lap, tickled pink to be joining me in this new bath experience. This was such a fun bath! He asked to wash my hair and dumped water on my head then he stood up and peed in the tub, all the while chatting away with me as if he had been invited into my private sanctuary. I finished my unrelaxing bath and dried off Love Bug, putting his pajamas back on him. I convinced him to go to sleep and successfully got him to stay in his bed just before Primero came home. Next time I want to soak in a bubble bath undisturbed, I will be patient and wait until all of the small ones are down for the count. Sigh.

 

Chica Marie – Last week we endured the backlash behaviors from court and her big sister telling her Grandma was adopting her and she was going to live with them. Great times. Over our three-day weekend most of those behaviors subsided, although her sass-mouth has been totally out-of-control. I thought things might improve this week, but they have not. In fact, they were compounded by a visit from her Mobile Therapist Wednesday evening. Generally speaking, Chica Marie does not do well with her mobile therapist. She does not engage in the activities and often times down right refuses to do anything she is asked to do. Defiance to the core. Wednesday night I tried getting more involved than I usually do and the end result was a total melt down that was still evident last night. At one point she was literally just lying on the kitchen floor screaming at me as loudly as she could. What horrific thing was she being asked to do, you wonder? Identify emotions. She was asked to match emoji-type emotion pictures and talk about how you might feel, when you’re mad for example. And this resulted in a melt-down of epic proportions that took two adults and a soon-to-be adult over and hour to reign in. I was so pissed when the mobile therapist left us with a child still in reactionary mode, no de-escalation techniques prescribed. Lovely. Thanks. She didn’t have a good day at school yesterday either and last night was more of the same. Thankfully, family based therapy is supposed to start in another two weeks. Last night I just sent her to bed because I simply could not deal with her mouth anymore. Good god, if I had ever spoken to my mother that way!

 

Primero – Yesterday I saw on Facebook that Primero’s aunt suffered loss in her family. I discerned it was her brother and I assumed it was some form of tragedy because he was young, only a little older than me. I didn’t put two and two together until Primero called me and then I remembered, his aunt’s brother was one of the possible father’s for Primero! (Just a quick note – this is his aunt by marriage, she is married to Primero’s mother’s brother – so nothing incestuous). When I realized the magnitude of it, I was worried about Primero. He asked to go to his uncle’s house because everyone was gathering there and I readily agreed, if he could just keep Love Bug a few minutes so I could take Chica Marie to the lab for an EKG I’ve been needing to do for weeks now. Primero professed to feeling very little grief at the passing of the man who might be his biological father. He has always held a bitter anger towards both of the men who might have claimed him because they were never there for him, never in his life. I noticed, via Facebook, Primero’s cousin set up a Go Fund Me account to help with funeral costs and in it described him as “the best husband and father he could be” showing a picture with him and two young pre-teen boys, presumably his sons. I can understand Primero’s bitterness, although I cautioned him he might feel the loss differently, at different times in his life. Ultimately, I explained, it is over because there is no longer a possibility for reconciliation in this life time.

 

So, things are still tumbling around in our lives. There is reason to be cautiously optimistic, but the end is far from over. And, as always, when things hit us they come in rapid fire, keeping us reeling for some time before we find our footing again.   

Where We Are Now

I haven’t written about the big meeting we had last Friday. Mostly, I’m exhausted mentally and emotionally, so I’m loathe to rehash it all. But, also because there really isn’t anything new to say. The good news is, Chica Marie is not being moved. Not at this time at least. I think, if the GAL were to see things her way, Chica Marie would be given to her grandmothers because the GAL thinks they are so amazing and I am so not. The GAL expressed issues not only about my parents but also Primero not supporting the adoption and basically, not liking Chica Marie. Apparently, Chica Marie always tells the GAL how mean Primero is and the GAL, who likes to pretend she knows everything about these children she has met just twice, believes Chica Marie’s statement at face value. Keep in mind, she had never met Primero. She has never seen him interact with the children. But, Chica Marie says he’s mean, so he must be mean…. I’m so thankful the GAL is leaving and I’m hoping the new GAL is not overly influenced by her opinions. The county does want to see me using the grandmas as respite and there needs to be monthly visits. It’s a sore spot for me because I really feel hurt and betrayed by Grandma. Still, I have to make it happen. I have to dig deep and be the bigger person. I haven’t yet reached out to Grandma because I’m dreading the conversation I feel we need to have. But, it’s on my agenda. It has to happen.

 

It was agreed upon in the meeting that we would pursue Family Based therapy but keep our TSS in the school with Chica Marie. There was a speed-bump with the insurance and therapy agency, but I think we have it all ironed out. We are also going to pursue the Filial therapy that I had found and we can keep the agency I found because they can continue using my insurance. Chica Marie and I have our first family session in two weeks. It’s the same time our Family Based therapy will begin. I feel a lot of pressure from the county to make this all work. I feel like they are expecting me/us to fail. I’m going to do all I can to make sure we are a success story. The ultimate goal is for Chica Marie to have a better quality of life, one where she can make and keep friends, one where her behaviors don’t prohibit her learning and one where the entire family can embrace her lovingly without her pushing us all away. Is that too lofty of a goal? Good, because Chica Marie deserves no less.

Be Kind

Maybe you’ve seen the meme on Facebook, like I have, with the words, “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle you know nothing about.” It certainly resonates in a lot of circumstances, including infertility. A few weeks ago at work, I witnessed the opposite in action. A co-worker, who had worked in our facility when I first started and was subsequently laid-off when funding took a nose dive, has come back to work with us again. She and I were friends and I know from before, she struggled to get pregnant with her son due to severe endometriosis. She had wanted more children, but one was all she was able to have, due to her diagnosis. We had been talking a few days before the scene I’m about to describe and she shared with me sad news about her marriage. The morning of the incident, we walked in to work together and I could tell she was struggling with the things that were happening in her personal life. She really looked like she could use a hug. I bumped into her at lunch but before I could say hi, the following transpired. She took her trash to the large trash can and dropped it in. The site administrator screeched vehemently, “That is not a trash can! It only has two signs on it saying it is only for recycling and I just sent an email about it. You need to get the tongs and fish it out.” My startled friend grabbed some napkins and fished her trash out of the recycling trash can and disposed of it in the receptacle for trash. She glanced at me, her face red with embarrassment and heated from holding in the tears pooling in her eyes. She made a hasty retreat with the site administrator’s hallow “thank you” unacknowledged.

 

I understand the site administrators frustration. She had just sent an email about people putting their trash in the recycling can and needing to clean up after themselves because she is tired of doing it. I know this is aggravating because it is my life at home with the children.  Surely one can expect a group of adults to clean up after themselves. But, this above quote popped into my head, thinking of how sad my friend was this morning and how much she really didn’t need to be yelled at about trash. Life is hard. I don’t think we need to make it harder on one another. “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle you know nothing about.” You never know when the roles might be reversed and you might need to be on the receiving end of someone else’s kindness. 

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The Hunger Games

I have a headache. I think I’ve had one pretty much every day since the end of August, or at least it feels that way. I also feel like I’m being one of those people, the one who calls the case manager over every little thing and needs their hand held just to take a deep breath. To be fair, there has been A LOT going on and it seems whenever I try to do things on my own, it backfires on me, so I’ve lost the confidence to just do my own thing. Yesterday afternoon, on the ride home from daycare, Chica Marie confided in me a secret Mini Momma told her during court. She mater-of-factly informed me that she would be moving in with her sister and her grandmother would be adopting her. I was angry. First of all, why would this child know anything about what is going on with her sister? Was she told this? Did she overhear adult conversations? Secondly, it was not her place to tell Chica Marie this was happening, assuming that it was indeed happening. Which, I guess, is why she told Chica Marie to keep it a secret. I said, “She should not have told you, she should have kept her mouth shut.” And that set Chica Marie off. To be fair, no matter what I said, it would have set her off. The night, which I knew wasn’t going to be easy because of court, was made even more difficult as I tried to explain to Chica Marie nothing was decided and then deal with her emotional fall-out; her anger, worry, frustration, sadness and her need to push every single button because she felt unadoptable. Last night was not pretty.

 

Earlier today Grandma text me stating, since the dust has settled now, could we go back to scheduling visits and when were the children available? O.M.G. So, in court the magistrate was told we were having a visit this weekend. I told the county case worker and my CHOR case worker we have plans this weekend and next, we are available on 10/21 for a visit. My case worker called me again yesterday afternoon to talk about it. So, when Grandma text me, I called my case worker, leaving her a message again – after the angry message I left last night about Mini Momma spilling the beans and on the heels of the email I sent her regarding the new therapeutic recommendation from the MT/TSS agency. I don’t think I’ve ever pestered a case worker this much! I couldn’t not respond to Grandma, not after complaining loudly that she never called me back the last time I tried communicating with her. So, I text her stating I would like to go back to scheduling visits but I would really like to have a conversation about all these things first. I don’t’ feel like the dust has settled at all and unfortunately, I am very busy today and tomorrow but would be available to speak to her Friday afternoon, at which time we can also schedule a visit. I needed to try to put her off until after we have our meeting on Friday and I know better what is happening, what I’m expected to do, what I’m being forced to do, etc. She responded back stating by dust she meant the therapy issues I've been having with Chica Marie. What? Via text it's hard to tell if she was confused or just being bitchy. I didn't respond and have no plan to respond before our Friday meeting.

 

To be perfectly honest, I’m really hurt by the things the grandmother has done. I was honest with her. I was open with her. And, instead of being open and honest with me, it feels like she is stabbing me in the back. Whether it is her intention or not, there was a lot of shade thrown my way in court yesterday, while they were praised for being a miraculous, perfect family. I was painted out to be mediocre, because the little ones aren’t enrolled in all of the wonderful, fantastic after-school and extra-curricular activities like Mini Momma. I was perceived to be incapable, since these behaviors of Chica Marie have been going on for so long and they have not gotten better, while Mini Momma is without blemish, no reported behavioral issues to speak of. They were both present in court, but I was alone. They can be my respite resource because I must need it, being the lousy mother that I am. Apparently asking for help equates being incapable, unable, totally sub-par. If I weren’t a strong person I would have left the court yesterday and handed in my resignation as a foster parent. Luckily, I saw it all for what it was worth – a smear campaign to paint the grandmas out to be spectacular and me to be inept. It did hurt, I did lose some self-confidence, but I’m regaining my footing. I don’t like feeling as if we are on opposing teams, but that is how CYS has painted it. It’s not a game, but it almost feels as if it is; some Hunger Games-esque style duel to the bitter end where no one is really the victor. The thing they don’t know about me is, I’m a fighter. I get knocked down but I get up again, each and every time. If I got nothing else from infertility it is this indomitable spirit to keep on keeping on. The game is not always won by the strongest or the fastest, sometimes it is won by the one who just keeps hanging on.    

Me vs. Them

We had court this morning. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t great. Basically, nothing happened, but all the options were suggested. I managed to speak privately with the county case worker before the hearing, which was good but not terribly productive. At least I understand a little better what happened. The county case worker heard someone say during the meeting in August that she needed to look for a therapeutic foster home that was willing to be an adoption resource. In plain English that meant I was no longer willing to be a resource (adoptive home) for Chica Marie. She felt my comment about how upset my mom was and that she was adverse to the adoption, due to the destruction of her car, was compounding my inability to adopt Chica Marie. She was still stuck on my loss of support from my mom, citing it as a potential issue in the future. I’m going to try to talk to my mom to see if she would be willing to write me an email offering her support. I don’t know if she would be willing to do so or not, but it’s worth a try. We are having a meeting this Friday afternoon to hash everything out and I’m not looking forward to it.

 

The hardest thing during court this morning was the visible tension between me and the grandmothers. We didn’t speak. We hardly acknowledged one another’s presence. It was hard and painful. The grandmothers brought along an outfit for Chica Marie that matched Mini Momma’s and the girls were wearing matching jackets. Grandma mentioned how big Love bug is and I said he grew a lot this summer. That was our only exchange. The grandmothers were praised for how wonderfully Mini Momma has been doing and I’m sure they are doing a good job with her, but I also wonder how much under-reporting they are doing? I don’t see how this girl could go from mega-behaviors to nothing in a year’s time. It was touted in front of the judge how many after-school and extra-curricular activities Mini Momma is involved in and nothing was mentioned for Chica Marie or Love Bug. The county is pushing for weekly weekend visits. They want me to use the grandmothers as respite resources. Um, they live an hour away, that’s not terribly convenient. Every weekend is excessive to me, unless they are moving her. I felt I was put down at every turn, less-than and mediocre as a parent.

 

So, we have this meeting, which I am dreading, and it is supposed to help clarify where things are going for Chica Marie. The magistrate called it an “evolving case” for Chica Marie and admonished both sides to work together as the best possible option. How can I work with someone who won’t talk to me? And who knows, maybe they feel the same way other their side. I can’t help but feel like we have been pitted against one another and that makes it hard to work together. The bad blood I mentioned before feels even more true now. We left without saying good-bye. The county was pushing for a visit this weekend, but we have plans. We have plans next weekend too. I had already said to my CHOR case worker the weekend of the 21^st works best for us. I don’t know if I will be getting such an option. I hate to have my weekends dictated to me, it is my free time to what I like and not answer to anyone. And, given how our interaction was today, there is no way I want to have a visit without us talking first. I want to understand Grandmom and I want her to understand me. I don’t like this tension and I don’t think it’s right that we have been put into this situation by the county. I am also still hurt by what I view as Grandmom going behind my back when I was honest with her. I told her about the therapeutic foster care recommendation and that I would do everything in my power to get Chica Marie back in my home. Did she not think of this when the county called and asked her to take Chica Marie? Why didn’t she call me or reach out to me in some way? It certainly would have caused a lot less animosity. I feel like my trust has been broken and that’s a hard thing to rebuild, especially without communication.

 

As this drags on and the murky water gets more cloudy, I have begun thinking, “Am I doing the right thing?” Isn’t biological family always best? Only, they are no more biological than I am, really. And each of us has a sibling who is not being tossed into the mix at the moment. Am I fighting the right fight? Should I just give up and let her grandmother have her and hope and pray she doesn’t move onto Love Bug next? Is it wrong for me to want to keep her and adopt her? I guess the county really has me doubting myself because despite my doggedness, my unwavering desire to keep on keeping on, the county thinks someone else can do better, without help. Am I wrong? Are they right? Is there any such thing as wrong and right in foster care? I’m tired. My everything hurts. I don’t know how much longer my body can withstand the physical and emotional weight of all of this. Everyone tells me I am strong and I am, but right now it is taking its toll on me.  

Workplace Baby Showers

Let’s talk about baby showers. Now, I know some infertile women and men can attend baby showers without much hoopla. They can celebrate their friend/loved one/co-worker without the soul-crushing reminder of what they cannot have. This is not me. I HATE baby showers. I’ve gone to my share and every. single. time. I leave crying. This is after I hyperventilate my way through Baby’s-R-Us to buy their registry gift. My rule of thumb is to only go to baby showers of people who really mean a lot to me, someone I really want to make that emotional effort to be there for them. Like my roommate from college. Or my best friend growing up. If my sister wanted children and was having a baby shower, I would be there, although I’m selfishly grateful she doesn’t want kids and therefore won’t be needing a baby shower.

Last week there was a baby shower at work for one of our co-workers. Her and I are not really friends, we don’t hang out outside of work, we aren’t friends on Facebook. It’s not that I don’t like her, I do, but I wouldn’t put myself through the emotional turmoil to attend her baby shower. Yet, there’s the peer pressure, the societal expectation, that I do attend. In fact, as I was quietly sitting at my desk, trying to ignore the quickly approaching time of the party, I was called to attend. I was hoping to just hide and avoid the event because my co-worker friend was out sick and I had no allies to be there with me. We had gone together to pay her mom to make a beautiful baby quilt – it keeps me out of Baby’s-R-Us, so it’s all good. Unfortunately, the quilt is not yet done because my friend’s mom is back-logged due to other people procreating and requesting quilts, so I had to get a card and write out an ‘I owe You’ explaining this. And I had to go to the shower alone. I hold the momma-to-be no animosity and I am happy for her, but I just didn’t want to be in the baby shower, plastering a fake grin on my face. A smile so tight it would make my eyes sting and my stomach hurt. I gave myself a pep-talk as I slowly walked down the hallway to the gallows, er lunchroom. The expectant mother arrived before I did, so the surprise was already underway when I got to the threshold. I stepped inside, saw the decorations and cake and stuff and the room, already stuffy from all the warm bodies, became stifling and I just couldn’t force myself to stay. I set the card on the table with the other cards and quickly retreated. Thankfully, I didn’t add this event to my work calendar and so I scheduled an appointment right in the middle of it and it gave me a good excuse to drop the card and run. Still, I hate that this is a thing and I hate that our office isn’t big enough for me to beg-off without it being a thing. In fact, as I was leaving for the day, one of the managers said she saw me in the room and then I was gone and she wanted to be sure everything was ok. I swallowed hard and answered, “it’s all good” because you know what? She doesn’t need to know, nor does she deserve to know, my story.


I guess this will sound bitter, but my reality is that I have three children and I had zero baby showers. I’m trying to remember if I got a card when I adopted Primero but I don’t think I did. The event when totally uncelebrated by my co-workers. I mean, why can’t we get cake and balloons and celebrate me adding to my family? So what if I don’t have a cute baby bump and don’t need loads of diapers (well, actually, that the time I could have used diapers, just not for Primero). This really would have been the most ideal shower because no one would need to bring gifts, just get a cake and call it a day – just a little something to say, hey, congrats! My parents took us out to eat and gave Primero a card with some cash in it, welcoming him to the family. That was our celebration, besides lunch at Olive Garden and a movie Primero wanted to see immediately following the court ceremony. I guess I sound selfish, wanting a “baby” shower when I’m obviously not having a baby, but really I just want my joy celebrated, I want me adding to my family to be recognized in some way. Is that so wrong?



Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.