I’ve been mulling over how to write this post for days, but just can’t seem to find the words to say. I still don’t know that they’re the right words, but I know that I have to get them out.
I feel like every day I wake up thinking it’s going to be a better day, that I can bask in appreciation for all the abundant blessings I’ve received and I usually can last a good portion of the day until at some point I’m caught off guard, emotionally triggered, and set off on an emotional tail spin leading me right back at ground base zero with some sort of comfort food that’s going straight to my ass in hand.
The act of adoption is beautiful. The process of adopting is so, so hard and so broken.
As an adoptive parent I’ve never felt like I’ve missed out on carrying a child in my womb. I don’t envy women who are pregnant and I don’t feel like my relationship with my daughter would be any different if I would have given birth to her. I was lucky, I felt her kicks, I saw her on an ultrasound screen, I heard her heart beat in the womb and I was there the day she was born. My daughter has not known any other mother but me, so I’ve never felt jaded that she didn’t grow in my womb. I realize how lucky I am as not all adoptive mother’s get to experience these moments waiting for their children to come to them. I say all this to hopefully get across the message that I do not look at pregnant women and think, “oh, I wish I was them”.
There is however, one thing that I have begun resenting about women who carry their children in their wombs. One thing that has begun to eat away at my soul.
I don’t mean confidence in their body’s that may or may not exist or their confidence in their ability to parent. I mean their confidence in getting to publicly announce their pregnancy, their confidence in getting to nest and prepare for their children, their confidence in adding a new child to their family and how they get to share it with the world.
In adoption, you don’t get that. In the “matching” phase, you don’t know if you’ll be picked by an expecting birth family. You’re thrown into a pile with a variety of other potential adoptive parents while birth parents review photo’s of you, your home, letter’s from friends, etc in making the heart wrenching decision if you should parent their child. When you are, you get “THE” call. When you aren’t…you get “that” call.
And no one knows that you’ve just been rejected by a family to raise their child. And sometimes you know things about the other family (ies) that also submitted their profiles, and sometimes those things make your core ache, and then you find out that regardless of those horrible things, at the end of the day they are still the ones who are going to parent this precious baby, and you try not to take it personally – but how do you not take it personal when your seemingly healthy, happy, loving family is passed up by people who make your heart wrench. How do you not analyze every.single.thing about yourself and wonder how or why the alternative is better than you.
But you can’t share that this is happened, because then you have to explain to people that you were passed over for people who 95% of the country would say are disgusting human beings.
And then, you’re thrown into social media where all around you women you love and care about are beaming and glowing about their pregnancy’s and literally every.single.woman who could be pregnant in your social circle is. And you’re SO happy for them because you know those babies are going to be so loved. And you’re so broken because your reminded that it’s a confidence you’ll never have and the raw gut wrenching emotion in the depths of your soul is the example of why, because in the adoption process, rejection is common, and this likely won’t be the last one you face.
And then you remember that you weren’t good enough to be picked over nasty people. And you try to tell yourself that your God is a mighty, powerful, and wonderful God. That each step you take is a step to your complete forever family, that He moves miracles, and this is a piece to your miracle and you start to feel better momentarily until you’re suddenly immersed in babies again. Everywhere. And you find yourself breaking down and balling in a baby store shopping for a gift, thankful for the kind strangers who don’t know your story, but know your pain. Strangers who in a single moment of pure kindness provide more comfort and support then people you’ve entrusted for years.
And you start to wonder not only why am I doing this when I have an amazing and beautiful daughter, but rather how can I continue doing this.
And suddenly your prayers turn from “Lord, if you have other children for my heart, please bring them to me.” to “Lord, please take this off my heart. Let me be happy and satisfied with my beautiful child. Lord take this desire from my heart” and you pray it as fervently and with as much reverence as you prayed for the child you just tucked into bed. Because your heart can no longer stand this type of rejection, this type of pain.
And truthfully, neither can your ass.