Due Date: How 9 Months of Parenthood Gave Birth to a Family

I don't know which one is me nor what
we are doing but I know I am the mommy!

It’s not as often nowadays that I look at them like little aliens. It still happens, but on the whole they are much less scary and way more lovable than the day last August that the three little strangers turned up on our front porch. That’s a good thing, since we’re about to adopt them.

Adoption. I still remember the day that I first really considered it, sitting in a cubicle at work, realizing I’d rather raise someone else’s biological child than be sad for the rest of my life every time I saw a baby. Realizing that it was possible. I remember hoping that my family could accept an adopted child. I also remember the day shortly thereafter when I told my husband that my sister and I were going to a movie, and we really went to an information session on adopting. That was in September of 2009. I wanted to be sure I thought I could do it before I asked him to be a part of it with me for real. We’d been considering it all along, really – I have polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS), the leading cause of infertility, and am not a fan of doctors, shots nor pills – but we had yet to take a first step on what would become a nearly 5-year journey to real, really really real, parenthood.

Oh, the things we have learned and survived, the joys and the fears, the highs and lows since they came. Now, 6, 5 and nearly 3, they’ve lived with us long enough to outgrow shoes. Keeping kids in shoes that fit is one tiny facet of my new world. Together with my husband and family I have survived with three children: Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Valentine’s, Easter, two birthdays, half a dozen birthday parties, two lost teeth, doctors, dentists, therapists, stomach viruses, teachers, homework, the loss of a pet, car problems, house problems, boo-boos, potty training, Chuck E. Cheese and more laundry than I could have ever imagined. These are all normal occurrences, I realize. However, when you add three kids to anything, life becomes much more interesting.

This past December, less than five months after the kids’ arrival and right before Christmas, one of my seventh grade students hanged herself and died. Any way you look at it, it was a harrowing, disturbing and disheartening experience to have, and to try to overcome. But I was looking at it with three kids and all the pressure of a new foster mom. In the months that followed, I hid my grief the best I could from our children. Mommy was “sick” or needed to “rest” a lot. I felt horrible, depressed, and robbed of the joys of enjoying my children. As a human I knew what I had to do to grieve, but as a mother I was lost. As the school year went on, six more of my very own students would attempt to take their lives, one of them twice. The school protocol and lack of resources failed the students time and again, and their suffering went on unabated; we teachers found ourselves in a toxic and dangerous epidemic with very little support and no end in sight. Regardless, I would get up every day and go back to that school to try to love and protect and heal those kids, and I would come home every night and hide the tears from mine.

I tell this part of the story to say that it’s really an incredible feat, parenting, because just as the world does not stop turning after a young girl takes her life, the world does not stop turning for parents. Not if you’re sick, not if your car breaks down, not if you’re depressed or broke, fighting or scared. The kids are still there, they still need you, and I’ve achieved new feats of strength trying to rise to the occasion no matter what. On this Mother’s Day eve, I would like to thank my mother, along with my father, for fighting the good fight with their three kids not just when times were good, but when they were really, really hard. We never knew. Thank you.

On a lighter note, it came to me as I shopped for cards a week or so ago that I am a mother this Mother’s Day! So unusual and so instant was my role as a parent that I didn’t realize it until I stood in the greeting card aisle. It got even more real a few days later, when the adoption papers arrived in the mail. In mid-April, our case was finally moved from a foster to an adoptive caseworker with the state. Our children were granted full termination of parental rights (TPR) in December, and we waited and waited as the state moved through their processes. Some days it was easy to be patient – it had already been years – and others, like when your son randomly starts calling himself by your last name…not so much. As of today, we have the adoptive caseworker, an adoption lawyer, the actual certificates of adoption and the papers that go to the judge. We are mere weeks from a court date that will seal the deal for good. We’ll be a brand new family of five! I am so thankful for this gift and for everyone who has helped and supported us. Turns out we really need you.

My amazing parents have rented a house on the Texas coast for all of us to go on vacation this summer. In less than a month, this nightmare of a school year will be over, and they will still be here, our kids, headed to the beach as part of our forever family. For better or worse, we’ll be official; we belong to each other now, and it is exhilarating. Because in the end, after you’ve wiped away the tears, the blood or the vomit, this is what remains. And it is worth it.

They came, they saw, they conquered!

Everyone is trying to adjust around here.

Wanted to fire off an update this morning on the pandemonium that has been the last week and a half, as I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever have the chance again. Since we got the call last Monday that three children would be coming into our home, our lives and surroundings have been transformed.

Tuesday of last week we prepared the house all day for a home visit from our caseworkers at the agency. We will now be switched from our pre-placement caseworker to the post-placement girl. Wednesday they both came with a binder of forms we will have to keep up with. Doctor visits, allowance, incident reports, activity calendar, clothing inventory, and a page for every pill that goes in a child’s mouth - it all has to be documented. Quite a task, but they did tell me teachers (like myself) are usually great at it. I can understand why. We walked through the house and re-checked that all the safety requirements were still being met.

The remainder of the week is a mind-boggling rush for everything you need – and some stuff you don’t – to care for three kids. I’ve been living at Target; we’ve been through Babies R Us, Big Lots, consignment stores…and then there are the helpers – our friends and family who have taken us shopping, given us gift cards, even taken up collections of stuff from generous supermoms who have never met us or the kids. These new belongings are both wonderful and intimidating. I’ve stood in aisles of stores near tears because of the choices I don’t know how to make. Last night I asked a stranger in the Target diaper section what to do about our two-year-old (since they haven’t given us her weight, and diapers are by weight). You could see the confidence in my parenting skills all over his face.

Then there’s our house. Shawn and I have joked for years about a line from the movie/musical Dreamgirls, the Beyoncé version. In one of the newer, Oscar-nominated songs she belts out, “I am alone at a crossroads! I’m not at home in my own home!” When I say we’ve joked about it I guess I mean I’ve sung it loudly and he has laughed at me. Regardless, suddenly I am not at home in my own home, not in the least. What was our guest room is now the girls’ room complete with bunk beds and toy storage and lots of pink. The office/library? Gone. It’s now the boy’s room, covered in footballs, baseballs, basketballs…It never occurred to us where OUR stuff was going to go. For right now, the answer to that is a bunch of boxes in the garage.

We found out late last week that we would get to have one visit with the kids before they came. That visit was Monday morning, at our house. We worked tirelessly to get things ready. I wanted the rooms to look just right so the kids would know we made a great space for them. The usual Sunday night dinner with my family centered on what snack and activity to have ready. It was a long, nearly sleepless night for me as we waited to see the children for the first time. And then there they were!

Out of the cars of our caseworker and their CPS social worker tumbled three sleepy little angels. Shawn and I stared through the front windows to catch the first glimpse of what may someday be our children. They were shy at first, but warmed up quickly. The oldest girl is the leader and the most outgoing, surprising me with bold statements like “I want to see my room” and “Can I put my pillow pet on my bed?” The boy is the most active, and also the most particular. It’s common to see some OCD from kids who have lived in chaos, and I’ve already spotted it in him. And last but not least the tiniest little punkin, barely two, clutching everything she carried close to her chest and eyeing us suspiciously. It took her almost an hour to let go of the doll, blanket, pacifier and backpack that she surrounded herself with since she stepped out of the car. She never did let me hold her. But that’s normal.

They tore through the house, playing, observing, questioning. They had apples and Oreos. They colored. They jumped all over the new bunk beds. They met the pets, or at least the ones that weren’t hiding. At times I wanted to hide myself. What do you do in that situation? I watched them in disbelief. They are very cute. They’re tall. The girls have brown hair and huge brown eyes. The boy looks like Shawn’s coloring, hair that is more sandy blonde and eyes some mix of blue and green. They seemed to understand they are moving here. They asked if they could call me “mom.” What a loaded question that is. On the one hand, it’s what I’ve been waiting for all this time. On the other, it’s a sad indication of how they’ve been raised…in homes where whoever is in charge is your mom.

The kids filled our home with excitement and our heads with responsibilities. I learned so fast that it’s not really possible to watch all three of them at once. Even with Shawn, myself, and two caseworkers, we had our hands full. Still, the children were polite and cleaned up after themselves and were easily redirected from misbehavior. They were dressed very nicely and clean and happy, at least on the outside. Once Shawn saw their little faces plastered with smiles and their general joie de vivre, he was at ease. I was more concerned with how WE were doing, asking the caseworker, is this ok? The room, the snack, the toys…are we doing this right?

Now, it’s T minus two days until they come to stay. On Friday morning our caseworker will come early with more paperwork. At around 10 a.m. the kids will arrive with their CPS caseworker in a van with their only belongings, whatever they are. Our to-do list is evolving from the larger car seat and bunk bed items down to the day-to-day minutia type stuff. Since there’s no way to really be ready I’ve been focusing on the basics. What do we need to be able to feed, bathe, clothe, and care for them starting August 2^nd. There’s so much more to do, like finding day cares and schools and therapists, and in two weeks I’ll have to report back to work. But for now I’m hoarding bug spray and body wash and baby wipes and desperately wanting to know how anybody does this. How my parents did it. How will I do it? We’ll know soon enough. I’m just so glad we get to find out.