This is the first post in our new category on this blog, “adoption”, which means you’ve seen the last in the category “TTC” (trying to conceive). The idea has been heavy on our hearts for months, years, but has very slowly evolved into a real decision. I know that God placed the desire there, and I also know that He has been getting us ready in His perfect time. The first part of the decision to adopt was the most difficult. It was saying goodbye. To choose to adopt, we had to finally let go of the idea that we would get pregnant, and you know that that has not been easy for me or Stu. We found that, without properly mourning our fertility, we could hardly muster any excitement over the prospect of an adopted baby. And yet, I was feeling God call us in that direction more and more clearly. He’s been asking me to let go of the idea that I can protect my own heart, and asking me to let Him be in charge of that. I cannot describe how free I have felt since I have given that control over to Him. I’ll have to do it again tomorrow, because everyday I wake up and find myself tempted to try to control my own destiny again. I’m so grateful that God is patient with me.
Today Stu asked me, have we mourned? Are we past being infertile? While I honestly don’t know if we’ll ever be over it, I do believe that we are both ready to move on with our lives. The ovulation sticks are in the trash. Goodbye progesterone and baby aspirin. We are now in the (slightly daunting) process of choosing an agency and I can honestly say that we are getting very excited to embrace a new baby into this family, who will grow in our hearts instead of my womb. We have given it some thought and decided that we will pursue a domestic infant adoption with no preference to race or gender. Statistically, this means we’re likely to welcome a precious African-American boy into our home. If you look at God’s history, you know that we couldn’t, in our wildest dreams, try to figure out what He has in store so I’m not going to try to guess. Regardless, we can’t wait.
In the past few weeks, through many discussions with agencies and social workers and adoptive parents and birth mothers and kids, I have CRIED. So far, crying is the number one way in which adoption is like being pregnant. My heart is so raw for a baby I don’t know yet. I’m already so in love, and in the same sob I worry if we’ll all attach ok. I’m already crying over my baby’s future feelings of loss (which most adoptive children feel at some point, over realizing the loss of their birth mother). I’m already crying because I don’t ever want my baby to feel singled out if he or she looks different from the rest of us. I’m already crying because I’m picturing Blake getting to finally take care of a little brother or sister. The crying has been a springboard to a rollercoaster of headaches, but I can’t say that I’d trade these emotions for anything in the whole wide world. Stu and I always say how we wish we hadn’t taken for granted how miraculous our pregnancy experience was. We felt that it was ,just, something we would get to do again and again. How differently we might have cherished that precious time if we had known it was our only? I’m not going to let that happen with this. We are now entering the (maybe very long) “pregnancy” phase, in my mind, and I want to treasure it. I want to write down my feelings and hopes and worries so that one day our sweet baby will know that he or she was not at all an accident. He or she will be born as a very purposeful gift from God. He or she will be so very wanted.
And so, it begins.