It's Been A Minute

I started this blog with two intentions: the first was to create a record for my foster son, JJ, if we got separated, or even if we didn't. I wanted him to know how all of this happened and how I felt while it was happening. The second was to inspire audacious commitments in taking responsibility for foster children. When I first got JJ, I got so many comments from people to the effect of "I just couldn't do what you're doing: I could never give back a baby," and it started to make me mad. Having worked with so many children in foster care, group homes, and even living on the streets, all I heard was selfishness in those comments. From my perspective the adults I encountered, for the most part, refused to alter their lives or risk incurring trauma to give a child a safe, loving home and family. I thought, because I have this inexplicable belief that people are mostly good, but that I was simply bumping into people who didn't get it. Countless kids are suffering now, being moved from home to home and never knowing who they can rely on. So many of them are lonely, scared, and abandoned. How could any stable adult's position be not to give up some of their own comfort to help if an opportunity presented itself? Why did so many people make it a point to tell me they would never risk what I was risking?

I know why most people would rather not get entangled with the social welfare system. It's messy and scary and unpredictable and largely thankless. But if you think it sounds bad for adults, think about the kids that are involved through no choice of their own (there are many great foster parents and social workers out there, and I mean no disrespect to them in any way, but I think we can agree that the system is not a good place for a child to be regardless of how nice and competent many people are in it). Then think about the money that is spent on IVF every year helping couples conceive when there are so many children who are alive and need homes. I'm not against IVF, not at all. We went down that road for a time. But I can't stomach the amount it costs just to try to get pregnant when there are waiting children. At the same time, I would never tell a Mom who conceived through IVF that I would never do what she did. I doubt most of us would. So why did so many people think it was appropriate to say that to me when we took Jayden in? On the flip side, some people treated me like I was a religious figure who took in a little orphan baby. I am no saint, I assure you. He's not lucky to have us, we are lucky to have him.

We took JJ home, knowing we could be required to give him back at any time. The deal was his biological Father would likely be ready to take him in the fall. We got him in March. Did we want to give him back? Of course not. Jeff and I knew it would tear something inside of us if and when that time came. We hoped that if it did, we could feel confident that returning him to his bio Dad would be the right thing, even though it would feel horrible. We worked with his birth Dad and the ministry for a year on the premise that there would be what they call reunification, meaning he returns to his biological family. Why did I take a baby I probably would not be able to keep? Because there was a small chance he could end up with us. When you have unexplained infertility, your whole life is maybe. Maybe I’ll get pregnant this month. Maybe we’ll win the lottery and do IVF. Maybe it’ll work. Maybe it won’t. Maybe we’ll give up hope and it will all work out. Maybe we’ll never be parents. I met JJ who was alive and needed a home, and I needed to stop saying maybe, even if just for a little while. But the year of watching JJ grow and growing more in love with him every second: waiting, not knowing, not agreeing sometimes with his bio parents and social workers about how to keep him safe and what was appropriate for him did some significant damage to me. Even though I knew what I was signing up for and felt prepared to care for and love a baby I might have to give back, I learned that there is no preparation for how much you will love a little person who is not yours. I spent the first year of JJ's life terrified of what I could not control. Calls from social workers gave me panic attacks, taking him to see his birth Dad gave me almost unmanageable anxiety. One visit, I remember his bio Dad picking him up, JJ crying and reaching for me as he was carried away to a ministry townhouse where his bio Dad got some help watching him for a couple of hours. I sat in my car and cried for 10 minutes before I could pull myself together enough to drive to a Starbucks and wait for it to be over. To be clear, I wasn't afraid of his bio Dad hurting him or taking him or anything like that. I was scared of the complete lack of control and boundaries I had to live with, that most new moms get to have. And I felt like a new Mom, even though I was reminded by circumstances all the time that I was not his Mother.

People were so lovely to me during that time; I'm grateful for all the kindness I received in person and online. So many Moms reminded me that I was a Mom, and I appreciated that. But I didn't know anyone else who lived under the constant threat of their baby being taken from them. In that, I was alone.

When I feel overwhelmed, I tend to look things up. Since JJ came to stay with us, I'd be awake at some point most nights googling everything from sleep habits for his age to neck rashes to poop colours. Since we got JJ so quickly, I was terrified of something going wrong for a long time and would wake up in a panic most nights. I also looked up adoption and fostering information. I found the blog of a woman who adopted her foster kids. She wrote about how she stopped blogging before she adopted them because her blog was used in court to show that she "wanted them too much." Yes. You read that right. This woman was "too into" her kids, and a lawyer used that as a reason she should not be able to adopt them. I had just started this blog and reading that terrified me.

Adding this lovely little blog tidbit to the horror stories that, for some reason, so many people believe you want to hear about adoption and fostering gone wrong (I had to pay $250k in legal fees to fight the ministry to keep my kid/the social worker returned my foster son to his mom who had starved him/the social worker threw my kid's bio mom in a cold shower to sober her up before court just so she could beat me and return my foster kid to her), I was essentially paralyzed with fear. I already knew way too much about what happens when a kid is neglected by parents who can't handle them, and now I felt that if I made one misstep, I could not only lose my precious baby, but he could have a life where he was neglected and abandoned. What if his social worker didn't like me? What if his bio Dad didn't want Jeff and I to have him? What if a new relative came on the scene and took him? What if they're plotting to take him right now? How could I reassure my baby I would always be there for him when there was a genuine chance I would not be allowed to be there? Yes, we signed up to parent him short-term. But I learned that you cannot care for a child the way they should be cared for without forming strong attachment bonds. And once they're created, it's like tearing flesh to separate the two. Emotionally, I tore a little each day. I could ignore it most of the time, but my body reminded me whenever the threat of losing him returned.

This is not a story to persuade you not to get involved with kids who need it or to protect your heart (because you can't), or how to make sure you keep your kids. This is a story about the year Jeff, JJ, and I went through before we became his legal guardians. Why I stopped blogging, and how I did end up getting a call from his social worker that they were going to return him to his birth Dad.

I was at work, and the social worker called to say that since his bio Dad had an apartment, they were planning to give him JJ. Have you ever experienced true panic? Like you're standing still, but all of a sudden, you're out of breath because your heart is beating THAT. FAST? That's what happened to me when I heard those words. I think I managed a thin "Ok, thanks for letting me know" and hung up the phone. I was in a daze. We weren't even close to JJ knowing his Dad well enough to live with him, let alone his Dad knowing his schedule, likes and dislikes, milestones, words, or any of that. I'm thankful I had amazing people at work who talked me down because I was too scared to do anything after that call.

I ended up meeting JJ's bio Dad for a visit with his son, and we talked. He didn't feel ready to take JJ but didn't want to let him go. He was worried if we kept him, we wouldn't let him have access to his kid any more. I reassured him and let him know that he and JJ's bio Mom would always be welcome to see him; they just needed to ask. We talked about him going to soccer games, his first day of school, and many other milestones. I like JJ's birth Dad, and know he'll always be a part of JJ's life whether they see each other or not: I told him he's part of our family now. We're connected through JJ and will always be. He liked that and soon after recommended to the social worker that JJ stay with us. A couple of months later, we were served with guardianship papers. Our year of uncertainty and fear had come to an end. This little person I met at a party had come into our home and our lives and completely taken over. We found ourselves totally besotted with him and could not imgagine a life where he wasn't with us, and suddenly, we didn't have to. It felt like everything we had ever wished for had come true in one moment, and we could finally take a deep breath.

And then we were plunged into a global pandemic.

But that, my friends, is a story for another blog…