In January 2017, 45 months later (keep in mind we were given an
estimate of 18-24 months) my husband and I fell in, once again for the 3rd
time, disheartening introspection. We had given ourselves until the end of 2016
before we reevaluated what we wanted to do – keep waiting or just move on with
our one child. 2016 came and gone with one failed match. Failed because she was
an ICWA (Indian Child Welfare Act). Failed because she had other prospective
families she was considering. Failed because we were eventually rejected. If
you don’t know anything about ICWA, it was an Act introduced in 1978 to protect
and preserve the American Indian community. She was part American Indian, and
to make a long story short, we were out of the game to find out later that the
birthmother ended up parenting the child. Praise God for protecting us from
that possible heartache.
For 2017, we considered and were likely not to renew our adoption
certification/license which is up in June. Every year, we had to renew our
certification by fulfilling
certain amount of hours of training, education, evaluation, and
inspection. Yes, every year, we were reminded of failed adoption, of emptiness,
of disappointments and were given a chance for self-evaluation. This time we
decided that we would wait until June 2017.
All the while, I was emotionally detached. I gave myself until the
end of 2016. I was ready to move on and was resolved to be content with the
life we had.
On February 4, the day before my birthday, I went to a spa with my
two best friends. We discussed my “doneness” in waiting. If I could recap my
life in decades, I could say that I have waited for a child in my 30’s. My
husband and I started planning for a family when I was 29, two years after our
wedding. We began to wait for God to provide for a child and 3 years
afterwards, I got pregnant through multiple attempts of IVF. A year after the
son, we decided we would be ready for our next child. Two years passed and no
result. We went back for more rounds of IVF and after a few procedures were told to seek other avenues
to grow our family. We turned to adoption. This time we thought, “at least
we’re sure to have a baby at the end of it all.” Or ARE WE? After patiently
waiting our maximum projection of 24 months, still no child. Another 24 months
of waiting after that, who are we kidding? So on that day, the day before I
turned 40, I declared that I am finished waiting for a child. I am happy with
my one son. I don’t want to wait anymore, and definitely not into my 40s.
On my birthday, I opened up to my husband about my “doneness.” He
wasn’t done. He wasn’t where I was. We needed to be on the same page. So I told
him I was willing to wait until June, but in the meantime, I have paved the way
for my future. I have began looking into PhD programs. I started researching
possible mentors. During a conference I attended, I even approached a mentor
candidate and enquired about his availability. He was due to retire but he
referred me to an equally capable colleague. I was moving on because
emotionally, I was done waiting.
The point of indifference to my deep desire for this child could
be best described by Matthew 5:3-4. “Blessed are those who are poor in spirit
for theirs is the Kingdom of God. Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall
be comforted.” When I gave up all hope, I looked to God as if to say “I no
longer put my hope in this idea of a child. I give it up to you. I look to you instead
to fill this void, of the deep longing for an idea. I mourned the loss of this
idea and allowed God instead to bring comfort that even without this child, I
could have peace and contentment.”
On Tuesday, February 7, my husband called me at 9 am. While having
my breakfast after returning from taking my son to school, I was annoyed.
Normally I would get texts from him, but today, he called me. “What is it?” I
enquired. “Are you sitting down? Do you have time to talk.” He asked. “Yes, I’m
free. I’m just having breakfast and getting ready to do some work.” At this
point, I was working in two different schools. UCI was my primary work and I’ve
picked up a course to teach at the nearby college.
“I got a call from Suzanne (social worker’s name changed for
privacy) and she says that we have a birthmom interested in us.”
“Are we the only candidates?”
“Yes, but she is early on in the pregnancy. She wants to meet us
on February 23.”
“What?” It’s February 7.
Something about this match though that just sat in us, with peace.
We have to wait 16 days before we meet her. Our last match was 48 hours. 16
days was a long time to wait, but we had peace.
“Tell me more about her.”
She sounded perfect. The situation was perfect. We could get to
know the birthmother during her pregnancy and our son could understand where
his brother came from. We could make plans for this child. We have time to prepare
and nest. It was perfect, almost too perfect to be true.
To keep our minds busy, we went on a trip the weekend after
Valentine’s Day – to San Francisco. There is something about having something
to look forward to that gives you a sense of purpose, or sanity.
The day finally came. She was perfect. Down to earth. Intelligent.
Tall. In great shape. Beautiful. Outgoing. Bubbly. Most importantly, we got on
very well. Our conversations went smoothly, naturally. We hit it off. We made
plans to see each other again in the next few weeks – Met her mother, her
sister. Our son met her family and even said hello to the baby in the tummy. They
came over to the house. It was great. And no, there is no but. It remains great.
In the next few weeks, we prepared. We had showers. We shopped. I decorated the nursery. We rearranged the room assignments. Everything was what they should be.
She invited me to come along with her for her next scan on May 4
(she was due May 8).
On May 4, I got a text in the morning from our birthmother indicating
that her water broke. “Are you in the hospital?” I enquired.
“Should I be?”
“Yes, once your water breaks, you risk infection. So they’ll have
to induce you if you are not in labor already.”
I went to work that day (upon our social worker’s instruction),
though my thoughts were elsewhere. I arranged not to be back at work. I am going on my family leave as of May 5th. We got home, had dinner, and tried to go to
bed. At midnight, it was futile. We couldn’t sleep. We decided to
just wait in the waiting room. She was pushing when we arrived. Her mother had
put us on Facetime during the entire labor. We heard everything. Then after 5
hours, we heard a baby’s cry. It was OUR baby’s cry. Could it be? We were
elated, and scared at the same time. We were invited in the room and there was
our BOY! Perfect. Just perfect. We cried and he was handed over to us by his
birthmother. She looked at us as if to say, here he is. And here. He. Is.
Next topics to come: Going on family leave, the paper process and navigating the
adoption triad
