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Wednesday, September 9th, 2009
Last week I said I had a feeling something good was about to happen. After the emotionally tumultuous prior three weeks, I felt a sudden calm about it all. I listened to happy songs on my iPod instead of lingering on the depressing ones. I stopped subjecting D to tearful, woe-is-me rants. I realized one day as I smiled to myself, “Oh yeah, I remember – this is what normal feels like.”
And then it happened. The good thing. We got a call from our adoption facilitator telling us about a 7-year-old boy with ADHD and asking if we wanted our profile to be presented. Our preferences say we’re open to up to age 6, but we didn’t hesitate to say yes anyway. How could we say no at a time like this? When we’re expecting and calmly waiting for our good thing, and this might easily be it?
The next day we got another call telling us the boy’s mother wanted to speak with us. As this is my fourth birthparent to speak with, I wasn’t even that nervous. Okay, I was still nervous, but not bone-shakingly so. As with the other times, I wrote down a list of questions in my reporter’s notebook, set the telephone beside me, and glanced at the clock every 10 seconds.
There is nothing like the jolt in my belly when the phone rings for that first conversation with a potential birthmom, and I know I’m about to hear her voice for the first time. This is a total stranger who holds our fate in her hands. Whether we hit it off or not has enormous consequences; it’s like a job interview times 1,000.
In this case, his mom – I’ll call her J – was incredibly easy to get along with. We chatted for 40 minutes about her son – I’ll call him G, for now – and her situation and our situation. Many of the concerns I had were quickly resolved. J seemed to be thinking about this all very logically – she’d worked out every detail, and the good news for us was that we seemed to be on the same page on literally everything. For example, she asked about school, and I said that we had thought about home schooling at least for a while if we got an older child, so that we’d have more hours in the day to bond, and it turned out her ideal situation was parents who would home school him.
D wanted to talk to J, too, and she wanted to talked to him, so we scheduled another call for the next evening. I felt really good about our conversation, but I still didn’t know how many other families she might be speaking with.
The next morning we received word that J had sent photos of G by e-mail and wanted to make sure they were passed on to us. Another good sign.
Then I opened the e-mail. D was outside cutting grass, and I ran out to find him, my stomach full of butterflies. The boy looked just like D when he was a child – I swear, the narrow face and slightly stick-out ears, the blonde hair and blue eyes and small brown hands. I felt it when I looked at him – this is our child.
Which I quickly amended in my mind to “might be.” After what happened with Seth, I’ve been careful not to be overly optimistic, always tempering every positive phrase with, “if it happens.”
Then D came in and saw the photos, too, and the first thing he said was, “He kinda looks like me!” I wanted to grab D and hug him and shake him and squeal a little, but he was covered with sweat and grass clippings, and wanted to take a shower first before our call with J.
So I busied my shaking hands e-mailing G’s photo to my mother, my sister, friends I had discussed him with. I got an e-mail back from my friend Wendy that said, “I may not should say this, but … I think he is the one.”
That evening J called again, and she and her husband (G’s step-dad) chatted with us for a long time. It was another comfortable conversation, and they both seemed like nice people. By the end, they essentially said they wanted to choose us but wanted to meet us. Labor Day was conveniently coming up, so we made a plan to meet them Monday morning and spend the afternoon with them at G’s favorite park.
Unlike with Seth, there were no tears or declarations from D about how “we have a son.” The Seth situation made us wary, a little afraid to speak our hopes out loud. On top of that, G is in Florida, too, so we would be making such a similar trip for a similar reason.
Still, much as I tried to remind myself of the dangers, I just felt in my gut this one was different. I spent the week before driving down to meet Seth agonizing over our decision, crying, literally making myself sick with worry. Even on the drive down, I felt an odd emptiness.
This time I didn’t let myself buy clothes, I didn’t go in the nursery, and I barely let myself contemplate the reality of a child coming into our home. But behind the wall of protection I put up, my inner self was doing a little jig of excitement. In the car on the way to Florida, the mood was so much lighter, even when the clouds dumped rain on us. And then, overhead, we saw a magnificent double rainbow, and though I say I don’t believe in signs, it was hard not to see this as a good one.
Our good luck hit a snag when we got sleepy and were forced to stop for the night in a $40/night motel that was the skeeviest place I’ve ever set foot in, with paint peeling off the door, broken towel bars, tiny towels thin as and with the texture of sandpaper, cracked and stained tile in the shower, and truly grotesque carpet. Between worrying bugs might crawl on me and the stress about the next morning’s meeting, I barely slept.
Then the next morning, we discovered the shower didn’t drain properly and immediately filled up with three inches of grungy-looking water. Already grumpy from sleep deprivation, I didn’t handle this well. I almost had a meltdown right there in the shower entrance. I tell you, that was the fastest shower I’ve ever taken.
The shower and lack of sleep and low blood sugar put me in a defeatist mood, and all the happy-rainbow-skipping feelings of the day before evaporated. Suddenly, I just knew this was going to be a disaster – we were going to act like total dorks, and J was going to think my shirt was ugly, and G was going to kick us in the shins and run away.
But the good news is that didn’t happen. We got a call from J when we were a few minutes away asking if it would be okay to relocate to this bowling alley/arcade/skating rink place because it was raining. Sure thing. Just talking to her made me feel better, as I’ve discovered by now it always does. She is so calm and certain.
When I saw their truck pull into the parking lot, my stomach did a crazy leap. My hand was on the car door, but I wanted to catch a glimpse of G before I got out, just one glimpse where I could react in private. Then there he was, in a Spider-man baseball cap, a Superman T-shirt and denim shorts, dipping his sneakered toe in a puddle.
Then, suddenly, we were meeting him. D shook his hand, and I shook his hand (cool and slim and fragile), and we shook his parents’ hands, and we all giggled nervously in the drizzling rain.
Inside the bowling alley, G headed straight for the arcade, so we all did, too. I trailed behind, suddenly terrified of this quiet little waif and the enormous task ahead of me – making him like me. D, on the other hand, jumped right in there, engaging him on the arcade games.
Soon, we took a bathroom break, and in the women’s bathroom G said his first words to me – something about opening a door, that I couldn’t really understand over the blaring hand dryer. His voice was so quiet then, his manner so shy. So different than the silly, funny little boy who would emerge over the next few hours.
We went bowling then, and G began to interact with us – pointing out his glowing socks, running up beside us to give us good luck while we bowled, giving me a double high five, climbing on D and spontaneously giving him a hug. J encouraged him to do things with D, like pick out a bowling ball. G’s step-dad sat out the bowling, and G decided he and D should be a team of boys against girls. G would run up and smack my orange ball and his mom’s pink one with his palms to “curse” them, so we’d have bad luck. (The girls still won, by the way.)
When we could, D and I stole glances at each other. D’s eyes were wide – surprised, happy, overwhelmed, careful.
After the game, G announced he was hungry, and we went to the snack bar for lunch. G ordered two pieces of pizza, and a soft pretzel, and – when he heard me say I wanted one – an Icee. D and I ordered lunch, too, but G’s parents said they didn’t want anything.
The pretzel and D’s hot dog took forever to be ready, so we all sat for a long time together waiting and eating. This was when G’s personality really began to shine. When his mom told him we’d been to Ireland, he got out of his seat and did an impression of a leprechaun, complete with funny voice saying, “You can’t get me pot o’ gold!” He played with his straw and told us about the book he read last night (Are You My Mother? Oh, the irony.), about his Halloween costumes of the past (Ninja Turtle, ninja, skeleton, Spider-man) and his birthday parties. He ate his two slices of pizza, one of my slices, half a pretzel, an Icee, and some of D’s fries, and then he wanted ice cream – cotton candy flavor, of course.
He and his parents went to buy the ice cream, but then he came running back to us and blurted, “My mom said to tell you I like you very much!” “Thanks,” we said, “we like you, too!” Later, we found out he’d told his mom he liked us and was glad we came with them, and she told him, “Don’t tell me, tell them,” and he’d immediately dashed off to do so.
Then G brought back an empty cone for D and scooped a little of his ice cream into it with his spoon, and I almost melted.
After all that food was packed away in G’s little body, he asked D to try to win him a toy from the claw machine. That segued us back into the arcade, where we spent the rest of our quarters playing together, this time much more comfortably for us all.
Since it wasn’t raining anymore, J suggested we all go to the park after all, and G asked if he could ride with us in our car. His mother said it was fine with her, and it was totally fine with us, of course!
The ride to the park was about 30 minutes, so we got all that time to ourselves with G. He pretended our blue Frisbee was a monster trying to attack me, and I played along, shrieking whenever he sneaked it up beside me. He handed me the jar of slime he’d won and said to put it on the console between us because it wanted to sit by us. He told us how Santa had brought him a bike for Christmas, and Santa is magic and has elves. I told him we’d recently been to the beach and jumped in the waves, and he said, “Aww, why didn’t you invite me?”
At the park, his parents said they were going to run and get some lunch to give us some more time alone with G. He and D immediately took off running toward the water (this was one gorgeous park!), and I got out my camera. The two of them played Frisbee, climbed poles and ropes, chased squirrels, and played hide and seek like old friends.
When his parents got back, I chatted with them some more, asking questions about G while he was off playing. Then he came back and wanted to take pictures with my camera. He took photos of me and his mom and step-dad, but mostly he took photos of D. Then he posed with his arms around his mom and me and said, “Let’s take a family picture!”
When it was time to leave, his mom told him to hug us, which I was hoping she would say, and he did, then gave D a second hug unprompted a few minutes later. His mom said she would call our facilitator the next day, and – though she didn’t say it aloud – I thought this meant we probably had a match.
On the way home, we got a text from her telling us how good it made her feel to see G so comfortable with us.
Then the next day we got a call from our facilitator, saying J believed we were the right couple but had a few, tougher questions – like what we would say to him when he said, “Doesn’t my mother love me anymore?” or “Why did my family abandon me?”
We spoke with her again that afternoon and told her how we’d always let him know that his mother loved him but believed it was the best thing for him to be with a family who had more time to spend with him. We talked more about the possibility of visits and how I’d thought maybe instead of calling her he could write her letters. Again, we were on the same page.
That evening the facilitator called me and said the words, “It’s official!”
Not long after that, J called and said she’d told G about the adoption plan, and he’d been “surprisingly receptive.” He was sad but also excited and seemed almost to be prepared for it, which makes me wonder if he’d overheard some things this week.
She showed him our profile, and he was excited about his new grandparents and cousins, his new house, the Welcome Home party we’d be having for him, and getting to pick out his new bedspread. He saw the photo of D working on his car and said, “Look! He works on things!” His mother told him how D wants him to help work on things with him, and G said, “All right!”
He asked hard questions, too, like if she would still be his mom. J told him she would always be his mom and always love him, but we’d be his new mom and dad. He has a teddy bear with a recording of his mom telling him she loves him. He asked if he could bring his bear with him and said, “When I’m sad, I can push it.” Which broke my heart.
This kid seems so smart and wise and sweet and wonderful. It has been hard to feel excited about him while feeling so sad for him about losing his family. But hearing this news that he liked us so much and is not completely devastated about the idea of living with us is a great comfort to us.
Today, his mom told his father, who hasn’t seen him in two years and has never had much to do with him, about her plan for adoption and that the attorney could come bring him papers to sign as early as Friday. He was a little freaked out and, at the moment, is planning to go visit him tomorrow and also talk to his school and his doctor, because he doesn’t believe J that he really has ADHD. But he seemed to feel somewhat better when she explained to him that this was a very open adoption, and G would not be disappearing on a white slave boat to China. He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no.
J was a little afraid to tell me this news. She was scared we would think it was too complicated and would run for the hills. I assured her we are not going anywhere. If G’s father says absolutely no, there’s nothing any of us can do about it. But until then, we’re in it. We want this little boy.
Our facilitator tells us not to worry, that this is a typical reaction and G’s father hasn’t had time to adjust to the idea like J has. That sounds reasonable to me. I am not worried yet. At least not too much.
I still think this is the one. G’s photo is on our refrigerator – that’s where I want it to stay.
That may have been one of the longest posts I’ve ever read on a blog, but it left me grinning ear to ear. I’ve been following your blog for over a year now, and this news is what I’ve been hoping for. You’re in my thoughts and prayers as you work through these last couple obstacles!
-Nathan
This post brought tears to my eyes. I’m so happy and hopeful for you that this little boy might be the one for you. At the same time, I’m sad for the situation with his birth family that has them making this decision. He seems like such a good fit with you. I so hope it works out for you.
What Jayne said. I hope this works out for you!
I hope G works out. Keep the faith.
I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed for you, D and “G”. It’s been a long and rough ride, I hope that we finally see the light at the end of this tunnel and things work out for everyone.
Thanks! I know – this was a seriously long post. Should’ve posted a few days ago before I got so much news to tell. I wanted to get everything down, so I would be able to remember it all in the future.
Wow… sounds like an amazing kid! I have everything crossed that this works out!
Your post made me tear up, then smile, then tear up again… so many emotions in one post!
I really wish you and D the best of luck. This child sounds so outgoing and smart. Good luck!