More waiting. This time it's at 4 am in a rented house a quarter mile from the Atlantic Ocean. I can hear the waves even with the doors and windows shut. It seems like we have had a lot of practice at waiting these past several months. Following the thrill of our first trip to Florida to meet up (and officially match up) with Connie- birth mother to our future son- it's been all waiting. Waiting to hear from our adoption attorney Mark regarding Connie's status. Waiting to hear if she peed clean this time. Waiting to know the results of the ultrasounds. Waiting to hear if she's out of rehab. Waiting for a revised due date.
Now, this morning's waiting was different. I just sent my bride off in the dark, humid Florida air to pick up Connie. I'm waiting on my brother in law to arrive to help watch our three current children- all peacefully sleeping- so that I can join them at the hospital later this morning when the Potossin takes effect and labor is progressing.
Today is induction day: Modern medicine's way of saying enough is enough to the waiting.
The doctor felt it would be good for Connie to have the baby sooner than the April 24 due date due to the projected size and weight of the child. In fact we thought we'd go in last Thursday evening for induction but that was rescheduled. Soon the waiting will be over. At least this phase of waiting, anyway. New flavors will emerge: Is he healthy? Is he addicted? Will he want to nurse from another mother's breast? Can't spend time thinking about that now. I know I should try to sleep for the long day and nights ahead.
This trip to Florida has been much different than our last one. We departed our safe, sterile suburban cul-du-sac as a family of five. Knowing we'll come back as a family of 6. Back to an even number. "For roller coasters and restaurants," my executive mentor tells me.
Family of six. Wow. Technically enough for our own hockey team- including a goalie. That's the number I told Kat I wanted someday, joking about how many kids I wanted. While we don't have 6 actual children (this will be our 4th), it dawned on me that what was once a joke has somehow blended into vision, and now is turning slowly into reality. Kanary, party of 6. Keeping mini-vans and CostCo in business.
We are gaining a deeper appreciation for the unique characteristics of a domestic, semi-open adoption, versus closed and/or international adoptions, for example. When we had our "God-moment" or what we now refer to as the "adoption ambush service" at church, when a totally predictable message on serving the poor, the widowed and the orphaned took a major left turn, and families came up on stage with their kids to share their stories of adoption. I began sobbing uncontrollably and Kat soon joined me. We knew then that adoption was the next step we were going to take to grow our family. Not the recommended next step. Not the next step we should think about. No. God is clearly calling us to do this. We were going to do it. Now almost two and a half years later, here we are. Okay, we're a little slow in our obedience. But the journey has been amazing and I suspect we needed that much time in our hearts to prepare for this.
We chose domestic adoption because we knew our ability to travel together as a family internationally was limited. Seemed like there were a lot of kids who needed a family here in the US. And there are.
No matter which route a family chooses, it's a roller coaster. This road we chose is not a clean, neat one. In fact it's downright messy. No easy entry or exit point. And there's no tidy bow to tie on or around it when it's done.
As we sat on the beach yesterday watching our kids play with Connie's daugher JoJo, it hit me how we have become redemptively entangled with Connie and her family. Nothing like this would ever occur in a closed adoption. Connie asked us to pick up and watch JoJo for the day, so there we were. And we wouldn't have it any other way. Except I would have liked to remember to put sunscreen on the tops of my feet.
Last month we decided to have Kat and Katherine (our oldest daughter) fly to Florida just to spend time with Connie. The trip was all about loving on Connie. No agenda other than spending time with her, going to doctor visit with her, getting nails done. Just girl time. We wanted to show her- and also remind ourselves- that this adoption is not just about a baby. It's about all of us.
Our hope is that many lives will be changed through this process. The baby's life, our lives as parents, spouses, siblings, and Connie's life.
We did not want to show up this month with Hi, we're here to adopt the baby now. Thanks and good luck. It felt transactional. Of course it would be cleaner (for us) just to adopt and be done with it. Yet where is the opportunity for life change in that? Where is the chance to press into the reason we're doing this? Messy is good. Messy is hard.
Messy brings the full gambit of emotions. Frustration. Why can't she change? How many more pregnancies will it take? Anger. How can she do that to her body with a child inside? Doubt. Is she gaming the system? Playing us? Fear. Will the child have permanent health problems? We'll be getting another phone call a year from now and she'll be pregnant again. Guilt. We're taking her son from her. Sadness. She wants us to buy a disposable camera so she can take a picture of her son (or is it our son?) And that's just the front page of the menu. Welcome to Cafe Messy.
Speaking of cafes, I've had two cups of coffee now. No going back to bed. In a few more hours I'll be able to join Kat and Connie, and hopefully meet our son today. This afternoon perhaps? And as if I didn't have enough reasons to stay awake, the tops of my feet are killing me.
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