Adoption Part 3: Are You Ready?

My family, spring 2011

I just said goodnight to my foster son.  Tomorrow, I will put my son to bed, no qualifiers, because tomorrow we are adopting him!  Now I just have to check off my list of preparations, which includes ironing shirts, trimming my husband's bushy winter beard, and packing a bag of distractions to keep all three boys busy while we make this thing official.  I can't help but draw comparisons to that night, almost 6 years ago, when I made similar preparations to become a mom for the first time.  I was nine months pregnant and ready to pop, heading to the hospital for my scheduled c-section.  James was in a breech position, head-butting my ribs until the last moment, standing on my bladder.  I talked to my belly, I told him how excited I was to meet him.  I tried to imagine what he would look like, if he would have my blue eyes or my husband's crooked toes, if he would look like other family members or be a complete original.  I hungered to hear his cries and hold him in my arms (also, I was just hungry, on a 12 hour pre-op fast).  I wondered if I would be a good parent, if the months of preparation had done exactly that, or just alleviated my nerves until it was game time.  Passing the night was the hardest part, I might have gotten about 3 hours of sleep before I was showering(in peace for the last time), and waddling out to the car with my husband.  My parents and mother-in-law met us at the hospital, and everyone excitedly chattered and smiled at each other as we waited for the big moment.  I saw my sister come in just as they wheeled me back to the OR, and it was a special moment between us before everything changed...and how quickly the change happened.  The blue tarp had barely been fastened in place before the doctor announced they were opening me up and suddenly the room was filled with my son's cries.  Thinking back feels like watching a movie on fast forward.  The flurries of activity, the mind-numbing exhaustion, the parade of visitors, and suddenly back home to do this thing for real.

In the morning, I expect no less frantic, emotionally-charged activity, although I will be marching to the car with him in my arms.  The big moment will only take a moment, and then we will be free to go, free to enjoy our new family of five, no nurses, no medicine, no hospital food.  I don't have to wonder what this little boy looks like, I can glance at his cherubic face, consult my mental catalog of moments together and think of his hiccupy laugh, his chubby fingers, his wispy hair.  I had hoped that becoming a foster parent would open me up to a variety of features different from the matching set of boys Chris and I produced together; maybe we would get a kid with brown eyes, brown hair, brown skin, even a girl.  What we got was the third piece to our set, a blond haired, blue eyed rascally boy who now eagerly toddles after the boys he's come to know as brothers.  We'll see many familiar faces from our time in the maternity ward, friends and family who are excitedly sharing this big day with us.  There will be some new ones there too: the caseworker who made this whole process easy and straightforward, the adoption worker who processed our paperwork as quickly as we could fill it out, the tough guardian ad litem who put me through the ringer to make sure I was a suitable parent for Michael.  And, yes, one more similarity:  every so often, I am gripped by that nagging doubt.  Can I do this?  Can I be the mother that he needs, give him the permanence and stability he needs?  Am I ready?  Fortunately, these questions are easily answered.  Yes.  I am ready.  I can be, and have been, this boy's mother.  I know I can give him what he needs, because I already do that.  I whip out peanut butter and jelly sandwiches en masse, I open everything one-handed, with this guy on my hip.  I sing and tickle and kiss and hug times three, and try to make enough room on my lap to hold everyone who wants to be there.

My family, summer 2012

Happy Gotcha Day Bubby!