In an Unconventional Family Way
I recently attended my friend's baby shower, and it reminded me that I, too, am going to have a baby soon. You just can't tell by looking at me.
My husband and I are in the process of adopting our second child from Texas. Most of the paperwork has been completed, the initial checks mailed in, and our "profile" on file at the agency. Now we're just waiting for a pregnant woman (or teenager) to flip through the pages filled with our family photos and find something appealing about us.
That's the way it works with open adoption in America. The birth mother chooses you. She looks through nearly a dozen profiles and picks out a few couples who she thinks might make suitable parents. The agency arranges phone contact, and you get to know each other. Sometimes you click, sometimes you don't.
The woman, who is at least three months pregnant or just given birth, notifies the agency when she has made up her mind. Then it's your turn to decide whether to accept or pass.
Two years ago, John and I matched with a young soldier four weeks before she gave birth to Hendrick. It all happened so quickly I never really paid too much attention to the concept of a psychological pregnancy.
Looking back, I think I never allowed myself to experience that joy.
My friend's baby shower made me think of my own shower. It was awkward to stand in front of my family and friends and open gifts for a baby I couldn't feel kicking inside my belly. I just couldn't imagine rocking to bed -- in all those newly purchased sleepers -- an infant who wouldn't recognize the sound of my voice the first time he heard it.
When my office mates took me to lunch and presented me with a large basket filled with baby clothes and toys, the young women didn't understand why I wasn't excited to receive their gift. I was grateful but guarded. I didn't want to get my hopes up, after all. The birth mother still had a right to change her mind. (Texas law requires birth mothers to wait 48 hours before relinquishing their parental rights. Fathers often sign termination papers in advance.)
As I watched my friend, with her fattened cheeks and protruding belly, unwrap one pretty pink outfit after another it became obvious how different our pregnancies are.
Even though mine is all my head, it doesn't make it any less real. This time I'm going to relish my role as an expectant mother and have faith in a young woman I have yet to meet.
My husband and I are in the process of adopting our second child from Texas. Most of the paperwork has been completed, the initial checks mailed in, and our "profile" on file at the agency. Now we're just waiting for a pregnant woman (or teenager) to flip through the pages filled with our family photos and find something appealing about us.
That's the way it works with open adoption in America. The birth mother chooses you. She looks through nearly a dozen profiles and picks out a few couples who she thinks might make suitable parents. The agency arranges phone contact, and you get to know each other. Sometimes you click, sometimes you don't.
The woman, who is at least three months pregnant or just given birth, notifies the agency when she has made up her mind. Then it's your turn to decide whether to accept or pass.
Two years ago, John and I matched with a young soldier four weeks before she gave birth to Hendrick. It all happened so quickly I never really paid too much attention to the concept of a psychological pregnancy.
Looking back, I think I never allowed myself to experience that joy.
My friend's baby shower made me think of my own shower. It was awkward to stand in front of my family and friends and open gifts for a baby I couldn't feel kicking inside my belly. I just couldn't imagine rocking to bed -- in all those newly purchased sleepers -- an infant who wouldn't recognize the sound of my voice the first time he heard it.
When my office mates took me to lunch and presented me with a large basket filled with baby clothes and toys, the young women didn't understand why I wasn't excited to receive their gift. I was grateful but guarded. I didn't want to get my hopes up, after all. The birth mother still had a right to change her mind. (Texas law requires birth mothers to wait 48 hours before relinquishing their parental rights. Fathers often sign termination papers in advance.)
As I watched my friend, with her fattened cheeks and protruding belly, unwrap one pretty pink outfit after another it became obvious how different our pregnancies are.
Even though mine is all my head, it doesn't make it any less real. This time I'm going to relish my role as an expectant mother and have faith in a young woman I have yet to meet.
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