Knocked Up...Knocked Down

I have some news!

Hello, everyone.  It has been a while, and I hope that you all are doing well.  I have some exciting news on the adoption front:  we are matched with an expectant mother who has chosen us to parent her child! 

We finished the last of our paperwork and completed our homestudy in June, and at that time our social worker told us that we probably could expect to wait AT LEAST a year for a baby.  However, she informed us that there was a possibility that it could happen any time, including very soon, if an expectant mother were to choose our profile from the agency's website before contacting the agency.  In that event, if the agency were to determine that her preferences match ours, we could be matched at that time regardless of the amount of our time on the waiting list.

EIGHT DAYS after our homestudy was approved and our profile went up on the agency's website, we received a call from our social worker that a woman had chosen us, our preferences matched, and she wanted to meet us.  My husband and I met her at a restaurant for lunch two days later (coincidentally, for the meeting she picked the same time of day and the exact restaurant where my husband and I had our first date 14 years ago), and we all "clicked."  We really like her!  I'll call her "C."  We all have a lot in common, and I am especially happy that she is a Christian.  (Unfortunately we will never get to meet the man who fathered the baby because he is totally out of the picture at this point.)

C is due to deliver a baby girl on August 10.  However, C may be induced earlier because an ultrasound earlier this week revealed that the baby has a health issue that may or may not turn out to be serious (an enlarged bladder that may be affecting her kidney function). 

If the adoption plan proceeds, though, we could be parenting a baby in the very near future!

My husband and I are feeling such a roller coaster of emotions.  Mainly we are THRILLED, excited, and happy at the potential of adding a little daughter to our family.  We would love her to pieces!  Our extended families are very excited, too; my husband's sister even cried happy tears when we saw her because she is so hopeful and excited for us.  I feel sad that my dad isn't here to share the news with because he would have been SO excited. We also are feeling a bit overwhelmed and our heads are spinning that it is happening so unexpectedly fast (we made a mad dash to Babies R Us with my mother-in-law and my husband's sister and went on a wild shopping spree because even though we have been trying to have a baby for over 5 years, we still hadn't acquired ANY baby paraphenalia and were woefully unprepared in that department).  In addition, we are concerned about the baby's health and hoping and PRAYING that the bladder problem will turn out to be nothing serious (an amnio already has determined that she is chromosomally normal and doesn't have any of the genetic conditions that commonly could cause an enlarged bladder, so that is good news). 

We also feel sad for C; we told her that if she has a change of heart and decides to parent her child, we would understand.  We told her that we don't want her to feel pressure just because we are matched; in order to feel good about adopting her child, we need to know that she is doing it because she truly believes it is the best option for her as well as for her baby and not because of any outside pressure.  She assured us that she has prayed and prayed about it and independently feels that she truly is making the best choice for everyone involved, including herself.  However, I certainly would understand if that all changed when they put the baby in her arms.  We would be very sad and disappointed if she has a change of heart, but God would give us the strength to deal with it, and regardless of what happens with this match we have faith that there is a baby in our future, some way, somehow.

All you pray-ers out there, please pray for God's will and guidance in this situation.  Please pray for the baby's and C's health and that the delivery will go smoothly and safely (C wants us to be there for the birth, by the way).  Please pray for guidance and peace for both C and us and that this situation really will turn out to be a good one for all involved, whatever happens.

Thanks!  I'll keep you posted!

The question of adoption and race

***Thanks to all of you who prayed or sent best wishes on my mom's behalf last week.  The good news is that the cardiac catheterization went smoothly.  The bad news is that it revealed a greater than 90% blockage in a particularly dangerous location in her left anterior descending artery, and for a variety of reasons her doctors feel that bypass surgery is the best next step. 

Thus, she is scheduled for the surgery early Thursday morning.  I am going to make the trip to be with my parents on the day of the surgery and to help out during the initial recovery, so I again will be away from the Internet for a while. 

I am very thankful that the blockage was discovered before it caused a heart attack, but I also am feeling concerned about the upcoming surgery.  Cardiac surgery always is a significant health event, and I imagine the recovery is harder for an elderly person (my mom is 79). 

Any prayers that you could pray for a smooth surgery and an uncomplicated, speedy recovery would be most appreciated.***

...and now back to our regularly scheduled adoption programming:

I have mentioned here that my husband and I have embarked on the initial stages of the adoption process, but up until now I haven't really written in much detail about it, so I thought that I would take this opportunity to discuss it.  We are pursuing a domestic infant adoption, preferably of a healthy white baby. 

That preceding sentence is a simple statement, but I can assure you that the thought process leading up to the statement has been anything but simple.

First of all, we had to work on getting comfortable with the idea of adoption in general and with the fact that it appears likely that we aren't able to have a biological child.  I could write a book's worth of posts just on that subject, but not today.  For this post I'm going to focus on one particular aspect of our decision, the aspect about which I feel the most uncomfortable discussing:  the race issue.

Why have we chosen to seek to adopt a white baby?  It's definitely not because we think we would be able to love a white baby more than a child of a different race or that we think that there is anything more inherently desirable about a white baby.  It's in large part because my husband and I are both white and have examined our lives, the environment in which we lead our daily lives, and we have realized that our environment is not very racially or culturally diverse.  Therefore, it may not be the ideal environment for a child of another race, and we're not very motivated to move to another neighborhood or to make other significant changes that would be required for us to attain a more racially or culturally diverse environment.  I hate to admit that, but it's true. 

At the required two-day seminar hosted by our adoption agency that we attended last month, we spent a large chunk of one day discussing transracial and transcultural adoption, the extra layer of issues such adoptive family will face, and the extra struggles that a child who is of a different race than his adoptive parents may experience.  The instructor emphasized that prospective adoptive families, in determining whether to adopt transracially, should assess the current level of racial and cultural diversity in their neighborhood, their school district, and the people that they interact with every day because it is helpful for a child to have contact with people of his own racial or cultural heritage. 

To help us assess the diversity in our lives, the instructor conducted a simple exercise in which  she gave each couple several small containers of colored beads that symbolized various races: white = Caucasian, black = African or African American, yellow = Asian or Asian American, red beads = Native American, brown beads = Hispanic, and beige = mixed racial heritage.  She asked about twenty questions such as "What race is your boss?  Your pastor/priest?  The musicians/singers that you listen to? The actors in the movies you choose to watch?  The people on the covers of the magazines to which you subscribe?  The people in your neighborhood?  The children in your school district?  Your spouse? Your mother?  Your father? Your closest friends?"  In answer to each question, each prospective adoptive parent chose a bead and dropped it into a cup in front of him or her.  At the end of the exercise, we examined our cups to see how racially diverse our daily lives are. 

My husband and I realized that we are just about the whitest people alive.  My cup was a sea of white beads, except for a couple of yellow beads representing some close friends of mine who are Asian American.  The instructor said that if we were considering adopting transracially, we really should consider finding ways to introduce more racial diversity into our lives.

The sad thing is that I never fully realized the lack of racial diversity in my daily life...although I was reminded of a friend from work (another attorney) who is African American and who used to live in my neighborhood.  We had a discussion once about why she chose to leave the neighborhood and move to a different one.  One of the main reasons she cited was the local grocery store where we both shopped.  "Be honest," she said.  "How many black people have you seen shopping there?"  I had to admit that I had noticed very few.  She explained to me how she felt as if she stuck out like a sore thumb in the neighborhood, and that fact alone made it uncomfortable for her even though she hadn't encountered any specific racism.  She moved to a predominantly African American neighborhood where she felt like she blended in and fit in better.

I considered what she said, and I acknowledged that people do have a tendency to want to blend in, to be with people who look like them and share the same culture, and this might explain in part why so many neighborhoods in my city are still relatively racially homogeneous.  Still, I worried whether the plethora of white beads in my cup meant that I have insidious racist tendencies of which I was unaware...but truly, after soul-searching, I do not think I am racist.  It's always possible that I am deceiving myself about that, but I try not to make assumptions about people based on the color of their skin.  I try to have the loving heart toward people that Jesus would want me to have towards them.  I know I could love any child I adopt, regardless of color.

Nevertheless, as the instructor at the adoption seminar pointed out, we have to accept the fact that our society has not yet reached the ideal of being color-blind; race still has an impact on people's lives.  She said that prospective adoptive parents who choose to adopt a child of another race must accept this fact and understand that their child will be dealing with an extra layer of race-specific issues on top of a layer of adoption-specific issues.  Just because the adoptive parents are color-blind doesn't mean that the child or people whom the child encounters will be. This perspective was reinforced when I talked with a white couple who live down the street from me who adopted African American children; they told me that transracial adoption is not something to enter into lightly or with a naive view that being a different color won't matter to the child or have an impact on him. 

Maybe I am a wimp, but I feel daunted enough by the adoption-specific issues alone.  I don't really want to tackle the race-specific issues in addition.  Pursuing adoption, which is something my husband and I had never even ever considered until after my third miscarriage, already has taken us far outside our comfort zone, and we don't want to go even farther by venturing into the waters of transracial  or trans-cultural adoption.   For the good of any child whom we adopt, we have to be honest and aware concerning our own limitations.

I know that discussing race can be a controversial and emotionally charged issue for people, and I hope that this post has not offended anyone. I don't think there is anything wrong with transracial or transcultural adoption, and I support families who choose it.  I just don't think it's the best fit for my life, and writing about it helps me to solidify my thought process.

Taking time to heal

I thought I already had worked through the very worst of the grief from my latest miscarriage, but I was wrong.  Last week when I received the results of chromosomal testing on the baby's tissue, the grief washed over me again in full force, almost as strongly as in the days immediately following the loss. 

In retrospect, I shouldn't have been surprised; after all, it has been less than a month since the physical part of the loss resolved, and it was less than two weeks ago that my hcg dropped to a non-pregnant level.  That's not much time to process the grief from any miscarriage, much less to come to grips with letting go of my hopes of ever having a successful pregnancy and a biological child.

Last weekend I found myself feeling almost completely drained of emotional energy and peace, not only because of my grief but also because I was feeling so overwhelmed at the prospect of adoption.  In the past month I plunged back into work full-time after taking a leave of absence during my pregnancy and miscarriage, and I also plunged into the adoption process with both feet during my free time on evenings and weekends.  We started the paperwork, we had our physicals, we had our house inspected by a fire inspector, I read books and blogs about adoption, and I talked with various adoptive parents (thanks, Dawn, for being one of them!), people who had relinquished babies through adoption, and adopted people.

I guess it's no wonder that my head has been spinning a bit.  The more I learn about adoption, the more I become aware of how much I don't know.  It's a very emotionally complicated subject.  My initial feelings of enthusiasm and peace about adopting a child were reinforced by the confirmation that yes, adoption can be a blessing that results in great families...but those initial feelings also were challenged by doubts as to whether we should be one of them.  I questioned whether adoption truly is the right path for my husband and me. 

At the same time, I have been second-guessing our decision to stop trying for a biological child.  I was at home the other evening when the phone rang, and on the other end I heard the familiar voice of the recurrent pregnancy loss specialist whom I traveled to see in Distant City several times earlier this year.  It's not often that a doctor takes time to call me personally, especially when I had not called her first; I merely had faxed her the results of the baby's chromosomal analysis as her nurse had requested last month when I informed her of my miscarriage.  The doctor, like myself, was frustrated at the lack of conclusiveness in the results of the karyotype (i.e., potential contamination by maternal tissue) and advised me to call the lab to see if they had stored any remaining products of conception that could be re-tested and compared to my own chromosomal analysis (unfortunately, they hadn't). 

She also said that if I was at all emotionally up to it, she definitely would encourage me to try again.  "I have patients with respect to whom it has become clear that continuing to pursue pregnancy is unwarranted or unwise, but you certainly are not one of them, not at this point.  I still think you have a good shot at a successful pregnancy and would like to see you again."  Based on her own and others' research, she totally disagreed with my local RE's advice that it was time for me to pursue donor eggs or a surrogate or both. (Side note:  We have decided not to pursue these options for a variety of reasons.)  I'm not going to lie to you; a tiny bit of hope sprung up within me when I heard her encouraging words, but it was quickly squashed with the thought, "That's easy for her to say--she's not the one who has to experience the physical and emotional pain of the miscarriages."

In the days preceding and following my latest loss, I had a gut feeling that 6 miscarriages is my limit.  Even now, if I think about trying again, I think "I can't go there right now."  However, as I learn more about the intricacies of adoption, I likewise think "I can't go there right now." 

Nevertheless, I still desperately want to have a child. 

I am confused.

In my confusion, I prayed fervently to God for guidance, and in His wisdom, he provided it in a span of one day through some astute Christian friends.  My wise friend, Jennifer, pointed out that perhaps not so many black-and-white, life-changing decisions need to be made all at once, and that in the midst of confusion the best option is to do or decide nothing...to wait and trust God to make the path clear when it is time to act.  I agreed with her that, considering that adoption can be a lengthy process, it seems prudent and fine to keep doing some simple, initial steps in that direction, thus enabling God's grace to flow through that pipeline if it is His will--but that I don't need to take the whole burden of heavy, momentous adoption decisions on my shoulders today. 

My sister emphasized that I am still in the early stages of grief, still knocked down and very raw from my recent miscarriage, and in light of that it's no wonder that I am feeling overwhelmed at the prospect of adoption.  She advised that if I rush headlong into adoption right now I will not only potentially short-change myself of peace, but (more importantly!) I might short-change my adopted child because I didn't take that time I needed to heal first.  My sister experienced a traumatic life event last year, and relayed how much more clear-headed and at peace she feels now after a sufficient period of emotional healing.   Her words recalled to my mind something I read concerning how unwise it is to make any major life decisions (like, ummm, adopting a child) while in the midst of grief.

A Christian friend of mine who also is considering becoming an adoptive parent e-mailed me about her own uncertainty in a way that was very helpful to me.  She trusts that God's will can be made clear when the time is right.  She knows that He only asks us to rely on Him and to take one step at a time rather than being burdened and overwhelmed by the totality of the journey all at once. 

There is a Psalm that says "Your Word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path."  Back in the times when the Psalm was written, the lamps that were used were on a chain or rope and only put out enough light for the next step in front of you.  This also meant that you couldn't see where you had been; in other words, we often also need to leave behind what is behind us, and to stay in the here and now, trusting that the small amount of light is all we need--just for the next step.

It has become clear to me that the next step for me is to be still, to focus on God, and to take time to heal my body and my emotions so that I will be refreshed and ready when the next part of the path ahead of me is illuminated.

Scared with a capital "S"

Okay, remember how I wrote in my previous post that I was feeling peaceful and excited about the prospect of adopting a child?  I just read that post again today, and I thought "ahhh, I miss those days of naivete."  The fact is that thinking about the abstract concept of adoption and actually proceeding to make it a reality are two very different things. I haven't been feeling very peaceful about the reality part lately. 

After we filed our initial adoption application a few weeks ago, we spoke with the agency about our next step.  The agency requires prospective adoptive parents to attend a seminar that lasts two full days and covers the adoption process plus the adoption-specific issues that an adopted family might need to work through as the years go by.  The seminar must be attended before a social worker can be assigned to the couple and the homestudy can begin. 

The agency has a seminar scheduled for early September, but initially they didn't think there would be room for us in it.  The following seminar won't be until next January!  I was disappointed at the potential delay, but I prayed about it and figured that if we had to wait until next year to really start the process, then that meant that God must have a child in mind for us who would be born later.  However, the agency called me the next day to say that a couple had canceled, and thus we were in for the seminar next month.  There was some celebrating and high-5ing at our house after I hung up the phone.  The four-month delay had been averted!

Shortly thereafter, I opened our mailbox to find a large, thick envelope filled with all the paperwork and instructions for other tasks that must be completed before our homestudy can begin.  It was suggested that we try to complete it all on or near the date of the seminar.  Therefore, August has become Paperwork Month at our house.

At first, the paperwork seemed a bit overwhelming, but we broke it up into more manageable bits.  So far, we are making good progress.  Monday we had physicals, and the doctor signed off that we are healthy enough to be suitable adoptive parents.  The captain of our local fire department conducted the fire inspection of our home, and we passed with flying colors.  We are working on writing our profiles that will be presented to potential birthmothers and gathering photos for that purpose.  I have started perusing a 200+ page book that is required reading by the agency and that deals with adoption-specific issues that are likely to be encountered by adoptive families and how to address those issues as they arise.  There is a lot to do, but overall it's not that bad.  It's do-able.

The paperwork has not been the hard part for me.  The hard part is thinking about all the realities that I will face as an adoptive parent and grappling with whether I am up to the challenge.

I had a major freak-out about the whole thing last Thursday.  It all started with a phone conversation I had with my sister.  In an effort to encourage me concerning adoption, she was relaying the story of two of her close friends from college who were adopted and who had coped with the issues quite well.  In one sentence, she used the phrase "real mother."  I was confused as to whom she was referring, and she said, "you know, her own mother, the one who gave birth to her."  My reaction as a prospective adoptive mother was "Ouch!" 

Now, I must point out that my sister was not trying to be hurtful; quite the opposite, in fact.  Her intentions were good, although her choice of words was not, as I brought to her attention.  She actually is extremely supportive of our plans to adopt and will be the most doting aunt ever to any child we raise.  Nevertheless, her choice of words betrayed a common attitude concerning the primal importance of a biological connection that threw me into a tailspin.

"Harrumph!" I thought.  "If I am the one changing the dirty diapers of my baby or waiting up late because my teen-aged child is out past his curfew, I AM the "real mom!"  However, although I knew that this was the truth, I also knew that it wasn't the whole truth.

Regardless of the level of openness in our adoption, regardless of whether our adopted child ever meets his biological parents, our adopted child will always have TWO "real moms": the birthmother who conceived him, carried him in her womb, and gave birth to him and the adoptive mother who parents him, i.e., me.  How can I deny that the biological connection is significant?  After all, I'm the woman who has put herself through the agony of six miscarriages in an attempt to have a biological child.  I felt a fierce, deep bond with the children that grew within me.  Biological connections are significant.

At this point in the adoption process, we are supposed to decide what level of contact we would feel comfortable having with a birthmother after the child was placed with us.  It can range anywhere from none, to exchanging letters and photos through the agency, to phone calls, to meeting in person on a regular basis, or anything in between.  Thinking this through has brought up so many complicated thoughts and emotions for me.

My first reaction to the thought of having contact with the birthmother after the adoption is a visceral sense of threat.  I am still grieving my recent miscarriage and dealing with letting go of my desire to give birth to our biological child.  My inability to carry our child to term and give birth has been a crippling blow to my sense of womanhood, my sense of self.  I feel barren, broken, defective.  I know that in time God can heal these feelings of brokenness, but right now they are very raw.  I have lost a lot, and I think it's understandable that after all the struggling I have done to become a mother that I don't like the concept of having to share the idea of motherhood of the child I will be raising with the woman who carried him and birthed him as I am too physically broken to do.

However, my feelings of insecurity are not all that matter, not by a long shot.  There is a child to consider--a child who, to some extent, probably will feel a hole in his life because of adoption, who will want to know where he came from, why his birthparents decided to place him for adoption, what his heritage is.  He understandably may have a longing to know his birth family, to see his features reflected in other faces.  Being a mother to such a child and loving him well means that I need to set my own insecurities aside in order to do right by him.  I need to be comfortable with allowing him to express questions and feelings of loss or yearning that he may have concerning his birth family, and I need to be able to help him work through those issues without mucking everything up with my own brokenness.  If, as a child, he doesn't meet his birthmother but decides that he wants to do so as an adult, I want to be ready to support that without making him feel that he is betraying me...and without feeling betrayed.

There is another person's feelings to consider, also:  the birthmother, a woman who deserves to be respected and treated well.  It is very important to me to know that the birthmother who decides to give us her child makes the decision on her own and does not feel coerced into it by ANYONE else--not her family, not the birthfather, not the agency, and especially not us.  (From all accounts, the agency we chose is not coercive and is respectful of potential birthmothers, so that gives me some reassurance.)  I read the blog of a birthmother who years ago was pressured by her family to surrender her baby to a closed adoption, and she said that doing so has destroyed her life.  I was taken aback by that, and it made me feel a bit guilty as a prospective adoptive mother.  Not all birthmoms regret their decision in that way, but I suspect that they all still think of the baby and carry some pain over the loss.  I do not want to exacerbate a birthmother's pain. 

When considering the birthmom, I experience a real dichotomy of feelings:  on the one hand, I am deeply threatened by her, but on the other hand I feel great compassion for her and incredible gratitude.  It will be her choices that will enable me to fulfill my dream of motherhood.

Still, I have to grieve over the fact that it's not the motherhood I had always pictured and initially wanted.  My adopted child will always have two mothers, even if he never meets one of them...the birthmother will always be a part of our family, even if she exists for the child only as a fantasy, a ghost, or a photograph rather than someone who actually interacts with the child.  Even if I love my adopted child with my whole heart and even if I somehow were able to become the best adoptive mother in the world...I still think I might feel afraid that in some ways my motherhood always would have an element of being "less than" because the child will know that I did not birth him and do not have a genetic connection to him.  I am worried that I won't be "enough" to the child.

We know a family that has three adopted children,  ranging from age 10 to age 20.  I asked the parents if there is anything that they didn't know when they were in our shoes, pursuing adoption, but that they wish they had known--something that they had learned through  experience.  The father paused a minute to reflect, then said, "I wish I had known how much pain adoption involves."  I asked for clarification, and he said that each of his children, to a lesser or greater extent, feel pain and rejection--a "hole"--because of being placed for adoption, because of not knowing why they were placed or what their roots are (their adoption was completely closed), and he and his wife feel pain as they try to help their children work through these issues.

"I wish I had known how much pain adoption involves."

I'm S-C-A-R-E-D.

...Actually, though, I think it might be a good thing that I'm scared.  I think it's good that I am thinking things through rather than plunging ahead wearing rose-colored glasses.  There is a temptation to think that raising an adopting a child will be just the same as raising a biological child, and for the most part it might be, but it's good to know ahead of time that there probably will be an extra layer of issues to confront for all involved and to start preparing to face them.

At the same time, all of the problematic issues must be kept in perspective.  This is a fallen world, and everyone has certain painful issues with which they must deal.  No family is perfect and easy, as biological families everywhere will attest.  With compassion and generosity of spirit, the rough waters of parenting an adopted child can be navigated.  Many children who were adopted are able to work through many of their issues and resolve them, and it will be easier for them to do so with the support of informed, understanding adoptive parents.

Being an adoptive family may be uniquely painful, but that's okay.  As a Christian, I look at the example set by Jesus and his disciples, and I can see that avoiding pain is not the purpose of life.  Love, however, IS the purpose, and loving others is messy and often painful.

Even though I am SCARED with a capital "S", I still think I have a lot of love to give an adopted child, and despite all my fretting and doubts, I keep coming back to the conclusion that adoption appears to be the path for us at this point.  It's going to be another exercise in learning to trust God, though, that's for sure.

I'm buckling my seat belt; between grieving my losses and starting the adoption process, I already can see that I am in for a bumpy ride.

The Road to Adoption

My husband and I filled out our initial adoption application two weeks ago and mailed it in with the initial fee and a little prayer.  Perhaps this seems a bit hasty, considering that at the time I was still coping with the physical part of my most recent miscarriage.  It isn't hasty, though; we actually decided on this path toward adoption about three years ago.

At that time, I was recovering from my third and most emotionally devastating miscarriage.  I was beginning to grapple in earnest with the realization that I may never be able to carry to term and give birth to our biological child.  My husband and I were struggling with which path to take at that point:  trying again for another pregnancy, pursuing adoption, or trying to make the best out of remaining childless. 

After much soul searching and discussion, we crossed "remaining childless" off our list of options.  It's true that in some ways that option was attractive because it could enable us to be free to do things like trying to move to Europe, traveling more extensively, and creating a more adventurous life that otherwise would be hampered by the responsibilities and expense of raising children.  The bigger truth, however, is that we probably wouldn't really do any of those things.  The truth is that we're not adventurous risk takers, and we probably instead would quietly continue to lead our current lives, working at jobs that are good but aren't our passion and coming home a little older each night to a quiet house. 

The truth is that we very much want to have children and to build a family, and we decided that not having any children simply is not acceptable to us in the long run if other choices exist...and they do exist.  That led to the question of whether we should try again for another pregnancy or pursue adoption at that point. 

I read several books about adoption, looked into the avenues of international and domestic adoption, and talked the whole subject over at length with my husband.  We both decided at that point that we were open to adopting a child...but not quite yet.  We still felt the deep desire to have a biological child, and we didn't want to second guess ourselves later regarding whether we had tried hard enough in that department, so we took a deep breath and decided to attempt another pregnancy.  However, we decided that if I ever reached the point of having five consecutive miscarriages, then we would change paths and pursue adoption.

Although we kept trying for a biological child, adoption was always in the back of our minds and we continued to mull it over and pray about it.  By last year, we had decided that if we were to adopt, then domestic adoption would be the best fit for us.   The main appeal of domestic adoption for us is that we probably would be able to bring our baby home as a newborn when he or she is three days old.  We have missed out on the second and third trimesters of pregnancy and childbirth; we don't want to miss out on a second more of our child's life than is necessary.   Also, the relative openness of domestic adoption will enable us to have access to information and medical histories concerning the birthmother and her family and perhaps concerning the birthfather and his family as well; this information isn't always available when a child is adopted internationally.  I know two adopted people who have told me that, for them, not knowing their medical histories has been the hardest thing about being adopted, and that has influenced me heavily. 

From there, we looked into agencies that specialize in domestic adoptions and chose one that good friends of ours used when they adopted their baby girl last year.  We also have acquaintances who have used the agency to adopt their two sons.  They all have only good things to say about it, and my RE confirmed that it has an excellent reputation, so we feel comfortable with our choice.

Accordingly, as of last fall we had decided on domestic adoption and had chosen an agency.  However, we were still holding out hope for a successful pregnancy and a biological child.  After I subsequently had my fifth miscarriage last November and we thus had reached our previously agreed upon miscarriage limit, we obtained the initial application from the agency and talked about getting the ball rolling.  My husband was ready to fill the application out then and there and to get the adoption process started.

I, however, just couldn't bring myself to do it.  Despite reaching our five miscarriage limit, I wasn't yet ready to let go of my hopes and dreams concerning a successful pregnancy and a biological child.  For me, filling out the adoption application symbolized conceding that those cherished dreams were never going to be realized for us.  I wasn't ready to accept that.  Thus, the adoption application sat blank and untouched in a folder in the dark recesses of my closet...until about three weeks ago, while I was recovering from my sixth miscarriage. 

There are certain questions in life, such as "How will I know if the guy I'm dating is THE ONE?" to which the answer is "You'll just know."  I think that the question of "When is it time to quit trying for a biological child?" fits into this category because I just KNOW that the time is now.  I'm ready to let go of the desperate striving to conceive a baby and carry it to term.  I just know that I am ready to start the process of adopting a baby, just like I knew that my husband is the one for me.  I have feelings of peace, hope, and excitement about pursuing adoption that I didn't have while I was clinging desperately to my dream of a successful pregnancy and a biological child.  I am finally ready to close one door and to explore the promise of opening another. 

In many ways, it is a relief; it's freeing.

What we really want is to have a child and to be a family together. We feel that we could love an adopted child with our whole hearts.  It's shared love, not shared genetics, that truly bonds a family.

We are so thankful that adoption could provide a means for us to fulfill that dream.  I respect birthmothers who place the baby they are carrying for adoption. I imagine that it is difficult and painful to be pregnant, to feel that you are unable to parent the child, and to conclude that adoption is the best thing for the baby. Such a decision takes a lot of love and maturity.  I have been thinking about what an incredible gift it would be for a birthmother to choose us to raise the child she carried and birthed, but imagining how hard it probably would be for her.  I know the pain of conceiving and carrying a child but remaining with empty arms, and recently I cried for all birthmothers, but especially for the one whom God may lead to us.  My pain of miscarriage is not the same pain that a birthmother faces when she places her child for adoption, but we both are women who share the common denominator of maternal loss.

An unavoidable fact is that adoption is built on loss.  For my husband and me, it's the loss of our six unborn babies and the loss of our dreams of a successful pregnancy and a biological child.  For the birthmother, it's the loss of the child whom she conceived and nurtured within her body.  For our potential adopted child, it's the loss of being removed from the arms of the woman whose womb he grew in, whose heartbeat sustained and comforted him, whose voice he had become accustomed to hearing; it's the loss of his birthmother and his birthfamily, his biological relatives. 

Unfortunately, in this fallen world, the losses from which adoption springs will always be there, for everyone involved, and each of us will have to deal with these losses to a certain extent for the rest of our lives.  However, the foundation of loss certainly is not the only adoption reality.  There also is the reality that from these losses will spring new lives:  for us, a life as a mother, a father, a family; for the birthparents, a life without struggling to raise a child despite their feeling that they are unable to parent; for the child, a life in a home with two parents who want nothing more than to love and raise him or her.   For my husband and me, I think the joy of adoption would greatly overshadow the losses that preceded it.

As a Christian, one of the things I most love about God is his heart to redeem what is lost, to turn the ashes of our lives into beauty, to provide hope where there was despair, and to offer abundant life where there was death.  Adoption reminds me of this aspect of God's character, and I pray that he will take the frayed parts of my husband and me, a birthmother, and a baby, and weave them together into something beautiful.