We woke in the hotel that morning feeling much more normal after a night’s sleep. I’m glad, too, because it was to be an emotionally charged day. We were to be at the hospital mid morning, so we had a quick breakfast and headed across the street to Target – there was something important I needed to pick up for Preston’s first mom.
We made it to the hospital and spent the next hours in a surreal state of mind. Besides keeping Josh busy, we spent some time with Preston’s mom before she signed papers. We drew up a contact agreement. We discussed names. It was important to her that we kept the names she had given to him, yet she was ok with us adding our own name. We sat outside, where we were sweltering and they were cool, and discussed our futures and what had led us all to this point.
His mom was quiet. Emotional. Heartbroken. So were we. It was even hard for me to feel excitement, to feel like a new mom when it was because of the broken heart sitting in front of me. Yet she never wavered. She had already said her goodbyes to her baby and was ready. We all went inside and we waited in the waiting area while Preston’s mom, a friend, the lawyer, and our adoption worker all went into her hospital room one last time. She was signing her surrender papers.
The signing of the paperwork took a long time. We had time to discuss in the waiting room while we waited and Josh napped. We really wanted to make sure she didn’t feel rushed to actually sign, and I’m not sure if that happened or not. We felt very out of place and uncomfortable, just hanging around waiting for her to sign over her baby to us (well technically, we only have physical custody of him right now, not legal. Just how it works.)
After she had signed, it was time for her to leave the hospital. She came to say goodbye to us in the waiting area. I gave her a small token of our promise to stay in touch. She was crying. Her friend was crying. I was holding it back. We hugged and said our goodbyes. Then she had to do what was probably the hardest thing of this whole journey –
leave without her baby.
Shortly afterward, we were officially on our way “home” (the hotel) with baby Preston. I channeled my nerves into making sure a 5 pound baby was properly buckled into a carseat that looked ginormous. It was really too much of an emotionally charged, surreal day to feel like this new one’s parents, to feel happy. We called immediate family to let them know he was ours and we were leaving the hospital, but the emotions of the day – guilt, sadness, shell-shocked, would keep me from truly feeling like this new little one’s mom for a few days.
We had started the day a family of 3 and ended it as a family of 4.
We had a ferocious dinosaur (RAWR!) and a baby tiger join us for trips to all the grandparents!
Driving.
That would be a good way to describe the day. We stopped for an early morning breakfast at the Golden Arches in Rome, GA. Way early – like 6 a.m. We needed the stretch break. After a McNasty breakfast, we hit good old trusty I-75 again.
I had one goal in mind – to nail down a name for this little bugger. For a year, I had tried to talk Chuck into nailing down a short list. He kept putting me off, telling me we would decide later. Once we were matched, he kept putting me off, telling me we would have plenty of time to decide on our way to Florida. Then he started telling me we would start discussing when we hit Florida.
Well, sorry Charlie. You’re trapped in a car with me hurling down the interstate towards Florida. It’s daylight. We’re talking turkey. And we did, finally. We had come to a compromise on what we liked, at least. Traditional names (Chuck seemed to favor), names with a Biblical history background (my favorite), but no Christopher, Alex(ander), or Nick. Can’t be too “out there”, which meant Hezekiah, Elimelech (kidding and kidding). Chuck nixed Isaiah, Elijah, and Josiah. We finally nailed it down to either Nathaniel or Silas and decided that we would just wait until we got there and would decide which he looked like.
Until about 100 miles later I (jokingly) said “Or we could go with Owen, Preston, or Zane” just trying to annoy Chuck a little bit since I knew he didn’t like weird (to him) names. And that’s when he said “That’s it! It’s Preston!” He really really liked it. Me, not so much at first, at least until he was ours and we actually had a face to the name.
Mid afternoon Tuesday we finally rolled into town and unloaded at the hotel. Shortly afterward, after a little scenic detour around the marina, we found ourselves at the hospital on our way up the elevator to meet a family who was waiting for us, a family who was joining us on this very surreal next few days. We spent the next few hours with Preston’s birth family before leaving to (finally!) head for a bed and get some much needed sleep. Preston was to be dismissed to us the next day after his mom signed her surrenders.
Well, I was going to save this to post later, but I can’t, I think it’s too funny. I ran to the store (alone! yay!) last night to get a box brownie mix. Josh helped make it and we had a lot of fun! The best part was I told him that they were cooking and he couldn’t eat one until tomorrow (which is now today) and he went to bed. Then we ate some brownies! Sneaky parents we are! I did save him a few though.
If I would have known it was our last day together, just Josh and I, it would have been different. We didn’t do anything special at all that day, it was just another normal Monday. Maybe we went to the store or to the library, I don’t remember. If the weather was nice, we played outside. We probably went on a walk. Nothing special, no last One Big Activity with Josh. Such is life in a domestic adoption situation. We knew the call was coming, we just didn’t know when, exactly. We had been talking with Josh about the trip – where we were headed, what we would be doing, about a baby.
It was late in the evening, about 7:30. Chuck had been swamped at work and was finally on his way home. Josh and I had eaten dinner and he was messing around in the kitchen while I was doing dishes. I didn’t think anything of it when our agency person down in FL called, we had been in contact a lot lately.
Then. Oh, then. Then I learned that the baby we had been matched with for almost 3 months had been born that morning. His mom had spent the day alone with him before making the call that she was ready for us to know. She took the time to get to know him, to tell him her reasons, to examine and memorize him. Finally, she was ready for us to head down to meet him.
Within 2 hours we were on the road. We had been packed, minus last minute things, for weeks. Josh was bouncing off the ceiling because we were finally going to Florida. I made a flurry of phone calls making last minute hotel arrangements, dog arrangements, and we ran around town dropping off bills and grabbing a snack on our way out of town. We walked out of the house at about 9:30 that night for the last time as just the three of us. The trip down was really a blur, between taking driving shifts, middle of the night gas stops, and Josh who only kind of slept. (hey, you try sleeping all night in a 5 pt harness!)
We would arrive in Florida the next afternoon…
“Is he your real brother?”
It happened yesterday. First time of many, I’m sure.
I know what they mean. I do refuse to give them the answer to the question they are really asking, which is “is he your biological brother?” It’s nosy and KNOB.
Our parent-to-child and sibling-to-sibling bonds are not by blood, but they are real. They are just as real as biological bonds. I posted yesterday to my FB page the above comment that was said to Josh and had a plethora of responses (sidenote: you who refuse to join FB, you could have joined in the great discussion. You know who you are, WMW.) I was asked by a dear friend who’s not in the adoption world but wants to be someday basically where the line between getting to know your family and crossing the line is, wondering what’s seen as offensive and what’s not. There are people who truly don’t understand why such things are so hurtful. Here’s my simple explanation:
It’s not that adoption is offensive to talk about, or taboo. Adoption is just how our kids came to be our kids. If people are really, truly interested in the adoption process, I think most anyone would be willing to share the general process of what’s involved. To ask if they are real brothers insinuates that only family relations by blood “count”. I know that people will ask, and I’m ok with that. They are real brothers, no matter how they came into our family. If I say they are brothers, leave it at that. It crosses the line between taking an interest in our family and digging for dirt with the additional questions…”are they really brothers?” after I’ve already said that yes, they are. I know what a person means by that – are they biologically related. It’s no one’s business. Fishing for very personal and private information is where it crosses the line, and you would be amazed at the questions people will ask. Preston deserves to hear one day why his firstmom placed him for adoption – the rest of the world doesn’t need to know. Same with Josh. Granted, if you know our family, you know that Josh is Ethiopian and Preston was born here in the States so you can put two and two together and assume they are not biologically related. But to come right out and ask – that’s rude. And it happens a lot.
I know we stand out as a family. We signed up for that. Literally. To me, it wouldn’t have made a difference if they would have asked me instead of Josh….
People often refer to an adopted child’s birth parents as their real parents. We know it’s not meant to be harmful. I know people not in the adoption world don’t know the correct terminology. But, same principle – that’s assuming that we are not their real parents. Personally, we teach our kids that they have 2 real moms, for example – their first mom (or birth mom), and me. They have 2 real families, the one they live with and the one that they were born into. If we want to discuss it, we will.
How many of us have been introduced by the “…and their baby that they adopted”? It’s the same thing. They’re just our kids. It’s comparable to “…and their baby that was born by C-Section after 36 hrs of labor”…does anyone need to know that? I know it’s a fine line to walk for all people, adoptive families and those close to them.
Any other thoughts, anything I should have added, anyone still have questions?
Yes, they are my real boys. They are real brothers. We are a real family.
The icing on the cake: Only he who uses the potty may flush the potty!
So much catching up to do! Hopefully we’ll have our PC back by early next week so I’ll be back up and running. For now, here’s a brief what-we’ve-been-up-to…
Pumpkin decorating
Preston…
Actual thoughts later…
