The Mom Club (and why I don't want to be part of it)

All my life, I've wanted to be a mom.

Since I was old enough to walk around with a stroller, I would load up my baby dolls and push them around to "school," "the grocery store," "church," or "Dr. Teng's office" (AKA various spots around our house).  I found so much joy in taking care of "my kids."

Today, as I load up my actual baby and take her to "school" (daycare), Sprouts, City Pres, and Dr. Fields' office, I find that same joy, but even a thousand times stronger.  I love being a momma.  What I don't love is "The Mom Club."

"The Mom Club" isn't an actual club, but as I explain it, I have no doubt that you'll know it exists.  In this "club," members leave behind all other roles that once mattered to focus on the only one that apparently does now: motherhood.  I don't undervalue that role in my life; however, I believe that my roles as a wife, teacher, and friend (among others) remain fundamentally important.  I don't want my whole being to revolve around my child.

The ways in which the motherhood role is exalted in "The Mom Club" are various.  One way is that moms always and only talk about or post pictures of their children on social media.  I do want to see people's children on my Newsfeed sometimes, and to hear about what they are doing.  But constant posts about one's kids can give the impression that life outside of parenthood is meaningless.

Another example of motherhood being elevated beyond what it should be is when "club members" begin to define grey matters as black and white.  "Oh, you are employed outside the home?  Oh dear.  Don't you care about your child?"  "You don't use cloth diapers?  Well, let me tell you about why they are the only way."  "BabyWise didn't work for your daughter?  You must not have followed such and such principle."  The thing about black-and-white-parenting is that every baby is different.  Grey matters really aren't worth discussing because they are matters of opinion, but "The Mom Club" seems to have endless reasons to offer "advice" (mandates) about them.  "Mom Club" members are not better or worse than other moms, because there are far more ways than one to successfully parent your children.  Your kids are yours, and only you know what's best for them.

The most defining characteristic of "The Mom Club" is that it is exclusive.  You'll immediately know that you're conversing with an affiliate if you feel left out and have nothing to add to the dialogue (monologue).  This is true regardless of whether or not you have children.  When people only talk about one thing, or a variety of things relating to the exact same topic (my child's poopiest diaper, my child's latest and great milestone, why I make certain decisions for my child, the number of green beans my child ate today, etc.), others not only feel bored, but unimportant.  I believe that there is immeasurable value in developing friendships with people in all stages of life.  That college student doesn't want to hear about your baby vomiting on your new shirt; she wants you to ask her how her boyfriend is doing.  Your elderly neighbor doesn't care that your son likes to kick his legs in the bathtub; she just needs a Scrabble partner.  Oh, and your married friend who has been trying to have children for years certainly can't handle listening to you jabber on about the one subject that causes her such pain.  Only spending time with people who are exactly like you is dangerous because it not only clouds your vision, but it creates a bubble that blocks out everyone else.  I don't want to be part of any group that ostracizes others.

All of that said, I do believe that there can actually be groups of moms which meet together yet aren't "Mom Clubs" (I went to one this week).  Groups which encourage one another and allow honesty are not only beneficial, but essential.  The problem enters when those groups lose sight of the viewpoint that they were created to have and focus on only one thing.

The other problem is that joining "The Mom Club" is not a definitive moment in which a mom pays her dues on a certain date and then is a member for an allotted amount of time.  Any mom can, unknowingly, become a member at any point in time.  I realize that I am just as much in danger of joining this club as anyone else.  I constantly must ask for perspective.

I'm watching my daughter sleep in her chair right now, and the feeling of contentment that she brings me is indescribable.  But she isn't my everything, and I pray (for her sake and my own) that my world never becomes so small that I forget who I am aside from being her mother.  Lord help us all.

A letter to my daughter's birth parents

Dear Amanda and Conner,

I have no idea if you'll ever read these words, but I have to write them.  I have to hope that, even if you never stumble across this blog or open the card that we sent on your court day, you somehow know the way that we feel about you.

I remember getting the call that you were at the hospital, Amanda.  It was June 28th- the day that we would meet our girl.  I had simultaneously anticipated and dreaded this day since May 16th, when I first heard your voice on the phone.  Although I was grateful to be allowed in the delivery room when Piper was born, I was also unsure of myself.  Would I say something stupid?  Would I pass out since I'd never seen a live birth before?  Would I be able to convey my excitement about bringing home Baby Girl without rubbing salt in your wounds?  At least our case worker would be there to help us know how to navigate this situation that most people never face...

Except that when Andrew and I arrived at the hospital, you only wanted the two of us back there with you.  Panic.  I was honored that you and Conner trusted and loved us enough to let us experience something so special, but up to this point, we had depended on Bonni to help us know what to say to you and how to act.  Andrew put his arm around my shoulders, and I quickly prayed for the kind of strength and wisdom that could never come from me.  Please don't act like an idiot, please don't act like an idiot.

When we walked in the room, my fears were gone, and I immediately felt at home.  "Hey guys!" you grinned.  Even in labor, you looked beautiful and seemed calm.

In a few minutes, the nurse came in to see how far you were dilated.  She looked at Andrew and me, hinting with her eyes that we should step out.  We took the clue and started to leave the room when you, Conner, looked at her and said, "No, it's okay.  They're family."  I wonder if you know how much those words meant.

Time seemed to stand still as we spent the next hour or so talking with both of you and trying to wrap our minds around this huge thing that was about to take place.  Though we had met you before, those moments in the delivery room were especially precious to me as we actually got to know the parents of our little girl.  In the moments away from the agency, the paperwork, and the caseworkers, you became my friends and not just the couple who had chosen our profile book.  Conner, I learned that you, like my husband, hate making decisions about restaurants.  Amanda, I learned that you and I are both somewhat obsessive about using the Weather Channel app on our phones.  It was the little things in that hour-long conversation that made you both seem more real and made me love you more.

When the nurse came back later, it was "go time."  Andrew and I stood awkwardly at your head and stroked your hair as we tried to think of something to offer other than, "You're doing great!"  Conner, you were a natural.  You knew exactly what to say and do to help your girl.  And Amanda, wow.  You made labor and delivery look like a walk in the park.  I honestly expected so much anger and frustration, but all I saw in that situation was love.  I wish there was a way for you to have stood back and watched the scene like we did.  Your relationship with each other is inspiring, and your affection for a baby who you bore for someone else is, frankly, earth-shattering.  Those words that Conner whispered as you pushed, "Come on, Amanda, this is the last thing we can do for her," melted my heart in more ways than you'll ever realize.

Just 30 minutes after you started pushing, Piper was here.  I cried the happiest tears of my life as I took in her thick hair, her chubby cheeks, and her perfect little body.  Then I watched as the two of you held her, and my heart broke.  This was the reason why I had been so afraid of our time together in the hospital.  You clearly loved her as much as I did, yet you knew that she wasn't yours to keep.  You said that we deserved her, and I knew that wasn't true.

The nurses came in and out to check on Piper as the four of us bounced back and forth in our conversation between the trivial and the significant.   Andrew and I left for about an hour to pick up some food and to give you two time alone with Piper.  We got back to the room and ate dinner together, and I found myself wishing (though I knew the impossibility of my idea) that there was a way for the five of us to be the little family who lived happily ever after.

The hospital prepared a room around the corner for Andrew, Piper, and me, and we slowly collected our belongings to spend our first night as a family of three.  Before I went to bed, I walked down the hall to refill my water bottle.  Your door was open, and I stopped.  Conner, you were headed out briefly to get some fresh air, so I sat down in a chair next to the bed for some "girl time."  Amanda, as I listened to you share your hopes and dreams, as you talked about your friends, and as you revealed your plans for college in the fall, I felt connected to you in a way that few people will probably ever be able to grasp.  Though we didn't always talk over the past nine months, we were in each other's hearts as we shared this journey.  We have a unique bond: I wanted so badly to be in your place (to be pregnant), and you wanted to be in mine ("established" enough to raise a baby).  There is no way to explain those feelings to anyone else, but I think you know.

The night passed uneventfully, and I began to think about how the two of you would be going home to a new "normal" in just a few hours.  I started dreading those last moments in the hospital.  Finally, around 2:30, both of you came down the hall.  This was it.  Andrew and I stepped out of the room to give you the space that you needed with Piper. We held each other tightly and prayed for the words to say as we waited for you to come out.  About five minutes later, the two of you entered the hall with Piper, and all the tears that I had been holding back came flooding out as I looked at your faces.   I never guessed that goodbye would be so hard.  Amanda, I've thought that you are unbelievably strong throughout this entire journey, so seeing you dissolved by emotion was almost unbearable.  It would have been wildly inappropriate to take pictures in the moments that followed, but the scene will forever be captured in my mind as you handed Piper to me for the last time and as you, Conner, hugged my husband like there was no tomorrow.  In those moments, every word I had rehearsed was gone.  Each of us knew that there was nothing to be said which could possibly convey the feelings we had.  In shaky voices and through blinding tears, we all said how much we love each other.  Amanda, you asked me to "take good care of her," and I promised that I would.  Then the two of you walked around the corner and back to your lives.  I still cannot fathom how a day can be so joyful and so gut-wrenching at the same time.

Andrew and I walked downstairs to the hospital's chapel, where I buried my head in his lap, and we both sobbed.  I have never seen my husband cry like that before.  I had thought that I would be filled with guilt when you two went home without a baby, but really I was just overcome with sadness like I haven't ever known.  I was sad for you because of the difficulty of your decision, and I was sad for us because I felt like we had just lost two people who, in a matter of days, had come to mean everything to our family.  "Be still and know that I am God," the walls of the chapel read, and this is ironically the verse tattooed on the wall of our bedroom at home.  Both of us found it difficult to "be still," because our hearts were so heavy for you.  We prayed over and over for God to give you peace, and I still pray every day that you've found it.

As I got ready the next morning, I burst into tears all over again, and I wondered how many days would pass before I woke up without crying for you.  In the weeks since we have been home with Piper, time has slowly eased the hurt, but I don't think of you any less.  I have never once doubted that you would change your minds about the decision you made, but I have felt an unexplainable stillness in knowing that if you did, I would be okay because as much as I care about Piper, I care about the two of you equally.

Every night before bed, we tell Piper how many people love her, and the two of you are always at the top of the list because you will always be her parents, too.  I can't wait until she is old enough to ask questions about the picture of the four of us on the wall in her room, until she wonders how she got her beautiful black hair, and until she makes the connection that her middle name is the same as her birth mother's.  I can't wait for that day because then I get to tell her, once again, the story of two people named Amanda and Conner who loved her so much that they made the greatest sacrifice two people could ever make.

People say that you can't understand true love until you have a baby.  Although I don't fully agree with that statement, I do believe that I've experienced a fuller and deeper kind of love because I met you.  In your words, Conner, this situation was just "meant to be."  Through our whole adoption journey, I have been the most worried about our relationship with our child's birth parents, and that has actually come to be the most beautiful part of it all.    

You named our sweet girl Grace when she was with you for nine months, and grace has absolutely been the theme of our song.  "Thank you" seems so inadequate for expressing the gratitude we daily feel for your selfless gift- Piper.  Somehow I hope you know just how much you mean to us, not just for giving us a daughter who we could never have on our own, but because of the truly strong and special people that you are.  I love you and respect you both, and because of you, my heart is full for the first time in years.

Love,

Mary Rachel

Finally free.

Been wanting to post this for awhile...

About three years ago, my world began spinning out of control.  After finishing my student teaching in May 2010, I was excited to start my first "real" job as an autism teacher.  In short, this job was not at all what I expected.  Most teachers would agree that the first year of teaching is difficult regardless of the circumstances, and I was prepared for that.  I was not prepared to come home with bruises from being kicked or from dodging desks being thrown at me.  I wasn't prepared to be called horrible names and to be told "I hate you" so many times a day.  I wasn't prepared to be defeated by 5-10 year-olds.

By December, I was crying at the end of every day, getting physically sick on Sunday nights when thinking about going back to work on Monday, and ready to quit.  So I did what any frustrated female teacher would do in such a situation: tried to get pregnant.  

January passed, then February, March, April, and May, and somehow that school year was over.  I told my principal that I would not be returning the following year, even though I was unsure of what I would do next.  And I still wasn't pregnant.  

After about eight months of trying, I decided to go to the doctor.  Everything checked out fine on my end, so I encouraged my husband to go to his doctor.  He went, and the findings for him were not so good.  He would need surgery to correct an issue, and our chances of the surgery working were a toss-up.  We decided to go ahead and try the procedure, and the results left us in a worse situation than before.  

By this time, I had become a very bitter and cynical individual.  I hated my husband for not being able to give me the one thing that I wanted most in the world.  I hated my church because I was involved in so many activities but constantly felt as though I was encouraged to pull myself up by my bootstraps and continue trying to pour from an empty cup. Mostly, though, I hated God because I was breaking and He didn't seem to care.  In fact, I wasn't even sure that He existed.  Every day when I woke up, the whole world felt dark.  

The darkness continued for months and months.  When I look back over those months that turned into years, there are three specific things that God used to rescue me.

The first was when I came to City Pres in April 2012.  I'm not sure what even got me through the doors, to be honest, because by that point, I was crying every time my husband dragged me to church with him. I walked in and sat down on a back pew, arms crossed and heart hard.  Then Doug (the pastor) spoke some of the same words that we hear every week when we first come in.  "Welcome to City Pres.  We're glad you're here.  Some of you may be excited to be here and some may not be.  Wherever you are, we invite you to worship with us.  And if you just need a place to rest, please rest in Christ today."  I remember tears streaming down my face when I heard those words.  Rest.  I had been waiting for someone to tell me it was okay to do that for years.  

The second piece of rescue was Jeremiah 6:16, which I providentially found on my parents' refrigerator when I went home to visit.  "Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls."  Moments of darkness can easily turn into moments of weakness, and I often felt tempted during those months to do crazy things which could ruin my life.  In those moments, I remembered Jeremiah 6:16 and my grandpa, who had truly shown me what it meant to follow the ancient paths when nothing else made sense.  I knew I wanted rest, so I held on to those precious words.

Finally, a story from the Jesus Storybook Bible really rang true to me.  I was hardly reading my bible at all during that time, but this children's book was something I could actually process.  The story is at the very beginning of the book, about Adam and Eve in the garden.  Adam and Eve sinned and ran away from God.  But even in their wandering, God loved them so much that he went and found them.  Maybe I was not lost forever.    

Those three things are unquestionably significant in my story of rescue, but the final straw was when I went to a different doctor in August 2012.  He ran some additional tests, and then the unthinkable happened.  Suddenly, I couldn't hate and blame my husband anymore for not being pregnant.  It was me, too.  I was broken.

In the past months since that gut-wrenching news, God has broken me so that he could make me whole.  I've had surgery, and my issues were corrected, but not before all my pride in myself and my controlling nature were completely shattered.  My love for my husband was restored because I had come to understand his hurt in a very real way.  God took away the things that I wanted the most in order to give me what I needed the most: himself.

Our daughter, Piper Anna, was born on June 28, 2013.  I did not give birth to her in the traditional way.  We adopted our baby girl through an agency here in Oklahoma City.  This is not the way I had imagined my story of rescue ending.  It's better.

Through adoption, I have already seen grace in so many ways that I wouldn't have been able to otherwise.  A huge way is through our many friends and family members.  Adoption is not a cheap or an easy process, yet, because of our community, we have never felt more loved or supported.  I see birth parents differently.  Piper's other mom and dad are true heroes in my book, and I hope that one day our daughter knows how blessed she is to have four parents who love her instead of just two.  And ultimately, as you've probably heard before, adoption is a beautiful picture of what God has done for us as his children. It is incomprehensible to me that, before the foundations of the earth, He chose me to be a part of his family, too, even though there is nothing good in me.  Because of adoption, I feel like I am understanding the vastness of God's love for the first time in my life.

After meeting the birth parents of our daughter, our case worker told us something.  Baby Girl's birth father had a dad who was absent for most of his life.  What Conner does remember of his dad is that he was a very harsh man and a hypocritical Christian.  As you can imagine, Conner's heart has been hardened from years of the misrepresentation of Christianity that he received from his mostly absent father.  As Conner walked out the doors of the agency after meeting us that day, he gave our case worker a huge hug and whispered in her ear, "God knew."      

God knew.  On Conner's end and especially on mine, God has known all along.  Here I stand, two-and-a-half years after my original plan to have children, and my hands are empty of everything I held before.  Nothing is at all how I had predicted, and yet I'm so thankful for this beautiful story by the Author who knows what is best for me.  In the end, I have learned that the perfect job, the perfect church (which, by the way, doesn't exist), and all of the perfect biological or adopted children in the world will not bring me true happiness, because that is always and only found in Christ.  When I look at Piper, I realize that I am finally free.  But the precious gift of my daughter is not my freedom- He is.

"You can have all this world, but give me Jesus."

Rain.

(This post was originally written for my church's blog.  You can find that here.)

It's Wednesday morning, and I'm listening to the rain pour from our rooftop for the third day in a row.  Once again, I've missed my small window of opportunity for an early run, but since a July thunderstorm in Oklahoma is always preferable to the heat, I'm not upset.  The dishes are done, the laundry is washed and folded, lesson plans for tutoring are finished, and my daughter is asleep in her swing.  So I curl up on the couch to listen to the steady rhythm of the drops pitter-pattering on the glass windows, and I thank God for the rain.

When my husband and I first got married four years ago, he prayed for hardships.  He didn't do so because he is glutton for punishment, but because he knew that trials would make us stronger in our faith and in our marriage.  I always hated those prayers, partly because I like my life to be easy, but also because I knew that God would hear my husband...and He would answer.

He did answer, and not at all in the way I wanted.  Had my husband realized what the future held for us as he prayed, he might not have asked for the trials.  We've shed so many tears together in the last three years as we have endured tough jobs, the death of loved ones, and infertility.  The rain has fallen in torrents, and we both have come to the end of ourselves.

I think that's what God intended for us all along- to reach the place where we died, along with our naive hopes and selfish plans, and He was all that was left.

You see, we all forget God on the sunny days.  We expect the sun to rise every morning, yet we fail to thank Him that it does.  When all is well and our lives are filled with blessings, our thoughts begin to turn into, "Look what I've done" and "Everything is going exactly according to my plan."  Then Jesus, in his kindness, sends the rain to remind us that our life is not our own but His.

For the past two days, after the rain has subsided, a rainbow has shone brightly in the sky.  I see it faintly again this morning, and I am reminded of the simple truth that rainbows only come after the rain.  Rain brings the beauty of a rainbow into existence.  Today, as I look at my adopted daughter and work at a job that I love, I am reminded that those things are even more beautiful because of the many days when the sun did not shine.  I've prayed for prosperity, but because He loves me, God sent hardships.  "His blessings have come through raindrops and His healing through tears."  And finally, I'm thankful for that.  He has not let me forget Him.

"The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit." -Psalm 34:18

I got married young.

Today is my fourth wedding anniversary.  Here in Oklahoma and where I'm from in Texas, marrying young really isn't that unusual.  But when I meet people from out-of-state and tell them how long I've been hitched, I get bewildered looks.  "Wow, were you like, 12, when you got married?!"  (It probably doesn't help that I'm 25 and I still look like I'm in high school.)  "Ugh, don't you feel so tied down?"  Some people don't even try to put it delicately.  "I'm sorry, but that is just too young."

Everyone seems to have an opinion about what age is too young for marriage.  I don't think there is a right or wrong age.  (Sometimes 18-year-olds are more mature than 30-year-olds.)  I'm pro-marriage in general, so whether you're young or old, I say go for it. I had just turned 21 when I walked the aisle, and my now-husband was 23.  For us, those were the perfect ages.

We didn't rush into our marriage.  We had dated for three years, and we just knew the time was right.  I'd like to offer a few reasons why, for us, marrying young was the best thing we could have done.

1.  Sex.  In light of our culture today, I realize that our decision to save sex for marriage is rare and probably weird to many, but it was important to us.  And let's be honest, three years is a long stinkin' time to wait for sex.  The solution?  Get married and have as much sex as we wanted.

2.  We knew that we would never really be ready.  There are always more goals to accomplish, more places to travel, and more items to cross off the bucket list.  If we waited until the "right time" to get married, we probably never would have.  There is no "right time."  We didn't throw caution to the wind, but we also knew that we couldn't delay our decision until our uncertainty was 100 percent gone, because that day would never come.

3.  Our commitment to love each other, regardless of the situation, has held us together.  When we were dating, we always had the choice to break up if things weren't going well (and we almost did on multiple occasions!).  Now that we are married and divorce is not an option, we can do nothing but work through trials, arguments, and annoyances.  Because we promised to love, we deal with circumstances as they come instead of allowing those circumstances to break us.

4.  We could have spent forever searching for the perfect person and never found him or her.  I am not naive enough to believe that I am the perfect wife for my husband, and neither is he the perfect husband for me.  We are both seriously flawed.  We fight.  We make each other angry.  He leaves his dirty clothes on the dresser.  I get my shave gel all over the shower.  He doesn't wash his dishes after lunch.  I eat the last piece of cake without asking.  He farts too much.  I fart too much.  Another man might not annoy me in the same ways, but he would annoy me nonetheless.  I didn't marry Andrew because he is the perfect man for me; Andrew is the perfect man for me because I married him.

5.  We do more fun things because we are married, not less.  "Life as we knew it" didn't end when we said "I do;" it truly was just beginning.  We are bumps on logs without each other.  Living together allows us to open up our home to others more often.  Having combined incomes lets us travel more.  We never have to worry about finding dates to weddings, parties, etc.  We shoot guns, see movies, play board games, watch car races, go hiking, run marathons, attend concerts and sporting events, look at Christmas lights, work at camps, hang out at the zoo, and the list goes on.  We do those things because they are more fun with a best friend than alone.  I would never hike in the Wichita Mountains without my guy blazing the trails and warning me about rattlesnakes.

6.  Burdens are cut in half when someone shares them with you.  The last four years have not been without heartache, but Andrew has helped me through everything.  He cannot remove the circumstances, but he can listen and encourage me during them.  My first year of teaching, surgeries, and loss of loved ones have all been easier because my husband has carried part of the load.

7.  We have become more independent because we are married.  This seems counter-intuitive, but hear me out.  There is nothing wrong with living with one's parents or with having roommates, but being married has allowed us to make more decisions on our own than if we had continued with our separate living situations.  "With great power comes great responsibility," but I actually enjoy being able to pay our own bills, own a home, have separate health insurance from my parents, and plan our meals.  We are our own separate family unit, and we wouldn't have it another way.

8.  I'm not the first person to say this, but we get to grow old together and grow up together.  We spent our first year of marriage in a dumpy duplex that backed up to a high school parking lot, we drove an old car with a huge dent in the side, I was still finishing school, and we budgeted like crazy just to make ends meet.  But we were happy.  I guess what I'm trying to say is this: Marriage doesn't require a huge savings account, perfect jobs, or a fancy house.  It requires two people who are committed to making it work.  Our story may look much different in twenty years, but the main characters will always be the same.

I got married at 21, and I have no regrets.  

    

Update

I tweeted about this a few days ago, but considering the fact that my Twitter account literally has 12 followers, I'm guessing you're not one of the lucky few who read it.

"If you need a little excitement in your life, just decide to adopt.  I promise you'll never be bored."

That has been my story over the past few weeks.  I've experienced just about every emotion under the sun, but boredom certainly hasn't been one of them.

The most consistent emotions have been anticipation and happiness.  I've been praying to be a mom for well over two years, and it's finally going to happen.  Having friends and family who are enthusiastic has made me look forward to this occasion even more. 

Another consistent emotion has been love.  There was a point in time, about a week ago, when I was fairly convinced that the adoption was going to disrupt.  Birth Mom was supposed to meet with our case worker, and she didn't show up.  Our case worker couldn't get in contact with her for days.  I felt sick.  (Thankfully, everything is fine.)  In those unsettling few days, I realized for the first time how much I already love our child.   

I've also been scared.  Birth Mom can still change her mind.  Yikes.

I've felt selfish.  I don't like giving up my sleep for any reason, and I will miss being able to basically do whatever I want, whenever I want to do it.  The days of being "young and wild and free" will soon be over.  Small prices to pay for a new family member, I know.

Every day, I am heartbroken for Birth Mom.  Her life story is tragic, and I don't think she has even gone through the worst of it yet.  I think about her as she is going to her doctor's appointments, feeling our baby kick inside her stomach, and working all kinds of crazy hours.  I think about her achy back and swelling feet, and I cry because I can't imagine enduring all of that to not only make her baby's life better, but ours, too.  I've never prayed for a single person so much in my life.  

I've felt guilty.  We get to be in the delivery room when Baby is born.  I was initially overjoyed when we found out about this, but I immediately started thinking about the implications of it.  While Birth Mom experiences the most excruciating pain of her life in labor and then does the hardest thing she will ever have to do by handing Baby over to us, I'll be in zero pain, looking into the eyes of the greatest blessing we could possibly receive.  When I told a friend that I would probably feel a huge wave of guilt as I hold our baby for the first time, she just said, "Then don't.  Guilt is a waste of your time.  You haven't done anything wrong."  Those were some of the most helpful words I have heard in awhile.

I've felt sad.  As overjoyed as I am to get to bring home this child, a big part of me still hopes that we will be able to have biological children one day.  Last week, we got back the final results from a surgery that took place a year ago.  (The doctor told us that re-testing a year after the operation would yield the most realistic view of our future.  If you're wondering about this part of our story, just private message me.  I don't mind talking about it- just not on the blog.)  Nothing has changed; our chances of conceiving naturally are still slim to none.  I burst into tears when the nurse called.  And then I immediately felt guilty again for being upset.  (Gotta remember that thing about guilt being a waste of time!).  Here's the thing: The sadness doesn't at all take away from my joy in getting to bring home a baby soon.  But the Facebook pregnancy announcements and biological baby showers will probably always poke at my heart, at least just a little.  It's no one's fault; that's just how it is.  I think that the desire to reproduce is inherent in almost every woman, so I am sure that while I'll be the happiest adoptive momma and all of our children will be loved equally, a sense of loss will always be present.

In the midst of all of these emotions, though, I have felt an overwhelming sense of peace.  If you know me at all, you know that I stress out about, well, mostly everything.  But I'm not stressing out about this.  On my wedding day, I was the calmest I have ever been in my life.  I knew that everything else could go wrong, and I would still be married at the end of the day.  I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that spending forever with him was the right thing.  Today I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this adoption is absolutely the right thing.  "It is well with my soul."

It is at about this time in a woman's pregnancy when she starts posting "baby bump" pictures.  This is how a baby bump looks when you're adopting.  Laugh or be confused or think I'm ridiculous; I'm really not sure which to do either.  :) 

Bursting at the seams.

My blog has been silent for awhile, in part because I stopped blogging for the company with whom I have been working for the past few months.  The extra money was great, but I'm a big believer in writing from your heart instead of writing about topics which don't interest you at all (which was the case in about 90% of the blogs I had to compose).  That's one reason.

The other reason why I haven't been blogging as much lately is because there is so much in regards to the adoption that we are not allowed to post on social media.  I'm going crazy over here.  I process everything through the words that I write.  So, I'm going to attempt to catch you up to speed on this unpredictable life without revealing anything about the baby's or birth parents' identity.  Ugh.

We are just waiting for Baby to come home.  I can't tell you when it will be here or what the gender is, although I can tell you if you ask me directly.  (In that case, you'll probably wish you hadn't asked because then I won't stop talking about it.)

***

I got the phone call that we had been chosen while I was at work one day.  Oddly, the whole situation went down exactly as I had envisioned it, yet I was still so shocked that I could hardly speak.  I remember the secretary at the front desk telling me that I had a phone call and realizing, about halfway through the conversation, what was occurring on the other end of the line.  She looked at me while I was still on the phone and then shouted to the rest of the office, "It's happening!"  Fellow teachers gathered around as I made a few more mumbled comments to our case worker.  I hung up the phone and promptly burst into tears (happy ones, of course).  My friends were in tears, too, because they have watched this journey from start to finish.  After hugs all around, people started to ask, "Is it a boy or a girl?"  I was so dumbfounded that I had forgotten to check.

In the weeks since that surreal day, we have met Baby's birth parents.  I can't disclose much more about that except that they are incredible people.  I would like to say that if I was put in their situation, I would make the same selfless choice that they are making, but I'm not sure that I would.  Abortion absolutely has its ramifications on a woman's body (emotionally and physically), but I think it is, in some ways, an easier choice. It's easier than throwing up all day every day for the first five months of a pregnancy, easier than carrying a baby for nine months and then looking it in the eye only to say goodbye when it is born, easier than knowing, for the rest of your life, that the child you birthed is calling someone else "Mommy."  I know that lots of people will disagree with me on all of that (and I pray that I don't sound demeaning to anyone reading this who has had an abortion).  I didn't really understand it either until I met these people and realized that adoption is not a choice that they made once and then it was over.  This is a choice that they're having to make again and again when they wake up every morning.  That kind of decision requires a degree of strength that I can't comprehend because I'm not sure that I possess it.

I hate the terms "accidental" and "mistake" when referring to unplanned pregnancies.  I also hate when others look at people like us, who are currently unable to give birth to biological children, and say things like, "Oh, how unfortunate."  None of this has been a mistake, and we are certainly not unfortunate (although those have not been my thoughts from the beginning).  Adoption is a beautiful example of God taking all of the seemingly broken pieces of two separate puzzles and fitting them together to create one perfect picture of grace.  There are some days when I still can't believe that this story is happening to us, and those are the days when I realize that I've never been so thankful for having all of my plans dumped upside down.