thematically fickle

My infant daughter cried out to me in the middle of the night. When I got to her, I found my beautiful smiling girl in a very leaky diaper. I scooped her into my arms, changed her, kissed her nose a dozen times and then brought her into my bed. Wedged between my husband and me, she found her thumb and curled into herself to sleep. Now, I lay here awake, listening to her coos and sighs, inhaling the innocent smell of her that I know will be gone well before I’m ready. Veteran parents tell me that this time passes quickly. During moments of vibrant clarity such as now, I am painfully aware of this truth. I breathe deeper, taking all of her in. I can’t believe that 5 months ago, I existed in a world where she didn’t.

I got the call on a Wednesday afternoon. I was shopping for a gift for my boss who had, just the day before, obtained a raise that I’d been trying to get for more than a year. While waiting in line to pay for some exotic scented candles, my cell phone rang. It was our adoption agency calling. I thought nothing of it, as we’d been communicating throughout the day about the seemingly never-ending bureaucratic hurdles that are par for the adoption course. My close friend Jennifer, who was with me at the time and understood that I couldn’t NOT answer, took my candles as I stepped out of line. I rolled my eyes and with perhaps just a smidgen of hope behind them, took the call. The familiar voice of Tish, our representative, calmly asked if I was sitting down (I wasn’t) and if I could (not exactly). She then proceeded to tell me that a birthmother in Chicago had chosen Sam and me to adopt her baby girl who was born six days earlier. Already born. This last part didn’t connect immediately because my mind was still percolating on the birthmother-in-Chicago part and was, on it’s own accord, formulating the when-is-she-due question. Now, looking back, I distinctly remember thinking to myself during that nanosecond that she was due in October and since it was only June, we’d have a few months to prepare.

In another instant, my fantasy collided with real time. An October due date disintegrated as the voice coming out of the phone was now saying words like TRAVEL PLANS, ASAP, and BIRTHMOTHER SIGNING IRREVOCABLE SURRENDERS. Suddenly, synapses were firing and I realized we were going to have a baby. Right in the middle of Cost Plus, not anything like I’d imagined it would be, I got The Call for which all adoptive parents wait. That’s when I found out I would be the mother of a daughter. I was dumbstruck, a deer in the headlights (cliché, but true) and can’t remember if I said much of anything in response other than “can I call you right back?”

To this day, I feel so lucky to have been with Jennifer at that moment; everyone deserves a girlfriend who will confidently, without question, take care of the business at hand and drive when you can’t. She had just finished paying for my things in addition to hers and I filled her in on what was happening. She loaded up the grocery cart and we walked to her car, both of us shaking with excitement. I had to call Sam. When I repeated the conversation to him, he was as shocked as I was. After all, we’d only been waiting 7 weeks, this couldn’t possibly be happening. We weren’t ready for a baby at all. We didn’t have a nursery. We didn’t own a single onesie. Or diaper. Or bottle. Or crib. We’d only just let out the Big Sigh Of Relief following months of paperwork and fingerprints and essays and interviews and inspections. We had decided to consciously live our child-free life to the fullest now: going to movies, staying up until dark-thirty, reading novels, sleeping late, browsing the paper and drinking coffee in bed. We’d spent six months on paperwork and profiles and were ready to shrug off adoption for a bit. It was time to hunker down for the long wait and we decided we’d give our marriage some undivided attention before baby made three. Seven years, four months and seven weeks. That’s how much undivided attention we’d given our relationship. Now it was time for a baby from Chicago to transform our union into a family. Little did we know, we had already had our last night of complete and restful sleep for months to come.

Sam and I planned to meet back at my office where we could have a conference call with our agency. We hung up but he immediately called me back. Surrounded by women Leo’s in his life, he wanted to know if this baby was a Leo like his wife and business partner. I reassured him that no, she was in fact a Cancer, and we shared a good laugh. Jennifer drove me back to my office where I waited outside for Sam. When he arrived, we hugged, kissed, cried a bit and then called Tish. In our stupor, we asked every pertinent question we could think of: is the baby healthy? How old is her birthmother? Does she want to meet us? When did she give birth? How much did the baby weigh? Where is she now? We couldn’t get enough detail and to think we had to wait another day, possibly two, to meet her was suddenly more excruciating than any other part of the process. Our child was no longer a hypothetical “it.” She was out there, breathing, living without us. We had to get to her. But it would be another 36 hours before we looked into her eyes.

That night, we had a late-night impulse shop at Target with our best friends. We went through the infant aisle, scooping anything and everything into our cart. Bibs and sippie cups and teething rings, things we wouldn’t need for months (if ever), ended up in our basket. I had no idea what the hell a receiving blanket was but was nonetheless convinced I needed twenty-seven of them. We were over the moon, elated with happiness, having a collective out-of-body experience in the middle of Target.

Once home, our neighbors stopped by with a bin of newborn clothing, a Baby Björn, an infant car seat and a snap-and-go stroller, all of which their young daughters had grown out of. Privately (snobbishly), I told Sam that although it was so nice of them to bring us clothes, I refused to bring our newborn adopted daughter home in hand-me-down clothing, lest she think she’s not good enough for originals. That was my feeling until I opened the bin and saw how tenderly and lovingly these tiny shirts and pants had been neatly folded and stacked by size. Each item was like new and it was obvious they’d been carefully stored away by a mother sad to say goodbye to this chapter of motherhood. I could imagine the ritual that must have taken place as my friend sorted through and put away her daughters’ things; a ritual that culminated in my receiving such a beautiful offering. I was instantly ashamed of my attitude and humbled by the generosity of my kind neighbors. And it didn’t stop there. As we slowly, cautiously shared our good news with our close friends, we were the recipients of the most amazing love and support I’ve ever experienced.

I didn’t sleep at all that night, or the next. Sam and I spent all of Thursday tying up loose ends at work (here are your candles, thanks for the raise, I’ll be back in three months) and at home. We were able to get Sarah, one of Sam’s employees, to stay at the house with our new puppy, Ella. Since we didn’t know how long we’d have to stay in Chicago, we paid bills and cancelled appointments. A stream of people came and went that evening, giving gifts, words of wisdom and crash courses on how to change a diaper and swaddle a baby, neither of which we knew a thing about. We are thankful to so many people who helped us during this time. Already it was clear to us that it truly does take a village to raise a child and we hadn’t yet begun.

Friday morning, after another night of anxiety-induced insomnia, we boarded a plane for Chicago. We felt like posers, carrying an empty car seat through the airport. In fact, we got several dirty looks on the shuttle to the rental car depot when, thinking nothing of it, we set it on the luggage rack. A nice couple, who clearly couldn’t bear it any more, gently asked how old the baby was, as the car seat was being jostled from side to side. We laughed and explained that we were there to pick up our newborn daughter and could see the panic drain from their faces as they realized we weren’t complete idiots. Once at our rental car, we continued being Poser Parents as we strapped the car seat into place, each of us suspended in a state of disbelief. We drove with anticipation to the adoption agency on what was to be the longest 20 mile drive of our lives. It took so long that we called our social worker, Angel, 5 times. Every four or five blocks, we would call her to find out if we were getting any closer to our next turn. Sam and I began to bicker but tried to quell the anxiety for fear of ruining one of the most important moments of our lives. Funny how driving can do that to a couple. Finally, we arrived at the Family Resource Center. The purple door and violets planted out in front were a sign for me that our daughter should be called Violet, a name I’d been intensely lobbying for during the past two days. Not wanting to rush, we agreed again to wait to meet our girl before bestowing on her a life long label.

It was 8:00pm on Friday, July 1st. Sam called Angel one last time to let her know we were sitting in front of the agency. She said she would be right there, that she had our daughter and was coming from her apartment around the corner. We took a breath and looked deep into each other’s eyes. As the sun was setting, we kissed our last kiss as a childless couple. We held each other for a moment, taking deep breaths of the summer heat. And then we saw her. She came gliding down the street carrying a car seat draped with a blanket and a diaper bag over one shoulder. She had dreadlocks, tattoos and was absolutely radiant. “I think this belongs to you” she said as she handed me the car seat. I took it from her and was caught off guard by how light it seemed. We greeted but I have no idea what was said. We made our way into the agency apartment, which they graciously let us stay in during our visit. On our way up the stairs, I gently lifted the blanket and had my very first glimpse of my daughter, who we decided to name Ruby. It was a moment I will never forget for the rest of my life.

To be continued…..