love and fear

Nearly four months have passed since we first heard about K and her situation. It’s been over three months since we met K and she asked us to parent her baby before she was even halfway to term. It seems like not so long ago I was feeling as if June 1 would not come soon enough.  And now it’s just two quick months away…

K now has just nine short weeks until her due date. Single digits we’re talking. It’s hard to believe she’s in her 32nd week of pregnancy. She continues to feel the baby move often, though we haven’t felt more than a rump and maybe a foot or an elbow. Though she’s not ready yet, K’s body is beginning the hard work of preparing for labor. Let’s hope Baby gets a couple more months to cook just right though…  

As for us, you could say that time both flies and stands still. The relativity of time still blows my mind. One day K’s due date feels like an eternity away, and the next day I get anxious about all that needs to happen between now and then. I often feel that way with an approaching deadline, and I imagine others ponder the passage of time this way as well.

But it feels different as a prospective adoptive mom. For those who have adopted domestically or experienced things going horribly wrong in pregnancy, maybe you can appreciate the tremendous sense of uncertainty involved. Everything feels tentative. Time feels warped. My thoughts are all jumbled. It’s difficult to plan anything. I want to plan everything. Yet I can’t, so I don’t. Clearly I have no control, so why bother. Relent. Submiss. Surrender. Repeat.  

For me, there is an alternating sense of either inertia or overdrive that commands this warped sense of reality. I have trouble managing both. Example: my lists are out of control; I’m tracking all the things we will need, making a budget. But I can’t seem to move ahead on decorating a nursery. Doesn’t our child deserve a little whimsy and color? 

This is not so for everyone, I realize. I know waiting families who seem to have it together. While they wait, they create lovely nurseries complete with beautiful murals and crib bumpers. They fill dressers with adorably tiny clean baby clothes. They have shiny new SUVs with carseats installed. They’re on waiting lists for pre-schools and pediatricians. Not me… 

There will be no showers here, no early registry gifts. People aren’t really asking what we need, unless they’re looking to get rid of the stuff in their garage. We are getting some good support, and a few family members are trying to help us prepare. Yet people realize there is not yet cause for celebration. This child to be born is not yet ours. Should s/he become our child, it will be at the loss of  a wonderful woman who we have grown to love. People just aren’t quite sure what to make of our situation. 

It’s clear we are getting excited. Yet I temper most conversations with the obligatory “anything can happen, of course.” Just so they know. And we know.

We’ve given people permission to be excited, because we are. They can feel cautious too, that’s appropriate. But not fearful. The comments that come from a place of fear are troubling to me. I disregard them and find myself doing a little educating too. It’s not just about us. It’s about this baby and what’s best for him/her. It’s about K and what’s best for her. We don’t want people to judge the situation. It’s not their place. It is what it is. And this may be our child’s story. Tread lightly, people. 

When others see that we embrace this possibility with open hearts, there are usually two reactions: love and fear. It’s been very interesting to notice this. The love reaction is: how wonderful, what a beautiful way to build your family, excitement about the connection, genuine joy, etc. The fear reaction (at least the one we see) is: when does she sign, are you sure you really want to [insert any thing we’re planning], or, I knew someone whose adoption failed, and what would you do if [blablablah]…

If this placement were to fall through and we were crushed, that would be so regardless of how we feel right now. Our heart has already opened to K and to this child. We can’t help that. And why should we? As long as we maintain appropriate respect for K and her choices, we have nothing to gain by withholding our hearts (as if that were possible), yet everything still to lose.

We are so fortunate to have K in our lives at this critical moment. We are grateful for this opportunity. And ultimately that’s what this is — a chance; not a sure thing. A good chance, perhaps. At times we feel as though this baby is “meant” for us. We know K feels good about her decision. But we also know that whatever happens, happens. We can not and would not want to change that. In essence, we’re just along for the ride. 

A friend likened our approach to holding something wonderful and precious in the palm of your hand. You can marvel and awe at its beauty and nature, you can appreciate how lovely it feels at this very moment. But you can’t grasp too tightly or you will distort it, maybe destroy it. The more tightly you grasp, the more quickly it will slip right through your fingers…

What choice do you have but to stand in awe, or run in fear?

~ by luna on March 31, 2009.