I am not sure I’m cut out for an open adoption. I know that the open-concept is a wonderful thing, and in the long run it’s going to benefit Carver more than I’ll ever realize; but yesterday just about killed me.
We met the birth parents for lunch–Carver’s tummy-mama still had one of our phones from when she was living here, and wasn’t super responsible with the data/minutes so It was time for us to get it back from her. I figured it would be best to get the phone and let them see Carver at the same time. What I wasn’t expecting was the fierceness of my love for this little boy.
They came in to the restaurant smelling of smoke and looking like they’d just partied all night long, and immediately my hackles went up. I am not proud to admit that these are the thought processes that raged through my brain–
You reek of smoke. You can’t hold him, What if he gets sick, What if he remembers the sound of your voice. What if they try to run out the door with him. How fast could I get there and grab him back. How much prison time would I get if they tried to take my baby and I just snapped.
He is mine, I know his likes, dislikes, the things that make him smile and go to sleep, I know that he likes to bounce a certain way, and isn’t too fond of showers; but he loves his tubby-time. I know that he burps like a big boy, and likes to puke on his MSU- onesies. I know that his smile is intoxicating and he makes little chicken noises when he’s frustrated and hungry. I know that he hates being wet or dirty and makes his dislike known. I know that he has 4-big brothers that protect, adore and never let him get out of their site. I know that he has a daddy who is smitten with him and some of the greatest grandparents in the entire world. I appreciate that he grew in your tummy, but he’s my baby. Don’t call yourself MOMMY. I am mommy.
I am not proud to admit that I was a wreck, shaking, nauseous, and agitated. I just wanted him back against my skin; safe. I hope that I played my anxieties well, I am not so sure. When I got home I was chilled and exhausted. I went into the bathroom, turned on the shower and stood in the hot water and sobbed. My son, my life. How in the world am I going to come to a place where I am not fearful of their presence in Carver’s life? As I stood there I just prayed, “God help me, help me, help me. Make me an influence for his birth parents, calm my fears and go before me.”
Want to know something? After I cried out, I felt better. Rather than shoving all the fear deep into my being, I poured it out, and the peace of God overwhelmed me. Am I ever going to freak out again? Probably. Am I going to bristle when we meet with his birth parents? Most assuredly, but I know in my heart that he belongs to us, and more importantly he belongs to God, and God loves him far more than I ever could.