This is really happening

What to say about meeting her for the first time?

Well. She is cute as a button. No, she really is. She is slightly wary of us, and the first time we went she got a little shock and turned to stare at Hubby every time he laughed. She's a great player - we spent a whole morning today just on her play mat, toys galore. She reaches for things she wants, and does these funny commando rolls which make me want to add my own "Kapow!" sound effects. All of a sudden, she's rolled to the other side of the mat. She loves crinkly noises and puts everything into her mouth. In her, Bounce has found a true dribble soulmate!

We took Bounce, two days ago. He loved every minute of it. Well, that's not strictly true; he moaned once but it was a fake moan. He was straight away himself - none of his customary feigned or genuine shyness. He found foster dad's jokes hilarious and spent the whole time giggling. He was completely thrilled with the baby, and she seemed to reciprocate his feelings. He covered her with her mat, threw teddies at her, teased her with dangly, jangly toys, and wiggled his toes in her face (apparently her favourite thing!) It was a really fun, special first meeting - we don't really think it could have gone any better for either of them.

Today we had our first 'official' intro session and we spent the morning there. It went well and we had a good time, but it was a bit odd because we spent the whole time just in one room (apart from going into the kitchen for lunch). I am keen to get out for at the least a walk or even just a gander in the garden. Hopefully tomorrow.

At the moment, it still feels like we are getting to know some new friends, and we spent the morning at their house today. Baby doesn't eat much yet, and her napping routine isn't really a routine. These are the main things that I am trying hard not to feel anxious about. Naturally, I'm worrying that she will never, ever learn to eat and will never, ever get into a routine. This is exactly what I didn't want to do, exactly what I didn't want to be like. I have wanted this for such a long time, and I always look back and see how annoying it was that I got uptight about Bounce's developmental stuff when it always turned out to just 'be a phase' (obviously!)

And so this time I really want to enjoy it - all of it. Even if it takes us a few weeks of difficult nights or her not eating very much - I want to just ride that wave and find things within those situations that are special and happy and worth valuing. I don't want a tricky element to colour the whole thing, and I know that that is a tendency I have.

So for now I am working on being relaxed, non-uptight, and optimistic (and yes I'm annoyed with myself that these are things I am having to work for). We're having a baby!!

In the shadow of disappointment

I've been living with disappointment for so long that I don't know how to feel right now.

Why do I always end up feeling so fed up with myself? For a year I've waited for this, and now it's happening I feel... flat. Tired. Anxious. Unsure. Irritated with myself for feeling those things.

We met her yesterday. She is lovely, sweet, funny - 'As soon as I saw you, I knew an adventure was about to happen.' She is a good fit for Bounce, too. Determined and fun and energetic and chubby!

And yes, now it does feel more real, having met her. The past week or so has felt anything but. Since hearing the news that the court order was granted, we've known that this has been coming but we've not quite believed it, still. Up until the meet yesterday, we still had only heard from Helen over text or email - not even a phonecall. I kept expecting her to call with news that things had changed - the decision has been reversed, or another family is a better fit, or they would have to delay, again, for some reason. I didn't feel like we had any connection with the baby, it didn't feel "right," we couldn't settle on a name, I didn't feel excited or prepared or eager or ready, I convinced myself that the foster family didn't like us and didn't want us involved. I'm sure it had been different with Bounce.

But even having met her now I feel similar. I don't have the worry about it all falling through, but I still haven't felt that 'magic.' This is it. This is happening. She's ours. She's coming home. Nothing like that really.

I loved meeting her yesterday, and it went well. The foster carers are nice and she obviously adores them. She was playful but not overly keen on us, not really. We know it will come. She giggled and dribbled and chewed the toy from Bounce. She let us play with her and she smiled at us. She really wasn't sure about Hubby and his laugh - kept eyeing him suspiciously.

But it felt like we were intruding. It feels like we are intruding on a happy little unit. I know this isn't the case, but it just felt like we were the outsiders, which I suppose we are. And tonight, the thought of the journey ahead over the next few months is a daunting one, one for which I don't feel ready. I'm not sure if you ever feel ready. But on top of that I don't feel eager. I just feel completely exhausted. I wonder if we should have taken a few weeks to rest and relax and take stock and recharge. After a year of waiting, it feels so quick now. The past five weeks I could have been nesting and getting things ready and telling people and preparing myself, but I couldn't and I didn't want to and I didn't. So instead now it feels like a bolt from the blue. Not unwelcome, but certainly not expected.

I'm sure I'll feel differently in the morning, maybe if I sleep well and get a couple of days to rest before formal introductions start. And I'm hopeful that once we start to build a bit of a connection, when she starts being pleased to see us and we get that spark of joy inside that comes from a baby wanting you and needing you and being pleased with you and familiar with you - that will help, surely?

I don't feel worried about the attachment, but I just wanted to note down all of this, so that later, when I'm as deeply in love as I am now with Bounce, I can look back and remember how things felt, in case we decide to do it all again!!

Surprised by Joy

Well yesterday we met our new baby! I still can't believe it, even as I type this.

Up until early last week, we still didn't know whether this was going to happen. We'd had the match, but the final decision had been delayed and we'd had to wait. I'd lived the past five weeks in a weird foggy state, not really engaging in any emotions in some ways. I was coping, but only by not letting myself think about the impending court date. If I did, I tried to simply see it as something we needed to get past so that we could enjoy a nice holiday and a chilled out summer. I prepared for a no, started to think about the new academic year and the things I'd be doing with work. I saw the court date as a bother, something that would bring more bad news but nothing new; something that I wished could be over with so that we could move on and start searching for a match again.

Spiritually, I was okay. I learnt a bit more about bringing everything to God, and not having to perform or do or say a certain thing in prayer. I was simply coming to him, as I had nowhere else to go. I had doubts and questions and grievances and complaints and I took them all to him. I struggled to pray for things, requests I mean, but I was still coming. I saw time with God, his presence, as coming to rest under a shady tree. That's the image that kept coming back to me.

But then the court date arrived - two days back to back - and I wasn't too well. Thankfully we had planned for Bounce's birthday party to clash with the court hearing so we were super busy. I spent any free moments looking for last minute holiday options, and doing endless codewords and crosswords to keep my mind busy. On the second day, once the party was done with, I felt terrible. My head was pounding and I didn't want to be anywhere near my phone; I had to give it to Hubby to keep hold of. We tried just being at home, then I tried napping, and then we just had to get out. I was restless, it was boiling hot, my head was really sore, and I was grumpy and irritable. The number of times in the past year that I've been waiting for some communication from our social worker, and still it was nearly killing me.

We went to the park for a play and then out for tea - there was something about going home that we just didn't want to do. I felt ill and had no appetite. I knew (thought I knew) what news was coming, but still the anticipation of actually hearing it was almost unbearable. Despite all my preparations for disappointing news, I couldn't cope with the thought of it actually coming. I didn't let myself give in to any daydreams about what it might be like if it were good news. Well maybe one or two slipped through the net but they were cut short within milliseconds.

And then Helen texted. And that was it.

I didn't believe her. Well, I did, but I didn't believe that it was good news. I assumed it must be partially good but that we'd still have to wait, or that someone else would have to agree, or that we'd need to sort this and that first before getting a definite yes.

But I was wrong. The judge had decided to agree with social services' recommendation for adoption, and so the plans they'd drawn up for us to adopt her would go ahead.

I cried and felt ill and we didn't know what to do or say or who to tell or what to do. And really, two weeks later, it still hasn't sunk in.

This Sucks

I am struggling at the moment. Things are hard. I wish they weren't. I wish I were different and I were able to feel positive and hopeful, but I'm not and I can't.

The final decision got delayed and so we are waiting for a number of weeks. More waiting. Wait upon wait. It's agonising actually. Agonising, that is, when I let myself think about it. We got the news about the delay 10 days ago and after a few days of feeling very low and sad, I have spent the rest of the time feeling quite numb. I'm not thinking about it. I have tried to convince myself that it's not happening, that it's going to be a no, and so now I am just trying to push all thought of adoption and babies out of my head.

But today it's crashed on me a bit and I've been unable to avoid it - pictures of cute babies, baby name inspiration, toddler groups, etc. It's horrible, because when we were waiting for the first hearing, which I wrote about here, I came to the conclusion that I might as well enjoy it, feel positive and let myself get excited, because surely it couldn't make me feel any worse than I was already feeling. And yet when the bad news came I did feel worse, and I wished I hadn't started to get excited and think about what life would be like when the baby came.

So I'm back to doing what I do best - being negative and assuming the worst. But it's hard, because you can't help what your subconscious is doing. And sometimes I feel like I'm trying to trick myself into believing that it's not going to happen, while actually deep down I am still hopeful that it will. It's like I've got two of me - 'Well, she says it's not going to happen, but really she thinks it will. Let's just humour her."

The judge delayed, apparently, because - first reason given: he saw some progress in mum; second reason given: he has to delay if mum contests the adoption plan, which she did. So we don't actually know what the situation is - either he thinks mum is on the right track, in which case it's likely that he will rule in her favour, or his hands are tied and he will weigh up the evidence at the end of the month and make his decision then. Helen reckons that there isn't enough time for mum to show enough of an improvement, but I'm not sure. If he's seen enough at this point to make him question the adoption plan, then surely he could choose to make a preemptive decision, based on the presumption that the changes he has seen thus far will continue. And FFA was not agreed to because there's a chance (in my mind a strong chance) that the baby will end up with mum. (I hope it's obvious enough without pointing out that I actually believe this to be a good outcome. As with all my posts, this is simply me writing from my position, my point of view. I can't pretend I'd not be disappointed but that's not for the baby's sake - it's purely selfish. And I can't pretend that the fact the baby is going back to mum would be enough to keep a smile on my face: brutal truth - I would be upset).

But anyway, I am really trying hard to put all of that out of my mind. I can't possibly know what the judge will decide or why, and there's really no use in going over it in my mind.

People's responses have been varied - some knew about the initial hearing date, and still haven't asked how it went. I'm disappointed by that and feel let down that those people aren't really following along on this journey with us. Others responded by getting back down on their knees to keep praying, whereas I for one at the moment just can't see the point. And one or two have simply acknowledged that it's difficult and painful and rubbish.

And today I am feeling extremely low. I keep thinking about all the heartache, disappointment, grief, sadness and pain of the last 8 years. Yes we have Bounce. But that doesn't erase the pain of infertility and the stress of going through this process. I feel again like we could be spared this agony by simply being kept in the dark about this match being explored. And instead we are stuck here, waiting, and all the while other vulnerable babies needing shelter are passing us by. We've had to pull out of three potential matches that we were being considered for on Link Maker. It's going to get to the end of the month, a year after being approved, and we'll be back to square one, but with considerably thinner skin, significantly more bruises, and our energy, tears, and stores of positivity running dangerously low. I am dreading it.

Match Made!

So... as of 4 weeks ago, we have a match! It's bizarre that I haven't written about it yet because in some ways it's the only thing worth writing about. I've somehow managed to waffle on for 14 blog posts without saying very much at all I suppose. But this was always intended to be a way of charting the journey, and so I suppose part of that journey is simply not really feeling like writing much.

So - how do I sum up how things have been for the past month?? Well, initially - and this is all I'll focus on in this post - there was jubilation! Helen phoned me when I was on the train, on the way home from a two day conference. It had been an interesting week. And by interesting I mean bad/good.

We had been told that there were two babies that they were family finding for, and that there were two families waiting. The odds were in our favour (even my Maths skills stretch that far), so we, and Helen, felt fairly hopeful. The first matching meeting was scheduled for a Friday, and at the end of the day we found out that the decision hadn't gone our way. We felt like we'd been kicked. We felt bruised and battered. We felt that they'd got it wrong - we really believed we were the right match. How could they not see that? How could anyone else have possibly been a better match? They had even been looking for a church-going family. If we couldn't get there even in this case, how would we ever?! We were gutted, exhausted and cross. It turned out the thing that had swung it was that the birth mother was likely to have further children, and the other adopters were in a better position to provide a home for those future children... It stung a bit, and it riled me in the same way anything riles me where I am directly affected and yet have no way of influencing events or sharing my thoughts or even entering into a dialogue.

The second matching meeting, for baby number two, was scheduled for the Monday. That day, I felt unwell all day. Not physically as such, but I did not feel good. I was permanently expecting my phone to go, and the anticipation just really got to me. I suppose I was preempting bad news. I was irritable and sad even though there was a chance we'd get good news. My response was to shut down, close in and let myself feel bad. We hadn't been told that the meeting would be taking place at the end of the day, and it wasn't until around 6pm that we heard from Helen - via email - that a decision hadn't been reached... it was, essentially, a tie break. And the decision-maker didn't see how she could make a decision any sooner than Wednesday at the earliest. Bad timing, because I was booked in on this two day conference, without Hubby, for Wednesday and Thursday. The prospect of more bad news, delivered to me while I was on my own, made me feel terrible.

I somehow got through. I mean it sounds ridiculous now; it's not like I endured an iron man marathon or had to rebuild my house after a devastating flood, or even got served a cup of tea made with skimmed milk. But it felt big - going away on my own, with friends but still, not with Hubby, having to "wear my work hat" and hold things together. I was determined not to be glued to my phone, obsessively checking it, but I must admit I didn't quite manage that.

Well I got through, and got on the train and headed home. And then Helen rang - and as soon as I saw my phone light up I knew it would be good news. Bad news and she'd have emailed. I cried down the phone, stammered out a few words, and that was that. Good news. At last.

Other people while we wait

I've been wanting to write about what it's like waiting - what it's like in terms of our interactions with other people.

It's funny, because if I were pregnant I imagine that questions about the impending arrival would be frequent, repetitive and very forthcoming. It's an easy one, isn't it, making small talk with a pregnant lady. Pretty safe and straightforward (in most cases that is). But for us, for me and Hubby, we, despite being expectant parents, are rarely asked about things. I wonder if that will change once we have a match and are actively waiting for a baby to move in, but for now the conversations are uncommon.

I wonder why it is. I think it's a mixture of things - shyness, for a start. Some people are shy about bringing up the subject. They know we've been waiting a while now, and perhaps they are anxious about upsetting me by asking about how things are going. This makes a lot of sense - why would you want to keep going on about something which, as far as you can tell, is not happening?

Other people, I think, are unsure and are put off by their lack of understanding. They don't want to say the wrong thing, they don't know the lingo, the process, the way things work, and so they avoid the embarrassment by just saying nothing. Perhaps they are aware of confidentiality and don't want to put their foot in it and make things awkward for me. So they simply leave it alone.

Others, I guess those who are closer to us, perhaps just leave it up to us to start the conversation. Often we have sent prayer requests to close friends, or little updates here and there about things that are happening, partly to keep them in the loop and partly so that they know how we're feeling and what we're going through. Perhaps these friends don't bring up the subject at other points because they know that when we want and need to, we will.

But sometimes, it makes me a little sad, this lack of chat. But other times, it makes me sad to talk about it. So I guess no-one can win! Either way, I might be sad! If I'm in certain frame of mind, someone asking me for an update might irritate me, seem too personal, a bit intrusive and insensitive. But, I think more often, a person not asking irritates me more. I can't help but make that pregnant lady comparison, and think about how different things would be if I had a growing belly. So it's a strange one, but I mustn't forget that it's strange for our friends and family too. It would be easier for them, more straightforward, if we were expecting a baby naturally, but we're not. And so they have to negotiate the situation, which, for all the above reasons, isn't very straightforward.

If you've read this post, I'm afraid that's it. Nothing very groundbreaking or worthwhile. But just something I'm experiencing and so I didn't want to leave it out.

Am I pro-Adoption?

I’m not sure. 

I’m really not sure any more. 

It used to be a definite and resounding “Yes!” Adoption – a way of mending what’s been broken, of bringing life and security. A means by which a child can be restored and healed and can start to thrive. A way of sharing the love and safety and wellbeing you have to give. 

But, also: Adoption – a way of tearing apart, of bringing heartache and pain and grief and depression. A way of perpetuating cycles and removing people’s reasons to live and try. For some, actually for lots, adoption is bleak and dark and heartbreaking. 

Sometimes, like when we’re writing our contact letters to birth parents, I choke up about how something that has brought me such joy can also bring someone else such pain. Our adoption of Bounce will never be purely good, it isn’t possible. Adoption can never be a resounding “Yes!” because by its very nature it has sprung from a place of darkness and struggle. It is bittersweet. 

As a Christian I can’t help but think of biblical parallels. God is our heavenly Father. Adoption speaks of the Father heart of God. It is a beautiful image of how God takes our broken, far-from-him, far-from-right lives and nurtures us back to life. It’s about redemption, which I strongly believe God is in the business of – he takes those things that are spoilt, rubbish and lost and somehow, graciously, brings good out of them. He turns water into wine. 

But that imagery isn’t quite all it seems to be. In reality, adoption isn’t beautiful for everyone. Yes I am pleased (not quite the right word) to be able to help Bounce thrive, to show him safety and love and provision in all the right ways, but it’s sad that this has to happen. It isn’t right and it isn’t triumphant. Where God’s adoption of us sings of victory and overcoming, our adoption of Bounce…whispers quietly of loss, regret, pain, hope and love. 

I suppose what I am trying to say is that adoption, in an ideal world, wouldn’t exist. Obviously. But sadly, there is a need. I am glad not to be in a position of making decisions about removing children (removing – how could there not be pain when it’s a word like that?). I am glad, too, to be in a position where we can offer a home, safety, love, provision, and a family to a child who otherwise would be missing out on those things. It’s such a strange conflict in me: I want a baby, I can’t conceive a baby; I want a baby, I’ll adopt a baby. Does this mean I’m glad that Bounce needed adopting? Does this mean I’m currently waiting, subconsciously, for a mother and baby to be forced apart? Does this mean I’m eager for a mum somewhere to not quite reach the grade?

A while back, I read on Twitter a good line: Adoption is important and sad. I totally agree and I often come back to that in my mind. But on reflection I think I would add a note of more hopefulness than that. A slight thawing, like a snowdrop on a sunny day in early February. Adoption speaks of joy, it hints at something good. It’s birthed in pain and heartache, on both sides, but it speaks – just quietly - of longing fulfilled, of the gift of life – good, healthy, protected life, of second chances, of family, and of a chance for something wonderful to happen. 

Waiting

We’ve been waiting an age. Or so it feels, at least. It’s been around seven months now, which, compared to the four we waited last time, feels long. Christmas helped, because December is busy anyway and it was full of subconscious ‘perhaps once all the festivities have finished…perhaps in the new year…’ in the way that these things are. 

There’s lots of that while you wait, isn’t there. ‘Perhaps at their wedding we’ll have a baby…Perhaps I won’t be at work when that change comes into force because I’ll be off with the baby…Perhaps I’ll have to cancel that holiday I’ve just booked because we’ll have just had a baby move in…’ It’s painful but, I think, natural and unavoidable. 

It’s harder when it’s things like ‘I hope we have a baby before they do…by the time they have their baby we will probably have been matched and then we can have play dates…they’re ten years younger than us and are onto baby number four…’ 

Roosevelt was right, I think, when he said that comparison is the thief of joy. 

Waiting is different this time. I didn’t think there would be a “this time.” I thought our go at baby-heartache and difficulty and waiting was over. I thought we’d conceive the rest of our family naturally. I thought we’d got through the tough hand we’d been dealt and that we’d earnt an easier ride this time. I thought wrong. I try not to dwell on the whys and the wherefores. It is like this and we get on. But there is sadness and grief every time I’m reminded of what we want and are yet to have. Of what we may never have. 

I looked after my beautiful niece when my brother and sister in law were in hospital having their baby number two. It was a precious, sad day. New life, family joy, miracles; such joy. But sadness too – I wanted someone else to be looking after Bounce while me and dkjsd were in the hospital having our baby number two. I wanted others to be on tenterhooks waiting to hear our good news and be sent brand-new-straight-from-the-womb baby photos. I wanted to be on to baby number two before my younger brother. I want, I want, I want; grief and sadness often expose the most self-centred parts of my heart. And then my brother named the baby after me, for all the most emotional and humbling and surprising reasons. 

And yet, we are hopeful. We do have hope. We have a wonderful boy. We are awaiting a match with a baby and we are hopeful that this baby will bring joy and happiness and laughter that will fill us to overflowing, just like what happened with Bounce. And I am waiting now, in this season, in a strange place. A place I’ve been before, and disliked before, but now, looking back, am desperately glad I was in. If things had gone my way I wouldn’t have been there. But I am mightily pleased that I didn’t get my way. 

So I suppose this time is a breathing space. That’s part of what I’m trying to do through all this writing. Take stock and breathe and ride the wave. All those types of things you see on cute little cross stitch banners, cheap notebooks, and millennial postcards pinned to gallery walls. As before, we are trying to enjoy things that will be impossible once the baby comes. We’re booking in evenings out. We’re busy at church loving and serving people and being in community. We’re going away when we can and splashing bits of money on nice things. We’re spending time with God in the mornings, on our own and with Bounce. We got a cat. We’re eating together as a family. We’re waiting. 

False Start

A couple of months ago, we had a false start. I didn’t write about it at the time, but I wanted to put down some of my feelings about this, as it was, and still is, a big deal for me. 

Part of what happened, was, I think, a result of a misalignment between our understanding/previous experience, and the reality here with TACT. So, by way of explanation, here is a snapshot of both...

Our understanding and previous experience: 

A social worker visits you for 4 months, getting to know you, meeting you in your home, asking tons of questions. He or she looks at your home, your bank accounts, and finds out everything about you: your family, your childhood, your hopes and dreams, your route into adoption, your likes, dislikes, and hobbies. The list goes on. By the end, the SW has written a comprehensive report on you, which is used to get you through Panel. After this, you discuss your “matching criteria” (yuck to that phrase) and make sure that the SW knows what you are looking for, what you would consider, and what you are ruling out. The SW then attends family finding meetings every fortnight, where a list of children waiting is discussed, along with a list of potential adopters. Matches between the two lists are considered and agreed upon by the professionals who know the children and the adopters inside out. When you’ve been matched with a child, the SW rings you, gives you the relevant info, asks you to consider it, answers your questions, paints a picture of the child and the situation, and things progress from there if you’re interested. This is what happened with Bounce.  

Reality here with TACT:

Up until Panel, similar to above. Meetings, chats, getting-to-know yous. As you know from my musings here, we don’t really feel like either of our two social workers ever properly got to know us, but that’s still the general aim (I think) in the months up to Panel. It’s after this that things change. So, here: The SW attends family finding meetings every fortnight, as expected, and any possible children that might fall somewhere within your matching criteria, or just outside it, are then emailed to you, as a PDF attachment, for your reading and perusal. These profiles are sent to all adopters who might have a slight proclivity to be interested. Upon then receiving your permission to pursue the match (or to let it drop if it’s not for you), the SW lets the child’s SW know about your desire to be considered, and then you are put ‘into a pot’ with everyone else who’s interested. At some point in the next few weeks, a meeting will happen to whittle down the prospective adopters, and then another meeting will be held to decide between the ‘top three.’ After this, the SW then phones you to tell you if you’ve been chosen or not.

Here are my problems with TACT’s approach:

1.    It is painful. 

a.    I do not want to be sent profiles as a PDF attachment to an email. I do not want the ping on my phone or laptop to herald another heartbreaking real life "case study" of a needy and vulnerable child who barely has anything remotely in common with my matching considerations. I do not want to have to deny a chance for a loving, stable family & home to a child that’s in need.

b.    Being told you may have been matched with a child is hard. Being sent details about a baby, who looks and reads and seems to be perfect for you, is hard, when you know there is slim chance that they’ll end up with you. The exhaustion of hope building, and then being ripped down, is relentless and reminiscent of monthly periods during our long struggle to conceive. 

c.  Waiting between the initial communication about the child, and the result of the matching meeting, is difficult, stressful, and tiring. You don’t know where you’re at. There’s no way of knowing if you’ll be chosen. You want and hope and pray that you will be chosen, and that the right thing, the absolute best and right thing, is chosen for the child. You hope. You wait. You hope. You try not to hope. You wait. You distract yourself. 

2.    This pain is avoidable and unnecessary

a.    The PAR is written for a reason. You go through 4 months of meetings with the SW for a reason: so that you are known. So that you are understood, representable. Our SW should be able to attend Family Finding meetings on our behalf, and express an interest on our behalf, and attend further meetings on our behalf, and learn the news that we have or haven’t been selected, on our behalf. There is no need for us to have any involvement in this, nor any awareness that it’s even going on. 

Pain, disappointment, and waiting are part and parcel of parenting, of conceiving, of adoption – of growing a family. I get that. BUT. This approach does little, if anything, to safeguard the wellbeing of potential adopters. It renders useless the time spent getting to know, getting to be known by, the social worker. Social Workers should be empowered and allowed to make a call based their own intuition and their in-depth knowledge of the prospective adopters, and if they’re wrong, or things aren’t as straightforward as that, there should be space for that and allowances made. They should shoulder the burden of the unknown so that the potential adopters don’t have to. I’m assuming, cynically perhaps, that there must be some financial reason for this approach because I can see no other reason why things need to be done this way. 

Just to set the record straight, by the way, our Social Worker, after this false start, agreed to only get in touch as and when we have been selected as the prospective adopters. All of the discussions and meetings will go on without our knowledge, and so we'll never (hopefully) be aware again of any times when we've missed out. We feel pleased and like our thoughts matter because of this change, but also a bit uneasy - does this mean that we're weak and difficult? Apparently this is the norm, everyone else can deal with it, but we need special treatment. I don't like that. Parents, especially adoptive ones, need to be resilient and strong. If we can't cope with this process, how can we be expected to cope with the demands of parenting? Well. Sometimes I don't cope with the demands of parenting. I'm not sure anyone does, not all the time anyway. I just hope our requests for change won't be held against us; I'm assured not, but still. 

Also by way of setting the record straight, the concerns I've written about here need to be fed back to TACT. And we are completely committed to doing that, once we've had a baby placed and things are all settled down. I know it sounds cowardly, but we're not prepared to shake things up at this stage. Afterwards, we'll be able to talk reflectively rather than reflexively, which will be much more efficient and effective for everyone involved!

Profile Evening

We got invited to a Profile Evening and it was weird.

That probably comes as no surprise. An evening where profiles of children awaiting adoption are shared and discussed and promoted – how could that ever not be weird? So yeh, it was weird. 

There were a few tables set up with those stand-up boards resting on the tops, and photos of children pinned to them. There were Social Workers dotted around ready to give you all the information about the children. There was bad tea and coffee. There were packs handed to each visitor containing profiles of all the children, ready to be leafed through and considered. It had a similar vibe to an unsuccessful Craft Fair.

Ahead of our visit, Hubby and I were fairly pessimistic about the evening. We were holding out little to no hope that we’d find a profile that matched our criteria, mainly because we are waiting for a small baby. Still, we went. Partly because it was something to do, it made it feel like something was happening as much as anything else. 

We did find and chat about one profile, not quite right for us but close enough to pique our interest. In the end it ended, for us anyway, but it was something, for a week or two. 

On reflection, I do have mixed feelings about the Profile Evenings as a whole. It felt a bit wrong to be looking at photos of vulnerable, needy children - some of whom had probably been waiting months and months. It was sad and heartbreaking and painful to walk past with a glance and a brutal 'no' and nothing more. But you can't personally be the solution to every story. 

And the photos... there's something about the photos. Manipulative isn't quite right, but surely anyone would agree that a photo invites an emotional reaction. No-one would admit to being put off by a photo, but I bet plenty of people would admit to being drawn in by a child's smile or a twinkle in their eye. There's nothing wrong with that! Nothing at all. But surely it means the opposite is true too...? Which just feels weird. I'm not sure what the solution is - include no photos as a rule? Maybe.

I suppose they must be worth it, these Profile Evenings, otherwise the Services wouldn't put them on would they? They must serve a purpose. And if an evening like ours ends in a happy match between a child and a parent, then that's wonderful. But I think for Hubby and me, it will go down as a slightly uncomfortable evening that didn't do us much good! 

Debating FFA

When we adopted the first time round, we were interested in FFA (Fostering For Adoption). Having a newborn – or nearly new – was something that appealed to us, which is understandable since that’s what we’d been waiting, hoping, and praying for for four years or so. And it was mentioned on the two day Prepare to Adopt course we went on, so we spoke to our lovely social worker about it. She gave us some more information, told us to think about it, but her overall feeling was that FFA wasn’t for us. I’m glad we came to the same decision as her, and that we were happy to defer to her judgement, because obviously Bounce moved in and the rest is history (well, not quite but you know what I mean. Happy Families ensued.)

Anyway. This time round, in a new local authority, TACT are very pro-FFA, from what we can tell. There was quite a lot about it during the Prepare to Adopt training course, and we were given the impression that, if we wanted to adopt a baby under 9 months, then really our only option is FFA. We felt really unsure about this, as the idea of FFA is still not appealing. 

We were told in no uncertain terms that when a baby comes to you on an FFA basis, that baby takes priority over any existing children. This means that for Bounce, he’d have to take a back seat for an undetermined amount of time – second place to appointments, contact, car journeys, meetings, diary-keeping, milestone-recording, etc. Now don’t get me wrong: I am not of the ‘My Child is My World’ persuasion, however, the thought of him having to take second place – for who knows how long – is a difficult thing to consider. With all the changes that a baby coming would mean for him, we’d want to be able to support him, spend masses of time with him, and keep his routines as normal as possible. And if an FFA baby meant that I wasn’t around to drop him off or pick him up from school, or he had to skip swimming lessons, or he was frequently being left with others while we were busy, that would not be good. I know that any baby moving in – through whatever means – is an upheaval for the whole family, not least any existing children, but to be told, instructed, expected, to put one child above another doesn’t sit well with me. And nor should it sit well with a team of people whose role is to take good care of children in the care system – a box Bounce once ticked. 

I don’t need to go into details about the other elements that we see as drawbacks: the level of unknown is obviously high up there, and is exacerbated this time around as we have Bounce to consider. While I believe it’s rare that FFA placements don’t go on to adoption, it’s an added risk, and a risk that I think personally I would find incredibly hard. Added to that is the uncertainty that comes from having a younger baby. By the time Bounce moved home with us, he was old enough to have had various things ruled out. He’d had tests for this and tests for that, he’d hit milestones and he’d shown his character and his personality. All of those reassurances are missing if you FFA a baby straight from the hospital. And finally, the idea of being so heavily involved in contact – although obviously this is dependent on the situation – is something that to be honest I shy away from. I know that’s not great, but for now that’s how I feel.

Our social worker here assured us of the inaccuracy of our belief that the only way to ‘get’ a baby under 9 months being through FFA, and that it would be better not to rule out FFA completely in case a situation came through that actually ticked all our boxes. So we got approved concurrently as Adopters and as Fosterers, which seems to be the norm here. We tried to make it as clear as possible in our PAR that we were keen for a straight adoption, and that we had concerns with FFA, and would only consider it in exceptional circumstances. 

As I write this, we’ve been waiting for a match for 6 months, which is a little on the long side. I’ve no way of knowing whether this is because we’ve confined our options somewhat, but it feels right for us. I guess it's partly that we feel familiar and comfortable with straight adoption. Obviously we are hoping and praying that the right baby will move in at exactly the right time, and that - most important of all - the "process" will have been positive, supportive and perfectly right for that baby, not necessarily for me. 

Our Experiences at Panel

Now that we’ve been through Approval Panel twice, I wanted to put down in writing some of my thoughts about our experiences. This may prove harder than I imagine because it will require me thinking back to our first time at Panel, which seems ages ago, but we’ll see how we get on. And this is actually my second blog post on the topic of Approval Panel – if you want to get more an idea of what may be involved, have a read of my post Six Steps to Surviving & Thriving at Panel.

The idea of Approval Panel isn’t ever something that caused me great worry or stress. Which is saying something, because I do tend to easily get worried and stressed! (You know booking holidays? – worried and stressed. You know renewing car insurance? – worried and stressed. You know Opticians appointments? – worried and stressed.) But I think our first Social Worker, Sarah, made us feel confident ahead of panel, reassuring us that she wouldn’t take us to Panel unless she was sure we’d get approved.

First time round, Panel hearings were held in an office complex in town which has lots of meeting rooms that people can hire out, as well as a really nice café and some store front and workshop spaces for new local start-ups. It’s a decent building, fairly new-ish, and it felt comfortable and familiar. I suppose we probably went for a quick cuppa somewhere beforehand – possibly in the café on site – but I can’t actually remember. I can remember, as we waited to be called in, leafing through the information pack we’d been given, which contained a blurb about each Panel member, and trying to work out if we knew any of them. Nine years of living, studying, teaching, and going to church in the city meant this wasn’t as remote a possibility as you might expect, but I don’t think we found any familiar faces. 

So, in we went. We were nervous, certainly, but we knew what the outcome would be and so we were able to speak and respond with an adequate level of coherence. We got approved, so I guess we did okay. I think the paperwork was good and our PAR was very straightforward, which seemed to work in our favour. To my memory they asked us about why we wanted to adopt, and they also touched upon what impact our Christian faith might have on things, i.e. What would we do if, when older, an adopted child came to different conclusions than us about faith and God and morals. (A silly question, in my view: Obviously we would support and love them no matter what; how does their being adopted have any impact on this at all?)

After our time in the room with the Panel (quite large, as I remember it – around 16-18 people I think), we went and awaited our fate in a neighbouring room. We didn’t have to wait long for Sarah and the Panel Chair to come back out and inform us that the decision had been made in our favour. We were relieved and pleased. Obviously. Again I imagine we celebrated with food and drink somewhere, but oddly I can’t remember.

Things the second time round were very similar in terms of the process and the way the interview went. The venue wasn’t quite as nice – an old, strange, back-building in town that you access off a side door that feels like an illicit entrance into a dodgy mafia joint (a very mafia joint that bears remarkable similarities to a dishevelled library, granted). We waited for about forty-five minutes as the previous interviews had all run over. The waiting room was small and more cupboard than room, with a glass wall and a couple of chairs – not uncomfortable, surprisingly. 

Our Social Worker, Helen, had very sadly been taken ill and wasn’t able to attend Panel with us, but it didn’t matter too much. We were left in the very capable hands of a replacement who looked after us well. We actually got on with her far more naturally than we did with Helen, and I can remember us covering all manner of conversation topics while we waited. 

Eventually it was the interview itself, which went well, and the Panel members – fewer in number than last time, and squished, as I remember, into a similar sized room as the one we’d been waiting in - were responsive and interested in what we had to say. The Panel Chair came out to find us again, after their deliberations, and, rather than simply telling us their decision (a unanimous yes), he read out a long list of what had been deemed, amongst the members, to be our strengths. It was lovely! We were a “very impressive couple” – the only time we’ve been referred to in this way and one that has, you’ll understand, become common parlance (just between me and Hubby obv). Part of his feedback was also that the Panel members felt slightly hesitant about approving us for FFA, which was exactly right of them. The paperwork and our responses in the interview itself had obviously been clearly communicated, because the two us also felt/feel hesitant about FFA. So we felt valued, listened to, understood, and interested in for the first time, pretty much, in this whole process. How strange that our visit to Panel would prove to be the most positive part of the adoption process. 

So there we have it. Two different experiences, similar in multiple ways, at Approval Panel. Both with the same outcome; one a highlight, one a formality. I wonder if we’ll ever experience a third?

6 Steps to Surviving & Thriving at Panel

As I've not written a post on here for a while, I thought I'd better make my 'return' spectacularly helpful (!!), so here come my thoughts about surviving and thriving the horror that is Panel.

First off, then: it's not a horror. At all. It's not horrible, horrific, horror-related, or even horror-ish. I might even go as far as suggesting it's actually the opposite. Anti-horror, if you like. 

[I'll just pause here to say that, as with all I write, my ramblings are based largely on nothing more than our own experiences. Please don't think that when I write things here I'm assuming that everyone's experiences are similar, or that yours, if differing, is less valid.]

But yes, it's true - I think Panel can be, and often is, an affirming experience. You've come a long way: several months of home visits, preparing yourself for this process, getting your home and your heart ready week after week for lengthy, in-depth chats with a Social Worker who, if you're lucky, has stopped being a Social Worker and has become a Name. You've attended courses, tentatively/giddily/shyly/sobbingly told friends and family of your adoption plans. You've come through something that has led you to the point of choosing adoption.  And, all too quickly, you find yourself here, at the doorway of a conference room, with a table full of unfamiliar faces before you.

And at this point, here are some things you should try to remember:

• Your Social Worker won't have brought you to panel unless they were certain that you'd get approved. That would be silly.
• This panel of people want to approve you. Why wouldn't they?!
• You are not perfect. Don't pretend to be. You're you: a big-hearted, determined, bit bruised & battered, good person.
• The panel aren't perfect either. They're just normal people. (It's not like it's the Queen or Alan Sugar or someone)
• It's really short - you'll probably be in and out in under twenty minutes
• Once it's over you're contractually obliged to treat yourself to cake/McDonalds/ice cream/cocktails

Our experiences at Panel have been positive: positive in that we've been approved, but also positive in the actual experience of being at Panel. After all that time preparing, it's kind of nice to sit and talk and reflect, to share a bit of your story with a group of people who are there expressly to listen and learn about you (how often does that happen to you?!) 

A few weeks ago we went through Panel here, for our second adoption, and there was a lovely part of the meeting that was new to us - afterwards, the Panel Chair came out to share their recommendation decision with us, but before he got to that part he read out a list of positives that the Panel members had commented on in regards to our interview and our paperwork. It was so nice; we felt affirmed and valued and, frankly, a little bit proud. 

Don't let Panel freak you out. See if you can maybe, just maybe, enjoy it a little bit. Good luck!

My Tactful reservations

So I've mentioned, a couple of times, that we've had mixed feelings from the start about the agency we're doing our adoption through this time, TACT (The Adolescent & Children's Trust).

And today, with our social worker not coming (again) for a scheduled home visit, seems like as good a time as any to write about my TACT misgivings and musings, feelings that have been bubbling away since the start. 

Beef The First
The course we had to do was not good. It was over two days, one of which was led by an experienced social worker who spent pretty much the whole day sitting down, delivering an extreme version of death by powerpoint (where he not only read word for word off the screen (which was the same as the handout we all had) but he also added loads of boring, slow, useless anecdotes) all from a chair in which he slumped to the extent of being almost laid flat. 

I was shocked on both days about some of the ways birth parents were referred to. Not actual real people, I don't think, but in pretend scenarios that we were supposed to imagine, it was, "Well Dad he was a useless bloke so he buggered off... Mum didn't have a clue what she was doing...the parents were catastrophic addicts..." That type of thing. So bad. Terrifying that this was coming from the professionals who are supposed to support them. Terrible that this is the tone they're setting for the prospective adopters who may or may not have to maintain levels of contact with these birth parents. There was little to no attempt to engender any sympathy or empathy for birth parents, which I think is a huge oversight. It's hard, but adoption is and always will be a bittersweet process. An adoptive parent's joy is made complete by the often heart-wrenching pain experienced by birth parents. This should be explored, expounded upon, discussed. 

Also, the other attendees - all couples, all wanting older children, most wanting sibling groups - cannot possibly have been well prepared by this course. When we did this process for our first adoption, we had a lot of useful content on the courses we attended. Tons on therapeutic play - massively helpful. Lots about trauma and how to approach it - hugely necessary. But both Hubby and I were genuinely surprised and concerned about how unprepared those other couples had surely been by the course - whether they realised it or not. We were hopeful that the Home Visits would help.

We were wrong. Well, in our case. Hopefully not in those others couples' cases.

Beef The Second

I cannot get over how blasé things seem during the Home Visits this time. Chatting about our lives in a roundabout way, irritating repetition of things we've told our first social worker, written in our self assessment, and already told our new social worker. We look back on our first adoption and can't believe the difference. Back then, we felt like our social worker Sarah was a family friend by the time we'd got a few Home Visits under our belts. She was interested in us, remembered things we'd talked about, shared from her experiences. She got to know us, knew our shortcomings, our weaknesses, and our strengths. She knew everything about our families, our home, our jobs. And she used that information to reassure, to explain things to us, to inform us about things that we may come across. She analysed our attachment styles, and questioned us about the sorts of things a baby could do that might push our buttons and cause us to get angry or frustrated. She prepared us. 

This time. Ugh. It's a paper exercise. A form is being filled in about us. It's box ticking. Last time, we wrote around 15,000 words for our self assessment. Sarah read this, chatted it through with us, and then used it as a base for writing the PAR. This time, our two TACT social workers have scoffed - literally - at this. We were sent one weeks ago to fill in - sparingly, we were directed - which we did, but it's been unmentioned and never referred to since. They can't believe we did that last time, wrote all those words, that we were required to do it. But what they don't seem to grasp is that it was good. In fact it was great. We needed time to reflect and we loved doing it. It prepared us. It helped us to 'nest' and get our lives ready for becoming parents. It helped us to address things that might be more relevant in becoming adopters rather than 'natural' parents. It was a perk that those who fall pregnant don't get. And here, that approach is scoffed at. Here, they would rather ask cursory questions with little exploration into who we are. 

Beef The Third
Annoying things like poor communication. It's been exacerbated by our first social worker moving away and us having a replacement, but still. Two missed Home Visits, both of which have required arranging unnecessary childcare as well as Hubby leaving work early. Going over things multiple times in an frustratingly inefficient way. Providing our references weeks and weeks ago, and them only being contacted now, with three weeks to go. Oh, and being told back then that our references didn't fit the bill (two of them being a married couple), so adding a third in, who spent time writing a wonderful reference, and now being told that was unnecessary: the married couple are fine.

And so I'm worried. I can't imagine how on earth we are going to be found a good match. We are not known. Apart from on paper of course. It gives me little faith in the service overall. It seems like a bit of a stab in the dark. Find prospective adopters. Write a perfunctory report on them. Find a child. Simple. I just don't think it *should* be as simple as this. We're talking about lives. Not data on a spreadsheet. Last time vs this time = prepared vs processed.

Whether these misgivings are a result of us being second time adopters, I don't know. Maybe I'm blaming it all on TACT when actually I should expect everything to be different this time. Who knows. But as I said at the outset, I'm doing this blog to chart my feelings throughout this process, so I'll just leave this here, and revisit at another point. If you've read this far - congratulations. That was a beast.

**Update. Having said all that, I've spent some time reflecting and praying this morning. Felt reminded to not allow this organisation to dictate how we're feeling about this adoption. I know that God is with me, and I know that I can trust him to have a hand in this process, and he knows us both far better than TACT ever can. Phew. And there is lots more *I* can be doing to grow excitement and lessen the disjointedness - blog, chat, pray, share, read books, attend courses, follow other blogs. In short, I'm feeling better.**

On Lulling

We're still very much in a lull.

Are we excited about adding to our family? Yes.

Are we keen to get to panel so that we can start looking forward to getting a match? Yes!

Is it the main thing going on in our lives right now? No... not really, no. 

Which is weird. And we've been trying to work out why this is how we're feeling. I feel a bit guilty about it to be honest; trying to explain it to our social worker earlier on didn't help either because I think I may have inadvertently given the impression that we weren't bothered about being in this process, which is not at all how I actually feel. Some writing is therefore in order, I feel, to help clarify what and why I'm feeling at the moment. 

Last time, we were first time parents. We had dealt with four years of trying to have a baby naturally (I say 'dealt with;' it's not the sort of thing you ever deal with in a concrete way, but you know...) and were pleased to have landed on the adoption process runway. It wasn't a quick decision or something we rushed into; instead it had been on our minds and had been growing in our hearts for a few months as we slowly came to the conclusion that we weren't going to fall pregnant. And then it was all pedal to the metal: home visits, paperwork, courses, medicals, paperwork, phonecall, questionnaires, observations, paperwork, home visits, forms, courses, etc. It wasn't all consuming, but it was consuming. And that was fine. We enjoyed having a focus, being busy with an end point in sight. But this time, partly because the process is different here (more about this in another post), and partly because we have Bounce, and partly because I'm working doing something I really enjoy instead of slogging away as an unhappy teacher; for all these reasons, and probably more, it doesn't feel like it's taking up much space in our lives. 

I'm not sure how I feel about this.

It's possibly healthier. I don't think obsessing about anything is a good thing, whether it's your children, your diet, your job, your house, your bank balance - it's not healthy. Balance is good. And so while I don't think we obsessed about it last time, it probably overtook a little, which was fine, but it's nice to feel this time that we can still pursue other things, and hopefully have more a patient outlook as we wait. 

But then also it feels wrong. We are having a baby. We don't know when, we don't know anything really - but we are having a baby, and this is Big with a capital B. I don't have that excitement bubbling away inside, I don't feel broody really, and Hubby and I don't often talk about it. Surely we should do!? 

It doesn't help that today's home visit was our first in almost a month, and we've not had any homework to complete in that time apart from an online DBS application which takes all of about five minutes. So in the most literal terms, it's taken up next to none of our time over the past four or five weeks. Also I've started a new job, doing some part time work, which has been hectic and busy and really fun, so that's taken up a lot of my thought-life, as well as my spare time. 

And perhaps, finally, it's also to do with others. If my belly were growing big with impending child, it would probably naturally become the focus of lots of conversations. Friends and others asking how I'm doing, checking for updates or scan photos or whatever. But with a prospective adoptive parent, those small-talk conversations which shunt the upcoming baby into the forefront of your mind (if they're not already there!), don't really happen in the same way. Perhaps, with adoption, it's easier for friends and family to forget. Perhaps they asked me how things were going last time we chatted, and they don't feel the need to ask again yet. Perhaps they don't know how much I even *want* to talk about it. Perhaps they don't want to offend, or are fearful of using clumsy language or upsetting me or something. All of these things are fine with me, in fairness. I wouldn't want it to dominate, in any sense; I wouldn't want to sound like a broken record. But perhaps these reasonings do help me to understand more about why it feels like we're in a bit of a 'dry patch.' 

So. Some conclusions: 

 - I'm not obsessed about the adoption: Good Thing

 - I'm excited deep down: Good Thing

 - I have lots of other stuff going on in my life: Good Thing

 - I don't talk to Hubby about it very often: Not a Great Thing - - - do this more

 - I don't pray about it enough: Not a Great Thing - - - do this more

We've got a new social worker and I'm freaking out

I've been wobbling a bit this week. 

We were told that our lovely social worker, Billie, was leaving her post to move to a new job, and so we would be allocated a new social worker, Helen. 

Also, one of our home visits had to be rearranged, because of the new social worker, to a weekday morning which meant that I had to ship Bounce out to a friend's house when really we just need some quality time together. 

Also, we are being asked to consider Foster For Adoption (FFA) because we want to adopt a baby, and where we live most placements of babies occur on an FFA basis. (I'll write about this in another post because otherwise this post will be ridiculously long!)

So it's been a wobbly week.

Meeting Helen went really well, especially if you ignore the incredible meltdown Bounce had, timed to perfection just as everyone arrived at the house. She is very nice, interested in us and in Bounce, friendly and approachable - all of which are brilliant. Brilliant because with our first adoption we got on so, so well with our social worker, Sarah, and felt completely comfortable with her, meaning that this time around the bar was quite high. We were well aware of how different we might find the process if we didn't feel at ease with our allocated social worker, and we have often commented over the past couple of months how lucky we felt to have landed Billie to work alongside this time round. So it's great that Helen is so nice.  

The wobble-inducing problem is that this is her first adoption assessment. She is an experienced social worker but hasn't done one before, instead working on fostering assessments. I suppose it's nice that we'll be her first, and I know that in general we're a fairly straightforward case which I guess is a good way for her to be 'initiated'. But already it's been clear that this is going to have a fairly big impact on the process for us. I spent the whole morning the other day with her just repeating stuff that I've already told Billie, and that we've written in our assessment (which Helen told me she'd read). She also told me that she'll be adding in some extra dates for home visits so that she can make sure she's covered everything, even though with Billie we booked in plenty in advance, taking us all the way up to panel, back at the start of Stage 2. If you've experienced this stage of the assessment, you'll know that trying to fit in the visits around work and home life is tough enough, and so to have to add even more in to a busy schedule doesn't fill me with much joy. Especially as I imagine that a lot of the extra sessions are simply going to be to help her out, not actually anything to do with us. 

Am I being horrible about this?

It just seems like we're going to be accommodating her, rather than the other way round. We've got to fit in extra sessions, and go over stuff again - really labouring the important points so that she doesn't miss anything - and we've got to come to a point of feeling confident that she knows us really well, well enough to match us with a baby. This is the part I'm worrying about slightly. I'm worrying that she'll be so preoccupied by the assessment - the paperwork, working out how to do it all correctly and not wanting to get anything wrong - that she'll not even really have the headspace or capacity to get to know us properly. At our meeting the other day she wasn't relaxed. We weren't simply chatting and allowing her to get to know me in a natural way. It didn't feel like it had felt with Sarah or with Billie. 

I really hope that I'm doing my usual and overreacting about this. I really hope that our first meeting the other day was the worst point, and that from now on Helen relaxes and gets into it, and makes all of us feel at ease. And I really hope that anyone reading this doesn't judge me (especially if you happen to be a social worker!).

Disclaimer: I think social workers are amazing, incredible people. I think Helen is lovely and will do her best and will be easy to talk to, and professional, and well-prepared for Panel, all of which are NOT to be sniffed at. I'm just having a wobble!

No Mascara Needed

I'm feeling nervous! 

Our two days of adoption course training are nearly upon us, and I'm feeling nervous. Anxious. On edge. 

Not because I don't know what to expect; I do, largely. Although presumably some of the content will have changed since last time we attended the same course, I imagine that a lot of it will be similar. And that's what worrying me. 

Last time, I found the two day course full-on, intense, and a lot to take in. They bombard you with quite a lot of information, which you try to absorb while also sussing out the other attendees and trying to make the most of the chance to make friends with others who are potentially in a similar situation as you. 

The course covers lots of things, and a particularly impactful element for me was the part that focussed on birth parents, and reasons for children going into care. You look at the reasons children may be removed, and the way the process works. It's to build empathy, to make sure adopters feel for those whose children are taken away from them. This element of the course, its very inclusion in the course materials, is absolutely right and it's good and it's heartbreaking and it's bittersweet. 

And now I've got to face it again, but this time from the point of view not as a newcomer, with no point of reference, but as a mummy with a son who was taken away from another mummy. As a mummy with a son whose life could have been so different. When the course leaders talk about the reasons children are removed from the birth families, how will I not be thinking of Bounce, and his vulnerable start? When they talk about the issues and difficulties faced by birth parents, how do I not think about Bounce's birth parents, and what they mean to him and what they were to him? 

We knew at the outset of this second journey that it would be emotional - because it's beautiful, and exciting, and difficult, and life-changing, yes - but also because it's closer to home now, in a new, different sense. It's a reminder of things that, rightly or wrongly, you forget about in the day to day busyness of mummy-ing and life-ing. It's a reminder of, 'Oh, yeh - Bounce is adopted....his life could have looked so different...I wonder what he would be like if...' aaaand let the sobbing commence. 

So. I will cry. I will not wear mascara. I will take tissues. I will cry, maybe a lot. And that's okay. A deep breath, a quick prayer, a glance at my phone to see Bounce's happy, safe, gorgeous face, a squeeze of Hubby's hand, a nose-blow, and I'll be okay. 

Getting Going...(but not too quickly, please)

It feels, now, like things are really Getting Going. 

We first met with our (now) social worker in the middle of February 2018 (back when we all thought that winter was on its way out...and yet really it has only just left, literally yesterday), and we now have a panel date booked in for July. As second-time adopters, we are able to fast-track to the second stage of the approval process, which means that while we still have to complete the paperwork and checks of Stage One, we are able to do those whilst getting stuck in straight away with the meaty bit -  the home visits and PAR (Prospective Adopter Report) writing of Stage Two. So we've had a few meetings with our social worker, and have so far gone into detail about our family of origin, home and work life, support networks (inexplicably called 'eco-maps'), finances, and employment history (amongst other things).

We were pleased to learn that we were able to fast-track: once you've adopted, there's a lot about the technicalities of the process itself that you don't need to revisit. We know what panel is like and how it works, we understand about things like different options for contact with birth parents. And so being able to get through the process quicker is not a bad thing (even though the process itself really isn't a long affair; our first adoption went from initial registration of interest to Bounce moving in in twelve months). 

But. 

Rewriting our PAR (15,000 words last time)? Fortnightly meetings in our home with our social worker so that she can get to know us? Health and safety checks? All get a big tick from me. Some friends have asked why we have to go through it all again - isn't that just pointless, frustrating: we know what we're doing don't we?? -  which I suppose the two of us probably wondered back at the start. But now, I just feel grateful for this time. For this chance to delve back into our childhoods, to chat about our marriage, to look tentatively into the experiences that have led us back to this point again, a chance to reflect on how our lives have changed since Bounce moved in, and a chance to talk together about what we've learnt and loved and loathed. I'm grateful for this time to pause and savour life as a family of three. 

And really, would I want it to happen any quicker? If things go to plan, we'll go from initial contact to being approved to adopt in five months. And then the waiting for a match begins; last time it was four months. I saw a post thingy the other day about how 'backwards' humans are because our pregnancies last a staggering nine months, but actually I think that's just really, really good. Imagine if you went from no baby to baby just like that - in a week or something. Terrifying! And so that's how I feel: bursting with excitement at times, but also just so, so relieved to have this time to adjust, to get used to the idea of how things might change, to help prepare my heart and my home and little Bounce. 

You may want to remind me of this later in the year.... 😉

Adopting Again

Hello to anyone reading this! At the moment that's just me, but that's fine. I don't mind talking to myself.

So...we're adopting again.

When we adopted our son Bounce a few years ago, one of the things I...regret is too strong a word...one of the things I wish I'd done is to write more during the process: write about the highs and lows, the swinging emotions, the excitement building, the suspense while waiting, and the intensity of the process as a whole. And now - we're doing it all again! So this time, I'm chronicling it. On here, because it's easier and more convenient to type than write, and because this way I'll keep at it. Plus, it might be a good way to connect with other adopters which would be great!

I've decided to keep this blog anonymous for now, partly for my own privacy because we've not told everyone yet that we're adopting again, and partly for Bounce's privacy, and partly to avoid any complications with confidentiality for the new adoption. So I'm having to get creative and think of code names for my husband and my son! I'll reveal (drumroll please) that we live in England, we're both in our 30s, and Bounce is three years old.

And for now, I'll close with memories of Bounce playing sweetly with his baby cousin earlier on today...Aaaand the excitement brews 😌