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.

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. 

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! 

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

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 😌