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!!

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.**

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!