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.