An Adoption Tale

Next week my adopted son will officially by my son. After nine months of caring for him, learning to love him, opening my house to four different case-workers, filling out miles of paperwork and sleepless nights with an infant, he will be my son for always.

I will be honest: this adoption experience was nothing what I expected. I really believed that I was the type of person that would love any child in my care. I'm not. I struggled endlessly the first six months that he was home with us. I truly believed that no matter what issues the birth mother brought to this relationship, I could prayerfully muscle through. I couldn't. I also was surprised to discover how much I missed having a baby in the house, and how quickly those little fits of laughter chase away all the sleepiness. Much of the issues I dealt with stemmed from the fact that within a week of being chosen by a birth mother, we brought him home. His birth mother struggles with bi-polar disorder, a mental condition that has awakened me to a whole new level of frustration that constantly battle away at my patience and persistence.

For six months, I didn't feel connected to this baby who would soon become my son. I stuffed those feelings deep down so no one would know; I was embarrassed to admit that I was struggling to love a baby - who does that? Babies are adorable, cuddly, soft little lives that depend completely on their parents. Who wouldn't love a baby? I loved him for the fact that he was with our family. I trusted other moms who told me that the bonding takes time. But what they didn't tell me was that it is perfectly normal to not feel that love right away.

My case worker suggested the book Post Adoption Blues by Karen J Foli, Ph.D. and John R. Thompson, M.D. If you are considering adoption, waiting for that child to come home, or like me, struggling with bonding I highly recommend this book. It saved me from a case of depression that I felt surfacing. I also admitted to a dear friend, a mother of three adopted children, what I was feeling.

Long story short, I prayed. I prayed until I was certain God was tired of me yapping on about the same thing. And one morning I woke up to the sounds of my son cooing in the crib and I just cried tears of joy. Something in my heart had changed overnight and I loved that baby without reserve. I knew that God had taken away my fears and replaced that gap in my heart with more love than I could manage - and then He gave me more. That probably sounds like a very neatly wrapped package and a happy ending, but it was anything but neat and I'm not even close to the end of this story. Every day brings a new challenge and a new discovery. What isn't new is my God. He remains true and strong and He is cradling me in His arms while I cradle my son in mine.