This is part 3 of our journey from secondary infertility to domestic adoption. If you have not already done do, please read: Part 1 and Part 2 to catch up on our story.
As we stepped out of the car, the sun glared down on our faces.
We stood on the black pavement of that hospital’s packed parking lot. It was almost noon on Wednesday.
Our little boy was born just 15 hours earlier and we couldn’t wait to meet him.
Hand in hand, we approached the hospital’s main entrance. Mixed with anxiety and excitement, we girded ourselves up for what these next couple of days would hold.
The Pain of
In the past year, we’d been through what seemed like a nightmare. We’d lost 7 pregnancies.
One of our losses resulted in the stillborn delivery of our daughter. Cradling her lifeless body in my hands is etched into my mind so deeply.
The next 9 months were a roller coaster.
I fell into a monthly ritual of staring at white sticks with pink positive signs.
Later, I’d listlessly watch those positive signs disappear until alas, I bled. With each loss came the mixture of shame, pain, and anger all at once.
Infertility to Adoption- A Year Later
We passed through the threshold of the hospital and into the sterile foyer.
My emotional state began to tilt towards anxiety and dread.
Mentally I prepared myself for the next shoe to drop.
The ups and downs of the multiple miscarriages led me to expect the worst.
Social Worker a Domestic Adoption Lifeline
Ian and I took a seat on the cool leather couches of the waiting area.
We rested our weary bodies for just a few minutes before a lovely lady exited a nearby elevator.
Our nervous eyes met her cheerful and calming glance, and she eagerly approached us.
That sweet lady introduced herself as our social worker. She then proceeded to review the details of our son’s delivery and his current state of health.
Soon after his birth, he began struggling to breathe. He had, therefore, been admitted to the NICU overnight. She gave us a brief overview of our birth mother’s state of health.
Ready to Meet Your Son?
Then she asked us if we were ready to meet our son. We nodded our agreement and began to follow her throughout the hospital.
The sound of our shoes on the cold, hard, lifeless linoleum floor echoed through the hospital corridors.
The journey to the NICU felt endless and with every step, I felt my heart pound harder.
I remember taking a quick peek at Ian thinking,
‘Praise God that I have him.’
That man is my rock here on earth. He always seems so chill. If he were like me, we would be in big trouble.
The NICU
As we turned a corner, we came upon two massive white double doors.
The social worker scanned her badge at the door and the door unlocked allowing us to pass through.
After washing our hands thoroughly and dressing in sterile robes, we were escorted into the NICU.
The orchestra of machine-induced beeping noises welcomed us into the NICU.
Dozens of tiny incubators encased the most vulnerable babes of this world.
Our social worker led us through the maze of dependent newborns to our little man’s incubator.
Domestic Adoption: Seeing His Newborn Face
I remember staring at him for the first time as if I was watching myself on film.
“Oh my word. This is him.”
I cautiously examined his fragile body. He was crinkled up with his legs and arms pulled into his torso.
Confusion overtook me.
I was “supposed” to feel a certain way when I saw him.
Wasn’t I “supposed” to instantly fall in love with him as in the movies?
However, that was not my reality. I held his little body in my arms and remember thinking,
‘I am holding a stranger’s baby.’
“I am holding another woman’s baby.”
Deep down I knew that he was still her child. He could be ripped away from me just as quickly as all seven of those pregnancies.
Another Woman’s Child In my Arms
Although I didn’t want to be, I was emotionally guarded. Desperately, I attempted to whisk away the emotional distance and fear.
However, I am simply a human being. I had to “love” this baby as best I could under the circumstances.
No doubt about it, he was still her child. I needed to respect the truth of that reality and needed to respect her.
Domestic Adoption Requires Loss
Domestic adoption is beautiful, but it is at the same time so tragic.
In order for my family to grow here on earth, another woman would have to suffer.
She would say goodbye to a baby whom she had carried for 9 months. That was not lost on me.
Soon after our initial meeting with him came our first introduction to his birth mother.
Nothing could have prepared me for what we were about to experience those next 36 hours. To Read Part 4 of Our Adoption Story Click Here
Friend, do you have a story of infertility or adoption? Do either of those topics have a place in your special needs parenting story? I would love to know more of your story. Comment below.
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