Since nobody voiced any objections to yesterday’s ramble – not that I wanted any, but I expect it sometimes – I’ll write some more.
This was the week that we got a call from our agency that a baby might be in our future. I wrote down the time and day our social worker said she was born so I’d remember. We were told that nothing was certain but that her parents would be signing a Termination of Parental Rights at the end of the week, and we would be placed two days later (please don’t ask). I was skeptical.
To be fair, I had my reasons. 6 months before, we were expecting to be parents in what has to be the weirdest experience anybody could have with an agency adoption. It fell through spectacularly. If their parents had adopted them, it would have been easier for me to understand or so I’ve told myself over the years. That’s not how it went down. Just a weird situation, with others to come.
There was another placement where the father was interested in parenting. I told our social worker we would not pursue it. No matter what else our SW said, I was firm. If he wanted to parent, that was that. It was then that I decided we would have a deadline. Once we had gone through 6 months more, I would officially be done and be a non-parent. I could not sustain a pregnancy (which became pretty painfully apparent two more times after we were placed, but that’s not anything I care to discuss here), and this was one of our two options.
We met M (Baby Goth’s mother) not long after we got the call. She was quiet and sweet, a bit of a hippie (hippie goth, as it turns out. Heh.) and as nervous as me. When we left the restaurant I still had no idea.
So 14 years ago, we got a call that said M and S (Baby Goth’s father) wanted us to be their baby’s parents. The TPR was set, but there was no certainty that it would happen. We just waited. I spent lots of time spindle spinning to keep myself from losing my mind, which also kept me normal during those first few sleepless months. I typed years there…