It’s been a while since I’ve updated my blog. We have definitely had a lot going on over the past couple of months so I figured it was time to update.
We had somewhat of a failed adoption in early December. The day after Thanksgiving, I got a call from our lawyer that there was a situation that he was cautiously optimistic about. However, because DHR was involved (and other legal issues), we needed to meet some people related to this case so we prepared to travel. Over the weekend, we prepared. We went out and bought little boy items (because due to the gift I received here, I had mostly girl items), bought the monitor, put together the pack and play, installed the car seat, and made sure the house was ready for a baby. On Sunday, we met with our lawyer and then traveled to the baby’s location on Monday. We prayed, we asked others to pray, and we proceeded anxiously. We met with the birth mom and felt hopeful. Legally, we should have won the case and brought the baby home. To make a long story short, things ended up getting very complicated very fast. It was going to be a long drawn out battle and after discussing with our attorney, we all decided it would be best for us to back out.
I was crushed. I knew this just meant this wasn't our baby but it still hurt. It still hurts. I wonder about him. What happened to him? Is he OK? Did another couple adopt him or is he still in DHR care? What happened to the birth parents? Were they mad that we backed out?
I don’t understand why we had to go through that but someday, I probably will. Maybe, if nothing else, it reassured us of our love for our agency and it taught me that I truly would be OK with either a boy or girl this time around. I mean, let’s face it, as much as I would love to have a little girl, I do have a boy and know how to take care of one of those. And I’m not a very girly girl either. Unless you’re showing me a reptile…then, I’m as girly as they come.
You know how they say everything happens for a reason? Well, in hindsight, had we brought that little boy home, we would have had a rough couple of months. He wouldn't have been in a normal routine yet. Less than a week after we backed out of the adoption, my six year old came down with strep throat, which means he would have had to stay away from the baby. Then, a week and a half later, he came down with the flu. The baby would've likely been a month old before his big brother could even start spoiling him.
Then, came the big kicker. Dakota's flu diagnosis was the Sunday before Christmas. Two days later, I began not feeling too well. I assumed I was likely coming down with the flu as well. That night, I started hurting but attributed it to endometriosis. Christmas Eve came and I felt miserable all day. I was just very uncomfortable throughout my abdomen. Although I did research on appendicitis and knew it was a possibility, I wasn't doing like most people. I wasn't throwing up, bent over in pain, etc. So I thought maybe it was gas pains and went on. I didn't want to go to the ER on Christmas Eve and mess up Christmas for my son. Christmas Day arrived and I was still miserable. Dakota enjoyed his gifts from Santa and from us. We then went to my parents for our annual Christmas morning breakfast and gifts. It was all I could do to eat a few bites and I got through the gift opening but I was still miserable. Finally, after everything was done, I sat down in their recliner and watched as Dakota played with his new toys. I realized I couldn't even enjoy my son on Christmas Day and there was no way I could work the following day feeling this. I called my family doctor (who was on call) and after a lot of questioning, finally said I needed to go to the ER just to make sure it wasn't appendicitis.
Now, let me explain something. I get sick probably 3 or 4 times a year with sinusitis but that’s about it. I have never (since I've been old enough to remember) been to the ER for myself. This was a first for me. They got me back quickly and after blood work, xrays, and a CT scan, discovered that I did in fact have appendicitis. I told Jon I must have been bad for Santa to bring me that. I had surgery on Christmas night. From there, things actually got worse before getting better. Five and a half weeks and 3 additional hospital visits later, I finally feel like maybe I’m on the road to recovery.
Remember how I said everything happens for a reason? Well, imagine if during all this time, I’d had a newborn. I couldn't even take care of myself part of the time, much less another human. Thank God for my parents and my husband during this time, but what if they’d had a newborn to take care of as well? It saddens me to think of how that baby wouldn't have gotten the attention that he deserved during those few weeks.
I have to convince myself that God knew what was ahead for us and knew that we wouldn't be able to care for a baby very well during that time. I still question things – like why couldn't we take that little boy home and me NOT get sick? However, I know that little boy wasn't our son. And most likely, that realization will make it so much sweeter once our son or daughter does arrive.
Still waiting, hoping, and praying…