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…
