Fostering-to-adopt: Our story, Part 2

First, a very few important links you'll want to look over.
 
Find Part 1 of our story here.
 
Deanna, Leyla's first foster mom, wrote their version Leyla's story here:  Part 1,  Part 2 and Part 3.
 
I highly recommend going through all the posts before continuing here. Now, I know that sounds like a lot of reading before you get to, well, you know, reading . . . but it's really worth it. I promise. Deanna's even a good writer. :)

Ok, so without further ado . . . Part 2.

It's the first week of January 2013.

I'm still reeling from the failed, but hoped-for, foster placement of a newborn baby girl. We just had Christmas, Maddy's birthday, and the 1-year anniversary of our loss of Olivia.

I remember being invited out with some new friends to go dancing at a bar a few days after Christmas. Ryan encouraged me to get out of the house, and have something fun to do. (The dance at the bar was a different story entirely, but I'll suffice it to say I did very little dancing and was hit on by an Amish guy. Ask me the story another day.) :)

At dinner, one of the girls commented that I seemed sad. And I was. I was sad all.the.freaking.time. I really didn't know how to be happy again. And so I was totally honest about it all with them. I told them of the babies I'd lost (talk about an awkward "fun" night out) and I told them that it felt like my life had just been sucked out of me.

So, when I got the call to do respite for a 10-month-old baby, I wasn't really in a great place emotionally. But man, was I ready to have that baby in my home for a weekend.

The caseworker sent me Leyla's foster mom's email so I could check in with questions. As you could imagine, I had quite a few as I had never met this baby before and we would have her for an entire weekend.

So I shot her off the following email:

Hi Deanna,

I'm just writing to find out about arrangements for Leyla's respite care.

What time should we take her tomorrow? Would you like us to pick her up, or are you planning on dropping her off?

Also, I was wondering if you would let me know about her normal eating/sleeping routine.

The notes said that she's been clingy and crying more. Is there anything that is soothing to her? Does she like to be in the Ergo carrier?

One last thing -- Depending on when you pick her up on Sunday (or we drop her off), she will be attending church with us. Is it OK for her to go in the nursery?

 

Here's an excerpt from her reply:

 

Hi Rachel, 

Leyla can be a pretty fussy baby and has a very loud cry when she is upset. But when she is in a good mood she is so sweet and delightful and a joy to be around. Her moods definitely swing though. Sometimes she likes the Ergo, sometimes she hates it. She loved it this week when we went outside for a walk. She loves to swing, so if the weather is nice a park visit would be a hit. She typically enjoys riding in the car or stroller rides. 

She generally sleeps through the night, after bath, a bottle, and some cuddles and stories. We usually sing to her and pray with her before putting her in her bed with a little music to put her to sleep. During naps we have a fan going in her room for white noise (it gets loud with two other little people running around!) and that helps her sleep longer for sure. We typically put her in a blanket sleeper at bedtime and naps, and she has a special blankie too. I'll be sure to pack that for you.

Typically she is up in the morning at 6:30, but the last few days she has been sleeping until 8:30. It's been insane and I'm wondering if she's gearing up for a growth spurt. Usually she is in bed by 6:30 or 7:00 pm, and she will definitely let you know if she is over tired.

We give her a bottle when she wakes up, then feed her some real food an hour or so later. She is typically ready for a morning nap about 2 hours after waking up, and then ready for an afternoon nap 2-3 hours after waking from her morning nap. She doesn't sleep so well in the carseat or being held; the girl loves a crib. (emphasis mine.)

 

We kind of play by ear giving her real food or a bottle depending on when she is awake and when the rest of the family is eating. She eats purees (we thicken with a little cereal) like a champ and devours cheerios and crackers. But she is struggling with squishy foods like bananas, steamed carrots, baked apples, cheese, etc. So we keep offering these things to her, and try to have her eat with the family and give her tiny pieces of what we're eating. The sweet child still has no teeth, so we do what we can. I was just at the doctor today and he was concerned a bit with her weight, so he wants us to be sure we offer at least 4 bottles a day. 

I'll pack you bottles, formula, baby food, clothes, pajamas, diapers, wipes, etc. Besides her blankie, is there anything else you need? Toys or spoons or anything?

Yes, church nursery is fine. With daycare, mops, and our church she is used to multiple caregivers and as long as she has attention, she is usually pretty happy.

 



So, Ryan and I got ready for our baby to enter our family for a weekend.

We didn't know she'd be staying the rest of her life.

I'll never forget the moment Deanna and Darin walked through our door for the first time. They brought in the cutest little bundle in a carseat. We small-talked in our entry way as we went over her routine again, and everything they packed (the poor family had to pack everything but the kitchen sink), and we talked about pick up plans on Sunday. Then they were off.

And facing me was a darling girl that was a little bit fussy. She had big, big eyes. (And a big forehead. But she's growing into it.) And a tiny, wee little body.

Leyla, a few weeks before we met.

For the first time in a while, I felt a lightness and a joy. Sometimes babies do that to you.

Ryan probably wondered what happened to his wife, as I quickly took her off to play. He may not really have seen much of me the rest of the weekend. :)

The first night, I totally (intentionally) disregarded the whole thing about just putting her in her crib. I never knew a baby that didn't like to be rocked, and I was ready to rock. The second night, before we put her down, I snapped this shot:

I remember thinking that her eyes looked a little empty. I later learned that this was all part of her coping mechanisms. Shutting down a little, sucking her fingers, and twirling her finger in her hair (or rubbing her forehead.)

As I rocked her, I noticed another odd behavior. She turned away from me, and covered her eyes with one hand.

I later learned that this is what she does when she's overstimulated.

It's just as well I didn't know. That girl was rocked, sung to, and generally loved on for a very long time.

And a really strange thought came to me as I rocked.

This little girl is mine.

I didn't want to admit the thought to anyone. After all, we didn't know much of anything about her case, other than why she was in care and how long she had been with first family. The child even came with a picture book that said "My Family" on it, with pictures of her with her foster family on the inside.

Even as my heart assured me this little one had a place in it forever . . . . my mind thought I was being a little ridiculous. Maybe it was just the grief talking? Maybe I was so desperate, I was a little crazy?

All I knew for sure was that I was crazy about this little girl.



Leyla rocked to sleep in my arms
 the first of many, many times.

That night, I marveled at how tiny she was in that great big crib that stood empty for so long. A mere 15 lbs, and sleeping kind of folded over, she barely even made her presence known on that grand mattress.

But I knew she was here.

I couldn't sleep that night. Not because she was a bad sleeper. Quite the contrary, she slept through the night. I, on the other hand, was a hot mess. I was so worried that something would happen to her. She survived the night (as did I, albeit much more tired than she) and we pressed on through our weekend.

She had just learned how to crawl, and it cracked me up watching Ryan try to "wrangle" her into just staying in one part of the house. He even set up pillow barricades . . . all to no avail.

I was sure that her first foster mom was missing Leyla, so I sent quite a few texts and photos to her during the weekend. We ended our time with her by taking her to our grandma's birthday party at Anthony's.

I'm not going to lie. I held that baby, fed that baby, walked that baby like she was mine. Because secretly, I really wanted her to be.

A few of my Facebook posts from that weekend:

"Enjoying my 6 o'clock time in the rocking chair! I forgot just how peaceful it is. Hoping one day soon we'll have our own placement, and can make this an everyday kind of thing."

"A very good morning."

"Treating Maddy. She did so well helping with the baby!"

First family let us know that they would be needing some more respite soon since Deanna would be doing some more travelling. I couldn't wait. It was the hope of the next visit that helped me get through some of those darker days.

For me, when Leyla came into our home, a light started shining in my heart.

It did not erase the pain of loss. It has not protected me from further loss or heartache.

But God used her little presence to start some healing in my heart.

Funny. I always thought it was the children themselves who were broken and we were supposed to fix. Turns out, I had the equation all wrong.

Stayed tuned for Part 3: The big reveal!

The one thought I can't escape

Along this 2-year-ish journey of awfulness, I mean, recurrent pregnancy loss, I've had many thoughts. (Most of which are recorded on this blog.)

But there is one very all-encompassing thought which has dominated my brain for a better part of the last 26 months. And I've remained mostly silent about it until today.

"Why me?"

When someone announces a pregnancy the same time I would have announced one of my own ... "Why me?"

When someone has a rainbow quickly after their first loss, and aren't made to go through recurrent loss or infertility ... "Why me?"
 

When someone reaches a top level in their company without having seasons of struggle or doubt ... "Why me?"

When someone can take the health of their unborn child for granted, I can't help it ... "Why me?"

 

Now if you're starting to think, "Wow, Rachel, this is a little depressing, a little 'glass half empty,' I will readily admit, "Yep, it absolutely is."

In spite of wanting to change my attitude, the "why me's" have continued. 

And yet ... They are not the same.

(Thank goodness.)

I'm laying here in my clean(ish) house (it's all relative, right?), while so many people this weekend have had theirs turn into rubble from a tornado ... "Why me?"
 

I have the blessing of raising two children, who are whole and healthy. She has none to raise ... "Why me?"

Amazing and dear people have come out of the woodwork to show us love and support during this challenging time. I've been blown away by generous and extravagant love ... She has received only platitudes and judgment. Or maybe worse, nothing but indifference to her heartache ... "Why me?"
 

My two living children are healthy, and for that matter, so are my husband and I. (Well, at least fertility issues excluded.) And yet, they are battling cancer ... "Why me?"
 

I grew up in a loving, caring environment where physically and emotionally, I was kept safe from abuse. Home was my haven. Her home was her hell ... "Why me?"
 

My two live-born children survived infancy. Many women in other countries are so used to having their babies die, they don't even name them until they are over a year old ... "Why me?"

 

I was born in America, a country where I can be anything I set out to be, and am protected from persecution from the government. Billions of others are born in unsafe, corrupt countries where food is scarce, they have no education, and are mercilessly persecuted ... "Why me?"

 

My 5-year-old is sleeping safely in bed. Her 5-year-old was kidnapped and turned into a child soldier ... "Why me?"

The adoption of our daughter was finalized. Theirs was disrupted ... "Why me?"
 

This could go on forever. 

It's not as though I'm saying pregnancy loss is not as hard as cancer, or losing your house, or being abused. 

It's not about comparing pain.

I'm just saying, pain is pain.

Just as I do not deserve to have 4 unborn babies die, neither do I deserve to have my health, raise my kids, have privilege and opportunity, or have reason to celebrate.

This is about recognizing that, for every hurt I've experienced, there are about 10 more blessings I need to be thankful for.

It's about acknowledging that everyone has a story.

And for me, I need my story to start having much more gratitude -- and much less "Why me?"

Why I absolutely cannot recommend adoption

 

 

 

I want you to know I absolutely cannot recommend adopting.

 

 

Financially, you'll have to make some adjustments by adding a child to your home. You might end up with a child who has special needs. And some of those needs might not show up for years down the road! Physically, it can be exhausting to take care of an additional child. And their emotional needs can be downright draining. You'll have other adults in your life telling you what you should do with your child, and what you shouldn't. You'll have people asking personal questions about your own fertility and family planning methods. Honestly, you risk a pretty significant loss if you grow to love a child, and then you lose them. 

 I guess by that standard, I have to say I absolutely do not recommend getting pregnant either.

 

Financially, you'll have to make some adjustments by adding a child to your home. You might end up with a child who has special needs. And some of those needs might not show up for years down the road! Physically, it can be exhausting to take care of an additional child. And their emotional needs can be downright draining. You'll have other adults in your life telling you what you should do with your child, and what you shouldn't. You'll have people asking personal questions about your own fertility and family planning methods. Honestly, you risk a pretty significant loss if you grow to love a child, and then you lose them. (And with pregnancy, you put yourself at some pretty serious health risks too.)

So yeah. Growing your family -- pretty risky business. And I can't totally recommend it.

 

Other than to say -- it is absolutely, 100% worth the risk.

Fostering-to-Adopt: Our story, Part 1

Our Maddy.
On the vacation where we truly started the foster care process.

Today, I saw a post on Creating a Family's Facebook page on the merits of adopting from foster care. And, naturally, there are several comments talking about how it's unethical to foster-to-adopt, and it's not in the best interest of children or families. And there are equally as many comments on how it's the perfect way to adopt and costs absolutely nothing.

Since I can't whole-heartedly agree with either sentiment, I thought I'd take some time to tell you about our experience with foster care.

(And -- it's probably long overdue anyway.) :)

Plus -- I know many of you (my readers) struggle with infertility or the inability to keep a pregnancy. If you are already wondering about adopting, I really want you to have this information.

First, a few statistics.

According to AdoptUSKids, "each year more than 20,000 children age out of the foster care without being adopted. Today there are 104,000 children in foster care waiting to be adopted ranging in age from less than a year old to 21."

And just how many children are in foster care, anyways?

"More than 250,000 children in the U.S. enter the foster care system every year. While more than half of these children will return to their parents, the remainder will stay in the system. Most of these children are living with foster families, but some also live in group facilities."

Ok -- just in case you didn't really get that . . . I'm going to repeat it.

A quarter of a million children enter foster care every year. EVERY YEAR.

Got it? Quarter of a million.
Like -- A. Lot. Of. Kids.

Half go to their original families. Half stay in the system until they age out or are adopted.

So that's 125,000 children every year that will need a new family.

Just to make sure we're all on the same page here . . . there are A LOT of kids that need a home.

You likely know some foster children and don't even realize it. Most of us foster parents don't go around actively saying, "Hi -- this is so-and-so. She's my foster child." (Actually, in my state, it's illegal to do so. For good reason. So really, there are more kids you run into who are in the system than you probably ever realized.)

Alright -- so now that we've got some statistics out of the way, I'm going to ask you to do me a favor. Take a short little break here, and read THIS post on why I chose to adopt from foster care.

OK -- are you back now? Fabulous.

So, for my family . . . we choose to adopt from foster care because we wanted to make a difference in a vulnerable child's life. For US -- it did involve some sort of "rescue mentality." (Some people are critical of that -- but that's my heart, and I'm being true to my journey.) I will say at this point, that some people adopt from foster care not necessarily to rescue a child, but because they want to add to their family. There is no judgment from me either way on what your motivation is. Both, to me, are equally valid motivations.

Now that you know the why, I'm going to tell you our "how."

When Maddy was almost 2, I felt strongly that we should start classes for foster care. Ryan was on board. I contacted the state, and they sent me a little package with very little information. Mostly just a case worker's contact info, and the class schedule. They told me (over email, I believe) to sign up for a class. So I did.

We got babysitting the first night of class, and drove to the building the class was held. Only to find a sign that said that DSHS was closed that day for a state holiday.

"What?? How did a state employee tell me to register for a class that was supposed to be held in a closed building due to a holiday?" And just like that, I decided that if the state couldn't get it together enough to actually get me to a class correctly, there was no heck of the way I was letting the state into my home. I contacted the social worker about my dismay -- and didn't even hear back again for about 6 months. And it was another email, kinda like, "Hey -- we missed you at class half-a-year ago. Are you still interested in foster care?" I didn't respond.

And that was that. At least for while.

At work, two friends started the process to adopt from foster care. They had gone through an agency called Youth For Christ. I was still skeptical -- but after watching how different their experience was, I asked for more information.

While I was gone on vacation, I contacted Youth For Christ, and we ended up chatting for about an hour on what our family was looking for. When I got home, I had a very detailed package waiting for me with tons of information on foster care and adoption. I was impressed at the difference I saw right away between working with the state and an agency. (I'll talk more about the perks of using an agency in a subsequent post.)

Ryan was again on board, and we started the paperwork right away. And there was A LOT of it. (And by a lot, I kinda mean like the whole 1/2 a million statistic. A LOT!!)

It took me several months to finish all the paperwork. We had a home inspection. We completed our state's requirement of a 36-hour-class. (Which, by the way, is like taking on another full-time job in one week.) We became certified in CPR and first-aid. We got finger-printed and had background checks. We had several friends and family become references for us. We had a home inspection, and did a homestudy interview -- where you basically allow a stranger access into all your private details.

I have a history of depression and anxiety. I was concerned that this would be an issue, but the licensor was OK with it, as long as I had a plan (medication and counseling) if I had a setback.

We disclosed all of our medical histories, as well as our family backgrounds. We bought a new crib as was required, even though Maddy's crib was barely 2 years old and in fabulous condition. We locked up all our medicine, got a correctly sized fire extinguisher, and made sure we were current on all our immunizations. And made sure our home passed a checklist about 4-5 pages long of safety issues. Oh, and we got physicals to verify that we were physically fit to parent.

The whole process from the first phone call to receiving our license was a little over 3 months.

We chose to get licensed for a child ages 0-5. We wanted to keep the birth order in tact, so we would really only take a child in if they were 2 or under . . . but we needed to be licensed for longer in case the child would be with us for several years.

We also wanted to take a child that would likely be available for adoption. We knew that our goal as foster parents would first and foremost be to promote reunification with their biological parents. But in case that wasn't what the state had decided would be in the best interest of the child, we wanted to have them be apart of our forever family.

To "minimize" some of the risk of heartbreak on our end, in case we grew very attached to a child and have to say "good-bye", we asked that we only hear about children who would likely need a forever home. For our situation, this would include a mom who gave birth but the court had already deemed her an unfit mom and the child would immediately go into an adoptive situation. Or a child who had already been in the system for over a year, and the state was adding to the reunification plan an alternate plan to adopt the child out. Or a child that was already legally-free that met our other specifications. (I know this sounds like custom-ordering a car, or something. But I do believe you really need to be specific about what you and your family are up for or not.)

We also chose no significant health needs (as I didn't feel capable of handling severe special needs).

Naturally, we hoped for a call right away. Because that sometimes happens. But that was NOT our journey.

About one month after getting licensed, we found out we were pregnant with Olivia. Once she died, I realized I really, really, really wanted another biological child. All my efforts from that point went to getting pregnant and trying to keep the baby. Several times after Olivia died, I questioned whether or not we even wanted to pursue fostering anymore.

I conveyed such questioning to our licensor (something that really had ramifications for us . . . but I'll talk about that later).

We found out we had ANOTHER 36-hour class to attend, and I just wasn't ready for the commitment. I was at a crossroads whether to continue to keep our license up, or just to let it all go. (You can read about this part of the journey HERE).

In the end, we chose to continue and attend the class. But this time, my husband was able to do it by himself, so I could just watch Maddy and it all worked out.

A few times during this time we were asked to provide respite for another foster family.

In this case, respite basically means state-paid-for overnight babysitting. The first time we were asked, we readily agreed. The deal was we would pick up the one-year-old at her daycare and have her for the weekend. I was leery about the arrangement -- what one-year-old would be OK going home with perfect strangers?? -- but that was the plan and we stuck to it.

EXCEPT.

Ryan went to go pick up the girl, and she wasn't there. Panicked, he called me. "Great," we're both thinking. "This is our first time fostering, even for a weekend, and we've already lost the child!" Turns out it was a miscommunication, and the parents decided to opt out of getting respite that weekend. They thought the caseworker told us. She thought they had called us.

So our first respite was a total flop.

The second time we were asked was for a little boy for Christmas Day. How strange, again, that someone wouldn't want their foster child on Christmas Day? This time, for the sake of the child, we said no. He screamed a lot and didn't handle transitions -- and our Christmas Day is ALL about going back and forth from family to family from 7 am-midnight. We felt our Christmas plans would not be enjoyable or relaxing to him at all.

A full year after getting licensed with NO other call for a child (respite or otherwise), the director of the agency asked to come meet with us.

It turns out that since I had mentioned my hesitations to our licensor, our "file" was put on the shelf. Meaning, when a child needed a home -- we weren't ever put forward as a potential home. Which explained the pretty much full year of silence.

We were actually at the point where we DID want a foster child in our home, and conveyed that to her. And we were put back in the running.

And one month later, FINALLY -- we got our first call for a placement! WOOO-HOOOO!!!

At this point, I was desperate (and yes, I do mean desperate) for a child to be in my arms. At this point, I had two children die while I was pregnant with them in the last year. And my 1-year-anniversary with Olivia was coming right up. And it was just a few days before Christmas. I felt that the timing was great. Plus, this was a perfectly healthy newborn girl, born just the day before, who would likely be adopted because the mother had already been deemed unfit to parent.

So, before our director could even get the question out of her mouth, I was already (practically) shouting, "YES! We want her!"

Sadly, the way the situation unfolded was something that left me heart-broken (even more), and I was totally unprepared for. While it was not a true loss, having the hope of this little girl then "losing her" to another family absolutely tore at my heart and left me broken.

When was enough enough???

And then came Leyla.

Click here for Part 2.

Choosing forever

The following is the post I wrote for little miss the day we were asked to be her adoptive family. Before my husband and I even said yes, I knew that I knew that I knew I wanted her in our family . . . forever.




There is the cutest, sweetest little creature. You haven't met her yet. But she's real. I so wish I could post a picture!

I have a few photos of her, and every day I scroll through them (ok, multiple times a day.)

Sometimes I simply appreciate her absolute cuteness. Other times, I pray for her. Most of the time, I just wonder if one day soon she will be ours.

I hope we get to keep her.

As I relish in her cuteness, I remember this isn't just a baby we might adopt. She is a child, who will one day be an adult. As a baby, child or adult ... She will be a part of our family forever.

FOREVER. What a big word. Sometimes I wonder ... am I really old enough yet to be making decisions about FOREVER?

It is so easy to imagine dressing a baby up and proudly showing her off at the park, church, restaurant, zoo, mall, grocery store, the north pole. Seriously. I mean what woman doesn't want to tote around the most gorgeous little creature and have everyone looking, and smiling and cooing at your precious bundle?

But forever reminds me that those are just moments in a lifetime. There is still a lifetime to go.

One day, we'll be helping this little one potty train. We'll get through the terrible twos, and threes, and thirteens. We'll work until midnight on her science fair project. We'll clean her up when she's sick, and brush her off when she's fallen down. We'll cry with her when the Junior High girls don't let her into their clique. We'll remind her life will go on when a boy breaks her heart. We will watch her graduate, cheer her on at games, and walk her down the aisle.

We'll teach her about Jesus. We'll tell her how God loves us so much, He wanted us to be apart of his family forever.

Just like we love her. Just like we want her in our family.

Forever.



Today, we chose forever on paper.

But a year ago, I chose forever in my heart.

We love you little miss. Welcome to your forever family.

Mommy

 

 

 

One phrase you MUST NOT SAY to an adoptive mom -- and 8 reasons why

I've heard it. You've heard it. Maybe you've said it.

You know someone. I know someone. Maybe you know 10 someones.

And yet saying it is seriously not cool.

 "As soon as you adopt, you'll get pregnant."

Ok, ok, I have an idea of what you're thinking.

"Rachel . . . seriously. Lighten up. It's just a little joke. You know, a little wink wink nudge nudge. Could you just not be so serious all the time!"

So, I take your challenge. And let me assure you, I do have a sense of humor. I'm even used to being teased. My husband is awesome at it. So is my dad. In fact, in my family, teasing IS a love language. (The first one.) So for most things, I'll let you slide. I'll even laugh a little.

But on this one thing -- could we PLEASE just stop saying this.

In case you aren't convinced still, let me tell you why I don't like it. (And to my knowledge, very few people who have adopted DO like it.)

1  -- No one likes a "know it all."

When a friend adopts a child, then announces a pregnancy later (no matter how much later), please just zip up this little phrase and keep it far from your lips.

When you say, "I just knew you'd get pregnant as soon as you adopted . . . ", you are in essence saying, "Everyone knew exactly what was going to happen to your uterus the moment you added a child to your life. Aren't you so glad you know now what the rest of us have known forever?"

Instead say, "I'm so glad *adopted baby* will be a big brother/sister."

2 -- You assume that they are adopting because they can't get pregnant.

The first time I was told this awful phrase was from a co-worker. (OK, you're still not convinced it's awful. Give me a minute.)

I had excitedly told her we were starting the process to get licensed as foster parents, with the hope of adopting. Her response?

"Now that you're adopting, you'll get pregnant."

I was TOTALLY taken aback. Our daughter Maddy was 2. We conceived her from just skipping a few birth control pills on accident. We had no losses. . .  no reason to believe that if we didn't just skip a few pills, we wouldn't be pregnant with another healthy child. In fact, I was convinced I was Mrs. Fertile Myrtle herself.

We weren't adopting because we couldn't get pregnant. We just wanted to adopt!

Instead say, "I'm so happy for you."

3 -- You take the focus off the child being adopted.

Imagine going to the hospital to meet a friend's brand-new baby. Instead of ooh'ing and ahh'ing over their precious little bundle, you say, "Now that you've had a baby, you are SOOOO going to get pregnant again right away.  It always happens. It happened to a friend's cousin I once knew."

Of course, your friend likely doesn't want to hear commentary on her fertility at that point. She just wants you to celebrate the beautiful addition to her family she has RIGHT NOW.

Instead say, "Your child is such a blessing."

4 -- Adoption is a way to add to your family. Adoption is not a fertility treatment.

"You know. We've tried IVF. We've tried ICSI, and IUs. We've run every test. We've given you every medication we can. In fact, you've had the best science has to offer at your fingertips. But -- have you ever thought about just adopting? So many women get pregnant THE MOMENT they adopt. It happened to one of my patients years ago. Come to think of it, why didn't we do that earlier and save you all the money and pain from the treatments??  Yeah . . .  So, go adopt, and see me again when you've gotten that positive pregnancy test. Consider that a prescription." -- said NO reproductive endocrinologist EVER.

If fertility doctors aren't saying it -- please -- please -- please -- don't you say it.

(Besides, adopting doesn't take away the pain of infertility either. Trust me on this one.)

Instead say, "You've had a long journey to get here. We're here for you all the way."

5 -- Adoption is not a consolation prize. And pregnancy is not First Place.

Whether you mean it to or not, this hated phrase sounds a lot like . . . "Now that you've gone through adoption, you can get what you REALLY wanted all along."

Adding to your family through adoption is not a lesser way to have a child. Neither is pregnancy the Holy Grail of family planning.

Instead say, "I love that your family chose to adopt."

6 -- Speaking of family planning, it's not really your business.

I'm guilty of this. (Although, recently, much less so.) For some reason, we think that the way others plan their family is totally our business. (It's not.)

If someone chooses to pursue pregnancy at the same time as pursuing adoption, by all means let them. (Without your commentary.)

Maybe they are adopting an older child and want to have their children spaced just-so. Maybe they weren't sure which would work out first -- adoption or pregnancy. So they were working on them both at the same time. Maybe they have a condition (me) that makes their biological clock tick much faster. Maybe they've had multiple losses while they've tried to adopt, and it just so happens that the baby they were able to keep coincided with the child they were adopting.

Instead say, "I'm here to support you as you grow your family however and whenever you choose."

7 -- It makes it sound like infertility (if they have it) is just all in their head.

Ok, I know this one is a stretch. But follow me out on this one.

The idea behind the "just adopt so you can get pregnant" philosophy is that someone has an aching need, a need so great and so big, it's self-destructive. They don't have something because they want it too much, or are just trying too hard.

And finally, once that need (aka a baby) is filled through adoption, their body magically opens itself up to more babies. Ta-da!!!

So the reason they weren't getting pregnant wasn't that they had poly-cystic ovaries. Or their husband had crappy sperm. Or their uterus was an abnormal shape. Or they had an autoimmune disorder. Or they had a chromosomal abnormality. Or their fallopian tubes were blocked.

No. None of that. It was just all in their head. Right?

Instead say, "I wish I could have spared you from all the pain you've endured on your way to growing your family."

(Please only say this if you know for a fact they've endured pain. Again, don't assume infertility unless you know for sure.)

8 -- This phrase never gives someone warm fuzzies.

Along our adoption journey, I've had this said to me every time I've gotten pregnant. I've been pregnant 4 times since we started this process -- and each baby did not make it.

Now that we will have officially adopted (as of this Tuesday), I fear that I will hear this whenever we get pregnant again in the future.

Adopting, or starting the process of adopting, did not save any one of my much-wanted babies. Having my adopted child to hold and love has NOT solved the fertility issues I now face.

If we get pregnant again, and carry to term, it will be an act of God. And will have nothing to do with adoption.

In this time of adoption -- and in the subsequent time of maybe having another biological child if God allows -- please do give me lots warm fuzzies.  And not cold pricklies.

(And if you were still confused, the "you'll get pregnant now that you've adopted" is definitely a cold prickly to me.)

Instead say, "I love your family. And am so glad to be a part of your life." And trust me, I know that you do. And I love being a part of your life, too.

We have a date!!!

"HELLO WORLD! I'm about to become a Lewis -- for real!" 

We have a date!

April 15 -- otherwise known as the day you pay the government money -- will have a new meaning for our little family.

On April 15, little miss will be ours forever. And we will be hers.

Betcha can't wait to see photos of her in court in an adorable outfit, can you?

Me neither. :)

Quite thankful for something amazing to look forward to.

Guest Blogger: Response to "Letter to friends with infertility"

I'm so thankful for this precious woman who has chosen to share her story, and delve more into the difficulties in infertility. If you choose to comment, please keep your comments full of love!  -- Rachel

Oh Rachel, thank you. You get infertility as much as you can. And because of that, I come away feeling validated. Validated that my pain is real. Validated that people’s words hurt me even though usually unintentionally. Validated that others could be more careful. 

I would want anyone who has ever questioned my reality to read your letter. It gives good insight about some of what I’m going through. Maybe others wouldn’t judge my actions and reactions as they do if they had any sympathy of the situation. I definitely feel like others dismiss my pain. I have to be guarded now in who I open up to because there are very callous responses from people who don’t understand. 

Just ONE of the crazy things about infertility is that while I am currently dealing with the loss of motherhood, if I ever give birth or adopt, then that loss becomes extinct. Unless a couple is actually told, “You will never have children,” they join the rest of us as we live in this in-between state. We don’t have children but we may have children. In life, we often want definites. Infertility is most certainly a shade of gray, not black or white. 

After being told we had unexplained infertility, the doctor said, “That is actually a good place to be. Because it doesn’t mean you can’t have children.”

Maybe if I were just told I would never have kids, I could just move on. I would know to grieve over never being pregnant, and then pursue other options. But instead, I live in a waiting game . . . Four years and counting. 

Another issue is how to deal with others' comments. I’ve developed a system of avoidance of painful situations like baby showers and such, but you cannot possibly plan for when someone outright asks you questions or makes comments.

After one rather traumatic interaction, I replayed the whole scenario over and over until I came up with my plan for any future issues. If the person is merely an acquaintance or is not someone I want to open up to, I will say something like, “That is a personal topic and I would not like to discuss it with you.” If they persist, I would reiterate that. If the person is closer, I might say something like, “Well, I would be willing to share with you on that if you want to get coffee sometime.” The latter will be an indication that I do not intend to discuss anything at that time or in an open setting. 

I would like to share that traumatic experience because it was so hurtful, I just need to get it out.

We were at a large gathering on a Sunday afternoon to celebrate the finalization of a baby's adoption. I was fine being there because the couple is older than us and cannot have children. I was holding the baby, when this middle-aged woman I’ll call Rosa came and sat next to me.

Rosa is from Spain, and I knew her from previous employment. She was all smiles and said something like, “When are you having a baby?” 

Because of the language barrier, I couldn’t understand if she was asking when I am due or telling me that I should get started having a family. I am a plus-sized woman, so the former would be an insulting comment regardless of my situation. (It just adds insult to injury to look pregnant because of excess weight and not be). 

I just responded, “No.” She kept asking and commenting for several more minutes, and I just kept saying, “No.” If I had been prepared, I would have told her that is a private matter and I did not want to discuss it with her.

I left that afternoon with all kinds of emotions. I was rather shocked that she continued to press the issue. I tried to tell my husband afterward that I don’t want to be around that person again, and that I was making eyes at him to come rescue me. But he had no clue.

I do try to be merciful when others make hurtful comments, as I am sure that I made many unknowingly harmful comments before I experienced infertility myself. I now find myself SO grateful when meeting new people who DON’T make comments or ask questions.  If you can see that we have no children around us and we haven’t made comments about a babysitter, then it is logical to assume we have no children. I know I will never ask someone about their family status again. I know all too well what it does. 

I do envision what a child with my husband’s and my DNA would look like. But I think, even more than that, I live in fear all the time that one of our parents will pass away without ever meeting our children, or at least one child. 

The more years that pass, the scarier and more real this fear becomes. It is very important to me. My dad’s mother died before I was a year old and I treasure the very few photos there are of her holding me. Even though I never knew her, it means a lot that she met me. I want that for my children. And every woman knows that she needs her mother more than ever when she’s pregnant. Your mom is your best comfort at that time. I would hate to not have my mom around if I ever get to experience pregnancy. 

Infertility is absolutely consuming. I can’t seem to ever shut my brain off. I’m always aware of where I am at in my cycle, when we need to try, what symptoms I’m feeling, and the many whens: when to take medicine, when to get bloodwork, and when the doctor appointments are. 

Any women that ever says they were miserably sick for nine months does not understand that I would LOVE to be miserably sick for nine months knowing that I would have a child. 

I constantly question what God wants from me. What am I doing wrong? What am I supposed to learn? Hasn’t this season lasted long enough? 

I hate this season and I don’t handle it gracefully. The longer I remain here the MORE I sin. Is God waiting for me to have no more jealousy, bitterness, faithlessness, distrust, anger, resentment,self-pity, and lack of joy before he will give me children?  If he’s waiting for that, I know I’ll never have kids. Because every day, I learn of someone else being pregnant, fight with my husband when he’s not compassionate, fear losing my parents, or question God’s best.

I also feel like I have to justify adoption. I want to adopt children. I am strongly convicted as a born-again Christian that I should care for orphans and train them to love God. I want to have a home that more and more children are added to it all the time. I look forward to a large family.

When asked why I don’t adopt right now, my answer is that it would be much easier for my husband and me to learn how to be parents from conception on. If given the opportunity, I want to take advantage of God’s design in the nine months of preparation and the growths tages of a baby.  There’s a slow transformation that takes place in natural parenting. Once we experience that, then it will be so much easier to add more and more children. I never want to have a stigma that we adopted because “we had no other choice.” I want to adopt because I want to adopt. 

I know that you will struggle with key dates having lost your baby. I struggle with dates, too. Especially my birthday.

Last year, several weeks before my birthday, whenever I thought about it, I would burst into tears, because I wanted to have several children by this age!  I am grieving that I will never have children in my 20s. The 30s are scary when it comes to fertility. Time is counting down.

And some holidays are hard, too. Family getting together at Christmas, and it’s another year passed without any grandkids. While on my husband's side, there are now four grandkids, none of whom were around when my husband and I got married. 

I do wish that every pregnant woman would realize that her pregnancy is a source of pain to others. A reminder of what they don't have. A source of jealousy about wanting to be in your place.  And bitterness when you complain about your situation.

I am a very outspoken person, and my infertility has made me understand that everything out of my mouth, on facebook, in a blog, etc., has the potential of hurting others. I HAVE learned this lesson to be careful about my joys or hurts being a stumbling block for someone else. 


If you would like to share your story of pregnancy loss or infertility, please email me your story at renyeart@gmail.com. I can post your story anonymously if you would like. I do reserve the right to edit your post for clarity.

My journey to a decision to adopt from foster care

Ryan and I have recently started classes to adopt from foster care.  For me at least, this journey has been long in coming.

I never had an epiphany, or this one singular moment where I just knew this was the right decision for me and for my family.  Instead, it's been a LONG series of moments, of experiences, of stories that have edged me closer to this decision to adopt.

The first moment that opened my eyes was as an older child. I don't remember how old I was, or even the title of the book, but I remember reading a novel based on a true story of child abuse. I read how this little girl was tied up to a pole outside, kept for hours without food or drink. If she went to the bathroom on herself, she was beaten mercilessly -- but she was never taken in to use the restroom.  The story was told from her perspective -- a sad, demoralized little girl who loved her parents and could never understand why they hurt her so much.

Images from her story have stuck with me ever since.

I remember thinking, even as a child, that I wanted to adopt. I guess in my mind, it has always been a part of my "someday" plan.

Then, in May of last year, I learned about sex trafficking.  Here's how God helped open my eyes . . .

It all started with TLC (Yes, I'm talking about the TV channel!)  I was watching a show on the 2005 tsunami with my husband.  It was one of those things where you wanted to turn it off, and pretend that something this atrocious would never, ever happen.  Yet there's that part of me that just had to watch. As though I owed it to the victims to hear their stories, to validate their painful experiences.  And so I watched . . .

Their was very little dramatization -- just real-life videos and personal testimonies from victims.  One couple from Europe was vacationing in Sri Lanka for Christmas with their 5-year-old daughter.  The wave came in to their hotel room, filling it up.  The woman was holding her daughter, belly-to-belly, with the girl's arms and legs wrapped around her torso.  She held on for everything that she could. But in just one moment, her beloved daughter slipped from her arms, and vanished from the room.  Three days later, they found her body on the beach.

I sobbed as I heard her story. And as the stories progressed, I became angrier at God for allowing such suffering.  Days later, I was still not emotionally recovered from the experience.  At church, I tried to worship God, but my heart held back.  I watched a mother nearby pick up her 5-year-old, belly-to-belly, with the little girl's arms and legs wrapped around her torso. In that moment, my heart screamed to God, "Lord, why would you do this?  Why would you let thousands of children die a horrible death? Why would you rob families of their children?  These children are innocent ... why didn't you DO SOMETHING?!!!  I cannot worship a God who kills children!"

I'll never forget how calm His voice was, even in the midst of my visceral rage.  He spoke quietly, yet pointedly to my heart . . . "Thousands of children are dying every day. They are hurting. And they need someone to help them.  Do not ask my what I am doing, until YOU are doing something, too."

It was as if someone had splashed cold water on my face. (I don't even want to know what someone might have been thinking if they had been watching me during this particular service!)  I was shocked to hear His answer . . . and all I could think of next was, "WHAT?"  What is causing suffering to thousands of children?  What is killing them?  And what could I do?

Within weeks, my brother returned home from Southeast Asia.  He told me about about how houses in regular neighborhoods had little red lights on their doors.  Children would be playing outside . . . young girls ages 8-12, dressed in tee shirts and jeans. If the red light was on, that meant the child outside was for sale.  That was the first in a series of answers to "WHAT?"


I found out about sex-trafficking in the U.S. I found out that children who have already been sexually abused were at high risk for being exploited -- many of whom are from foster care.

I hosted a sex-trafficking awareness night.  But that wasn't enough. I committed a certain percentage of my Arbonne sales, but even still, that doesn't feel like enough.  I lend out the book, "Renting Lacy."  I am HOPING against HOPE to be able to speak at Arbonne's Global Training Conference to thousands of women about sex-trafficking.  I have picked up pictures of prostitutes from the Las Vegas strip, cutting out their faces only and praying over them.  Still, not enough.

Now we are starting foster care with hopes of adoption. I have no idea where this journey will lead us.  I don't know how our children's lives will be changed, and how our lives will be changed.  It isn't as if I'm on this endless search to be able to do "enough."  But when I do have the conversation face-to-face with God one day, I want to be able to say, "I did my part. I tried my best to help. I couldn't help them all.  But I helped at least one."