Miracle Baby

Dear Cubby, 

It's already been another month. 

Another month of loving you and raising you. 

We have become so complacent. I feel like you are mine and I believe that nothing will change that. 

But I'm scared of the complacency. I'm scared that I'm going to get the rug pulled out from underneath my feet. 

Your caseworker wants you here with us. So did your last one. And so do your therapist and your lawyer. And because I hear so many stories about caseworkers and lawyers pushing for reunification even when it may not make sense, I feel like God gave us these people who can see where you are meant to be. 

Your case has two big developments from the past month. 

The first one being that your birth father wants to willingly sever his rights from you---and from your baby brother or sister. Which brings me to the next huge development...

You are going to be a big brother. 

I don't say that with an exclamation point, even though as I typed it, that's how I read it in my mind. I'm just still trying to wrap my head around it all. It's sad. And it's crazy. And it's a tiny bit exciting but it's also not really something that should be exciting. I just hope that somehow, someway, you will get to have this sibling in your life. 

It's hard to imagine that at 11 months old, you will become a big brother. It's also hard to imagine what decision we will make at that time if (but more likely when) your baby brother or sister goes into foster care. 

It's ok that I don't know what to do. Because God knows. And I'm preparing myself as best I can to be ready for whatever He wants us to do. 

It makes me sad that your birth father has not seen you since you were 6 weeks old and that he doesn't get to know how amazing you are. 

It makes me sad that your birth mother loves you but will most likely never be capable of raising you. 

But it makes me happy that this is where you landed---that I got a miracle call on Easter Sunday and that I got to meet you. 

I know this won't be an easy journey for you for many reasons. 

I know it won't be easy to grow up without a full understanding of why you aren't being raised by your biological parents. I know it won't be easy being raised by a full Caucasian family when you are biracial (African-American & Caucasian, we believe). 

But I promise you that I will be there for you every step of the way. I promise to walk with you in the hard times. 

Every day, I am in awe of you, my miracle baby boy. 

Because the fact is---and this is heart-wrenching for me to type---you were an attempted abortion. And you survived abuse in utero that flashes through my mind almost daily. They tell me your birth father did not want another child and that he was angry. They tell me your birth mother was most likely taken advantage of because of her low mental capacity. They tell me this case is way more complicated than it was when you were first born and they told me you'd be with me for "maybe a few weeks" because your birth parents seemed fine and they just needed to prove safe housing for you. 

And I am telling you right now, Bear Cub, if nothing else proved that God sees us all individually, THIS DOES. Because He protected you. He loves you. 

And you are truly a miracle. 

I'll love you forever, my happy, baby boy. You are such a bright light in my life and I am thankful for you every day. 

Sincerely, 

Your Momma

Dearest Bear Cub

To My Dearest Cubby, 

I don't think I knew it was possible to love someone as equally as I love my biological children. A huge part of that makes me so happy because you deserve every ounce of love you are given. At the same time, it scares me wholeheartedly.

I went to my very first court hearing for you last week. I haven't felt anxiety like that in probably six months and it was hard for me. I wanted them to tell me you would be mine forever but they didn't. They couldn't.

Your biological father showed up. The man who walked out of you life when you were only six weeks old has now changed his mind. And so the judge gave him a second chance. I've learned that judges do that---not because they don't care about your well-being, even though it kinda feels that way.

I got to meet your biological mother. She loves you, Cub. I can tell that she does. And if love alone was all that was required, you would be living with her. But safety trumps love. And I am grateful the court understands that like I do.

I left the courthouse and cried for your mother because it isn't very likely that she will be capable of raising you. I cried for how much that will break her heart. I cried for the mental health and addictions that have taken over her life.

Cubby, you light up my life and every day, I pray that you will be my son forever. I believe you are supposed to be a part of our family. 

You are my baby boy. You beam when I walk in a room and cry when I walk away. You are content when I am snuggling you and you give the biggest laughs to your older brother and sister. You roll both ways and weigh over twenty pounds and love your bouncer/saucer that plays music. You have dimples and squishy rolls and the curliest hair.

Even though the court hearing didn't go as planned, it didn't go the other way either. The judge was pretty straightforward and I appreciated that. We will all meet again in three months to determine if your case plan changes to severance at that time.

Bear Cub, I just want the best life for you. And I cannot imagine living this life without you in it. But if I am not what's best for you, I'll live with the heartbreak of losing you. Because you deserve the best life you're capable of having.

Sincerely, 

Your Mommy 

Cubby

I am not ready to talk about this on my regular blog or post about it on social media.

So lucky you. You get to be the first to read this part of my story.

On April 1st, 2018, I received a phone call from DCS about a two-day-old baby who needed a home. I quickly said I'd take him, even though he was so little and couldn't go to daycare for six more weeks. I just felt like he was supposed to be in our home.

Not twenty minutes after I finished that phone call, a tiny newborn was brought into my home and I found myself staring at him and wondering how anyone could ever top this moment in my life.

Cubby was born marijuana-exposed but came to me with minimal withdrawal symptoms. His first night, he was up every 20-30 minutes and I believe that is because he didn't recognize the sounds or smells in our home. I believe he knew he wasn't with the familiarity of his birth mother.

Since then, Cubby has become an amazing sleeper. And really, he has become just all-around amazing! He smiles, giggles, coo's, rolls, and is an amazing eater. At 4 months old, he weighed almost 18 pounds. This kid takes his food seriously. :)

When Cubby first came to our home, we were told he would only live here for a few weeks while they helped his birth mother figure out how to get safe housing, etc. After those few weeks, they called and asked me if I would be ok with him staying longer because the case had changed to a more long-term situation.

Of course, I said yes.

I've had many nights where I've snuggled Cub in my arms and cried over losing him, wondering if the next day would be our last. I have felt like he is my son from the very beginning but have not opened up to very many people about those feelings.

About a month ago, Cubby's caseworker came over and said that at 6 months old, she was going to put in for a change of case plan to sever birth mom's rights. Birth mom is having a hard time showing up to visits or remembering to do the things she needs to even begin the journey back to raising her son. This also isn't her first severance in the past 12 months.

I kind of couldn't believe what the caseworker was saying but I just came home that night and prayed for everything to work out in Cubby's best interest.

And then last week, his new caseworker and his lawyer came over for a meeting and both stated that in less than 3 weeks, they are recommending the judge change the case plan to severance. From there, mom will have 30 days to appeal or decide to sign over her rights.

Three weeks.

Cubby will be 5 months old at this time.

As soon as the lawyer and caseworker left my home, I found myself sobbing and squeezing my baby boy so tightly. It was a mixture of pure joy, realizing he may very well be my legal son, while also realizing that when they tell birth mom this news, she will be devastated.

It is hard to watch someone with severe mental health disabilities want to parent a child but not be capable of doing so. It is so, so hard.

On the other hand, adoption was never really on my radar when I became a foster parent. I had no idea why Heavenly Father had called me to become a foster parent a year and a half ago.

Now I think I know.

I am afraid to say this out loud, for fear of being wrong and losing my boy, but I believe that Cubby is supposed to be my son. I believe we have a special bond and that God sent him to me so that I could keep him safe and loved and also, so that I could eventually be there for his birth mom.

I think that is my calling right now. I think he is supposed to be my third baby.

And time will tell, I guess. If I am wrong, it is going to rip my heart out but in the end, giving Cubby the safety and security that we have provided him is worth any heartache the rest of us have to face.

2018 has been a year of miracles and huge changes. I am in awe of all that Heavenly Father has done for me this year. He has reminded me just how important I am individually to Him.

The truth is, God loves each of us individually. He has a plan for us. He wants each of us to survive and thrive throughout our lives.

Right now, Cubby is a huge part of why I am thriving. He has brought a peace to our home that is undeniable.

And so, every night, I will pray for Heavenly Father to help us have peace with whatever plan He has for Cubby's life.

Because He surely does have a plan.

Five Years Ago

The five year anniversary of my d-day happened two days ago.

And it's hard to put into words how I currently feel about that because it has been so good and so bad.

I felt so panicked leading up to the d-day anniversary. I took off work and kept Cubby home with me. I had lunch with my daughter at school and then my mom took me shopping at the mall and I tried on a bunch of clothes for her as if I was 16 again.

It was actually a really great way to spend my day and I came home that night, wondering if I would start to obsess over the anniversary or whether it would be ok and guess what?!!

I was ok! I was happy! I sat down and blogged on my non-anonymous blog and talked about how hard that day was 5 years ago and how I am so glad to be where I am now.

I talked about how I wouldn't trade those times for anything because they taught me so much.

I love who I am post-d-day. I truly do.

I know it won't ever be rainbows and butterflies. Divorce is such a hard thing. I am reminded of that almost daily.

But looking at my personal growth, I'd take who I am now vs. who I was then any day of the week.

It's miraculous to realize that only five years after my husband told me he no longer loved me, I am doing ok. I am still standing. I am thriving. I am close to ADOPTING A CHILD! {But that's for another post}

This life I'm living---it's beautiful. I am so grateful for all of the knowledge that has occurred in the past five years.

Belle

Some days, I just want to run away because I don't believe that I'll ever be good enough. I don't think I'll ever be doing all of the things I'm supposed to be doing to be an emotionally and physically and spiritually healthy person.

There is always some way in which I am failing and I am really good at recognizing that.

My therapist told me we are digging deeper into my feelings regarding Belle moving two hours away. Probably because I waited until five minutes before our session was over to start letting my emotions out and actually talk about it all. I do that a lot with harder topics. And Belle moving away has been a harder topic because it makes me feel stupid. I feel weak and stupid that a friend moving two hours away affects me this much.

This loss makes sense based on my past relationships. I definitely have abandonment issues. But it just makes me so angry that it all stems back to my abandonment trauma with Peter and I hate how everything in my life seems to stem back to that awful time in my life.

I lost Peter. I lost Alice. And now I lost Belle. This sounds like an incredibly stupid Disney movie gone bad.

But it is definitely NOT a Disney movie. Because in an actual Disney movie, I'd get those people back in the end. This would all wrap up with some amazing happily ever after. All relationships would heal and we would all sing and freaking birds would dance around in the air.

But that isn't how life works.

Instead of a happily ever after that magically wraps it all up, I am supposed to be in charge of my happily ever after. And although some days, I am doing that pretty damn well, other days, I feel like such a failure.

I know I didn't lose Belle in the same way. She is still my best friend. We still talk. But she isn't right down the street and I can't go see her any time I want.

In fact, I no longer have anyone like that around me. And that has been brutal the past few months.

Peter left me almost FIVE years ago. And here I am, still struggling to be alone. I immerse myself in teaching dance and doing homework and filling out job applications and taking care of my 4 month old (Oh, did I not mention I got a BABY on Easter Sunday who is now 4 months old?!) but when my kids are with their dad, I still go home and have no one to talk to. I take care of Cubby and that gives me a sense of purpose but unfortunately, 4-month-olds don't talk.

I haven't gone to church much since Belle moved. I feel more alone there than I have in a long time. I don't feel connected to my ward. I go because my kids need me to go. I go because I know it's the right thing to do. But I'd like to go because I want to go.

I just want to stop going through the motions. I want to try harder. But I feel so stuck in this pit of anxiety.

I feel like I'm struggling to find enough energy for self-care right now because all of my energy goes toward providing for everybody else. And I love that I get to be teaching dance and going to school and spending a lot of time with my babies---but I just need to find a better balance.

What Is Normal?

Therapy was good-hard again. Two weeks in a row of that is a good sign.

It means I'm growing. It means she's pushing me. 

I've let so much go this week---not in a positive way. No anxiety meds. An incredibly disorganized house. Being late to work every day. Putting off my homework as long as possible.

End of the school year is crazy. Dance recitals are creeping up. And then Company tryouts. And then Nationals in California.

And in the midst of everything, I'm applying for jobs and wondering if I'm ever really going to be successful. I'm much better at failing, right? 

I'm pouring myself into everything I can and acting like I'm handling it all fine but inside, I'm just about ready to jump ship. My brain is scattered and my anxiety is high.

I saw a cockroach run past me at work and immediately---chest pains from anxiety. Over a damn cockroach.

My best friend gave me the date for their move and it's in two weeks. 

Two. Weeks. 

How am I going to live without her being only two streets away?

I want to NOT avoid her until then. I'm trying not to. I spent the afternoon over there on Monday and it felt a little foreign. I went over on Sunday for five minutes just to say hi and immediately began to cry.

Each time I leave her home, we hug and it feels different. It feels like a goodbye hug. And that feels painful.

I'm trying to feel normal but I don't really know how to anymore. 

My foster baby could leave at any time. So---anxiety all of the time. Because he truly feels like he's mine and even though I know he isn't, I am so scared to lose him.

Summers are hard. Getting babysitters is stressful. Leading up to the anniversary of D-day starts looming.

Not having sex is hard. Feeling alone is hard. Being the main financial provider for my children is hard. Thinking about dating is hard. Co-parenting is the absolute worst.


Peter and I were doing so well and the past few days, we've had stupid arguments.

So what is normal? How do I feel normal when I don't even know what normal is anymore?

I did kneel down and pray this week---once---so that's a start, right? I need that to mean something right now. I need it to show that I'm trying. Because I'm trying to try.

And that's better than giving up or ignoring the fact that everything is shifting right now. 

I'm trying so hard to face the scary things right now. And therapy is helping me do that.

I just need to keep from drowning. Because eventually, I'll get used to the big changes that are happening.

Right? 

Shame Culture

What does therapy look like for you? 

Am I doing it right? Is there even a right way of doing it?

Do people tell their therapists everything---like absolutely everything? Is that the only way to truly heal or figure your stuff out?

There are certain things I could talk all day about. Not necessarily easy things but things that don't feel shameful.

Shame culture runs deep around here. It does. And I don't even know where that started. Is it a religious thing or have I just learned to beat myself up about anything and everything that I can?

I went to therapy yesterday with one rule for myself---don't talk about sex. Don't talk about missing it or wanting it or thinking about it. Just don't. Because shit will get uncomfortable and your therapist will think you are gross and you will not feel better.

One rule. 

But here's the thing---it's one of the main reasons I used to refuse a specialized eating disorder therapist---my therapist has been in my life for 5 years. She was there as a marriage therapist and she was there to watch me as I went through my divorce. She gets me.

So I usually get in to her office with my set of rules---taboo subjects that I'm NOT going to talk about---and somehow those are always the things that get brought up. Partly because I start to feel safe and decide to throw out a hint (that sounds way dumber than it feels when I'm there...). Partly because she knows me really well at this point and there isn't much I haven't told her. So she figures out what my taboo subject is and dives in.

And I cringe and feel uncomfortable and stress about whether her perception of me has changed. But when I leave, I feel like I accomplished something huge.

Merely surviving the conversations that feel so absolutely shameful is such a huge deal for me. And I like being pushed. In fact, I need to be pushed. Because if it were up to me alone, therapy would be about only showing my best attributes and laughing and pretending that life is always awesome. [I'm kind of an idiot, guys...] 

So it's a good thing I'm not running the show. It's a good thing she knows me.

But this week, that hasn't helped me to pull out of the shame spiral where just the fact that I miss having sex makes me feel like a bad person. Like there's something wrong with me. Like I'm gross. Like I'm not a "normal" female.

And I hate that. 

I hate that the shame I feel seems to have ANYTHING to do with my gender. Because---why? Why is it ok for boys to feel this way but not girls?

I'm working through it, I think. And if I'm not, I'm going to try and continue this conversation in therapy next week, even though I will hate it.

The hours where I hate therapy are usually the best hours. I always leave feeling better. Because there is just something about pushing past my comfort zone that makes me proud of myself.

Bravery, y'all.