Tomorrow morning there will be a group of professionals sitting around my kitchen table at 10:00am. I will sign paperwork. They will sign some paperwork. My kids will sign paperwork. Then I'll sign some more paperwork. I'll hang on to some paperwork so my husband can sign it when he gets home from work. Hopefully I'll get a couple bags of clothes and maybe some formula.
In my arms will be a little 2 month old girl getting her third "mommy" since she was born.
Don't tell me congratulations.
No baby should have that many mommies.
So even though our new caseworker is excited for us to be getting another baby. I'm not. (Our new caseworker, Bopper, sent me a text message yesterday saying "Yayyyy, so happy you will have babies Cherub Mamma!")
Well..yes...I am "excited". I like caring for children. I like babies. I really do want to have a little girl around the house.
But foster care breaks me into a million pieces. It's sad. It's tragic. It's not a happy thing that she's coming to me. It's terribly sad. It means something happened serious enough that a perfectly healthy little girl can't live with her mother. Can't be cared for by the person she bonded to for nine months as she grew.
Please NEVER discount those nine months before birth. They are important. They shape a human being. Any time a child is separated from their mother it is tragic. Even if this little girl ends up being reunified with her mother, she will have a hole in her heart because she was separated.
I believe the metaphor I'm about to use is in the book The Primal Wound.
Imagine the bond between a mother and a child is a dinner plate. When the bond is broken, the plate is shattered. Perhaps the pieces are big enough that they can be glued back together. Perhaps the plate gets glued to pieces of a different broken plate (adoption). It will never fit perfectly. Things won't match. It might be functional, but it's definitely not the same!! Even if the original plate gets glued back together, the break will always be visible. You simply can't undo the break.
So please, don't congratulate my family. Wish us well. Pray for us. Take comfort in knowing that Star will be cared for, doted on, and fully loved. But don't congratulate us. The loss she's suffering is so significant. It trumps any fun we might have with the pink and the ruffles. Her needs will be met and we will have a blast with her I'm sure. Celebrate with us as we love on a baby that needs us. But don't congratulate us.