Here We Go Again

 In April, when we finalized J's adoption, our licensing worker asked what we wanted to do about our foster care licenses. I think our mouths hung open in mirrored surprise, as we hadn't even begun to consider *that* yet. We asked the worker to list us as Respite Only for the time being. 

A few months passed. Into the summer we headed, and again our worker checked in. At that point, all three kids were home for much of summer break, and it felt too overwhelming to voluntarily add in another child. We asked to stay on the Respite Only list. 

In August, we did end up providing a few days of respite care for our own worker's 8 week old foster baby. It was very fun to have a baby around, but also felt overwhelming, with J only having just turned 2 and being a bit of a loose cannon. We agreed, we weren't ready for foster babies. But I was also unwilling to simply close our license - my concern was that J was going to end up with a new little sibling coming into the system, and I wanted to make sure to provide a safe place for that baby. 

We celebrated E's 9th birthday at the beginning of September with a family dinner. We didn't know that someone new was on his way. 

A week later, T came home from work and sighed heavily as she asked, "Have you seen the post on the agency group tonight?" My stomach dropped. 

"No..." I responded slowly, as I whipped out my phone to check the post. 

Two newborn babies needed placements. Two newborn babies were headed from the hospital to the DCS offices that night. 

I swallowed hard as I felt cold fingers grip my throat, encircle my lungs. 

"We can't." I croaked. T looked at me with sympathy. 

"It would be too much. We're not there yet." she responded quietly. 

We put the kids to bed, and stretched out together on the couch to watch something. I kept glancing at the post. Watching the 'Viewed By' number grow higher and higher, with no responses on the post. 

I kept thinking about those tiny, vulnerable, innocent newborn babies. Sleeping in cribs in an office, with some poor DCS worker who would rather be home with their own family. I thought about how instantly cherished our two newborns had been, and how these babies didn't have that. All babies should be cherished. 

I touched T's arm. "But... what if we *could* do it?" 

"Hmm?" she paused the show. 

"A baby. I mean, it will be hard, but... isn't it more important that a baby have a safe, loving place to be than the fact that it will be hard for us? When we're placed so perfectly to be able to do it?" 

Her eyes were telling me that she wanted to help the babies, too, but we were both intimidated. We continued to talk ourselves into doing it and then out of doing it again, over and over. It was becoming late. T sighed. She began telling me about reading something that really struck home with her in Glennon Doyle's book, Untamed. She read me the quote.

"Heartbreak delivers your purpose. If you are brave enough to accept that delivery and seek out the people doing that particular world-changing work, you find your people. There is no bond like the bond that is forged among people who are united in the same world-healing work.
Despair says, 'The heartbreak is too overwhelming. I am too sad and too small, and the world is too big. I cannot do it all, so I will do nothing.'
Courage says, 'I will not let the fact that I cannot do everything keep me from doing what I can.'
We all want purpose and connection.
Tell me what breaks your heart, and I'll point you toward both."

That was it. Glennon Doyle helped us see that our hearts and hands could do this work.

Ten pm. We dialed the number for the person doing placements for our agency. She answered, of course. We explained that we were ready to accept placement of one of the newborns. 

Then something unfathomable happened. 

She asked us to PICK A BABY. 

"What? How do we pick a baby? They're both newborns. Just send one our way." we said. 

But she insisted. She called the DCS unit for any more information they had. Privacy laws and respect prohibit me from sharing any details of their cases, but both babies were removed at birth for the same, all too common reason. None of the information she called back with was particularly noteworthy. We ended up choosing the younger infant, because we figured that maybe his symptoms were less severe. The DCS Placements Unit called us to confirm some of our license information and then said they were bringing the baby to us. 

He arrived at 11pm, in all his beautifully perfect soft newborn glory. 

Every time we've received a new foster child, the moment they are handed off into our care is surreal. Sign one document, here you go. Here's a trash bag of their stuff. Bye. It's especially poignant with a newborn coming home from the hospital. 

I had vivid flashbacks to bringing home our two fresh newborns. The amount of anticipation and excitement and fanfare. Grandparents all around, everyone draped over couches and armchairs just to get a glimpse of these tiny new people. It was a drastic contrast to the way baby C came to us in the darkness of night, buckled into a cheap car seat with "DCS" hastily stenciled on its side, and a clear plastic hospital bag of items for him. The man dropping him off carefully unbuckled him from the seat and promptly handed him over to T. He needed to take the car seat back, of course. I signed the Notice to Provider, making him officially our foster placement, and the man gave a wave as he headed back out into the quiet dark, back to the office where yet another baby still waited.  

We looked at each other. We've shared this look many times over the years. The "what have we done" but also "this is exciting and joyful" and also "I feel a bit panic-stricken". Words weren't required in the moment. 

Now, this child is nearly 12 weeks old. A lovely, charming baby whom we all adore. Our days are full. Our hands are full. But our hearts are full, too. 

Social worker visits. Appointments. Specialists. Meetings. Hearings. Parental visitation. Fighting the state's reimbursement system every month. Searching for cans of formula that are affected by a national shortage, unable to utilize our formula benefits. Even among all these things that require our time and efforts, I see and acknowledge our privilege. I now work from home. We make more than enough money and don't have to worry about the financial aspect of losing formula benefits or whether the state is going to reimburse us in a timely fashion.

Every day, I look at your charming, earnest little face and tell you how loved you are. I wish I had answers for you, sweet one. But until there are answers, I swear you'll have our love, and you'll be safe and cherished. 

This Is The Start of Our Sweet Little Story

 After the birth of our first two children, I loved writing out their birth stories. When I was doing the birthing, I cherished hearing the memories of all the other strong women in the room. I loved knowing what all was happening while I was focused inward. I chronicled those experiences, for myself and for Mom and for E and C to read for themselves one day. This one is for you, my youngest son.

Your story began on an unusually cool day in August of 2019. It only reached 99 degrees Fahrenheit, in a month where every day easily surpasses triple digits. It’s not surprising to me that, as a lovely little morning creature, you were already hard at the work of being born as the day dawned bright. In my imagination, I can see your mother breathing deeply and concentrating as she pushed you out to greet the day. You were born in a little bathroom only two miles northwest of our home, and I didn’t even know that someone momentous was breathing his first breath of the sweet, humid air that’s found in every place life blooms.

If I close my eyes, I can hear the cicadas sing and smell the creosote hanging in the summer breeze. Zinnias grew in our garden that August, and we had a yellow-bellied Siskin finch visit often who loved to eat the aphids that gathered under the leaves. Maybe we’ll grow zinnias again this summer, so you can see what the garden looked like during your birth.

I regret that I cannot account for every moment of those early days and weeks for you. I do know that you were loved. You had people who couldn’t wait to meet you, to hold you and look upon your small crinkled face. I’ve seen pictures of you as a little babe – even then, you were a skeptic of this bright new world. Your first mother and father loved you. They loved you as best they could. But you also were loved by your grandmother, your grandfather and step-grandmother. Your aunt, and your incredible uncles. 

We are so grateful that we get to know your uncles and aunt, and that you will have them in your life forever. We are thankful for the opportunity to maintain your connections to your birth family. It is our hope that one day you can reconnect to your first mother and father, to know them and to have them know you. 

Your uncle B took you home with him in September, when your parents could no longer care for you safely. He and uncle A set aside everything to love you and raise you. I know from their stories that it was a year of duality. Utter joy at your small presence, while pushing the limits of pure exhaustion. They rejoiced in your growth, in your sharp intelligence and your easy laugh. You lived a life of love and cuddles and safety with them, but all the while your case, your future, was in limbo. Surviving in times of unknown answers and unending timetables is an incredibly stressful thing. Your uncles are two of the strongest people I’ve ever known. After many tears and long nights of discussion, they decided to see if they could find an adoptive family for you who would let them still be your uncles.

Meanwhile, we were pursuing our foster care license. We had one class left to complete, plus our home safety inspection before we could submit our application to the state. I received a text message one day from the worker doing our training classes, asking if she could call me later. I answered that of course she could and wondered why she wanted to talk. My brain offered up, “Maybe she’s got a baby for us…” and then instantly I laughed at myself because that was ludicrous. We weren’t even licensed. Later that afternoon, she called and wove a tale of two young men who were hoping to find the perfect family for their 11 month old nephew, a family who would accept them as a couple and also as uncles who wanted to remain in his life. It was all I could do to clench my lips shut long enough for her to finish the story because I wanted to shout, “YES! Yes yes yes!” to these young men and to this little boy who I had yet to meet. 

I wanted them all. Somehow, they already lived in my heart. 

In the waning golden sunlight of a July evening last year, the four of us waited with bated breath in our front yard to meet you. We had seen pictures of you, and we had done a video call with you and your uncles. But on this warm summer evening, I felt deep in the pit of my stomach that I was about to meet one of my children. It was surreal to think that I didn’t know you at all. I didn’t know what made you smile, what helped you feel safe, how you went to sleep easiest, or what your favorite food was. I suppose none of us know any of those things when babies are born into our families anyway. The uncles came bearing ice cream for all of us and carrying you in your car seat. For the first time in their lives, E and C abandoned their ice creams in favor of sitting in front of your car seat on the ground to smile at you and touch your wiggling toes. E brought out books and read to you, while C carefully examined your fingers and your nose and kept kissing your head. It wasn’t long before the kids dragged the uncles into our home to show them around. You demanded to be put down in C’s bedroom to investigate his cars and trucks and bookcase. I took a photo of the 3 of you for the first time, your heads bent closely together. It was then that I noticed your hair is nearly the exact same shade of brown as your siblings.

After that first meeting, we planned family dinner nights. We got to celebrate your first birthday together, and Mom and Uncle A baked and decorated your cake. 

We started to have you over by yourself for a few hours at a time. Our license was approved in late August, and we started having you for overnights the very next night. We were building many relationships. 

It is an experience unlike any I’ve had, to commit our lives to two adult strangers and a baby before we knew each other. We have all grown so close in such a short span of time. You were placed with us officially at the beginning of October, and that started the countdown clock to your adoption.

Now, as spring blooms and brings with it the Mexican gold poppies and orange globemallow, the last grain of sand in this hourglass has fallen into the base. Our time as your foster family has come to a close, little one.

 Today is Adoption Day. Today you are legally a McGill, a third child, second son, and fifth family member. You are cherished. Always.

This is the start of our sweet little story;
the part where your page meets ours.
No matter where the tale takes us tomorrow,
the story will always be of love.

Follow-up Anatomy Scan

At the initial anatomy scan for this pregnancy, the tech had some difficulties getting Baby to hold still long enough for all the measurements she needed to take. She asked us if we'd come back in 4 weeks, and we said "OF COURSE!". Last week we went, and although the tech was able to finally get all the measurements, she also couldn't avoid it when Baby wanted to give us the Full Moon view of his bottom half.

Despite wanting to be surprised at the birth, we now know that the McGill family will be welcoming a son in February! 

I'll admit, I feel a little bit disappointed to have found out early. I was truly looking forward to finding out at the moment of birth, to letting T see and announce it to the room. I also loved the thought that we'd head into the birth with a short list of names for both boys and girls, and decide once we met Baby officially. Although we know we're having a boy now, we still plan to wait and name him after meeting him. I can't help but feel a little bit like something was taken from us. I'm not heartbroken by any means, but I was looking forward to the experience.

That all being said, I have very strongly suspected since I was 12 weeks along that this babe would be a boy, even sure enough to only refer to him in masculine terms. It was strange; I never expected to be THAT mother who had a strong intuition about it, I figured I'd be clueless and anything I thought would be simply a guess. But at 12 weeks, the midwife struggled to find Baby's heartbeat with the doppler, so she did a quick ultrasound to make sure everything was okay. The moment I saw that little seedling, there was a voice in my head that said, "Ah, there he is." It didn't feel as if that came from myself, so I trusted that I was being told something by someone who knew more than I.

This is the best image from my 24 week ultrasound. You can see Baby's profile, with his hand up close to his nose. 

The other thing we'd kind of hoped to avoid by waiting to find out is all the commentary about his gender. Now we get comments about how "it'll be so great to have one of each!" and "Ahh, you're done now since you have a girl AND a boy, right?". We just really dislike commentary on our family being based on gender. If I were pregnant with a girl, she would be no less perfect for our family and we would be no less happy. We may not be done, either, just because we have a girl AND a boy. No, he isn't already a troublemaker/heartbreaker/or any other label people slap onto little boys without knowing them. We may frustrate everyone with our desire to not plaster our kid in "Lil Slugger" or "A Treat for the Ladies" onesies - so be it. In fact, this baby will wear a good number of his sister's hand-me-downs. Heaven forbid!

I don't know who this little person will grow into. But it will be his choice, and I will not allow him to be labeled as anything other than himself. He is a person first, and a boy second. And we cherish all the people in our family.

Yes, we are thrilled. But we're no more or less thrilled about him because we know he's a BOY.

Although it is a bit easier now that we can tell E she definitely is getting a brother. <3

The Cupcake is out of the oven!

Our amazing daughter was born last night at 7:37pm!  T was so incredible.  She went through eighteen hours of a totally medication-and-intervention-free labor and delivery.  We're ... over the moon, in awe, thrilled, in disbelief, grateful.  Take your pick, as they're all accurate.  Birth story will follow, but for the time being I'll share some photos.

EJM, born September 1st, weighing 7lbs and 6oz and measuring 20.5 inches long.

Brand new!

Hi darling. 

First family picture!

"It's bright out here..."

Mama's first time holding E

Mom, Mama, E

with Grandma

with Gran

with Pops

Baby Announcement

Remember how I said awhile back that we told my family about the pregnancy at the cabin we rented in northern Arizona?  I neglected to mention that my fantastic brother, H, managed to record my family's discovery of the pregnancy.  He's a secret ninja like that.  Just one of our many genetic gifts!

Without further ado, here's the link to the video:

T & A baby announcement

Better to link the video late rather than not at all, right?

P.S. Parents and Brother:  I love you guys!  You're wonderful.
P.P.S. In-Laws and T's family: I love you all as well!  I just ... don't have secret video of telling you about our baby.  Sorry.