The Post-Placement Period

A quick note about this post before we dive in: Any legal information is my recollection of my best understanding of the information as it was presented to me at the time. Remember, a lot of this information was given to me over 2 years ago when we first started this process. Other bits were given to me in the sleep-deprived haze that is parenting a newborn. I’m not an attorney, and don’t claim to be. Also, laws regarding adoption vary widely between states and types of adoptions as well as with newly introduced legislation, so what I know (or think) to be true only applies to Indiana, and only in March-July of 2017, and only to private, domestic infant adoption (not international, or adoption from the foster care system, or stepparent adoption, or kinship adoption, or…). You get the idea. This is our experience, and it’s not meant to be representative of anyone else’s.

 After a child is placed with adoptive parents, the new family enters a sort of legal limbo known as the post-placement period. The birth mother has signed consents revoking her parental rights; the status of the birth father’s rights vary. In our case, birth father was unnamed by birth mother on the birth certificate, so anyone who thought he may be the birth father would have 30 days to register with the Putative Father’s Registry to claim his rights. Meanwhile, the adoptive parents have physical custody of the child, but the placing agency has legal custody. All of this means that at the same time that you’re trying to get to know and bond with your new little one, manage the paperwork of new parenting (hospital bills, adding baby to health insurance plans, employment leave of absence paperwork, etc.), and maintain something resembling a relationship with your spouse and other family members, all on about 2 hours of sleep, you’re also dealing with the paperwork that comes with the post-placement period so that, hopefully, you wind up with legal custody of the child you’re rocking to sleep each night. (Do I sound bitter? I don’t mean to. It’s just that, for me, the post-placement period was the most stressful part of the whole adoption process. They hand you a tiny baby, and you fall completely in love, but there’s this lingering fear that if you don’t fill out all the papers exactly right, someone will take him away from you.)

Our agency does a great job facilitating relationships between adoptive and birth parents. Part of that process is an exercise in empathy on the part of the adoptive parents, helping us understand birth parent grief. We had to read a packet of information about birth parent grief and answer several questions about how we would handle Mama J’s grief. The answers to these questions made up part of our social worker’s post-placement notes that would eventually be filed as evidence in our petition to adopt.

 On top of building empathy for birth parents, adoptive parents must stay vigilant about getting their little ones to the pediatrician on time. The two-month shot records are also part of the paperwork that needs to be filed. I guess it’s to show that we’re taking care of baby appropriately.

 So, you kind of float along for about 8 weeks, raising this child, but having no legal claim to him. Then things start to happen, and they happen quickly. You go for baby’s 2-month appointment, and he gets 4 shots, and you file those records in your “adoption” file (not the "health records" file like other families might). Your social worker comes back to your house (remember she came once before as part of your home study). The first time, it felt like she was judging you, your home, your spouse, and your ability to parent. This time, it’s much more casual. She’s checking in to make sure that you’re bonding well, that baby is hitting his milestones, that you have access to resources you may need to help you through all this.

 The social worker files her report with the courts. You get a call from your attorney that the court has set a date for the finalization hearing. You get several emails from the attorney confirming that all the information in the petition to adopt is correct. You triple check baby’s name in that petition, since that’s what the new birth certificate will say.

 And then you wake up on Finalization Day. You get dressed and get baby dressed in a picture-perfect outfit (and pack a second, though not as cute outfit for the inevitable diaper blowout). Here's Aiden in the photogenic outfit...he changed later in the day. Shout out to special friends who understand the emotions of infertility and got the absolute perfect onesie for this day for us!

You and your spouse nervously assure each other that “This’ll be easy. Everyone says it’s anti-climactic. No big deal.” Yet you’re still nervous. Until that judge signs those papers, nothing is certain. You drive to the courthouse and wait in the hall while other families file in and out of the courtroom. Each only takes 5-10 minutes.

 Then you go into the courtroom. It’s just you, your spouse, your baby, the attorney, and the judge. (They allow you to bring friends and relatives to celebrate, but we didn’t want anyone driving 4-5 hours for a 7-minute hearing.) You’re sworn in, and then called as a witness in the proceedings. The attorney asks you questions about your home study process, the criminal background checks you did 6 months ago, how your family is bonding with baby. He asks your spouse similar questions. It’s sort of a recap of everything you’ve had to do to get to this point. Then the judge signs the papers, and the baby is yours. Everyone smiles and takes pictures.

 And you finally exhale the last sigh of relief, the one you never really let yourself think you were holding in because what if things had gone differently. And then you start the next round of paperwork: getting a birth certificate listing you as parents, getting baby a new social security number, changing baby’s name on your insurance policies (remember, until now he’s had birth mom’s last name).

 And you go out to lunch to celebrate because the post-placement period is done, the adoption is final, and you are now officially a family.

The Hospital Experience

I’ll pick up right where we left off last time: So there we were, waiting to hear that Mama J had gone into labor. We were about 3 weeks past when everyone (Mama J included) thought she would have delivered. We stayed pretty close to home those 3 weeks, only daring to venture about an hour away just in case we had to run to the hospital at a moment’s notice. Other than that, we tried to live our lives normally. Work, dogs, friends, dinners out, etc. We got snippets of news from our caseworker: a photograph here or there, reassurance that the delay was not because she had second thoughts, that sort of thing. We ran to Target at least once a week to pick up some baby item or another that we decided we needed. We organized daycare.

And then the call came. I was driving home from a work event on Sunday, March 26. It was about 9:30pm. “Mama J is in labor,” our caseworker said, followed by details about which hospital she was at and what to expect with the staff there. “Pack an overnight bag; I’ll call you when the baby is here and she’s ready for you guys.”

I raced home, calling Brian on the way. We packed a change of clothes in a bag and sat in the living room staring at one another. 10:00 became 11:00, which became midnight. Midnight became 1am, at which point the dogs lost interest in our late-night rush of activity and curled up to sleep. By 1:30, we decided to go to bed, that the call would come whether we waited up for it or not.

I’ve always laughed about Murphy's Law, but never put much stock in it. Wouldn’t you know, though, that as soon as we laid down, the phone rang. “She’s ready to see you guys.” So we jumped out of bed and rushed out the door. A quick stop at WalMart to pick up a small bouquet of flowers, then we were on our way.

We got to the hospital at 2:30am. After a brief discussion with the security officer at the front desk (we knew Mama J’s name, but were waiting on the security code to come from our agency), we were allowed into Mama J’s room. We knocked softly, and she told us to come in. She was holding Aiden, and whispered to him, just loud enough for us to hear, “There’s your mom and dad. They’ve been waiting to meet you!” before she handed him over to Brian, then me, to hold.

Most of he hospital staff was wonderfully accommodating. They gave us the room next to Mama J’s in the maternity ward. Aiden stayed in a bassinet in our room, with open visits in Mama J’s room too. We got to feed him, give him his first bath, and do lots of skin-to-skin time with him. The doctors and nurses were great. The hospital chaplain loved hearing our story. Even the cleaning crew was sweet and kind. To protect everyone’s privacy, on the board listing patients by the nurses’ station, we were listed as the BUFA Family (fairly common adoption lingo, BUFA stands for Baby Up For Adoption). The cafeteria staff was often confused about being asked to bring food up to a room that didn’t have “registered” patients in it (Aiden was formally tied to Mama J’s room), but they figured it out eventually.

There was only one staff member who didn’t seem to support the situation. Luckily, we had been trained by the agency to not only be Aiden’s advocates in the hospital, but Mama J’s as well.

The second day in the hospital, there was a knock at our door. “Can you tell me your first names?” a nurse asked through the opening. We told her. “Sorry, wrong room,” she apologized.

“No, that’s them,” we heard Mama J’s voice insist from the hallway.

“No, it’s not, you don’t need to go in there,” the nurse’s voice responded.

I jumped up and went to open the door. “She’s welcome in here,” I told the nurse, who scowled and huffed away.

We enjoyed several visits with Mama J and one of her friends in the hospital, got to video chat with some of our family members, and sent many happy texts and photos to others. Aiden was pronounced small but healthy by every doctor and nurse we encountered.

The morning of the third day in the hospital, the attorney showed up to sign the paperwork. He went to Mama J’s room first so she could do her part. The book the agency gave us said this could take anywhere from 15 minutes to 2 hours, that no one would rush her, that they would take all the time needed to ensure that she understood the papers. Having made adoption plans for previous children, Mama J didn’t have a lot of questions. About 5 minutes after the lawyers arrived, I got a text: “I’m all done, he’s on his way to you now.”

The attorney read through the custody paperwork, noting that nothing was final until we went to court, and outlining all of our rights and responsibilities as guardians. We signed the adoption agreement and the petition to adopt, he gave us the papers that allow us to carry Aiden on our insurance, and told us that cooperating with the social worker’s post-placement visits would ensure a quick turnaround time on the court date.

Once he left, Mama J came to our room to say goodbye. We took a photo of all of us together, and loosely planned a visit for late July. She left, having been discharged, and we waited for our discharge paperwork to process.

After birthmoms sign the adoption paperwork, we enter a weird legal limbo. We have physical custody of Aiden, but our agency has legal custody. As such, the discharge paperwork had to be signed by our caseworker, so that Aiden could be discharged to her care. While the papers were being signed, I got Aiden dressed to go home. Our friends had given us an adorable onesie that I thought would be perfect for his “coming home from the hospital” outfit: a white onesie, with a turtle on it, and the words “worth the wait.” The only problem was Aiden was far too tiny to fit into it! Brian ended up at the hospital gift shop, buying the only preemie outfit not adorned with pink bows. (Or so he says. It was a Purdue onesie. I'm still not convinced there weren't other options.) Even that was too big, as we ended up cuffing the arms and legs a few times.

We got him strapped into his car seat (another moment of realizing just how tiny he was: he almost came in under the weight our car seat is certified for), and the nurse walked us out the door. We drove home (the longest 20 minute car ride of my life), where adoring grandparents were waiting with flowers and balloons.

Meeting Mama J

It’s hard to believe that Aiden is already 6 weeks old! We haven’t updated this blog in quite some time, partly because we’ve been busy with Little Man, but mostly because we’ve been debating how much of what has happened over the last 12 weeks is our story to tell and how much is Aiden’s story to own and tell when he’s older. Over the next few posts, we’ll tell you how we came to learn about Aiden’s birth mother, meet her, and bring him home from the hospital. We’ll reflect on everything we’ve experienced in the last 3 years to build our family. But there are pieces of the story that do not belong to us. They belong to Aiden, and he’ll share those pieces when he’s ready to, with whomever he’s ready to.

There is a joke in some adoption communities that goes something like this: An adopted child and his cousin/friend/classmate/whatever were playing together and got into mischief. As their respective mothers were scolding them, and the kids pouted, the adopted child looks at the other child and says he know he won’t be in as much trouble because “my parents CHOSE me, your parents are stuck with you.”

The truth of the matter is that, at least for many domestic infant adoptions (i.e., the only kind I’ve experienced personally), the adoptive parents don’t choose the baby. In fact, it’s quite the other way around: the birth mother chooses the adoptive family. And being chosen was the most thrilling, humbling, exciting experience we’ve ever had. I don’t really have the right words to describe the feeling, and frankly, if you haven't experienced it, no words will suffice anyway.

On February 21, while at work, I got a call from one of our agency’s case workers. “I have a birthmom who is interested in meeting you,” she said. She went on to tell me a little bit about what she knew of the woman we now call Mama J. I feverishly scribbled notes and asked what I’m sure were not very intelligent questions. I hung up the phone and frantically called Brian at work. We chose a few dates that we were free for lunch, and set it up with the agency. We were going to meet our child’s birthmom.

We met about a week later for a late lunch. It was such a joy to get to meet this woman, who is smart, funny, caring, and outgoing. We were nervous going into the lunch. I told Brian I imagined this is how first dates must feel, times about 100. The only problem is that neither of us had been on a first date since we were 16! Luckily, our case worker was there to help when the conversation slowed. (Note: conversation rarely slows when Mama J is around…she’s great at keeping it going and made us feel comfortable from the beginning.) We left lunch with a hug and her noting that she felt bigger than any of her previous pregnancies, and that she thought she’d go into labor soon.

We held off on telling a lot of people about Mama J. Things can and do change suddenly in the world of adoption, and we wanted to be as sure as possible. We called our parents and siblings the day after we had lunch with her to let them know that baby would FINALLY be here…sometime soon. Our supervisors and work teams knew that we would be going on leave…sometime soon. And only a very few close friends knew that they were on call to take the dogs to the boarders…sometime soon.

We didn’t know what “soon” meant, but our case worker told us she thought it would be “one to four weeks.” We got out our calendars and circled the day 4 weeks from the date we had lunch. Finally, we had something of a due date to work from. The only problem was that in that month, I had my biggest meeting of the year at work, another event to coordinate, and Brian was going out of town for a week of training in rural Virginia. Luckily, we have great supervisors and teams who were willing to pick up our slack if we had to abandon work at a moment’s notice.

We made it through Brian’s work trip and my craziness, and finally started to breathe easier. Now, the baby could come at any time and we were both more available. We spent weekends trolling Target and Babies R Us for any last-minute needs we could dream up. Our families and friend had been so generous at baby showers that there weren’t many. But now that we knew baby was coming sometime between Valentine’s Day and Easter, we could get some seasonal items we had been holding off on purchasing.

And we waited. Four weeks came and still we waited. We left work every day with a “hope I DON’T see you tomorrow!” Every time the phone rang, we jumped to see if it was our case worker. We tried to keep living our lives as normally as possible, but we also (perhaps subconsciously) never ventured more than an hour from home. We knew we had to be available to rush to the hospital whenever Mama J went into labor. The anticipation was nerve-wracking. Had something happened and she changed her mind? Was she just going longer with her pregnancy than anyone had thought?

And just to give you all a small taste of that anticipation, I’ll wrap up this post for now. Up next (and soon!): Getting the call that Mama J was in labor and our time in the hospital with her and Aiden.

"Baby E"

Well, everyone, it’s been ages since we’ve updated this blog, mostly because there hasn’t been a lot to say. We’re in the super fun “wait and see” stage of the adoption process. We’re actively being shown to birthmoms, usually 2-4 at any given time; BUT we’re only allowed to check in on our activity once a month, so it’s kind of hard to tell if we’re at 2 moms one month and 2 the next: are they the same moms, different, or one the same?

But this post isn’t about waiting and seeing. It’s about embracing the process, and all the uncertainties, and all the craziness with a spirit of love and openness.

You see, about 3 weeks ago, we got an email from the agency that there was a special situation, and would we mind our profile being shown. Normally, they just show us; they’ve only asked permission one time before this for a “special situation.” This time, the special situation was that baby had been born at 28 weeks gestation and was in the NICU, with what looked like an extended stay there. Of course, we allowed our book to be shown. Our attitude with this whole process has been to be open to everything; we’ll get the child we’re meant to raise. Who are we to stand in the way of that?

Every day for about a week, we got a little more information from the agency about the baby’s condition. It trickled in slowly, as the hospital could only legally share bits and pieces since birthmom hadn’t yet finalized a placement with a couple. One day we learned how big baby was, the next day we learned about results from brain and kidney scans, and so on. Feverish phone calls with nurses we trust (topping the list: awesome soon-to-be Uncle Chris! and Brian's college friend Elizabeth-Boiler Up!) ensued to see what the results of these different tests and procedures meant. What did it mean that she was moved off a ventilator and onto a nasal cannula? What did it mean that she was weaned off TPN and now on donor milk? (Side note: Trust your friends/family in the medical profession. They are much wiser than Dr. Google.)

Then one day, we learned birthmom had named baby. To protect privacy, let’s call her Baby E. We didn’t tell many people. We gave vague information. It’s hard when you want so desperately to parent this child to not shout to the world that you need sent your way all the prayers, positive energy, kind thoughts, good juju…whatever it is your friends believe in. At the same time, we could only think it would be 10 times harder to call all the people we care about and give them disappointing news.

And disappointing news it was, for us. One of Baby E’s tests came back positive for higher levels of drug use than anyone thought they’d find. Because birthmom has 2 kiddos at home, a CPS case had to be opened for them. While we don’t know for sure what happened, we think birthmom may have chosen to place all 3 kids in the same foster home, rather than place the older kids in foster care and Baby E with an adoptive family.

Either way, we grieved the day we heard the news that she wasn’t ours. We asked each other if we should be this upset, never having met her or her birthmom. Ultimately, we came to the conclusion that it’s probably better to get excited and hopeful about potential matches and possibly get our hearts broken than to put up walls and guard our hearts so closely that we close ourselves off to our birthmom and child when we finally do get to meet them.

So we file Baby E into the same group as “Erin’s” baby about a year and a half ago. (revisit that here) We’re praying hard for her, for her birthmom, for her siblings, and for her family, whether they are adoptive or foster. And we continue to wait…