On the days when it isn't all happy...

"Request for Absence" form.  Don't mind my snow day hair.  

I'm trying to fill out this paperwork for maternity leave.  (Can't believe I just said that!)  The paperwork isn't a big deal at all; it's the people's reactions that kill me.

The lady at personnel was pleasant and helpful.  When I heard what one of my co-workers said about me taking maternity leave when the baby comes, though, I wanted to go cry in the bathroom.  "Seriously?!  She's taking maternity leave?  She isn't even having a baby!!"

I could have done without that reminder.  No, I'm not having a baby.  But that baby will be ours, and why in the world would I not want to spend the first six weeks of its life at home, like everyone else who has a newborn?  Oh right, because women aren't really moms until a baby pops out of their own bodies.

Another thing: Babies R Us.

There is nothing wrong with the store in general, other than it being super overwhelming for someone (AKA practically every new mom) who has no clue about what babies actually need.  I didn't like registering for our wedding because there were too many decisions to make, but this experience was something else entirely.

Andrew had to work on Monday, but my parents were in town to help me with baby stuff.  They graciously offered to go with me to register, which would have been extremely unproductive (and probably hilarious) if I had gone by myself.  I really am thankful that they came.  But the whole time I was in Babies R Us, I just wanted to flash my wedding ring to justify that I'm not a teen mom and that I am, in fact, married to a guy who just happened to have to work on President's Day.

Also, I've never wanted to have a belly and constantly work out because I'm afraid of that happening.  On this one day, though, I wished I had stuffed a pillow under my shirt or had a baby in tow like every other woman in the store.  I felt so many eyes on me, probably wondering why a person like me was carrying around a registry gun and pointing it at cribs, high chairs, and diapers.

When I taught autism and took my students on outings, we would get stares from all sorts of people. I loved my kids so much that I wanted to put signs on their shirts saying something like, "I have autism.  Be kind.  Stop staring."  I wanted to protect them from the ignorance of others.  Now I want to wear a sign on myself saying, "No, it's okay!  My husband and I are adopting!"  I want to justify myself for a making a decision that shouldn't need any justification.  

I'm sure this is just the beginning of the rude comments and judging stares, especially if we adopt a baby who doesn't look like us.  I do know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this is the right thing.  I just wish I wasn't so sensitive sometimes.  The family and friends in our lives, the people who truly matter, have been beyond supportive.

"The truth will set you free."  I'm constantly reminding myself of that through this crazy journey.

Loved.

I don't even know where to begin.  God provides far beyond what we could ever ask or think, and definitely beyond what we deserve.

Adoption is turning out to be the greatest blessing we've ever been given.  People keep telling us how lucky our child will be, but I can't stop thinking about how lucky Andrew and I are.

When we started this process a little over a month ago, we had no idea how we would even begin to pay for it.  We had saved some, but such a large chunk of money is due up front that we didn't think we would be able to go through with adopting.  We eventually decided that if we waited until we had all of the money, we would probably end up waiting forever.  It's never the "right time" to have a baby, to marry that guy, to buy a house, or to quit that "safe" job to do something you love.  Sometimes you just have to jump into the unknown with both feet and trust that the pieces will fit together at exactly the right time.  Boy, have they ever!

On February 11th, my husband starting growing a mustache.  I'm not against facial hair in general, but I'm against facial hair on his handsome, clean-shaven face because (as he will admit) he can't grow it.  We're calling this campaign the "Stache-a-Thon for Adoption."  When Andrew's friend made the suggestion, he boldly declared that he thought we could raise $1,000 for our cause, to which I scoffed and said that that was a very nice and very impossible idea.  Less than 24 hours later, we hit the $1,000 mark, and people are still continuing to give.

The stache as of 2/17/13.  Looking like a caterpillar.

I've heard of people receiving $10,000 anonymously in the mail so that they can finance their adoption.  That's pretty incredible.  I love the way our story is being written, though- in smaller but equally humbling ways.  The $5 from that student of mine at camp, the $20 from a friend of a friend who doesn't even know us, or the larger sum from a couple who clearly made a huge sacrifice to help us are undeniably important and beautiful.

On Friday night, our friends threw us an adoption dinner party.  The idea was for people to come and have breakfast for dinner (or "brinner," as we like to call it), and donate the money that they would have otherwise spent on going out to dinner to us.  Great idea, right?  I was so honored when my friend told me that they wanted to do this for Andrew and me.  I thought we might make $100, which would have been helpful, wonderful, and totally worth it.  At the end of the night when the money was counted...

$1,046.  

I burst into tears.  

I've never known love like this.  People were very generous for our wedding, but this is a whole other thing.  I can't wait to one day tell our sweet child how much he was loved before anyone even knew him.  (Gosh, some of the people that came to that party didn't even know us!)  

Sometimes there just are not adequate words to express gratitude.  

I think this guy from Saudi Arabia summed up the whole evening pretty well in his post on Facebook.  He had come with his roommate and didn't know anyone else at the party.

"I had a great time hanging out with you guys (meaning the whole group).  It was really amazing to see how you all love each other and did this great thing for a couple.  I felt like I was with my family."

Yeah, me too.  

Family.  It truly is beautiful to see people love each other the way that God intended for people to love.  I don't think we deserve that, but I sure am thankful.  I'm thankful for such wonderful people, for an extremely gracious God, and for the astounding way that He is writing this "story of rescue." 

Unfortunately, a bunch of people had already left when we thought to snap this picture.

Jordan.

Abby set up this lovely table so that people could write notes to us and Baby Fenrick.

Jordan and Abby, our amazing hostesses.  

"The Three Families."  Love these folks so much.

Laura.  You can't see her hand on my non-pregnant belly.

If you'd like to give to the Stache-a-Thon for Adoption, you can go here.

Courage.

I didn't want to be at this seminar this weekend.

We were late, so I immediately felt every set of eyes on us as we walked in the room.  It took me all of two seconds to notice that we were the youngest ones there (by quite a lot, compared to some couples), and to make this education session into a competition between us and other prospective adoptive families.  As the adoption specialist began speaking, I made up my mind to already have the answers and to not need anyone's help.  I also determined that our adoption would be as closed as possible.  We would send letters and pictures to the birth mom just often enough to meet the agency's semi-open standards, and then we would politely walk out of her life.

I'm embarrassed to admit some of this, but these are real thoughts that I've had.  Of course, I never would have said any of it out loud.   I worried that the birth mom would want her child back.  (Do all adoptive parents worry about that?)  I secretly judged birth moms by thinking that they were just dumb girls who couldn't live with the consequences of their bad decisions.  (Yikes, I'm so sorry!)  I wanted to move away so that our baby's birth mom would never be able to have any contact with her son or daughter.  (I'm going to be one great mom, right?  *Sarcasm.*)

I'm still scared about navigating the relationship between us, our child, and his or her birth mom.  I feel so inadequate to be a parent, much less to inform our child about the unique family dynamics that occur because of adoption.  Somehow, though, I know that it will all fall into place.  One day and one question at a time.

A panel of birth moms spoke to us last night, and for the first time, I saw them as incredibly brave and selfless.  I can't imagine the strength that it takes to carry a baby for nine months, go through an intense labor and delivery, and then look your baby in the eye and say goodbye.  Although so much bravery is required for us as we step into the unknown and take all kinds of risks with adoption, I think that birth moms have more courage than I'll ever know.

After this weekend, I truly feel that the least we can do for a birth mom in exchange for the most generous sacrifice one can give is to allow her the opportunity to know her child.  That may look like pictures and letters for awhile, or our relationship could evolve so that we are all comfortable with in-person visits.  I'm not sure about any of that.  What I do know is that I no longer feel right about slamming the door in the face of a woman who chose to give a child a chance at life.

In typical Mary Rachel style, I at first freaked out about the unknown and about "sharing" our baby with his or her birth mom. "A child can never have too much love," my mom said.  Today, I'm thankful for that change of perspective.