Other People's Babies
Warning: You will need a strong heart and mind to read this one, because it's going to suck.
Dan and I wanted babies so badly. I wanted four and he only wanted three. We would tease back and forth about this, and why one was better than the other. I would always end it by saying,
“You just wait and see. I’m going to win this one.” We also knew that we wanted to adopt someday. Even before we were married we talked about how adopting was something we were meant to do. We weren’t entirely sure what that looked like. Maybe we would have a couple of kids, and then adopt a couple. Maybe we would only adopt one. One way or another, we knew we would do something through adoption.
When we found out I was pregnant with our daughter we were ecstatic. We could not wait for her to get here. My body, however, was less than happy about the new occupant. I did not take pregnancy well. I was extremely sick, and it culminated in labor, more than two months before my due date. We rushed to the hospital, then were sent in an ambulance to another hospital with a NICU, because the doctors were certain she was going to be born right away.
When we found out I was pregnant with our daughter we were ecstatic. We could not wait for her to get here. My body, however, was less than happy about the new occupant. I did not take pregnancy well. I was extremely sick, and it culminated in labor, more than two months before my due date. We rushed to the hospital, then were sent in an ambulance to another hospital with a NICU, because the doctors were certain she was going to be born right away.
Luckily, doctors can be wrong, and I stayed in the hospital for 15 days on scads of medication to keep our baby in. It worked, and she decided to continue hanging out. Then I was released on strict bed rest, where I stayed for two months until she was born, days before her due date and in perfect health.
After that ordeal, we decided this pregnancy stuff was not all it was cracked up to be and we would adopt the rest of our children. We were excited to do so, because after all, adoption had always been in our plan.
After that ordeal, we decided this pregnancy stuff was not all it was cracked up to be and we would adopt the rest of our children. We were excited to do so, because after all, adoption had always been in our plan.
When Baby Girl was three, we started the adoption process, When she was four we were placed on the waiting list for an infant. We waited, and we waited, and we waited. We decorated the nursery, painted it, set up a crib and changing table. A rocking chair and a dresser. We had fundraiser after fundraiser after fundraiser (adoption is expensive,) I started buying diapers and formula so we would be ready, because we could get a call any second that our baby was here. I bought a diaper bag, and cute infant clothes I just couldn’t resist. For reasons I do not know, we were passed over by birth mother after birth mother. So Dan, Baby Girl, and I waited and waited and waited. We waited for four years for our baby.
My counselor told me once that my story would make a really good bad Sandra Bullock movie. I think she may be right. Four years we waited. We prayed. We thought that any day, our baby could come any day. For four years.
The summer before Dan died we were in Idaho visiting friends. Back home a birth mother was looking over our file and we were praying and praying she would choose us. She didn't.
My counselor told me once that my story would make a really good bad Sandra Bullock movie. I think she may be right. Four years we waited. We prayed. We thought that any day, our baby could come any day. For four years.
The summer before Dan died we were in Idaho visiting friends. Back home a birth mother was looking over our file and we were praying and praying she would choose us. She didn't.
Dan went on a hike out in the dessert (he loved doing that,) and when he came back, he told me,
"I had a long talk with God, and you're not going to like what He said. He said that Baby Girl has to be enough for us." He was very serious. I totally and completely blew him off. I believe my exact words were,
"Whatever dude. We're adopting a baby."
We never did.
Twelve hours after Dan died we got a call from our adoption agency. Our baby was here, waiting for us to come to hospital and bring him home. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. How was this possible? I started screaming into the phone,
Twelve hours after Dan died we got a call from our adoption agency. Our baby was here, waiting for us to come to hospital and bring him home. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. How was this possible? I started screaming into the phone,
"He died last night, he just died!” My friend took the phone out of my hand and I cried so hard I started choking. I wailed,
"Dan, Dan, our baby is here, where are you Dan, our baby is here!”
Twelve hours. The mother was probably giving birth as Dan was dying. Twelve hours too late.
I can’t help but think about the "what if." What if they had called us the day before? We would have been at the hospital with our new baby when Dan had his seizure, and they would have been able to save him. And WHY? Why did God have us go through all the pain and longing, the waiting for a baby, only to give us one when it was too late? It was like one giant slam in the face.
I can’t help but think about the "what if." What if they had called us the day before? We would have been at the hospital with our new baby when Dan had his seizure, and they would have been able to save him. And WHY? Why did God have us go through all the pain and longing, the waiting for a baby, only to give us one when it was too late? It was like one giant slam in the face.
"Oh, here. Your husband is dead and also that baby thing? It's never going to happen.”
I think constantly about all the dreams we had that are never going to happen. About the family we always dreamed of, and were just starting. I think about that baby more than I should. I don’t know if it was a boy or a girl, but I'm sure it is happy with the family that was on the list after us. That family should be us. We should be having our picture taken for our Christmas cards: Dan, me, Baby Girl, and a chubby little baby. The caption would read something like, “Dreams Do Come True!”
I think constantly about all the dreams we had that are never going to happen. About the family we always dreamed of, and were just starting. I think about that baby more than I should. I don’t know if it was a boy or a girl, but I'm sure it is happy with the family that was on the list after us. That family should be us. We should be having our picture taken for our Christmas cards: Dan, me, Baby Girl, and a chubby little baby. The caption would read something like, “Dreams Do Come True!”
All my friends are having babies. I am happy for them, but I’m sad for me too. I’m sad for our daughter. We told her for years that she would be a big sister some day, and what a great big sister she would be. I feel like I (unintentionally) fed her the world's biggest lie.
I hold my friends' babies, and I try not to rain on their parade. I try to be happy for them. They know I’m trying, and they know how badly Dan and I wanted more kids. IT SUCKS. I’m 36 and my marriage is over, and I’ll never have any more kids. People have told me (and I want to kill them)
“You don’t know that, you could fall in love again! There's still time to have kids!”
Okay, let's suspend reality just for a second. Let's pretend that I’m not still in love with my dead husband. Let's pretend that I want to remarry. First you have to date, and somehow find another human being perfect for you, then fall in love, then be engaged, then get married, then have kids. Let's just pretend that I do all that. That will take a minimum of five years at which point I will be 41 and too old to have kids, and that's not even addressing the fact that my body hates pregnancy. Oh, and in case you didn’t notice I am not ready to talk about that whole finding someone else thing.
Instead, I hold other people's babies and try to hold back my own tears.
Instead, I hold other people's babies and try to hold back my own tears.
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