Mr. Hall and I filled out the 30 or so pages of foster parent paperwork. It was fun actually. We just took a deep breath and filled it out. There were all manner of personal questions, like how was my relationship with my mom. Are you willing to work the birth parents in the reunification process? How is your marriage? Are there any family members who would object to a child of a different race? It's a lot of questions that are hard to answer in two or three sentences.
We try to be as truthful as possible. Like with the last question. I say, "I use to have a racist uncle, but he's passed on now."
Anywho . . .
Went to the doctor to be medically cleared. She thankfully eschewed the lady part exam, for which I'm eternally greatful. I'm tired of people looking at my lady parts. I've had way too much doctor related activity with my junk on account of the miscarriages. I say no more! I want to be back to normal with doctors. I don't want to see them anymore 'cept once a friggin year. Or never again in my life would be good too.
I was pronounced normal. . .
Anywho . . .
In addition to the paperwork, interviews and mandatory classes; we've been emotionally preparing ourselves for this foster parent journey. As much as we can anyway.
Which brings me to Thanksgiving. I was holding my new baby nephew and getting annoyed at his Mom because she was all up in my grill. "Hold the baby like this," she says, "Hold the bottle like that! Careful for his head!" GAH!!! I've held babies before ya know!! (I used my inside voice to say this.) I started to get pissy-- but then I remembered. I was the exact same way with my daughter. Nervous, hovering and needing her in my arms at all times. :)
Then, after we got home, I felt a balloon inflate, right in my chest. It hardened to a plastic gallon of milk. It hung there, suspended by an axle and cable system from my ribs. I was just so sad, it hurt to breathe. When I breathed, I started to cry.
I am about three weeks from my now useless due date. I had decorated December 18th on my calendar with a red heart and stickers. I should be round and plump. Whining about how I can't breathe or eat because baby is taking up space.
But I'm not.
Instead, I'm learning how to live with this sadness when it wells up. A good eighty five percent of the time, it's not here. I know it will never go away though. I believe it will ebb and flow for the rest of my life. It consumes me sometimes. That's rare, the consumption. So, I'm learning to feel joy and sadness all at the same time.
I pray with Mr. Hall and try not to swim in the sadness when it comes. I purposefully tell God I am surrendering to His will about all of this.
Becoming a foster parent is a process of letting go. I am scheduling our lives around the paperwork, examinations and classes. We are not in charge of any of this. It's becoming more fun though. The more I let go, the more giggles I produce. ;)
I can say this. We are starting to work with a social worker. OH MY GAH.. I love our social worker. She lets me ask all sorts of questions and has a very pragmatic and kind way about her. Social workers are the best!
And that may be the key to this. Reaching out and leaning on people as much as I can. Which is why I'm writing this. I need to tell the stories about my life. Especially the parts that mean everything to me.
thank you for reading :)
Girls are here
1 year ago