"Brilliant Debut"

(April, 2001) -- The most popular song that spring is U2’s Beautiful Day. And the front page, top-of-the-fold headline in the Rocky Mountain News is “Brilliant Debut.” It may be referring to the Colorado Rockies’ season opener, but for us it will always be about our first child’s birth.

Crystal allows us to be in the delivery room with her. I get to “help” by holding a leg, and Roger does double-duty by videotaping and one other important thing.

I had never been present at a birth before, and I am so grateful to Crystal for allowing us witness this miracle. As the baby crowns, the first thing I see is a ridge on top of a head – which brings to mind a Klingon. Come to think of it, we don’t know much about the biological father. Could we love a baby with a ridge on its head?

It turns out that the ridge is just the umbilical cord, and within seconds we see that the baby is very teeny and well-formed and gooey and ohmygoodness – IT’S A GIRL!

At 2:45 am, Roger completes his second duty by cutting the cord. The nurses whisk the baby away to another table to assess her health. I am already proud because she earns 9 out of 10 on her first test, the Apgar. She cries, but not too much.

Roger and I are mesmerized by this baby girl (we can’t bring ourselves to call her our daughter yet), but we are also pulled to attend to Crystal. The doctors are cleaning her up from a fairly easy delivery. She insists we hold the baby first. After all, she says, we are the parents.

We invite my family back in to meet the baby, and we all coo over her. Crystal has considered the name Savannah, but she insists we choose the name. We christen her “Tessa.” Crystal is happy because a ‘T’ name goes with her son’s name, Tyler.

Crystal holds the baby, and she and her mom marvel at the small wonder, too. This is a very strange time for me, because I really don’t feel like a mom. I defer in many ways to Crystal, who seems light-years ahead of me in the Mom Department.

I begin to fear this entire arrangement is a huge mistake – how can I ever be a mom to this baby girl? How can I feel happiness when I know what is coming for Crystal?

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(This entry, along with other posts about my daughter's coming home story, were edited and published in the May/June 2007 issue of Adoptive Families magazine.)

Would you like some cookie dough with your epidural?

(April, 2001) -- I pray that raw eggs won’t harm the baby, because Crystal and I have just put a large dent in a batch of chocolate chip cookie dough, which I made in her mother's kitchen while she endured sporadic contractions. The eating of said dough either causes or coincides with stronger and more frequent contractions. It it is now rush hour, and finally time to head for the hospital.

We’d been warned that hospitals are often inhospitable to adoption situations, but we find nothing of the sort. Nurses and doctors are curious about our arrangement with Crystal, and seem unfazed by the presence of Roger and me. They even give me a hospital bracelet to match Crystal’s.

The hours drag on. Roger and I had been up all night the previous night thinking of both boy and girl names. It is becoming clear that we are in for another long night.

Near midnight, a walk through the halls accelerates Crystal’s contractions. She begs for painkillers. She’s given some kind of drip, but it barely takes the edge off the pain. She can’t have an epidural until the baby is awake, which is indicated by a certain heart rate.

In her drug-induced semi-euphoria, Crystal tries everything but summersaults to get this baby to wake up. Any time the heart monitor beeps a little faster, she wildly flails around to get a nurse’s attention: “See, the kid’s awake! Gimme the epidural, ple-e-e-e-e-ase!”

Even with the painkillers in her system and contractions wracking her body, Crystal has the presence of mind to tell me, “If you want your family to be here for the birth, you’d better call them now.”

I’m dialing as she finally gets her much-desired epidural at 1:30 am.

Within 25 minutes, my parents and sister arrive at the hospital.

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(This entry. along with other posts about my daughter's coming home story, were edited and published in the May/June 2007 issue of Adoptive Families magazine.)

The mother of all wake-up calls

(April, 2001) -- Just a few days after we meet Crystal, I step out of the shower to a ringing phone.

“I think this baby is coming today,” Crystal says. She’s been having contractions for several hours, even though the due date isn’t for two more weeks.

Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, ohmygosh is all I can think. I tell Crystal I have to go in to work just to wrap up a few things. Roger has already left for work so I call him. We decide to meet at Crystal’s mom’s house later in the morning.

I arrive before Roger. It’s still a bit awkward because Crystal and I hardly know each other. She’s been through labor and birth before, but everything I know I learned from Tabitha's birth on reruns of Bewitched. Should I boil towels or something?

I make myself useful by timing her contractions. We are advised to not head to the hospital until they are five minutes apart, lasting one minute each. We have a ways to go.

By late morning we watch soaps together on TV. We go for walks around the block to move contractions along. We share stories of old boyfriends and heartache, and I tell her what a wonderful man Roger is, that he was SO worth waiting for. We stumble on to the fact that we both love chocolate chip cookie dough (what are the odds? OK, quite high, but it seemed like kismet at the time).

Not knowing what else to do with myself, I find my way around her mom’s kitchen and whip up some chocolate chip cookies. But, for various reasons, I don't get the chance to put the dough in the oven.

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(This entry. along with other posts about my daughter's coming home story, were edited and published in the May/June 2007 issue of Adoptive Families magazine.)

We're Number Two! We're Number Two!

(March, 2001) -- We were not Crystal's first choice.

Crystal invites us to a doctor’s appointment and to meet her son -- obviously the love of her life. Tyler, 4 years old, is wearing a dinosaur shirt and carrying a toy dinosaur in each hand.

Crystal and Tyler are very respectful and loving toward each other, and I can see that she’s provided for him all the important things in abundance. He is a happy child who quickly warms up to Roger. They are talking dinosaurs and baseball while Crystal and I tune in to the doctor.

We hear the baby’s heartbeat on the ultrasound. This is still unbe-freaking-lievable to me. Just a week ago it seemed like this moment would never come.

After the appointment we take Crystal and Tyler to a Mexican restaurant. I ask Crystal if we were her first choice in parents. She reveals that she actually picked another couple first, Christy and Bob. We know them because they were in our adoption class.

She picked Christy and Bob because they are a bit younger than Roger and me. She took home their profile to show her mom, but she left it on the top of her car and lost it. She felt horrible about it, but it turns out the Christy and Bob were unavailable for the next several weeks and had to pass on this match anyway (BTW, Christy and Bob end up with the baby meant for them just a few months later).

Crystal then asked Lutheran Family Services to see our profile. She says she just knew that it was the right one. She says she still feels this way.

No wavering (so far).

I am glad for the small things.

Agony

(March, 2001) -- I am euphoric over our meeting with Crystal, the expectant mother who has tentatively chosen us to parent her baby. It’s the sensation of new love, and the expression “walking on air” is apt. We’re going to have a baby!! Maybe. Every wave of happiness and hope must be tempered with caution.

Crystal said she'll call us tomorrow.

So beginning that day, I check for messages every hour. Two days pass. Three, stretching into four…

OMG. She's changed her mind about us.

Now I can’t think at work. I replay our meeting over and over again trying to find out where it went wrong. I get anxious and cranky, then depressed. Roger tries to calm me down. “We really don’t know anything yet,” he says.

Should I call her? Is it appropriate? Pushy? Desperate?

I break down and call, leaving a message.

She calls back shortly saying, “I’m glad you called – I had written down the wrong number for you.”

We’re back on track, maybe. This could be quite a roller coaster ride.

We click (we think)

(March, 2001) -- Amy, the pregnancy counselor, was right -- Crystal is immensely likeable. She seems to want to put us at ease, and we giggle together about the absurdity of our situation.

She has flawless skin. She is about six inches shorter than I am. She is blond, and so young and beautiful. This will be an adorable baby. And this baby will likely look nothing like me. No judgments…just observations.

Crystal tells us that staying with the birthfather would not be good for her 4 year-old son, the new baby, or for her. The birthfather has stopped contesting the planned placement and is willing to sign papers. She seems to go from being supremely angry with him to hopelessly in love with him…and back. We don’t press.

She says she picked us because of the love and respect we have for each other, and because we seemed a bit goofy. And because Roger is very handsome. I don’t argue.

Although Amy is supposed to facilitate the meeting, we bypass her. Crystal, Roger and I talk as if we’ve known each other for lifetimes. Only Crystal’s mother seems the voice of caution. She asks pointed questions, “Now, you plan on having open contact, right? You’ll tell the child about us, right?”

We respond: “We’ve never done this before, and we’re not sure how to do it ‘right.’ But we do want to lead with our hearts, and we think it will be best for the baby to know where he (or she) comes from and how much Crystal loves him (or her). We know that our relationship is like a see-saw…first Crystal has all the power and we just have to trust. Later, we’ll have all the power and we will want to prove trustworthy to you.”

The counselor brings up the birth. Crystal surprises us with this: “I want you guys to be there with me. You are the parents, and you’ll hold the baby first.”

All our prayers – even the ones we didn’t dare to pray – have been answered. We think. We give Crystal our cell phone number (we’ve been advised not to share last names yet) and the counselor dismisses us, continuing her session with Crystal.

The ball is in Crystal’s court. She’s given us no reason to think she may back out. She says she’ll call in a day or two to get together again – after all, the baby is due in three weeks!

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(This entry. along with upcoming posts about my daughter's coming home story, were edited and published in the May/June 2007 issue of Adoptive Families magazine.)

The Meeting

(March, 2001) -- I'm about to meet the woman who might -- just might -- make me a mom.

The what-ifs drive me crazy. What if Crystal doesn’t like me? What if, like a bad blind date, we just don’t click? What if I say something stupid? What if we find out new -- and negative -- information about her pregnancy? I've gone into a mental tailspin.

Roger and I arrive at our meeting a few minutes early to get situated. I sit down and imagine how it will be to first lay eyes on Crystal. My nervous bladder cries for attention.

As I head toward the bathroom, I am in my head about exactly how I want our first impression to be. I walk through the small doorway from the counseling room to the hallway, and...squeezing past me is a young woman with a big belly and a big smile. Crystal. She says brightly, "hi!"

How can it be that she is putting me at ease?

Thisisn’thowIplannedit-SheIScute-Ilikeheralready-OhmygoshIaboutknockedherover-Ihavetopee-Whatdoesshethinkofme-Ohgodthisisn’thowIplannedit.

We giggle at the awkwardness, and she squinches up her face with dancing eyes, putting me at ease. I say “I’ll be right back,” and I continue on my mission. In the stall, I mumble a thank you prayer that I already like her.

I come back to the room and we do formal introductions. Crystal’s mom is with her. Her role seems to be part guardian angel, part Rottweiler.

Amy, Crystal's counselor, starts the meeting.

(This entry, and the next several posts, were edited and published in the May/June 2007 issue of Adoptive Families magazine.)