Adoption

Before we married, my husband (DH) asked how many children did I want. I told him maybe two; four at the most. He asked if I was open to adopting; it was something his family did and he wanted us to continue the tradition. His older brother was adopted, as were several cousins and an uncle. I told him, sure. Maybe we would have two children and adopt two. I really wanted to have at least one biological child. But, it was not meant to be. DH seemed to handle our infertility struggle better than I did. When I got to the place where becoming a parent was more important than giving birth, I was ready to adopt. First, I needed time to grieve.

We knew people in our church who adopted and they were willing to share their experiences with us. Two local agencies came highly recommended; we submitted an application to one. Someone called us two weeks later to schedule an interview. The executive director conducted our interview, which was unusual and she admitted that normally a social worker would do it. She asked us questions like how we met, our beliefs and why we wanted to be parents. It was a good meeting; we walked out of the agency brimming with optimism. Immediately, I began setting up a bedroom in our home as a nursery. I reminisced about the day we were shown our house; the previous owners said they would leave the crib behind, saying we will need it someday. I happily put the crib together knowing there would be a baby in it, soon.

The people at the agency wanted us to attend a lot a meetings and workshops before we even began the adoption process. DH was adamantly opposed to open adoptions; his older brother's adoption was open, which created a lot of complications. I realize it doesn't have to be this way, but DH did not want to go through any of what his parents went through. Before we went any further he wanted assurance that we could get a child through a closed adoption (no contact with birth family). However, the agency would not guarantee a closed adoption and told us closed adoptions were becoming a thing of the past. That was a deal breaker for DH. I was upset at him for being stubborn, initially. I felt that he was being too rigid; I neglected to realize that his feelings were valid.

DH contacted the other recommended agency. Their application was much shorter and we had a pleasant meeting with the social worker who was going to work with us from beginning to end. She assured us that her job was to make sure we became parents. Next, she gave us a list of items she needed: written biographical essays from each of us, physicals, letters of recommendation and background checks. She also provided a readiness list for our upcoming home study, which would be scheduled as soon as she got all of our documentation. I made sure the house was immaculate and DH bought extra fire extinguishers and carbon monoxide detectors; we had everything else. Two months later, we received the letter of approval: we were officially "paper pregnant." All that was left was the toughest part: the waiting.

A friend suggested I do something to take my mind off the wait, so I joined a marathon training club in January 2007; the end goal was for us to complete the Chicago Marathon in October, which was nine months away. I was a runner who ran an occasional 5K race; completing a marathon was one item on my bucket list. I enjoyed the camaraderie of the group trainings and kept a blog which our trainers encouraged us to do. Long distance running can be a lonely, punishing sport; my biggest hurdle was self-doubt. Sometimes, I felt like a turtle just steadily plodding through. We trained in the pouring rain, near triple digit temperatures, freezing temperatures, flat surfaces and hills and trails. I became stronger, faster, energetic and more confident.

Out of the blue, our social worker called. When we got to her office, she said, "There's a little girl I want to talk to you about." We had one day to decide and a seemingly shorter time to gather diapers, baby wipes and formula; thankfully, we already had bottles, onesies, socks and blankets. We brought our daughter home the day we planned to leave for Chicago. The coincidence of training nine months for the marathon was not lost on me.