Dear Almost Mom,

I’ve gotten to talk to a few almost moms over the years.  They’re the ones waiting for their first baby to make his or her entrance into the world.  They’re the ones who walk on eggshells as they await a birthmom following through with a difficult decision.  They’re the ones who will soon make their way to the hospital.  My mind has been reliving this time and rethinking it like I’m watching a movie of my own experiences.  Those first-time, soon-to-be, adoptive mamas are on my radar.  I know you’re out there and that we’re few and far between.  You’re soon going to meet your first baby. 
 

And she or he is coming into the world while you watch.  

While someone else goes through labor pains, you will pace a room in anticipation.  You will let your hope rise just high enough to protect your soul in the event that there’s a change in plans.  You start to think of the future, but also try to silence that question that rises up over and over, “What if she changes her mind?”.  You have an empty room at home outfitted for a newborn.  Diapers are in the drawers.  Clothes are hanging in the closets.  Formula is in the cupboard.  And you still don’t even know if you’ll come home with this baby.  

This mama…you, first-timers, are on my mind.

I wish someone had prepared me for that time when I stepped foot out the door, buckled into the car, and drove the seemingly endless drive to the hospital.  I wish I had heard the wisdom of someone who had gone through that experience.  Instead I felt confident in the run-down of procedure from a social worker.  I was prepared for the schedule of events.  I wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of the uncomfortable emotional reality that for the first few days, I was going to be somewhat of a bystander in the arrival of my child.  

That is a hard spot.  

This is the letter I wish someone had written me. 

Dear Almost Mom,

Can you believe you are here?  THIS DAY.  The one you thought might never happen.  The one where all the past, the pain, the struggle would blur with anticipation at an ACUTAL, REAL, IN-THE-FLESH child on the way?  The one where a phone call telling you that you had been chosen turned into you stepping into the car and heading to the hospital?  It is here!  Your baby is on the way!  She is coming today!  It is happening and I am so excited, joy-filled, overflowingly happy for you.   I know what you’ve gone through to get here.  I know how the nerves are on overdrive, the heart is bursting, the hands are shaking, the adrenaline is pumping and the thoughts are racing. 

Did you make your phone calls?  “Mom, we’re on our way to the hospital.  She’s in labor.  I don’t know the details.  I’ll call you when I know more.”

Did you walk to the kitchen four times trying to remember that you were looking for your keys?

Did you grab the gear?  The camera?  The gifts?  Your shoes?

Did you get in the car, look at your husband and lock eyes?  The look that says more than words can articulate.  You’ve been on this journey with him and it has taken you to places you didn’t know you could weather.  And now you’re here…together.

Did you drive out of the driveway wondering how your neighbor could be mowing at a time like this?   

Did you pass familiar sites thinking they all looked differently?  Did time move too slowly and too quickly all at the same time?

Did you try and act calm as you were on your way?  Did you take deep, deep breaths and let them out trying to settle yourself?  Did you look in the mirror and wonder if you should put on lipstick for this sort of thing?

What I want you to know is that when you get there, when you get to the hospital, it’s going to be hard.  It’s going to be an uncomfortable and awkward kind of special.  This is a part of your labor experience even though someone else is going through the physical pain.  And more importantly…this is going to be a shared experience.  Sometimes you will get a taste of motherhood and other times you will watch someone else look down at her baby with affectionate eyes.  For a day or two or three, you will both be moms….in the same space, in the same room, to the same child.

Can I tell you about my time in those moments?  

I didn’t know where to sit.  In the chair? Across the room?  Next to her on the bed?  I held the camera but didn’t know what to do with it.  Should I even take pictures?  A few?  A lot? Or her?  Or me?  Or just the baby?  Or maybe all of us?  Or maybe none of us?  Do I pick up my daughter or wait for her to be handed to me? Should I kiss her face?  Express my love when she doesn’t yet feel like mine?  Do I look away when tears rise up?  Do I act joyful knowing I will be a mom or do I act somber knowing that soon she won’t be?  Do we stay when others come to visit?  How do we introduce ourselves?  What do we talk about?  Should we stay a long time or keep our visit short?  What do I do and where do I go when her friends pass my/her baby around the room?  Do I refer to her as my baby?  Her baby?  Our baby?

During this time…

I had a young brother loudly and repeatedly ask me where exactly we lived.

I went out for Thai food with a father I had just met while his daughter waited for some forward labor progress.

I had a teenager tell me how to clean out a baby’s nose when he was congested.

I had a nurse ask if I was the sister.

I was asked if I wanted to hold her legs while she pushed.

I watched my husband cut her chord.

And then I went home at night still without a baby.  And I did not sleep.

It is a time of feeling out of control.  It is a time of meeting your child but on someone else’s terms.  It is a time of sitting back and sitting by.  And that’s OK.  Because in a few days, she will put this baby in your arms and then life will happen on your terms.  Let her have this time even though it will fight against everything you feel.  She has these few days.  You have forever.  What a gift for her to have these moments with her baby.  How hard it is to watch it all in front of your eyes.  How hard it is to share.  How hard it is to not be mom yet.   

The time is coming when you will get back in the car, make the drive again, and walk into the hospital carrying an empty car seat.  The emotions of the days before will now be amplified ten-fold.

You will walk into a room and the mood will have changed.  It will be uncomfortably quiet or there will be meaningless conversation to fill the room with noise.  There will be a sense of what’s to come.  What you thought would be the best day of your life will equally be the worst day of your life.  These are moments of acute reality.  These are moments of finality.  These are moments when a decision made months ago become a decision coming to fruition.  This is the painful, painful part of adoption.  And you will maybe even start to blame yourself for having a part in the grief.

What I did not see coming was how awful I felt when I saw the red, splotchy face.  I did not anticipate the guilt that would come as she kissed a tiny face and whispered a few words and then walked away.  Instead of smiling, we all stood there weeping in the public lobby of the hospital.  I did not feel joy-filled anymore.  I second guessed this decision for her.  I wondered if this was a mistake.  My heart was heavy and grieving.  My emotions were tricking me.   I partly wanted to buckle this kid up and run for the car, partly wanted to stay right in this moment, and partly wanted to adopt an entire second family on the spot.

Almost mom, you can do this.  It is one more time when most won’t understand what you’re going to go through.  I do.  Love this baby and her first mom, but give her this time.  It is a gift to her and to your child.  Let it go.  Take the pictures.  Take them of the two of them even when your heart kind of hurts doing it.  Someday, your little one will grow into a bigger one and these pictures will show her she was loved, cherished and wanted when she feels abandoned and rejected.  Love on the both of them.  Say how hard it is.  Hug often.  Let her see your tears.  Let her see your smiles of delight.  They’re both important and honest and part of this whole, crazy, complicated situation.  Write it all down.  It’s your child’s birth story and you don’t want to forget it.  Bring her flowers.  Pray in the midst of it all.

There will be this one moment…the one where everything switches.  You will now hold your baby and you will no longer be almost mom but instead just mom and she will watch.  You will weep for her and for your baby and for this whole life-changing moment.  And then you will get in the car again, this time heading home for good.  Those hard feelings…they’re going to stick with you.  They’ll be right on the surface for some time .  Ten years later they may bring tears to your eyes when you think back on the whole situation.

It will get better.  

How thankful I am for those special, difficult days.  It softened my heart to a young woman who it may have been easier to keep at an emotional arms length.  We are now bonded over a deep love for our daughter.  We both stepped into an impossible situation and came out the other end.  

It was so worth it.

But above all else, can you remember one important thing? 

Someone else was in that room.  He held us each in our different emotions.  He wept and loved and encouraged and took hold of our hands.  He saw us in our desperate times.  When she got in the car without a baby, he went with her.  When we got in the car and began our shaky days of parenting, he came with us, too.  How. Great. Is. This. God.   He was there!  He was there!  

So, dear almost mom, I am hugging on you right here in my kitchen wherever you may be, whatever you are about to go through…You are on my mind as you learn to love your little one and her first mom.  May this time be filled with the full spectrum on emotions, but more importantly may you remember that you walk this path with Him.  

He will be there for you, too.

K