Sat at my desk contemplating our current predicament ‘the adoption process from hell’ I mentally calculated that we have dedicated approximately seven years of our lives to being assessed. Seven whole years of answering pretty much the same questions, seven tiring years of being made subject to the same checks and seven long years of having to evidence the life out of everything we do as parents. Perhaps this will go some way in helping you to understand how we came to hit ‘the angry stage’ (a natural part of the cycle of loss) because others appear able to bypass the system so easily.
Sensibly we decided to cut the kids free from this debacle weeks ago in an attempt to protect them, however by the time we did we were too heavily entwined to do the same for ourselves. My two eldest children have clearly developed a resilience from our fostering days and astonishingly took a very pragmatic and empathetic approach to the situation however my youngest was heart broken and sobbed in my arms for what felt like an eternity. You see him and the little fella (we are matched with) share a uniqueness which would have created a very special brotherly bond.
Hubby drew the short straw when it came to returning all of our brand new baby equipment. Arriving home ashen faced from Mothercare he appeared surprised that no one had questioned his out of date receipt when taking back our pram, steriliser, play gym and play mat all untouched in their original packaging. If you had seen the sadness etched into his face and the glistening in his eyes you’d understand why!! I mean would you? (Thank you Mothercare shop assistant whoever you may be 💕)
I can only compare this adoption journey to a turbulent flight I once took to the the Canaries with some of my besties. One which was ridiculously delayed resorting in the pilot having to put his foot down, scaring me into asking to get off half way through (my mate revels in telling this story to whoever will listen).
We’ve recently come to the conclusion (having understandably lost our enthusiasm) that this indeed will be our final adoption journey and as a result we are clinging on to the one way ticket we were issued with at matching panel.
Thankfully we’ve been instructed by the flight attendant to buckle up as this plane is about to go down and one way or another, my ridiculously drawn out storyline fit for the cast of Hollyoaks (oh ok perhaps Emmerdale would be more fitting) is about to come to an (hopefully not too explosive) end………
✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️✈️✈️
Oh and what an end it has been! In true soap opera style my life did not fail to disappoint me in the drama stakes this week. Like any good soap there were several story lines running concurrently. First of all ‘the man who bumped my car’ scenario; which saw me effing and jeffing in the car park at work, whilst seriously contemplating re-enacting a Basil Fawlty sketch where he kicks the crap out of his car. In addition to this there is the ongoing mystery of how the book in my son’s teacher’s hand flew through the air and hit him in the face whilst he was fannying around, which no doubt will drag out for weeks.
And finally in the same week as the ‘Bo Jo’ courtroom saga the ‘Jo Jo’ courtroom battle played out too. Adoption’s very own version of Brexit – should the baby we are matched with remain with his foster carers or leave and come to us.
Funny enough, despite there being a perfectly legitimate application for him to leave (does this sound familiar) the judge ultimately decided that remaining seemed like the best course of action after all.
And just like that……………..
I’m at a crossroads and I don’t know which way to turn. I know that I can’t stand here forever but momentarily it feels like I’m rooted to the spot. It’s our fourth adoption process and we are already two failed attempts in (with one positive ADM letter to boot). Having been blessed with three beautiful children taking the same route I wonder whether the universe is trying to tell me something. The path to the left (once signposted IVF but no longer) looks dark, barren, derelict even and the road to the right that I have travelled multiple times (without glancing back) for its fruitfulness is now overgrown with spiteful thorns. You’d think that I would have discovered a shortcut by now, yet fifteen years into my travels and there isn’t a clearing, alleyway or new bypass in sight. So weary, emotionally battered and bruised here I stand until I reach my decision. Turn right and hack at the thorns, continuing on my difficult adoption journey or turn left and accept another heartfelt loss.
I might just linger here for a little longer whilst I drink my commiseration fizz (given to me by my office roomy) and wallow in my misery. Then I’ll do what I do best, pick myself up dust myself down and sing and dance my way down my chosen path lighting it up as I go.
To the special little fella who wasn’t my 🌈 baby after all. May you and your new Forever Mummy and Daddy live happily ever after 💕