Due Date Thoughts

As December 20th approaches, I'm reflecting on the significance of a delivery due date and how it rises to supreme importance and falls to be forgotten. I don't know any babies who were born on their due date, or at least the remarkable chance of that happening faded the second the baby arrived and the date to remember became their actual birth date. I can say that, for me, everything that these dates represent before there is someone to hold doesn't just vanish when the date passes. I will still be mindful when September 11th hits each year. I still remember that September 15th was the due date for delivery of our first match (and September 7th was when she arrived, and September 30th was the second fake due date so more money would be doled out) and that tomorrow was the stated due date for delivery of our second match.

All of these numbers swimming around in my mind bring to the forefront what these dates represented. Before the miscarriage, the scam "artist" and the most recent change of heart about parenting a baby, there were dreams associated with those dates. Extended family all over the country, and all over the world in our case, were ecstatic to welcome a new baby into our lives. Adorable outfits and exuberant plans aside, love filled the air for those little babies.

On a walk the other night, I shared with Josh that I wondered how they were doing. In each case, I feel that they are in loving homes (remember, as far as we know, Satan's baby was adopted, so she's not in that swamp of yuck). This isn't a case of feeling like they should be with us, it's just that they aren't.

There is a lot written about the feelings around the loss of a child, or even a child hoped for, and that is not what I'm feeling. One aspect of this journey that I haven't seen in books or training is the acknowledgement that these babies had entire extended adoptive families wishing them the best before they arrived and then those dreams cease with one brief phone call. On some higher level, I found myself thinking about these kids when they are 10 or 15 and considering how odd it is that they will likely not (nor am I advocating that they should) know that hundreds of other people were really, acutely focused on their health in the womb so many years ago.

In the interest of sharing the journey of adoption with all of you, I wanted to note that there is this strange element to the realization that we're asked to be open to the hope of, prepare for and begin to attach to a baby while they're still in the womb and that these babies will never know us. It might be assumed that we just bag up the clothes, supplies and hopes for a newborn and wait for the next match. However, I can't imagine anyone with children accepting that all of their kids are interchangeable, nor that their dreams for each of them are either. It feels important to own the strangeness that comes from having loved a baby on the way and then be expected to just put that aside when it doesn't work out and continue waiting. It works with cars, trips or other things. It's weird with kids.

I do not feel a sense of entitlement to know how things turned out for them. I don't know these babies any more than they will know me and I certainly don't expect to have a relationship with them. They were not, after all, meant to join our family and I genuinely accept that.

But, we planned for them and people in our lives began to love them before any of us even knew them. I imagine being one of them at my age now and I think I'd be intrigued to know that there were strangers out there waiting for me to be born and join their family. Strangers who loved me unconditionally before knowing that I would never know them at all. It's just a peaceful feeling to think about people we don't even know wishing us the very best in life. And that's what I feel we've all given to those two little ones.