Adoption Dreams and a Reality Check

My last blog entry should have ended with a record screech. You know, the sound a record makes when a needle scratches across the surface? Well, depending upon your age you may or may not get that. What I'm trying to say is that I ended by referring to our prospective adopted daughter as an "angel" because that's the way we thought of her. She was going to be our baby. She would love us and we would love her and that love would be enough to heal whatever hurts had happened in her life thus far. She and our biological son Nicholas would be the best of friends and they would chatter together and laugh and we would walk off into the sunset.

Okay, I'm being a little silly, but despite our training and preparation that is the way I thought it would be. There was a part of me that KNEW it wouldn't be that perfect nor would it be that easy, but it's what I wanted so badly.

I remember thinking back to my own childhood, to all those times when I said quiet prayers in the dark of night that my dad would give me up for adoption to someone who wanted a little girl like me, to someone that would like me and maybe even love me. I so desperately wanted to be rescued. And I thought that's what Bethany would want too. I thought that loving her would be my chance to make up for the love I didn't get, growing up, and the love she had missed out on in the earliest years of her life, too.

I had talked to other adoptive parents who told me how hard it was, but I knew that their struggle was unique, that it would be different for us. Or maybe it would be hard, but love would win out. I've always done well under pressure. In my mind, it was going to be wonderful.

We waited several months to hear back about Bethany. In the end, the adoption committee chose a different family. I couldn't believe it. I had felt so certain that Bethany would be ours. In my journal I wrote that I knew that somehow she would come to us. My therapist said I was in denial so I quit talking about it. But, as it turns out, I was right. Bethany did come back to us. The first family that was chosen opted out of the adoption. We were told that they had met her and been overwhelmed by her, that she was loud and demanding and not what they had envisioned. However, the caseworker assured us that their rejection of Bethany had been more about their lack of preparedness than the child. That made us feel better. In our minds our angel remained an angel.

We met her just once before we picked her up and brought her home. She was, indeed, a very loud little girl, very insistent, inquisitive, and demanding - a fierce and fiery little redhead with long tangled hair and dried macaroni on her coke bottle glasses that were taped at the temple. In a flame red floral dress with pink and orange striped socks, Bethany greeted us from behind the skirt of her foster mother, shy for a moment and then bursting out to screech, "Hi Daddy" as she flung herself into my husband's arms without sparing me a glance.

We went to a pizza and arcade restaurant with Bethany and her foster family where Bethany towed her new daddy around by the hand, screaming at the top of her lungs, "Look Daddy! Look! Look! Look!" I followed quietly behind, attempting to talk with her several times, but she looked right through me. She did, however, include Nicholas in her circle by the end of the night. She was clearly enamored of her new daddy and brother and utterly disinterested in her new mother.

We left her with her foster family and headed home, me with a knot in the pit of my stomach. I was suddenly terrified by the prospect of adopting this beautiful 4 year old ball of fury who wanted nothing to do with me. I talked to the caseworker who assured me that it was a common reaction and one I shouldn't worry about. My husband also comforted me, saying that she would come around. I desperately wanted to believe that so I set my fear and trepidation aside and busied myself with preparations to bring our new daughter home.

©Just Kate, 2009

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