Adoption Orientation

It took forever to get here, but tonight was finally the adoption orientation at the center we'd like to use.

Emma, just a couple days old

I want to say that it was awesome and eye-opening and all that good stuff, but honestly, I knew pretty much everything the director spent three hours explaining.

The seminar was more on the definition and advantages of "open adoption" and while I knew that subject would be the main focus of the evening, I'd hoped there would be a decent amount of conversation regarding the next steps in the adoption process.

Basically, the next step is short and sweet and warranted less than 60 seconds of class time. We fill out a very brief questionnaire regarding the baby we'd like to adopt (age, race, etc.), our own ages, contact info and how long we've been married and why we want to adopt.

Okay, then. Easy enough.

Once the director reads through our info, she'll let us know if she can work with us or not. You see, she only works with about 20 couples at a time so that 1) the couple doesn't feel like a number in the great adoption journey and 2) so that it generally won't take longer than 12 months to adopt. And in choosing who to work with, she needs to create a varied portfolio of possible parents for the infants in question.

To be more specific, she doesn't want to offer up five couples that have similar characteristics, backgrounds, current children, etc. And I totally get that. It makes me nervous nonetheless. What if she has four other couples just like Scott and I? Then she will be honest and tell us that she won't be able to help us adopt in a decent amount of time.

I respect that. Makes me nervous, but I respect that.

Here's something Scott and I giggled about after the meeting. Naturally, each of the six couples had to introduce themselves and mention how long they'd been married. Here's the breakdown...

Two years: one couple
Three years: two couples
Four years: one couple
Five years: one couple
SIXTEEN YEARS: us

We felt so OLD! Sheesh!

At any rate, Scott and I got a quick bite to eat after the meeting and filled out the info sheet. I'll fax it back to the director tomorrow. If she can work with us, we'll discuss the next step with her... a two-hour meeting to make sure we're really ready to adopt.

And isn't that the question of the year? Seriously. One minute, I'm 100% on board, can't wait to get started. The next minute? I'm thinking maybe it's the wrong decision and we should forget the whole thing. Five minutes later, I've completely changed my mind again and can't live without more children in my life.

Hayley holding her brand-new sissy

I keep praying that God will send us a big neon sign (lit, please) telling us exactly what to do. I close my eyes every single night with a blank chalk board in my mind, just waiting for him to write the correct answer. Maybe I should imagine a stone tablet instead. Or line up imaginary bushes in the shapes of "yes" and "no" for God to set afire.

You know, 95% of the time, I am the most patient person on Planet Earth. The other 5%? I'm pacing back and forth, waiting waiting waiting not-so-patiently, for God to tell me exactly what to do.

Here's what my mind keeps going back to... Scott and I met the summer after my freshman year of college. I was 18. We started dating and within three weeks (yes, three weeks), we both knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that we would get married and spend our lives together. We knew. It was as clear as if God said, "Kate, you're a girl." Yes, God. I am a girl. That's an uncontestable fact. "Kate and Scott, you will get married." Yes, God. That, too, is uncontestable.

When I was very first pregnant with Emma, I knew she was a girl. And I knew my labor would be three hours. I knew it within the deepest part of my being.

 So I'm waiting to get that same kind of impermeable and crystal clear message from God that adoption is the right choice for our family.

Any time now, God. Any time...