She’s here!

She’s finally here!

The baby we’ve been waiting for all these months has arrived.  She’s beautiful and precious and perfect.  Lucy Grace has come to our family at last.

My last post, about a new kind of waiting, detailed the week before we met our Lucy Girl.  That was quite a week – busy, so many emotions, and not much sleep.  We went to Dallas on Friday and on Friday evening met our birth mom in person.  As soon as we walked in the door of the restaurant I spotted her.  I don’t think I stopped staring all night.  She is captivatingly beautiful, with such a sweet spirit.  She’s a delight.  Dinner went beautifully – so comfortable and natural.  We are beyond blessed to be matched with an amazing woman who truly loves our baby.

That night I really couldn’t sleep. Everything felt so official.  Next step : Meet our baby girl!  All night long I lay tossing and turning, sleeping for brief intervals, and thinking, imagining, dreaming of our girl.  What would she look like?  What would tomorrow be like?  What would her name be?  So many emotions, thoughts, and questions, and mostly, so much excitement.  Like Christmas Eve when you’re 7.  Times 900.

At some point in all the tossing and turning, what we needed to name our daughter became clear to me.  We had two name choices going into the weekend, and wanted to wait and see her face before we decided.  The choices were Ava Mae and Lucy Grace.  I had been leaning strongly toward Lucy, and during the night it was decided in my heart that Lucy would be her name (of course, I hoped Chris would agree with me!).  As I lay there thinking, the meaning of the names swirled round and round in my head.  Lucy means light.  A light in dark places.  Someone who shines brightly and boldly.  And then there’s Grace.  Grace which we did not deserve, in being blessed with a child when a child was impossible.  It was perfect.  In the morning I told Chris and he smiled – I knew he agreed – but he still said we had to wait to look at her to decide.

The drive to Gladney took 7 years.  Seriously, every time I am in DFW I am reminded of how much I love Amarillo “traffic”.  The drive really did take about an hour, and it felt like an eternity.  When we got there, we met with our transitional care mom, who had taken amazing care of our sweet girl and gave us all of her information and medical records, hand and foot prints, pictures of her first week, and a beautiful blanket she made.  Then we signed papers to make everything official (Eek!).  Finally it was time to meet our daughter.  Placement was a very emotional time for all of us – Chris and I, as well as our birth mom and her family.  In order to preserve our birth mom’s privacy and Lucy’s story as her own to tell, I am going to gloss over the details of this part.

We met our beautiful daughter and I cried and cried, saying, “She’s perfect”, over and over again.  Thinking back now, those are the exact words I spoke when I saw Claire for the first time.  I know for every adoptive mom it’s different – feeling close and bonded right away, or it being a process.  There is no right or wrong in this, just different ways of loving.  For me though, it was instant.  When I saw her, she was mine.  No questions, no doubts.  She was my girl.  Chris was smitten too, and of course Claire was so excited.

During Placement we decided on our little girl’s name.  Lucy Grace – a light into the darkness and a picture of God’s grace to us.  Also, in my research of the name Lucy, I learned that the first African American woman to win a major sports title was named Lucy Slowe.  Since we are a sports family and our birth mom is an athlete, this made the name seem even more perfect.

Being at Gladney and leaving with OUR DAUGHTER seemed surreal.  It was almost exactly a year ago that we first went to Gladney for our orientation.  Walking through the building last October our hearts were lit with excitement thinking of the baby that would someday be ours.  And now she really was.

We took Lucy back to Chris’ sister’s apartment and loved her up.  The whole drive home I just stared at her sweet face.  Some friends of ours who live in DFW came by to meet our girl and it was so nice sharing our excitement with Chris’ sister, Chelsea, and our friends.

We drove back to Amarillo that night, and can I just say that doing things with two children does not take twice as long.  It takes six times as long.  We stopped to pick up food at Burger King on the road and it took 45 minutes.  45 minutes, people.  We finally made it home and came in the house to a beautiful welcome from our dear friends.  I’m pretty sure we have the best friends on the planet.

The next day was spent admiring Lucy and showing her off.  Claire is absolutely in awe of her little sister.  I was so worried about how she would respond and she has blown us out of the water with her caring, nurturing spirit and willingness to help.  I am so thankful for her and her tender heart.

And sweet Lucy.  She is a joy and she is already a light.  She is an answer to so many prayers.  Not just ours, but a whole army who prayed for us along this journey.  And now she is home.

Waiting – Part 2

Waiting is hard to do.

Waiting on a reply to an important e-mail.  Waiting in line to use the restroom.  Waiting for Christmas morning (even though I’m 30).

Know what’s really hard to do?  Wait for a baby.  I’d venture to say it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.

To say that we had become impatient in waiting for our baby would be accurate.  To say that we had entered the begging/bargaining stage in our prayers wouldn’t be a stretch.

Last Monday evening at bedtime, Claire was close to tears saying she missed our baby and wondering when the little one would be coming along.  Chris suggested that we pray about it, and he asked God to give us dreams about our baby and speak to us as we slept.

The next morning – Tuesday – Claire reminded us of our bedtime conversation.  “Well, do you guys want to hear my dream?”  We were a little surprised that she remembered, and of course, curious.  “I had a dream that our baby is now.”  Chris and I exchanged a glance, silently asking, What does that mean?  We asked for more information and heard matter of factly, “Oh, and our baby is a girl.”  I felt a thrill run through me and a fresh burst of excitement fill my heart.  But Tuesday passed without a word.

Wednesday and Thursday came and went.  Thursday evening I posted something on facebook saying how very anxious we were feeling to get our baby.

Then on Saturday my phone rang.  I was doing my hair (after finally changing out of my pjs and showering at 4 pm), so I let it go to voicemail.  It was Melissa.  After all these months of waiting, all these moments awaiting this phone call, all the days checking my phone 10, 20, 30 times a day, THE CALL went to voicemail.  I quickly called back and Melissa filled us in.  A birth mom had chosen us and her baby had been born on TUESDAY .  Yes, on Tuesday.  The morning of the “Our Baby is Now” dream.

This was going to – most likely – be our baby.  A baby girl, weighing 5 lbs 15 oz, and 19 inches long.  Healthy and staying in transitional care – with a volunteer family – working for our agency.  But, it wasn’t a done deal yet.  The birth mom, “D”, wanted to talk with us on the phone Sunday evening.

So many questions, thoughts, and emotions were swirling through me.  What does she look like?  When can we see her?  What if…D doesn’t like us?  Something goes wrong?  What if, what if, what if?  And also, Wahoo!!!  Our baby girl is here at last!

Sunday night finally rolled around.  To say we were a huge ball of nerves would be entirely true.  I pressed three wrong buttons before being able to properly answer the phone.  Within the first minute of our conversation, we – Chris, me, D, and her mom – all confessed how nervous we were and shared a good, jittery laugh.  From there, our conversation went beautifully.  All I can say is that D is a delight.  We share so many things in common – from playing basketball, to being homebodies, to our dogs being similar.  After fearing this phone call for so long, we were unbelievably relieved with how it went.  We talked for 45 minutes and soon afterward heard from Melissa that D loved us as much as we loved her.  On Monday D met with her caseworker and at 11:44 we go the official word – this baby girl will be ours!

We will travel to Dallas to have dinner with D and her mom on Friday evening.  Then on Saturday we will meet OUR DAUGHTER for the first time  and get to bring her home.

One of my friends said to me, “Shannon, it’s like you guys have all the emotions of finding out you’re pregnant and having your baby jammed into the same week.”  That pretty much hits the nail on the head.

Life right now is a whirlwind – buying a car seat, bottles, and diapers.  Taking care of paperwork.  Celebrating with friends – and our friends have been over the top amazing – offering meals, making plans to care for Logan while we’re gone, setting up a fundraiser for us.  Calling the doctor.  Planning family visits.  And trying to remember how to take care of a baby.

To say that we are excited would be correct.  To say that we are happy would be perfectly true.  But to say that we are thankful – that just won’t do.  “Thankful” does not do justice to what we feel in our hearts.

I just don’t think there are words strong enough.

Claire

The first night home from the hospital Claire stayed awake for eight hours.  Eight. Straight. Hours.  I didn’t know what we would do.  Up until then we had been running on adrenaline and pride, because, hey, we had just created the most beautiful creature to have ever graced the face of this planet.  And then – the night from hell.  At about 3:30 in the morning I called the nursery at the hospital to tell them that our baby was defective and could they offer some advice or maybe just keep her for the rest of the night.  They couldn’t.

And so it went.  You see, nobody tells you this before your baby is born, but there is no bedtime in the womb.  Yes, babies just party it up in there with no regards to what time it is or what they should be doing.  And then they are born and they think, Who are you, Mother, to tell me what to do?  I have been living my way in my cozy dark cavern and doing as I please.  I don’t intend to stop now.  And Chris and I thought, We are the parents.  We will win this battle.  And I printed up my schedule and carried my clipboard around and read Baby Wise 17 times, and yes, Claire learned to sleep.  At night and in her own bed.  Bless the Lord.

I remember at about 6 weeks into this adventure, looking around and saying to myself, This cannot go on any longer.  Life has to feel normal again.  And I moved the stacks of diapers from our dresser into a drawer.  And I found a cute little box for my nursing pads.  And I washed the sheets that had baby poop on them from a midnight diaper changing explosion.  And I felt like we would make it.

Life was changed forever, and life with Claire became normal.  And it was beautiful and hard and exhausting and rewarding and all I hoped it would be.

I love being a mom.  I love the milestones and the smiles and the memories.  Being a mom is the hardest job of all and the best.  The truth is, when you love someone with your whole heart, it’s a little bit scary and a little bit dangerous.  But it’s so worth it – to love that way – to hold nothing back and truly love.

It’s hard to believe it’s been four years that we’ve had our precious girl.  Sometimes I can’t believe how big she is.  You know how “old” people always say, “Don’t blink or you’ll miss it”?  Well now I am old, and I want to tell you that it is true.  It is so true.  Claire’s life is like a blur in my mind – it’s like thumbing through four years worth of photos and they all turn into a blurry picture of this little life.  Her life – her beautiful, divinely created life – made up of months, made up of weeks, made up of days, made up of moments.

Those individual moments – fragments of time.  Most of them so ordinary, so day-to-day – sleeping, brushing her teeth, running errands with her in the backseat.  And then there are those moments that seem to stop the earth’s spinning and silence the clock’s ticking.  Those moments that leave an imprint on your heart you know will be there for the rest of your life.

Those moments late at night in the rocking chair when she would gaze into my face with those big brown eyes, just watching me.

When she smiled for the first time – so perfectly – and I knew it wasn’t just gas.

The moment when she stopped eating her blueberries, looked right into my eyes, and said, “Mama”.  Her first word.

Afternoons when she would see me pull up in front of the babysitter’s house and stand at the door, smiling and waving, so happy for me to be there.

The moments snuggled up under the covers, reading together – laughing at Curious George’s silly escapades and wondering about Carl the dog’s amazing baby-sitting skills, and imagining taking a rest in The Napping House.

That special moment when she asked Jesus into her heart and to be her friend forever and ever.

When we sat in her room playing babies and I heard her speak so tenderly and sweetly to her dolls.

The moments when her face lit up with wonder and she got it –  she understood something  brand new for the first time.

When she asked me why I’m proud of her and I got to tell her.

Times spent at the park together – digging and sliding and swinging and laughing.

The moment when she prayed, “Jesus, thank you for letting those soldiers be mean to you and kill you.  And please help all the mean people in the whole wide earth to be nice.”

Watching her face beam with pride as she rode her big girl bike for the very first time.

That afternoon when she said, “I wish I could take Jesus out of my heart so I can give him a big hug.”

Times spent in the kitchen together – with her flipping pancakes, or mixing brownies, or stirring banana bread batter by my side.

When she said, “Mommy, I miss our baby.  It’s so hard to wait.”

That moment when she kissed my palm and told me to press it to my cheek when I missed her and even when I washed my hand with soap, and even when I couldn’t feel the kiss, the love would still be there.

These precious, beautiful moments, that make up this precious, beautiful life.  I am so thankful to share in these moments, and thrilled to imagine the moments that are to come.  Other sweet moments like these, and so many more – different and new.  I’ll blink again and she’ll be 8, and again, and my daughter is a teenager, and then, a woman.  And I’ll sit back and remember when she was just 4 and wonder where the time went.  But in my heart I’ll always hold onto the moments.