Adoption, Oh how bittersweet it is – Guest Post

I know that bittersweet is such a trite and cliche way to describe adoption.

Bitter: baby and bio family separate.

Sweet: baby joins new family.

It is that. But not really that.

That definition is like a Costco hotdog with ketchup … when I’m thinking more of a 4-course, gourmet feast with layers upon layers of delicate and complex flavors.

So yes … There is the bitter you would expect:

The day she moved in with us from her foster home that she knew from birth. The night her foster sisters cried and grieved the hole Leyla left in their family.

The decision of that foster family not to adopt in order to continue to foster other babies and give them the best possible start. The day we sat outside of court, Bio mom in tears, claiming that we are taking her baby away and saying she knew all along she would never get her baby back. Bio dad there, but not really. Lawyers, social workers, a guardian ad litem, family and friends all witnessing the shredding of a family that was.

That sort of was.

The tears we shed as we pored over our open adoption agreement again and again for hours, defining the terms of agreement. The call to celebrate relinquishment, but the inability to do so. A family was forced to say goodbye. What joy is there in that?

Facing the hard truth that addiction won. At least for the parents.

But for Leyla, our adopted daughter, addiction did not win.

As soon as she entered the world, this little girl was looked after, loved on, prayed for, cuddled, rocked, lullabyed and snuggled by her foster family. And when we were presented with the opportunity to adopt her … We knew we would do the same.

But along with our adoption came the bitter I wasn’t expecting.

The times that I looked at my angry, defiant, raging toddler and wondered … “Did we make a mistake?” The visits that bio-mom missed. (All of them, in fact.) The email updates I send to her that are not responded to. The times where I search my little girls’ features to find something that looks like me, or reminds me of daddy … Only to come up short. It is not the lack of the familiar that is bitter. It is the fact that somehow, I keep catching myself looking for it. It is the feeling of “I am struggling to like this child,” and then doubting myself as a parent — let alone a parent by choice — for feelings anything less than absolute love and adoration.

It is the realization that this child, this beautiful child we adore, has far outmatched our parenting skills. It is both relief as behavior specialists come to the rescue — and shame when they revealed our daughter needs some work in her attachment. And apparently, we do too.

It is the realization that 7 months after finalization, saying her first name with our last name still doesn’t come naturally.

There is bitter.

And if it were just for the bitter … I never would have embarked on this journey.

But the has been tempered with the sweet. Some anticipated, some intentionally created, and some just a plain surprise:

It is the first time she laid her head on my shoulder and fell asleep, a soft sweaty little mess. It is the beam in my older child’s eyes as she regales, “Leyla is my forever sister.” It is the moment my oh-so-often angry toddler breaks through the grumpiness to  give me a gift of a smile, hug, laugh, an “I love you mommy” or the occasional “I’m proud of you.” It’s watching her overcome sensory issues, reaching milestones, graduating from occupational therapy and catching up to all her peers.

It is the packages bio grandma sends with gifts for not just Leyla but both my girls, for Christmases and birthdays. The photo album she sent of Leyla’s half sisters, cousins, aunts and uncles. It is the openness we sought with mom but have watched come to fruition with grandma.

It is the knowledge that God has used this precious girl to help heal my pain of recurrent pregnancy loss. It is the sound of siblings playing on the room down the hall, unaware that their noisy raucous has at times given me healing tears. It’s a sound I couldn’t create on my own but this beautiful thing called adoption stepped in and gave Maddy a sister and us another daughter.

It is the way she closes her eyes while she’s swinging, a content smile resting on her soft face. The world is all but forgotten. There is only this moment. And it is enough.

The small body that wants to snuggle me at night, crawl into my lap during story time, and reaches for my hand. The moments that the finality of adoption has settled in our heart with an assurance that “This is right. And this is good”. The dark almond eyes that sparkle with mischief. The relationship we have formed with her former foster family. The “cousins”, “aunt” and “uncle” Leyla will have in them forever.

It is in the knowledge that Ryan, Maddy, Leyla and I are forever to be a family. To learn about each other, accept each other, grow, change and love … Always together. Always a family.

And there’s one more thing bittersweet reminds me of.

Family.

A beautiful, messy place where you can let all your faults and brokenness show … and are still loved and accepted through it all. It is a place of belonging.

Adoption has given that to us — Family. Belonging. And a precious girl named Leyla.