There has been a recent baby boom in the Kroeker fam circle of friends and family. Four babies have been born to people we know in the past two weeks alone. And as I held a newborn and breathed in that sweet newborn smell wafting from its soft fuzzy little head, I thought my heart might break in two.
Goodness, I can’t even type these words without a lump in my throat.
I’ve read up on how our child will experience grief and loss, how they will in their own way mourn for things out of their control, but I had no idea that I would feel the same way. Now.
And as I loved on a friend’s precious tiny new one, it hit me. I would never get to hold our child as a newborn. Never smell their little head. I’d miss those little baby hiccups, their first bath, first smile. I’ll never swaddle them tight, a maneuver I’ve perfected, never see them with their legs still scrunched up from being in the womb so long. I have warm fuzzy memories of those first hours after birthing my other babies, of sweet cuddles and special moments just between them and me. And I won’t have those moments or memories with our new little one.
And my heart breaks, not for just all that I’m missing, but for the fears and wonder surrounding our child’s birth and birth mother. Was my child held and snuggled in those first few hours? Did anyone soak in those early moments, rub their soft hair or gaze in wonder as they opened their big brown eyes for the first time?
And now here is the part of the blog post where I’m supposed to change directions. The rules of successful writing requires me to bring you, the reader, around. This is the part of the story where we head up. I’ve taken you down the U shape, to the problem at the bottom, and now we should come back up to the top, the resolution, the happy ending.
But there isn’t one.
Adoption is brokenness. It’s born out of loss. It’s not anybody’s plan A.
Adoption is a Band-Aid on a gaping wound.
God’s perfect plan for our little one would be a whole and complete loving birth family. We are plan B. And I’m so happy to be a part of God’s marvelous plan B for our little one. But the ramifications of this reality still hurt. Deeply. Adoption is a result of grief and loss and so much pain. Pain I didn’t know I would feel. I was not expecting this.
And so I grieve, and try desperately to trust, and pray that someone is loving on my little one, until I can one day hold them, and whisper sweet words and prayers over them. Until I can tell them that they are wanted, loved, and chosen.
While much of our journey is exciting, there’s a part that is heart-wrenchingly hard. Thank you for walking with us.