I don't know how to condense all of life's drama onto a blog page.

But I will tackle one happening.... Baby J had a visit today with his birthmom. Remember, this is Marissa's brother, so obviously it is also her birthmom. I had kind of sort of met her five years ago. In other words we ran into each other twice. VERY awkward.

Today, we met again. With a different baby. Were properly introduced and had a "nice" visit. It is impossible to describe all the emotions at a time like this. B-mom did a fair amount of crying. She had not known that I actually adopted Marissa, or that she has a different name from what she had given her. I took a couple photos along of Marissa and gave them to her. She could not keep from crying as she looked at them.

Marissa had drawn her a picture which I gave her and I relayed the message that Marissa sent along. "Tell her that I am five now and that I love cats."

I drove home somewhat in a state of shock. I had assumed that this would be another quick and easy adoption. (Marissa was finalized at 14 months which is incredible for a foster adoption) But bmom says she is determined to get this baby back. That she was in a very bad relationship five years ago and could not do anything to try to get Marissa back.

So....how am I supposed to feel??? I thought this was my baby. I know bmom has a long long road ahead of her, a battle which not many win. But what if? To me, the worst case senario would be dragging around with endless visitations for 1-2 years and having him eventually leave. I don't want to deal with it. Much less, trying to help Marissa deal with all of this.

But that is for another post....

If on a quiet sea,
Toward Heaven we calmly sail
With grateful hearts, oh, God to thee
We'll own the favoring gale.

But should the surges roll
And rest delay to come
Blest be the tempest, kind the storm
Which drives us nearer home.

It is 5:15 PM. I am cooking dinner in the kitchen with Baby J in his usual place, wrapped on my chest in the Moby Wrap. Micah is enthusiastically mixing meatballs with his hands. Christopher is taking trash cans to the street. All seems to be well.

but wait... a little girl weeps and weeps huddled on a small rug along one wall of the kitchen. A series of sad choices has culminated in this scene. She is staying on the rug because Mom has given her two choices and she has finally chosen the wiser one. Her choices are:

1. Stay on the rug till supper is done, then she will be welcome to eat what the rest of the family is, which tonight is Cheesy Meatball Skillet over pasta, and green beans.

2. Or she can refuse to obey. Then her supper will be bread and butter, cheese, and a glass of fresh cold raw milk.

She is allowed to cry. Tears can be cleansing. She is not screaming angrily. It is the sad and pained cry of a stubborn will being brought into subjection.

OUCH!!!

Blest be tempest, kind the storm....

Micah: (after running barefoot in the grass) "The grass is cold and solemn. (pause) I like to use big words."

Micah: (in awe) "Marissa talks like an adult!" Upon hearing Marissa say, "Change the subject."

Less then two weeks ago I sent in my last van payment. Hurrah!!!!!!!!!

On Monday, I wrecked my paid for van. On the way home from a Dr appt with Baby J, a large beautiful buck raced out of the cornfield right in front of an oncoming RV. In turn, the RV flipped it over in my lane right in front of me. I could not keep from bumping wildly over it, then my van came to a stop. Dripping liquid from underneath and smoking out of its ears.

At first it was declared "done for" but now they say they can fix it. I had mixed feelings. I had thought maybe I would get to have a clean vehicle. But of course, it will be great to not immediately have van payments again. I had good coverage so repairs will all be paid for.

Not one grumble escaped my lips, because just the evening before, we had been to a local church to listen to Robert Rogers speak. In 2003, his wife and four children were all drowned when their vehicle got caught in a flash flood. Mr. Rogers is still praising God through incredible pain. I saw nothing to complain about my little incident, only much to thank God for.

Like everyone else with a blog, I live whole life times that go unrecorded here... There are certain things you don't write about on a blog. One thing I try to do is never write anything about a person that I would not want them to read. You just never know what all can happen with words that go out into cyberspace. For instance, I would not write that today, I felt a tad of irritation when another foster mom tried to sell me some old baby clothes. Her babies are always dressed very nicely. There is a reason she does not want those old outdated outfits. I don't want them either and she was asking 1-3 dollars a piece. She has been trying to sell these ancient clothes for at least the past 6 years.

I know why she does it. Those clothes represent 27 years of foster parenting. every piece has so many memories associated with it that she can not bear to throw them out. She clung to them for so long that now they are hopelessly outdated. Many are stained and have bad elastic. Yet she has them all nicely arranged on hangers and prices marked on each one. Then whenever she has a yardsale or someone gets a new foster baby she brings them out.

I actually bought a few items because I hated not to. And I suppose that is why she keeps it up.

Well, now I wrote all the stuff I was not going to. This is a rather weird post. I really REALLY need sleep, can't you tell??

Christopher was begging me for a certain item and I said that I was raised without things like that.
His answer? "Well, Mom, things are different now."

Hmm.... seems I remember having a similiar conversation with MY mom about 20 years ago.

Very soon after that he heard someone tell me they have a cell phone they plan to sell on Craiglist. He immediately looked at me. "Mom?" "May I have it?"

"No, Christopher"

Christopher: (chuckling) "It never hurts to try! I would have fallen over with surprise if you would have said yes!"

Please pray for my Lil' Guy! He has some bowel issues because of his spina bifida and as a result he has a terrible diaper rash. Its more then a diaper rash, actually. The pediatrician called it a chemical burn. The skin is simply peeled off and it oozes blood. It was like that at the hospital and they really did not know what to do about it. They sent me home with various tubes and tubs of creams and ointments.

Today, I made a homemade concoction I read about on www.passionatehomemaking.com . I have put it on him twice tonight and am so curious whether it will be better then the other things I have tried.

My life almost revolves around changing his diapers and keeping him washed off and soothed and comforted. Though he is not a fussy baby at all, and is very easily settled and comforted.

I'm Tired!!!!!!!

We've all heard of PPD,(Post Partum Depression) and some of us in the adoption world have heard of PAD, which is Post Adoption Depression.

I don't have any depression, but I think I might have something else- PAE. That stands for Post Adoption Exhaustion. Never heard of it? Well, I didn't either till now when I invented it. I invented the name, that is. I think the exhaustion is pretty standard fare after any foster or adoptive placement.

That is as far as I will get right now because baby is complaining....

Baby J is home!

He has been home for two days now. I am beginning the hazy daze of life with a newborn. Last night he did not sleep well, plus his apnea monitor kept going off. It takes a long time to feed, burp and change a newborn in the middle of the night. At 2:15 AM, when his monitor started screaming again and he started crying, I jumped up to shut it off before the whole house awoke.(an apnea monitor is extremely loud, like a smoke detector) I felt so weird and all I could think was "who am I?" . Slowly, the thought came to me, "My name is Rachel."

Afterwards, hunched over him while baby slowly slowly drained his bottle, and watching the clock move to 3;00 before settling again, I laughed at how strange that feeling was, and that I could actually not remember my name.

I have been wondering how long it will be till Baby J realises I am not just another nurse. Until he notices I have been around longer then 8 hours. We have not been part of each other the last nine months. It helped so much to be able to spend time with him in the hospital because I could get comfortable with him and his care in the safety of the NICU before being on my own. He basically looks like any other beautiful perfect cuddly newborn. And he is perfect in the eyes of God and in my eyes. But he has a list of diagnosis a foot long.

Which reminds me, that's another thing I am doing all night long- checking his soft spot on top of his head. It is supposed to be soft and flat. If it bulges or becomes hard, that means his shunt is not working and I have to take him to the ER.

Praise God for His goodness to me, an unworthy servant.