Adoption Here We Come - Part 3

During this period the State Caseworker was very helpful, communicating with my Friend, the babies grandmother, communicating with Mirisa and even requesting that we submit via email our intent to adopt the baby.

The Birth Parents signed the necessary paperwork on a Saturday, the following Monday the Birth Mom called her state Caseworker. You know the Caseworker she had not spoken to in three months, the Caseworker whose calls she avoided. What was the purpose of her call to the Caseworker you ask? Well, it was to inform her Caseworker that she had signed the adoption paperwork but now wanted to retract it, to please contact our attorney in order to stop all proceedings. Lets put this little scene into perspective, the baby is almost five months old, has been living in the hospital this entire time, and Birth Mom has seen the baby twice. Yes, twice. Birth Dad has not seen the baby because he was not listed on the birth certificate and did not have the right to visitations according to hospital policy. In their infinite wisdom they concluded that if he was not listed as the father on the birth certificate that she would continue with her state entitlement programs longer, which of course has no impact since neither were employed. Come to find out Birth Mother cancelled the adoption contract because she thought Birth Father was having an affair, to which there was no evidence other than the texting he was doing with his Mom, not another woman. Drug induced paranoia. The couple reunites and is reconsidering their adoption options with us, manipulating us like professionals.

Birth Mother is reassigned a new Caseworker because hers was promoted. The new Caseworker, one with an entirely different philosophy, communication style, and belief system didn’t want to let anyone into her sandbox, at least no one from another state. She is the type of Caseworker that does not want the baby to leave the state regardless of the benefits to the Birth Parents with an open adoption and the extended family on both sides.  She collaborates with the Birth-maternal-grandfather to find a nice in-state adoption option. However, there was no transparency to these latest actions by the Caseworker, so we are proceeding blindly. Birth Father is still willing to work with us. He visits his state appointed attorney (with his Mother in tow who made the trek half-way across the country for her second visit to assist him and her grandson). He is ready to sign the adoption paperwork, but, before the paperwork can be completed he must take a blood test to prove paternity. They hit the state paternity blood testing office at lunch. It’s a state office it closes for lunch. Just like doctors offices, ridiculous, stagger the staffs lunch hour and proceed with a normal business day for God’s sake. They return after the lunch hour, the blood is drawn but the test results will take a minimum of three days and will require him to return to visit with his attorney to sign the paperwork then. Birth Fathers’ Mom has to leave, she has to return to her life, and we both know that the chances of him returning on his own are minimal. We pray, hard. We are all praying. Mirisa, our attorney, is doing all she can, she is praying with us.

During these now seven months of planning for this beautiful baby boy to enter our lives we, ok me, have prepared. We moved Jose’s office to the workout room, cleaned, organized, basically prepared the nest, leaving the office outside of our bedroom completely empty awaiting the new little bundle. However, the peculiar thing was I never bought anything. As a Planner, I had lists of what we needed, the costs, and where the items would be purchased but I never purchased a thing. Which in hindsight means that on some level I had serious doubts this would actually come to fruition.

To be continued….

Rabbit Trail

“Vulnerable” according to Websters Online Dictionary (does anyone ever not use an online source anymore?) is defined as….

vul·ner·a·ble adjective \ˈvəl-n(ə-)rə-bəl, ˈvəl-nər-bəl\

: easily hurt or harmed physically, mentally, or emotionally
: open to attack, harm, or damage

1:  capable of being physically or emotionally wounded

2:  open to attack or damage :  assailable <vulnerable to criticism>

3:  liable to increased penalties but entitled to increased bonuses after winning a game in contract bridge

Is there any other word that can so quickly heighten the senses, of a mature, professional woman who has her entire life shielded herself spiritually, emotionally, physically and mentally from harm, creating layers of protection in order to avoid any potential risk to harm? There are no cracks in my armor, I have worked hard to maintain strength and I am damned proud of it.

That’s me the woman that runs in the opposite direction of vulnerability, it could be said that I am the Queen of Vulnerability Avoidance. I can think of no logical reason to open myself up to the risk of pain, in particular emotional pain.

Years ago when I was actively participating in spiritual-new age-digging deeply to get in touch with yourself down to the core and to the spirit-world workshops (which I enjoyed tremendously and still miss), the workshop presenter worked tediously to get me to accept and openly demonstrate my vulnerable side.  Of course, I fought it with every cellular component of my body.  When I asked her why she felt this was so important, her response was, “so you can be all that you are”.

Really? My mind questioned. Being vulnerable doesn’t lead us to better choices; it just opens up the channels for pain and greater drama.  I wouldn’t reach into a hot oven to remove the baking dish not using a hot pad just to be vulnerable and open myself up to the potential wound. That was just plain silliness to me, I have no desire to be vulnerable. The entire three-day weekend seemed to be focused on opening me to accepting my vulnerable side in spite of the other 11 workshop attendees. One exercise in particular unnerved me.  We had to cradle our assigned partner and express verbal and physical unconditional love as if he was truly an infant.  Dear Lord, what an impossible exercise. Of course, I reacted with tremendous grace and fortitude by laughing uncontrollably – much like a 12 year old girl would - while he pretended to grope and suckle my breasts as he said “it would be lots of fun, to really do this besides, this is an opportunity that can’t be missed”.  Our little joviality disrupted the class, most were laughing with us, though some you know the type (the sit-in-front-of-the-classroom-teachers-pet-type) were clearly dismayed at our little performance.  

Come to find out being a Mom puts a woman automatically on the road to vulnerability, even if she doesn’t want to be. This is where my story truly begins.

© Yvonne B. Pérez and The Life and Confessions of an Older Mother, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Yvonne B. Pérez and The Life and Confessions of an Older Mother with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.