Friday, October 1, 2010


I used to have day-dreams that a baby would be abandoned on our doorstep and I would get to keep it.

Adoption apparently doesn't work like that in real life. It involves waiting in almost every circumstance. Couples sit on a waiting list for a domestic infant adoption for months and years, easily. EA waits vary based on the agency and the clinic, but typically are shorter for a couple hoping to adopt embryos than for most other types of adoption. Our agency gave us an estimate of 2-4 months. We turned in our stuff by June, but had heard approximately nothing by October. I was starting to get worried, but determined that it wouldn't be that much longer. I mean, after 2 years of infertility, what was a couple of months?

Then, a computer friend of mine who was adopting through the same agency got matched, and they had turned in their profile only a couple of months before. I had been doing really well up until that point, thinking "the list" was just longer than normal, because after all, we had been very clear that we weren't "picky" regarding donating families. (I had actually secretly hoped we might get matched with a family of a different racial background, because, well, wouldn't that just be the neatest thing ever? A living testimony that we are all part of the human family no matter our heritage?)

Naturally or not, at this point I started to wonder what was wrong with us. Why weren't we good enough for the families that wanted to see their embryos given a chance to live? I imagined all sorts of "us vs. them" scenarios, like:

-We're too young, and couples who do IVF are normally older than their 20s. They must think we're too immature, or will regret not trying for a bio kid first.
-We don't own a house. They must think we're poor money managers.
-We work for a ministry. They must think we're flighty and can't find real jobs. Or maybe they think we're too religious and will make bad parents because we must be extremists.
-We sent pictures of the ranch where we both live and work. They probably think we're living in a commune and just want kids to give kool-aid to!

Aaaaaaaahhhhh!!! I caved on my goal of not bugging the case worker, and called. I wasn't totally sure, but it sounded like our profile hadn't even been shown, because she didn't think we were a good match for any of her current placing parents. This made me feel both better and worse. I mean, obviously no placing family had rejected us, but at the same time, what if the case worker was the one thinking all of the bad things about us? What if she never found anybody who she thought would want to donate to juvenile loafer religious extremists?

She must have heard the desperation in my voice and the well-repressed tears, because she followed up by saying that she had a "maybe" prospect that she would send our profile to, and that they had several new couples who were in the process of getting their paperwork turned in to donate their embryos. She also reassured me that God had a plan for the right match. I mean, I knew this, but I wasn't sure if her telling me that was a hint to back off and let her do her job, or if it was a sign that she thought I would be matched soon.

Gah. Insecurities abounded.

This part of the journey was tough. I think my feelings of infertility were newly stirred with the realization that we were kind of on hold indefinitely. I briefly toyed with the idea of trying to conceive again (Sam didn't agree though... he's always the voice of reason!), but mostly just felt sub-par. I wish I could say that I had some grand revelation or spiritual breakthrough that gave me a joyful spirit about the wait, but I didn't. I just survived. Which, in the end, means that I can take absolutely no credit for the fact that our match did eventually happen, and exactly, I'm sure, when God meant for it to.