I know no one reads blogs anymore, let alone this one. That's ok. I just thought it might be nice to post an update on the off chance that anyone was wondering, "hey, what happened to Jessi?"
My last post was during the summer of 2017. We had just completed our initial foster training classes. We were matched with a social worker (called a resource worker) in September and met her in October. She worked on our homestudy, coming to our house and doing interviews, having us fill out questionnaires and surveys. In January she wrapped up our homestudy (which is just the packed of information about us) and sent it on to her supervisor to be approved. And then she retired. She told us if we didn't hear back from the cabinet in about 6-8 weeks, to call and follow up.
In February of 2018, I started having a lot of trouble seeing. I went to the eye doctor and they saw some things that concerned them. So I had to go see a specialist. The specialist didn't see my paperwork before I walked in- he just started the exam, and the nurses didn't give him a heads up about my medical history. So during the exam, he scared me half to death when he said (in more professional terms) that he didn't know how to tell me this, but there was something really wrong with me. The deterioration of my eyes indicated a serious health problem. I said "wait, did you see my file? I have EDS." He was so relieved he started to laugh. "That explains it!" My retinas look like those of a 90 year old. They are full of holes. The good news is that he doesn't think they are getting worse, and the holes are located in areas that don't require surgery right now. So I just live my life seeing little dark spots floating around in front of me. The main point of this story is that I was extremely stressed at this time. In the middle of all this, I got a sinus infection, and then an ear infection, too, and begrudgingly used some of my sick time that I was saving for whenever we got our placement.
In March, I started to get antsy about our impending approval to be foster parents. I knew it had to be soon. I did get a call near the end of the month from one of the social workers who handles the transfer of kids between homes. He said that this sibling set didn't really fit our criteria but all their other open homes were full or not interested. We declined the placement for a couple of reasons, but continued praying for those girls. And I continued to be stressed.
On April 5, 2018, I got a call at work. On the office phone. "Last night, we took in a sibling group of three. We are looking for a concurrent placement for them." (Concurrent, in fostering terms, means that they don't think that the kids will be reunited with their birth family, and they would prefer to place them with a family that is open to the idea of adopting them, so hopefully they have fewer disruptions.) The social worker told me their names. Two boys and a girl. The boys were 11 months apart, 4 and 5 years old. The little girl was just 3. We would need at least two bedrooms, beds for each of them, and a childcare plan in place. Were we interested? Yes, we were! After frantically calling Brandon at work, we told them we wanted to accept the placement. We couldn't come get them right then, though, because technically, our home hadn't been approved yet. The supervisor had cleared us, but "upstairs" (meaning, the department head) had not signed off on us. They legally had to get that signature before the kids could come home with us. But they would start working on it.
That happened on a Thursday. I made plans to take off work on Friday. I went to Target and got some clothes, toddler dishes, toddler bedding (a toddler bed was donated by family, and we had it just in case, but it wasn't set up yet. We did have the bunk beds set up, though, with gender neutral bedding already on them.) I got carseats. I got bubbles and sidewalk chalk and coloring books. I got some kid friendly groceries. I did what I could to prepare. Our awesome cousins brought over two huge baskets of outgrown clothing in various sizes and that all got washed and sorted. And I continued to wait. I called three times asking for updates. I knew that the kids were staying at the Home of the Innocents, which functions as a clinic, group home, visitation point, and all around helpful place for the children of our city. I didn't want them to have to stay there too long. I was sure they were scared. But the people "upstairs" dragged their feet, and it became clear that we weren't getting the kids over the weekend. I made plans to go back to work Monday and play it by ear.
Meanwhile, as I worked on all these things, I stayed home and stressed. My sweet friend Steph sent me an edible arrangement full of chocolate covered fruit and balloons, reassuring me that everything would work out. I remember eating so many chocolate covered banana pieces that I made myself sick. I just wanted them to call and tell us to come get the kids. I was terrified that things would fall through while we waited.
Monday I went to work, and later in the morning, they called and said we could come pick up our kids the next morning at 8:30! We spent Monday night putting together car seats and making sure everything was ready for our new little people.
The pickup from the Home of the Innocents was surreal. After we finished signing paperwork and going over our rights and responsibilities, one of the nurses at the Home showed up with a battered suitcase and three tiny little people, with tears coming down their cheeks, wrapped up in puffy jackets with the hoods up. They started crying louder as we headed out to our car (the social worker and nurse came with us and helped us load everyone up.) We started driving home and I tried asking the kids about things that they like. "Spiderman," as we call him on social media, asked if we had a dentist. "Because we have cavities." Then "SB" (short for Sleepy Beauty) told us she has a tiny scar on her forehead because "Gracie bit me." (Gracie is one of the dogs.) They continued to ask us about our house and our life as we drove home. We walked in and turned on the TV and let them pick something on Netflix. We fixed snacks. Brandon had to go back to work, so I stayed with the kids and just hung out, texting my friends and family as the day went along. We kept a running list of needs and wants with the grandparents ("they really like tuna, if someone can add that to the grocery list....the shoes that the home sent are all either too small or too big. Also they don't have any long sleeved stuff and it's cold!") My parents came over that evening with more groceries, some clothes, and a couple of new toys. Those first few weeks were filled with helpful people dropping things off or sending packages from Amazon. We are so grateful for the help we had!
The weekend that the kids were supposed to come, though, my grandfather went into the hospital. He had health problems off and on for the last decade, but always bounced back. The kids got to meet him through Facetime on my mom's phone. They did so well meeting each member of our family and though they were shy at first, warmed up to everyone so easily.
I had decided to take two weeks off from work to get everyone settled, get them in daycare, etc. And my Pappaw stayed in the hospital the whole time. And he got worse. Two weeks after the kids came, about when I was supposed to come back to work, he passed away.
I had never lost a grandparent before. It bothers me sometimes that I wasn't able to go see him because I was busy with the kids. It bothers me more that he never really got the chance to get to know them. I used to call my grandparents every Monday when I was driving home from work. For the last six months that he was alive, Pappaw was always asking "how's the adoption going" and giving his thoughts on the subject (he was very excited and so frustrated that everything takes so long!)
I thought that maybe we wouldn't have any more surprises for a while, at least outside of the realm of being foster parents. We had another break for two weeks, and then Brandon lost his job. I arrived home from taking the kids to an appointment to find him at home, which was extremely surprising. I got them settled with their happy meals, a promised reward for behaving at the appointment (which took place at the Home, where they had been staying while they waited for us- I expected it to be a traumatic event and McDonald's helped them cope!) I went upstairs to ask Brandon what he was doing home so early, and when he told, me, I couldn't breathe. It's not my story to tell, but he was in management and one of his employees participated in a well-intentioned but not at all allowed little venture, and his company has a very intense (and I feel unfair) accountability policy. Since Brandon was in charge, he was held responsible as well as his employee, though he had nothing to do with the things that were going on. His employee got wind of it before he did and submitted her resignation and was able to transition to another job. The district managers were really upset about having to break the news to Brandon. They told him they fought for him, and I believe it, but he worked for a very huge, nationwide company, and personal stories and recommendations don't matter much to them. He had spent the day after this devastating meeting trying to get another job lined up. And I wondered what was coming next.
Brandon losing his job was devastating and depressing and disheartening and a whole host of other d-words I can't even think of right now, but the timing, in a weird way, was actually pretty good. He was able to help with the kids a lot more because his job had him leaving at 6:30 in the morning and getting home close to 7 in the evening most days. Plus he was working Saturdays and some Sundays. We were still in an adjustment period and it was all hands on deck. He was able to be there for our family in ways that he wouldn't have been if he had been working at the same place.
I don't know if you've picked up on it, but there's a little theme here. For a while, something big happened in our family about every two weeks. Kids coming, losing Pappaw, Brandon's unemployment....and then two weeks later, I realized something was off. Without sharing too much personal information, my body is a mess. Just a complete freak show. I have a couple of conditions that have meant that throughout my life, my body has been unpredictable in some ways, including when it comes to my stupid periods. We attended a wedding in May and I realized that my dress didn't quite fit the way I was expecting it to. And then I remembered that I hadn't had a period since before we got the kids. In February. Around the time that an insurance issue meant I had to switch birth control pills and I happened to start taking antibiotics for my ear infection. On Memorial Day, I finally gave in and did two pregnancy tests. I am sure you can see where this is going now. My response to seeing that positive result was to throw the stick down in front of Brandon, exclaim "what the crap is this??" and burst into tears. I have never been so scared. I was ashamed, which in a way is stupid because I am married, but hey, I was raised very conservative, very Baptist, and there is some very real baggage there. I am pretty sure I haven't heard most of my family members ever use the word "pregnant." But I digress.
We weren't trying for a baby. Bio kids were never part of our plan. I was not interested. Not only does the idea of pregnancy completely creep me out, but I didn't want to run the risk of passing on my genetic conditions to a biological child. It wouldn't be fair, I felt. I didn't know how to tell my family. I didn't know how we were going to afford this, with Brandon being out of work. I didn't know so many things. I also realized it might be kind of an issue that I was, at my best estimate, about three months pregnant and I had not taken care of my body in a way that pregnant women are expected to do. I called my doctor to make an appointment for a blood test. I was immediately filled with even more panic because they estimated I was 14 weeks pregnant and the scheduler told me "we don't take on patients who are past 12 weeks." Well, that person was an idiot who didn't listen to me when I said I was already a patient. They don't take NEW patients past that time, because of lack of medical history, I guess. Either way, it was a scary phone call and a long wait on hold. I went in for my blood test and got the results via email later that afternoon. My hormone levels, to get a positive pregnancy result, would have been less than a hundred parts per whatever. Mine were at about 200,000. I got my first real appointment and ultrasound scheduled. The first picture I have of my baby looks like a real baby- not a peanut or creepy blob reminiscent of a crustacean (I did mention I'm not really a fan of the whole pregnancy thing, right?) I still wasn't 100% sure all this was real, but now I had photographic evidence.
Last summer was wild. We were getting to know the kids better (and dealing with daycare problems that included, later, an investigation into how one of my kids was treated- without my knowledge- and an inpatient stay in a psychiatric hospital), trying to keep me going (I was just really tired- I only felt sick one day and I thought that was just my stomach being my stomach. I actually lost over 20 pounds while I was pregnant, before I knew I was pregnant, but I also didn't have time to eat three meals a day the first month or two that we had the kids. So I really had no idea all this was going on, seriously.) I kept trying to figure out how to tell our families. I was scared and embarrassed. I was worried what people would say. I don't know why. I kept wanting to come up with a script so people would know "we didn't plan this!" And I don't think surprise pregnancies are funny or charming. I love, love, LOVE my baby and I am glad I have him, but finding out I was pregnant threw me into a very deep depression. It was complicated. For me, it wasn't a "teehee, God sure has a sense of humor" experience. I know that just about no one will understand that, but those were my feelings. And I felt guilty about it, and I still feel guilty about it in some ways.
We tried to make plans to tell my parents and Brandon's at the same time. His dad was deployed overseas at the time. I thought about stalling and telling everyone when he got home, but that was supposed to be what, two months before my due date? So that was out. Then I tried to get all the grandparents together for dinner or ice cream or something. Mine kept flaking on us (there was a lot going on) and the one day I could get them to come over, Brandon's mom said she planned on taking a day for herself and not doing anything! Then I thought about not telling anybody out of spite, because I am petty and a little damaged. But it had to be done. Brandon's mom was picking up the kids on Thursdays, meeting him at the house, and staying through bedtime (which, at the time, usually ended around the time I got home at 9:15.) I decided to tell her one Thursday. After we talked about her evening with the kids, I said "well, I have some weird news......uh.....we're having a baby?" and she gasped and said "The kids' mom is pregnant!" "What? No! I am!" And then she laughed. And there was much rejoicing. And me making anxious jokes. I ended up telling my own parents via a video call. I just couldn't get them to come over at the right time. I told them "don't get mad that I'm doing this on facetime, because I have TRIED to tell you in person, but I'm pregnant." My mom said she knew it. I said she did not because I hadn't even known. She said 'well I figured it out just now because you are nervous." She was not exuberant and really seemed kind of disinterested about it, but I know that she was playing it cool because she knew I was anxious. She could not, however, keep her cool when she asked how far along I was and I said "almost five months." Ha!
My last trimester was pretty rough. Apparently there is a hormone that kicks in around that time that relaxes your joints. My EDS makes my joints already relaxed enough, thank you. I was in excruciating pain. My legs were popping out of socket just standing up from my chair at work. I had to start physical therapy. I also learned that my workplace does not do paid maternity leave. I was trying to save every bit of vacation and sick time I had, but I kept having to use it for issues with the kids and doctor's appointments and days when I was just in too much pain to function. I felt awful because I got a new manager around this time, and I felt that I was just making her life so much more complicated. I also found out that I had to have a c-section because of my health issues. I had to see several specialists to determine what my options for delivery were. The metal rod in my spine was installed in such a way that an epidural was not on the table. There was only a 50% chance that it would work. They also didn't want me to go into labor on my own because I might end up injuring and permanently damaging some of my joints thanks to the EDS. So it would be a c-section. And, unfortunately, the location of my metal rod meant that I couldn't have a spinal block. I would have to be put completely under. I did not feel guilt about having a c-section, as some moms do. I was kind of relieved, honestly because I like to plan and know when things are happening. But I did feel horrible that I wouldn't be able to hold my baby right away. That it could be hours, worst case scenario, before I would hold him. I wrote up a birth plan explicitly stating that I only wanted Brandon to hold the baby until I was awake.
My c-section was scheduled for Tuesday November 20 (just about a week after my OBGYN got back from her own maternity leave! I forgot to mention that I only saw my regular doctor once during my pregnancy- the rest of the time I was shuffled between strangers. Fun.) I got sick the week before. I had already planned on taking Monday off, because I figured that I wouldn't be able to focus anyway. I ended up having to take off the last day I was supposed to work, too, which I think was Friday. And then that night I had to go to the emergency room because I temporarily lost my vision. It turned out that I had coughed and blown my nose enough in my illness that my blood pressure got all kinds of messed up. It went back down on its own, so I didn't have to be admitted, but it was pretty scary there for a while!
Tuesday morning came and Gigi (Brandon's mom) came to stay with the littles and get them off to school while we went to the hospital. It was nerve-wracking. We got there a little later than anticipated because we had trouble figuring out something on our brand new (as in, five days new) van, a necessary purchase before the arrival of child number four. The check-in process was long and I couldn't have or do anything I usually do when I'm having anxiety issues. They couldn't even give me any medication for my nerves because the baby would get it, too. I had to walk back to the operating room after saying bye to my family ("if you schedule your c-section, you get to walk!") and it took them a really long time, it felt like, to prep me for the surgery. They couldn't knock me out until the doctor had scalpel in hand, again because the medication would get to the baby. They were going to slice and dice, basically, get him out of there, and then finish up (and do a tubal ligation while they were in there, thank you modern medical science.) My fervent prayer was that I would do well with the anesthesia and wake up as soon as possible so I could hold my child. I ended up having a panic attack as they prepped me for surgery because I was laid out on a small bench, arms out to the sides like I was about to have a lethal injection, completely unable to do anything to comfort myself. I had the kindest nurses who held my hands and begged the doctors to go ahead and put me under so I would feel better.
The next thing I knew, I was in recovery, feeling extremely thirsty. I looked up and saw a clock- I had gone back at about 9 am and it was a little after 10. I looked to my right and saw a curtain, and to my left was Brandon, sitting in a chair, talking to a tiny bundle of blankets. I said "that's him!" and then I asked for some ice.
Henry Benjamin was born at 9:00 on the 20th of November. He weight 7 lbs 6 oz and was 20 inches long. He was not nearly as fat as I thought he would be, since my last ultrasound at the high risk doctor showed he had some neck rolls. He definitely was the same baby that had been in my belly- I recognized him by his frantic kicking and limb flailing. There was no nurse on that ward whose swaddling skills could best him. We had to stay in the hospital a day longer than we had hoped because he lost a little too much weight. I missed Thanksgiving in there, too, but I planned ahead and brought Henry's turkey booties and first Thanksgiving onesie and bib to the hospital. The kids got to visit on the first night and were absolutely smitten. A baby brother is the best gift I could have given them- before he even knew I was pregnant, Batman asked me if we could tell some police officers to bring us a baby.
We are hanging in there. I just recently went back to work. The kids continue to have their ups and downs. Their ups are beautiful and glorious. They are absolutely adorable. They say the funniest things. They are the best dancers. Their downs are hard. They are complicated. They have a lot of emotions. They missed a lot in their first years. They've each had a birthday. I don't know what people find more interesting, the fact that I had two maternity leaves in one year or the fact that I have three stairstep children and then this one random surprise baby. Henry brings a lot of calm to our house. He has brought me some worries, of course- his first few weeks of life I was terrified he would die because, in my mind, he was never supposed to have been born in the first place. I was afraid that my being in denial about his existence and then the complicated emotions I had as I carried him had jinxed him. But he is just the chillest baby. His father is very stoic, so it makes sense. He doesn't cry very much, and when he does it's usually short lived. If he isn't feeling well he really just wants to be held. He does try to sleep through the night, but he is a snotty little thing (if any baby could have allergies this early, of course it would be ours) and his overproductive nose wakes him up most nights, at least once. But you can tell he doesn't want to be awake! He loves to smile and laugh, and he is REALLY good at making other people smile, too. Everyone loves a baby, of course, and everyone thinks their baby is special, but Henry's a little different. I think he knows what our family needs to be balanced out, in terms of drama (or lack thereof.) The kids scream a lot and make a lot of noise and can throw a really spectacular fit, and Henry has only ever cried two times in what, fifteen weeks of life because of their raucous behavior. He mostly just stares at them with his giant blue eyes, throwing that perfectly round Mr. Magoo head of his around to watch everyone. We love him so. Just as we love the other kids. I honestly felt more attached to the older three there for a little while- the differences in how they came to be in our families doesn't impact how we love our kids at all.
So that's it from me for now. I happened to have a lot of feelings today and some free time at work, and decided to bang this out and see if it would help me feel better. Who knows if it will be another year plus before I write again! But it's been fun catching up.
