A few months ago we had a foster baby after a long baby-drought. For the first time, we brought home a little girl. Little E was over the moon, having lamented never having a baby girl to foster. We were told we would care for this tiny four-month old for about a week, allowing the seven days in which the birth mother has to change her mind to expire.
We didn’t know the specifics of Baby B’s case, still don’t. We never really get to know. Our assumption is that her sweet birth mother wasn’t getting the support she needed in order to care for her baby girl. After all, what would prompt a young woman to place her baby for adoption several months after giving birth, months into loving her, after baby learned to sleep through the night, after surviving some of the often hardest months during the first year?
Baby B came to us bright-eyed and smiley, obviously well cared for. She was interactive and responsive, squealing and grinning. She was strong and didn’t want to be restricted. She napped easily, though not for long stretches, and other than the one time I confined her to a sleep sack, she was a happy baby girl.
After two nights I felt like we were settling into a routine and were getting to know each other. I kept thinking about this baby’s birth mother, how she came to this decision to say goodbye to her baby. How she must have missed her, her shrieks and grins. And I ached for her.
The morning of day three I got a call from the agency. Baby B’s birth mother was revoking and wanted her back. Of course she wanted her back. Why wouldn’t she? But what changed? Did her family step in and offer support? Was the thought of moving forward without Baby B too unbearable?
I’ll never know. But that’s okay. I’m only meant to have a tiny peek into Baby B’s life and I am privileged to have experienced a moment of her life story.
grace for each moment, one moment at a time