love for a birth mom.

every single day i see my daughter's birth mother in her face. every day. she has her eyes. she looks at me and i see the woman who carried her, delivered her, and then lost her.

some days i truly love that i can see her in my daughter. i see her, and my girl's sisters, in her face and i just beam with pride and joy knowing that she was fearfully and wonderfully made. that she endured so much in the womb and is now this strong feisty almost-two-year-old. but other times, honestly, it hurts. not because i want to see myself in her, and not because i feel bad feelings toward birth mother, but because i think about the great loss that is occurring. 

birth parents are not monsters. people who lose their kids are not evil, bad or a lost cause. i want my daughter to know that she did not come from a bloodline of bad people. i will tell her that they are broken people, just like we are. and that we are all broken apart from Jesus. someone along the way lied to this woman, telling her that certain things would be a balm to her aching heart. they lied. it wasn't. instead, it brought her into a great despair. 

this woman who carried my child will be a part of our lives forever. i deeply long for an open adoption. research shows that it can be so cathartic and healing for an adopted child, and even for birth parents. but of course i worry. it's a complex flood of emotions when i think about planning for the future of this relationship between a mother and her absent children. my first priority is to protect my daughter, and the rest are challenges we will spend a life time ironing out. 

and this is what i want outsiders to know: no one will ever know how my heart feels about birth mom. lots of aching and loving. i could describe it as 'heartbreaking' and that wouldn't even get close to fully encompassing my feelings. that i can say i truly did everything in my power to help this woman get her children back. that my heart was never to adopt but rather to foster and reunify and then pick up the pieces of my heartbreak, knowing that at least hers has been alleviated. there is no such thing as an adoption without great, debilitating loss. 

i'm terrified that i will ruin the possible open adoption with birth mother when i take the witness stand during her TPR (termination of parental rights) trial this summer. i will be brave and ethical, but most importantly truthful. i have learned too much about her from our early days of working toward reunification. she told me the deepest and the darkest. she was aching for a friend. later i will ask her for a pass, on behalf of the daughter we share, and she will hopefully give that to us. but if she doesn't, i hope she knows how thankful i am. thankful that she didn't have an abortion in a situation drenched in true hopelessness. i will tell her that i love seeing her in my daughter's eyes. and that hopefully one day i can learn where my girl got her widows peak from, where her green eyes with flecks of gold come from (that stefen just sits and gazes at) and if she can meet her entire biological family a thousand miles away... and that all hope is not lost. i would tell her to have courage, that she is needed. that she is wanted.

i have to constantly remind myself of all of her good attributes, because i know all of the bad about her. and so does everyone else. her life became an open book with pages filled up to the edges with darkness and sadness. 

if you ever want to adopt a child you must know this: the child is only half of the journey. you will forever be linked to a biological family of a hundred other people that are grieving the loss of the gain you just received (whether your adoption is open or closed). i would never advocate for an adoption where the parents did not fully and deeply comprehend this. do not be scared of a biological family. do not sweep them under the rug. because you will eventually have to face your children and answer for how you handled this delicate balance. if you don't know how to do this, learn from people who have done this before. never stop educating yourself.

and as i slowly leak these stories to my daughter through the years, by the grace of God, she will know she is deeply loved by two mothers. that there is true hope in Jesus. and that God placed her with us on purpose, that no pain is wasted, and that i will protect her with my life. and then i will give her this quote, because i think it sums up how i feel about her as a woman that is absolutely in shock that God chose me to be her mother:

"nobody will ever love you as much as an artist can. on your worst days, they will find poetry in the knots of your hair"

there are lots of people to love in this mess.

chelsie

christmas cards

christmas cards are my favorite part of the holiday season, especially as a graphic designer. I LOVE designing my friends cards, then getting them back in the mail. I love seeing my cousins kids grow from states away. I love the whole tradition, I really do. 

but I read an article yesterday about how sometimes, christmas can be a dark time for people. people who have experienced death, divorce and other dark times the previous year. my first dark christmas as an adult was last year. our marriage wasn't good and I was terrified that it would be my last holiday with my daughter. I was a mess. we had only a few people that knew our darkness and they rallied around us at christmas time. but it was still foggy and sad and strange. all the while I was receiving christmas cards in the mail from happy newlyweds, growing families, happy people. it was like ripping a layer of my heart away every time I checked the mailbox.

so this year? I'm intentional. I just made our christmas card list and it was half the people of what I expected. I want to

sit in the darkness with my friends, not send them an impersonal card that says "look how happy I am!" - my friends who have had job loss, divorce, death, sorrow; they will get a phone call from me (or something? any ideas?) so I can sit in the darkness WITH them. I challenge you you all to review your christmas card list with me.

and I know they will never read this, but

thank you, tom and marcia, for sitting in the darkness with us last christmas.

thanks for reading,

chelsie

uncle chris

my precious E,

his name was chris. he was tall and blond and handsome. 9 years my senior and an obnoxiously overprotective. he went to OSU (as I'm sure you will, too - like a good girl). he was a construction engineer. he moved to houston for work when i was 15. when your mother became too much for grandma and pampaw to handle, they would ship me down to houston for a week or so. it was a lot of fun. we made precious memories in the traffic of houston, yelling at each other like only brothers and sisters do. this is the person that taught me to drive, so when your daddy complains about my driving you can blame it on uncle chris. this is also where mommy got her ridiculously good looks.

chris had a girlfriend for several years (a girlfriend is someone your father will

never let you be so just try to follow along), she would have been your aunt ann, and she would have been so in love with you. they both would have. your aunt ann left earth just a few months before you were born. uncle chris left much sooner.

uncle chris left november 7, 2004. ten years this month. i wish i could say things got easier, little heart. and i so wish that he was here to watch you grow, to experience adoption, to see me as a mother. even more so then when i wished he was at my wedding; I wish he could see me as a mother. 

as always, the Lord has filled in where sin left a gaping hole.

you have two uncles who absolutely adore you. uncle chris would be so pleased to know that they take such great care of you. uncle taylor is so much like your uncle chris, as brothers are. I hope you get the treasure of having a brother one day, my dove. anyway, uncle taylor is much sillier than chris (much sillier than ANYONE). he will have you laughing until you cry when you are older. you already love him. when you first met him, mommy was still very sick in the hospital. I don't remember much, but I remember your daddy handing you to him and you looking at him like he was a giant (he is, you intuitive little monkey, you). this is the moment I remember so well: 

you and uncle taylor have a sweet bond. you are so lucky to have him. I am, too. something tells me you will have uncle taylor's sarcasm and wit one day.

and your sweet uncle sethy. oh precious girl, the way your uncle seth looks at you is perfection. he is so much like your daddy. he loves playing with you (when you and aunt jenna aren't hogging each other). and every single time he sees you, he tells you that you're pretty. it's your thing with him. he tells you how pretty you are and you soak it all in. and when you're asleep he is always the first to ask if he can go get you out of your crib. he loves you very much, and uncle chris would be so thankful. so very thankful that there are two uncles to fill in where he can't be.

the day God made me a mother

I'm not sure I even remember which day it was. if it was the day we met baby J in her NICU isolette, or if it was the first time

her state-appointed attorney sat at our kitchen table and asked "would you ever consider adoption?" and my stomach sank. she was 6 months old the first time

people started using the word "adoption" about her and her sister's case. was that when I became a mother? I wish I knew. 

my life plan was so different before I met my husband. the baldwin side of my family, they are notorious for having children later in life, and that sounded appealing to me. even when stefen and I were married we decided we would start thinking of family planning when I turned 30. we were married at 23 and 24, so it seemed great to have several years of "just us". then, for whatever reason, we decided to use that time less selfishly and that we would use those years being foster parents and helping other families before we had our own. that plan worked, until it didn't. we went into fostering blindly but have truly done the best we can. and then this word "adoption" kept flying around, and I remember thinking one day, when baby J was maybe 8 months old, "I think she is going to be mine forever. holy shit." maybe that was the moment God made me a mother. when I felt like every ounce of autonomy seeped out and was replaced by a selfless love that was almost crippling. 

I didn't come into motherhood simply.

it was preceded by months and months of missed visits and serious concerns that maybe the biological parents weren't actually going to ever be what this tiny human needed. it was preceded by harsh words and character assassinations and a comments about how I "must be a foster parent because I can't have kids of my own" to a room of 40+ people. it came with fear. it still comes with fear. fear for everyone's safety that I love. my journey into motherhood has been messy, and did you know? it has been excruciatingly painful. God gave me a taste of

motherhood and I desperately want more, and more, and I can't have it yet. yesterday I told my friend abi that if someone would have asked "what's your biggest fear/worst case scenario?" when we began fostering it would have been this. now. this. the limbo between fostering and adopting, the going to bed every night not knowing if we will lose her. the fight between biological parents, the state, us and DHS. this. this is my nightmare. 

but would I do it all a million times over? of course. I would do it over, and worse, and harder. God's plans really ARE the best. I could be 30 something with a family or I could be me, now, watching my 20 month old run around like a maniac, laughing hysterically. she doesn't just bring me joy, she IS my joy.

motherhood snuck up on me like the best kind of love does. like the kind of love I found in stefen, on an unassuming spring night at a concert [after I was sure I was going to die from the heartbreak of losing my college romance]. motherhood didn't come through a sweet adoption story that I can proudly tell everyone "is just such an example of the gospel, you know?" or maybe I can. because when people say adoption is a great correlation with the gospel what they really mean is that we saved a kid and Jesus saved us and oh how romantic. but what it actually means is that there was torture and depravity [long, long lines of depravity] and heartbreak and sorrow. the resurrection and the holiness and the peace, that didn't come until after the suffering. my motherhood journey isn't there yet. I day dream and night dream about the day it will be, but it's not.

when my heart feels overwhelmed and I call my dad [my very best friend] he always tells me "chels, just focus on taking care of that baby girl. just give her all of your love and take only today's burdens" - or something more eloquent because he is amazing like that. and then he tells me I'm the best mother, and I was made for this little girl, and I feel a rush of peace and calm. 

thank you, so deeply, for letting me share my fears.

-chelsie [mother of one].

truth

i'm overwhelmed.

i'm overwhelmed by two babies, by bio parents, by DHS, but the judicial system. i'm overwhelmed by it all.

stefen and i came into fostering full throttle, eyes closed, heads down, running fast. we got burnt out instantly with our first sibling set. the shame that came when i had to call the caseworker and say "we can't do it" was insurmountable. so then we stopped. we didn't take a kiddo for months. then our baby girl was born.

the lesson is this: i have to find balance in being a foster parent. i can't let my heart strings be tugged on every time DHS calls. because once the fun of having a new blessing in our home wears off, i am worn down to nothing. i am walking exhaustion. it's not the physical exhaustion that is debilitating - it's the emotional exhaustion. the appointments and the diagnoses and the birth parents and the visitation aftermath. it all falls on me at the end of of the day, onto my shoulders but mostly my heart.

when the beauty of fostering collides with the darkness of it; that's when reality seeps in.


but the balm to my heart is this: i would never know what i could (and couldn't) handle, without experiencing it. experiential learning. it's painful, but it's how so many of us learn.

i've spent the last 2+ years making sure that all of the kiddos in our home come first. my desires, my heartbreak, it can all wait. it can all be stuffed far enough down. i ignored my feelings in the present to project the goodness that would hopefully, eventually, come out of fostering. my feelings in the present were: sadness, confusion, heartbreak, shame.  this will not be my anthem anymore.

baby b leaves the nest.

today baby B left our home. we knew it was coming but oh, has this day been painful.

kinship is almost always the goal when a little one is taken into custody, and that's where B went off to. a great-uncle who i've met, possibly slightly interrogated, and ultimately loved. he will be so great at his uncle's, i just know it. he will thrive. he will hopefully get to see his amazing parents even more. but our house is still so sad today.

i couldn't wait to blog my feelings about it because it's so cathartic for me. so here is my usual 'list of things i love and will deeply miss' about baby B:

- his piercing blue eyes. they held so much sweetness. when he looked at me i was a puddle of mush. he will get away with a lot in his life with those sweet eyes ;) 

- his courage. this boy is a fighter. i've never met a more sad baby to be taken away from mom and dad. he wouldn't crawl, he wouldn't look at us, he wouldn't eat, nothing. after a week he was trying to walk, trying to say big boy words, and we even got a laugh here and there. all he needed were a couple visits with his mom and dad and they lit a fire in him. when he left a few hours ago, he was practically running and never let a day pass without belly laughing.

- his amazinnnnggggg blond hair. and the way stefen so proudly fixed it for church into a most perfect mohawk.

- his ability to trip over anything, including air.

- his appetite. holy wow, that boy can eat! he ate double what baby J did and then ate her leftovers! we are going to save so much money now that he's gone (kidding, kind of.)

- speaking of his appetite, i will miss telling him "B, food is not love, food is NOT love." and having him giggle afterwards. it was a common phrase used around here.

- his busyness. no time for cuddles, aunt chelsie. i've got giant legos to destroy.

- his love for my daughter. oh bless, this is why i spent so much of my day crying. thinking about them being separated is just…sad. 3+ months of sharing a room and spending every waking second together really bonded them. before he left, stefen told him "never forget who your first love was, B."

- HIS BELLY. SO BIG AND CUTE.

- i will miss tucking him in every night.

- i will miss his precious baby smell.

- i will miss brushing his tiny teeth.

- i will miss everything.

i am asking whoever reads this to please pray for him, as moves are always confusing for little ones. please pray that he isn't confused, but secure in his new home. that he continues to thrive and learn and grow. that he gets to see his parents exponentially more. and finally, that they are all three reunified as soon as possible. 

thank you, everyone.

chelsie

the complacent foster home (read: us)

let me set the scene for you: i'm at my every-6-week doctor's appointment with baby in tow because i couldn't find a babysitter in time. she was acting crazy. my pulse ox read at only 89, low blood pressure, not feeling great about this tuesday morning.

as i'm waiting for the doctor to come in, payne county DHS texts. 11 month old boy from a police raid, has been at the DHS office all day being loved on. needs a foster home.

i sigh as i am picking my daughter off the floor from throwing a fit. i feel the Lord say, "say yes"…so without so much as even asking my husband, or our college student roommate who is renting our guest room right next to the nursery, i say yes. i fill everyone in. i call my friend abi for clothes. DHS delivers him to our house and he is so perfect and beautiful. i thank the Lord, but then i feel intense grief.

he needed an immediate check-up, to which i left sis with laura (live-in nanny, friend, chef). the whole way to the ER i cried as i thought about leaving my daughter for a couple hours, as if i was leaving her for another baby. as if i was cheating on her to help another child. it was such a weird feeling that i had to spend time in prayer unpacking it.

you see, this is our problem: complacency. we have fostered very short term other than the baby girl we have had for the last 17.5 months and are, Lord willing, going to adopt. we have become so comfortable in our little family. we don't need to stir the pot now, right? we are smooth sailing and, after all, foster care is messy, so why would we take a kid straight from a traumatic police raid? what if it effected our little girl? then God gently reminded me that our precious baby was once "just" a foster kid, and was alone and scared and confused, just like our new little guy (baby B) is. complacency is a sickness and we have it bad. we have taken only 2 kids into our home since baby J was placed into our care at birth. only 2 kids. in 18 months. i beg for God to gently make me uncomfortable. for the sake of baby B and my own sanctification. having two babies just 5 months apart is a lot, but i said yes, and God went before me into this. and people have done more, and will do more, and i have fallen short, and will continue to fall short.

will you pray for us as we settle into life with two babies? my heart knows God has made smooth a path before me if i can just die to myself. you see, if we see baby B through to reunification it could be several months. several months of postponing our own adoption, and growing our family. right when we decided to adopt and say "goodbye" to foster parenting, God said "just wait, sweethearts, we aren't finished here"...

thank you for reading,
chelsie