Part 32

The next day, May 15th 2015, I woke up to what felt like a brand new day.  That dark cloud I had been living under and carrying around since our first adoption fell through had been lifted.  There was something different about this time around.  I didn’t have doubt.  I wasn’t nervous.  This adoption felt right.  I honestly believed that in one short month (her due date was June 15th) I would finally be a mom.

I got up early that morning to prepare for work.  We were hosting job interviews for a new graphic designer for our marketing company and we had three candidates coming to the office through lunch.  I had several staff in town to help with the interviews – and we were hosting the candidates in our new office – the office we had barely gotten moved in to.  I needed to put a few final things together before the candidates showed up for the interviews so I got ready pretty early and scooted out the door to the office by 8 a.m.

When I got to the office, I set up the breakfast, laid out some materials, and made sure everything was in order before the candidates arrived.  The staff started to roll in shortly after me.  I hadn’t told any of the team except for the owners, Josh and Matt, that we got matched with a new birthmother yesterday.  Ben and I decided to keep it close to the vest for a little while longer.  I had mostly been a ghost in the office since our original birthmother backed out, so for many of the staff they wanted to immediately know how I was doing.  It was really hard to not just immediately say, “We’ve been matched again!” but I tried really hard to just say, “I’m okay.”

Right around 8:15 a.m. the first candidate arrived and before it was 8:30 we were all gathered around the office, talking to one-another, eating coffee cake, and getting to know the three candidates.  I assembled the group into a circle to welcome them, introduce myself, walk the candidates through the schedule until lunch, and then allow the rest of the staff to introduce themselves as well.

Right as I began speaking, I heard the “gentle” hum of a vibrating iPhone ringing in someone’s purse.  I look in the direction of the ringing and realize it’s coming from a staff member’s purse.  I grumble and proverbially eye roll in my head, but continue to roll with the punches, introduce myself and begin walking the candidates through the schedule for the morning.  Just as I am about to turn it over to the staff to introduce themselves, another phone begins to ring – but this time it’s not on vibrate, it’s full-on ringing – loudly.  I look in the direction of the ring and it’s coming from one of the owners – Josh’s phone.  I am immediately annoyed – he should know better – and I expect him at that point to silence the phone and pretend like it didn’t happen so we can continue with the introductions.  Josh then proceeded to pull his phone out, look at the caller ID and then walk into my office to answer the call.  At this point, my blood begins to boil as I think, “WTF dude?  We’re kind of in the middle of something here.  It better be really important!”

I finish speaking and turn it over to the staff to begin introducing themselves, who they are and what their job is.  At that point, Josh is walking out of my office.  He walks up to me and pulls me behind the wall at the entrance to the office suite.  He says, “Hey that was your husband that called.  He tried calling you but you of course didn’t answer…”

Keep in mind, that 10 days before, my husband had back surgery to repair two bulging discs in his lower back.  Ever since that time, he had been pushing his recovery along a little quicker that I thought he should.  I fully expected something to be wrong with him and that he had taken himself to the hospital.  In my mind, at this point I am thinking, “Oh geez, what did he do?  What hospital is he at?”

Josh continued, “Your adoption agency just called…”

I immediately begin to panic – has our birthmother already changed her mind!!?!  This can’t be possible. What am I going to do now??!?

Before I can even go down that rabbit hole, Josh finishes his sentence…

“…Uhhhh, apparently you’re going to be parents today.  You should probably call him back.”

I don’t remember if I had words to say in response to Josh.  I stood there, my mouth agape, thinking this can’t be real life.  Josh then said, “Let me know how you want to handle today after you talk to him Jess.  I am so excited for you guys.”

Like a zombie, I walked calmly to my purse, grabbed my phone, walked out of the office to the lobby and immediately called Ben.

I called Ben and without even a hello I say, “Babe, what’s going on?”

Ben replied, “Rebecca called me 15 minutes ago.  She said ‘Hey remember when I said your birthmother was due on June 15th?  Well just kidding, the baby is coming today.’  Babe, we’re going to be parents today.”

“This isn’t real life,” I said back to him.

Ben then filled me in on what was happening, “The birthmother was getting ready to be discharged from the hospital (for a kidney infection) and the doctor was doing a final exam. Upon examination he noticed that she was leaking amniotic fluid (think water breaking).  They’re inducing her at 1 p.m. if she doesn’t go into labor before then. We need to be in Muncie by later afternoon.  The birthmother is adamant that we are at the hospital when she is born and that we are the first ones to hold her.”

Then he said again, “It’s happening. We’re going to be parents today.”

I was still in shock.  I it hadn’t sunk in yet.  No matter how many times I had heard it, it still didn’t seem real.  I couldn’t quite fathom that it was actually happening.  Then reality set in…

Shit.  I have three candidates and a handful of staff here – I can’t just bail on the interviews.  I then said to Ben, “Okay.  Here’s what I am going to do.  I am going to do these interviews until noon.  When everyone leaves to take the candidates to lunch, I will come home, change, pack a bag really quick and we will leave for Muncie.  I don’t want to miss the birth.  I want to get there as soon as possible.  If we leave by 1 we’ll be there by 2:30 at the latest.   Can you let the agency know that’s the plan.”

Ben then said, “Yep.  I’ll do that.  Sue (our social worker) will meet us at the hospital, we won’t see Rebecca until tomorrow when she comes to do the paperwork.  What do I need to get at the store, I’ll make a run???

“Everything,” I reply with a chuckle.  We honestly had nothing ready at this point.  After Amelia backed out, we decided to pause on anymore buying until a baby was actually being born.  At this point we have the BARE essentials.  We have a crib, a car seat and a stroller.  I then say to Ben, “Let’s just not worry about that stuff yet.  I can send a list to someone and we’ll leave the credit card on the counter to pick some of that stuff up while we’re at the hosptial.”

Ben agrees and says, “I love you babe.  We’re going to be parents today!”

I hung up the phone and walked back into the circle just as everyone was finishing the introductions.  I smiled and said, “Okay.  Let’s get started then,” while trying my best to hide my overwhelming excitement.

The next three hours of my life were pure agony.  I tried as hard as I possibly could to pay very close attention to the candidates, but my mind would drift to the clock, counting down to the minutes until noon, when I could leave, scoop my husband and drive like lightening to Ball Memorial Hospital in Muncie.

Noon finally came.  We wrapped up the final interviews and everyone gathered together in the main part of the office to leave for lunch.  I said to the staff and the candidates, “You all have a great time at lunch.  I unfortunately will not be joining you.  Thank you for coming, we’ll be in touch soon.”  As I grabbed my stuff, the look on the staff’s face was pure confusion.  They had no idea why I wasn’t joining them for lunch – the plan was always for me to be there.  I didn’t think twice about it.

I grabbed my bag and got the hell out of there.

Our Last Picture as a Family of TWO!

I don’t remember the drive home.  My mind was so consumed with packing, loading the car, and getting the hell out of Noblesville, that I barely recall if I stopped at the one stop sign on my way home – much less remember if I paid any attention to my speed.  I do remember calling Ben to tell him I was on my way home so he could be packed and ready around the same time as me.

I pulled into the driveway and pulled half-way into the garage, popped out of the car, and immediately opened the hatch to the back of the SUV so we could load everything and go.  I then walked into the house on a mission.   At lightening speed I began throwing outfits, pajamas, and my toothbrush into a bag and walking it straight out to the car.  I loaded the carseat, walked back into the house and said to Ben, “I’m ready.  Let’s get out of here.”

By 1:00 p.m. we were out the door.  We had just passed through Noblesville and were headed to the highway when we got a text from our Sue, that the birthmother had just been induced.  At this point it could go very fast or very slow – there’s no telling.  We let Sue know we were already on our way and that we would be in Muncie in about and hour.

At that point, while Ben was driving us to Muncie, I began texting family, letting them know that there was a baby coming TODAY and that we were headed to the hospital for the birth.  I can’t imagine how the rollercoaster must have felt for them.  Many of them found out less than 24 hours ago that we had been rematched – some of them we hadn’t even told them we had been rematched yet.
I also sent a text message to my staff letting them know that a) we had been matched with a new birthmother  and b) that the baby was coming today.   Those texts were immediately responded to with overwhelming “WHAT!!!!” followed by a barrage of emojis include hearts, sparkles, babies, and flames…typical.

I called my mother at work to let her know that the baby was coming today.  She stood up at her desk and yelled at the top of her lungs across the office of cubicles, “You guys, Jessica and Ben’s baby is coming today!  They’re headed to the hospital now!”  She then broke down into tears.

I worked to arrange doggie sitters, people to buy some final baby things including diapers and wipes and CLOTHS for the baby.  Asked someone to mow the lawn while we were gone.  We had no time to prepare – or even think for that matter – so in the short 90 minute car ride, I passed the time by tying up all the loose ends so that we could bring the baby home with no hiccups.

By the time we were exiting the highway to Muncie (still about 20 minutes away), the birthmother had already dilated to 5 centimeters.  She was progressing very quickly.  We texted Sue, letting her know we were close.  She asked us to wait for her in the hospital lobby and then she would take us up to the maternity ward when she got there.

As we pulled into the hospital parking garage, I began to feel really nervous.  We were finally here.  Ben parked the car, we got out and walked into the hospital – leaving all of our bags in the car.  It still didn’t feel real and there was something about bringing in all of our stuff that didn’t feel appropriate yet.  So we left it and just headed in.

We walked into the hosptial from the parking garage through the ER, down a long hallway.  At the end of the hallway was the large main lobby of the hospital.  As we walked in, we looked around for Sue and didn’t see her.  We must have beaten her there.  So we found some couches just inside the front door and sat down.   We sat there, on the edge of our seats, not saying a word, staring at the front door of the hospital – waiting for Sue to walk through the door.  I felt like a freshman in college again – lost, helpless, confused and like I had just entered an alternate universe just waiting for someone to walk up and help me.  It felt so surreal.  It felt so unbelievable.  I was waiting for someone to pinch me.  In less than 36 hours I went from utter despair to shock to where I was at that moment – what I call – the “joy fog”.  It was finally happening and I was so happy, yet none of it felt real…yet.

Within 5 minutes, Sue walked in.  We stood to greet her and without a moment for a greeting she  said, “Okay you two, are you ready?  Can I say “no”? The birthmother is dilated to 8 centimeters.  We’re getting close.  It could happen anytime now.  I am going to take you up to the maternity floor now.”

We walked through the lobby in the opposite direction from where we came, down a long, dimly lit hallway.  We then turned left down another dark, cinderblock hallway painted a horrible puke green to an elevator bank.  We got on the elevator and went up several floors to the maternity floor.  When we walked off the elevator, we headed through a set up of double doors and then down yet another hallway to the family waiting room right outside Labor & Delivery (L&D).  The waiting room was empty, dark, and quiet.

Sue says, “You two wait here, I am going to see how the birthmother is doing and see if the hospital has a room for you.  Usually they have a recovery room for you to wait in.”  Sue walks away.  Ben and I just look at each other, alone in the waiting room, still in disbelief that it’s all really happening. Ben grabs my hand and holds it.  I am a ball of nerves, overwhelmingly happy, and on the verge of tears all at the same time.  I am a mess.

A few minutes later, Sue walks back out of L&D and says, “Okay, they have a room for you to wait in, let’s head down there.”

We walk down the hallway a little further to a hospital room – a room usually meant for a new mother and her baby – and we head inside.  In the room there’s a bed, a rocking chair and a small crib – as well as a few chairs along the window for visitors.  Ben, Sue and I each sit in one of the visitor chairs – because I feel like a visitor.  This wasn’t my room…was it?  I’m not a mother.  They wouldn’t give us one of these permanently, right?  It’s just for us to wait in, right?  I’m sitting in my chair, at the edge of my seat, in anxious anticipation.  I can’t speak.  My husband and Sue and chit-chatting away, but I can’t even pay attention.  I’m in a complete fog.  It’s like I am outside my body.  I’m still in disbelief that it’s actually happening.  I’m waiting for something to go wrong – for the birthmother to change her mind.  I’m on pins and needles.

Sue gets a text on her phone then says, “The birthmother is getting really close.  I am going to go wait right outside the delivery room so I can come tell you when she’s been born.  I know the birthmother wants you all to be the first to hold her.  I’ll text you Ben when she’s here.”

Sue walks out of the room and I look at Ben and immediately start to cry.  He sits down next to me and say, “What’s wrong babe?” but I still have no words.  I just sit there and sob.  We sit there…alone in the room…for what feels like eternity.  Waiting and waiting.  Then, at 3:36 p.m., a text comes to Ben’s phone from Sue, “She’s here!  I’ll be down to get you!”

I look at Ben and begin to cry harder.  We hug and soon we hear Sue walking down the hallway toward the room.  Sue walks in and she says, “Hurry, come with me.  She’s having a little trouble breathing and they need to take her to the NICU to get her breathing stabilized.  Nothing to worry about, but I’m gonna have you stand in the hallway between L&D and the NICU so you can see her before she goes in there.”

We quickly walk down the hallway, through as set of double doors that reads, “MEDICAL STAFF ONLY” and stop right inside the double doors.  I’m confused.  I’m overwhelmed.  I’m in a total daze.  I’m standing in some back hallway of a hospital waiting to meet my daughter.  There’s something wrong, but I don’t know what.  There’s a thousand thoughts running through my mind and my whole body is numb.

My first hospital band!

Just then two nurses burst through the labor and delivery doors – One carrying a baby, holding an oxygen mask to her face – the other carrying the oxygen tank.  The baby was so tiny, I almost didn’t see her.  The nurses stop right in front of Ben and I – and I act confused – are we in trouble?   I finally realize that the nurse is holding a baby and in disbelief, I look at Sue and say, “Is this her?!?”  Sue nods yes.  The nurse lifts the mask from her face so we can get a look and says, “We’ll come get you once we get her settled and stabilized.  She’s just needs a little pressurized oxygen right now.”

And just like that the nurses were through another set of doors that said “RESTRICTED” and into the NICU.  Just like that she was gone.  I couldn’t believe it happened.  It didn’t feel real. I couldn’t shake the fog of the shock I was experiencing – it was like an out-of-body experience.

Sue then led us back to the room where we were waiting and I sat back down in the same chair, still in disbelief, while Sue tried to calm our fears about the baby going straight into the NICU.

A few minutes later, over the loud speakers, throughout the hospital, chimes began to play Brahms Lullaby.  You know…

This DUO is now a TRIO!

lullaby and goodnight…

As the chimes began to play, Sue looks at Ben and I and says,

“That’s her.  That’s your daughter.”

I immediately began to cry.  That was it.  That was the moment that it finally felt a little bit real.  I snapped out of the fog.  I was there, in the very real moment of hearing the chimes ringing through Ball Memorial Hospital celebrating the birth of my daughter.

Two excruciating hours went by and finally the nurse came to get us.  She gave us our hospital bands, took us through NICU protocol, and took us back to the NICU to see our daughter.

There she was – cords, tubes, and machines coming out of her from everywhere, laying there under a heat lamp with nothing on but a diaper and a stocking cap on.  I stood there, in awe and in disbelief.  She still didn’t feel like mine.  I felt like I couldn’t get too close, that I shouldn’t touch her.  That I couldn’t even call her by the name we chose for her.  I stood there wondering if it was all true – if she really was ours.  If the waiting, the pain, the anxiety, the roller coaster, if it was all over.  I stood there wondering – until the nurse said to me, “Well momma, do you want to hold your daughter?”

Without hesitation I said, “Yes.”

I sat down in the rocker next to her NICU incubator.  The nurse slow lifted her out and carefully placed her in my arms.  And then.  Then.  That exact moment.  It was there.

That was the moment. The beautiful, perfect, glorious moment when that NICU nurse finally put my baby girl into my arms and said, “Here mom”.

That was the moment I became a mom.

All of it, in that exact moment, was worth it.  Everything that led us to this place, the pain, the surgeries, the treatments, the shots, the tears, the paperwork, the laughter, the pain – was all worth it.  Nothing else mattered at that point.  It was like I finally woke up from a dream – or maybe a nightmare – and when I opened my eyes, all is saw was a tiny, beautiful, perfect little human – and she was mine.

That was the exact moment that I knew she was mine.  That was the moment I knew I had finally met my daughter.  That was the moment I became her mom.