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Waiting…and Waiting Some More
Continued from previous post
During the next few weeks, we met the pregnant couple several more times, all in very informal situations. At our second meeting, the baby’s parents both wore enormous black leather jackets and the father smelled strongly of cigarette smoke. My husband and I, both high school teachers, didn’t even notice their attempt to shock us.
One time we met at McDonald’s and our son’s birth mom and her husband met us there. During the past year and a half, she’d become our biggest cheerleader, always encouraging us in our parenting and in our attempts to adopt a second child. She and the baby’s father immediately hit it off.
With no clear indication of whether this situation would work out, my husband and I guarded our hearts. We were beginning to get burned out, questioning whether God really wanted us to adopt.
One morning, we got a call from our agency. The baby’s mother had gone into labor and was heading to the hospital. At 4 a.m. the next morning, the baby’s father called. “You have a baby boy,” he announced. “What do you want to name him?”
Then he added, “By the way, what’s your last name?”
During our meetings, the only thing we had kept confidential was our last name, figuring that if the baby’s parents didn’t follow through with the adoption, they wouldn’t care what our last name was, anyway. The baby’s father intended to convey our name to the mother to see whether she still felt comfortable placing him for adoption once she knew what last name he’d take on.
At 8 a.m. their counselor called. The father was reconsidering. “He really wants to parent this baby,” she said. “Give him 48 hours to decide.”
We had feared this would happen, but we’d also known to expect it, so we prepared to play the waiting game yet again.
The next morning, their counselor called again. “The father has decided to abide by the mother’s wishes and has signed the relinquishment papers. You will meet your son tomorrow.”
On Feb. 29, 1996, we arrived at our adoption agency a family of three. A couple of hours later, we left as a family of four.
