Hello, Goodbye

When we first started the adoption journey, we spent a lot of time figuring out where we thought we belonged in the scheme of things, and I think we chose well given our circumstances at the time. It was important to us that we find a place we were connected with that had younger children, and we appreciated that it was a short(er) program. We appreciated that Marshallese culture has a broad and inclusive view of family, and we were thankful to be with a wonderful agency that was trying to help RMI heal from inappropriate adoptions a couple of decades ago by upholding impeccable adoption practices.

As you know, things changed. The program slowed down for reasons that still aren't totally clear, and we began fostering Damien and Rayden because they were in need right in front of us. We don't know if we would have ended up being matched with a child during that time if we had NOT fostered them, but we have never second-guessed that decision.

People have asked what our intentions were as the boys grew- would we stay in the RMI program? We had hoped to, although we had no immediate plans because we obviously have a newborn at home... but now the answer is clear. The Marshallese adoption program has closed, and we are no longer an active family. 

Obviously we have conflicting feelings about this- failed adoptions are no joke.  We believe strongly that this was a path we were meant to be on regardless of its outcome, because it opened us up to having the boys, it helped us spread more information about adoption, we had a valid home study that made becoming foster parents easier (and helped show the boys' adoption committee that we really wanted to adopt, and we weren't trying to backdoor adopt D and R)... it was the right choice for us in the moment, even if it didn't move forward as we had hoped. We are sad, and I struggle with feeling like there's something still missing, but we'll work through that.

We are thrilled to be able to continue supporting other adoptions and DHS, and I'll probably write more about that later.  In the meantime, enjoy some pictures :) We love you all, and appreciate your support.

 

What a Difference a Year Makes

Courtesy of Facebook, I got a reminder this morning of my blog post from one year ago today- the week before we went to committee to be named the adoptive resource for the Damien and Rayden.

I couldn't believe it.

I mean, we tell people our story a LOT- it comes up more often than I thought possible- so in my head, I know that our family has grown exponentially in less than a year and a half, but this seems insane- to have been praying that a committee would let us continue to parent Damien and Rayden, and then to have gone through the adoption AND a pregnancy within the year to boot? To have THREE sons under one roof less than a year later?

And yes, they're all under one roof- Theo is home!

Two weeks ago, we got to bring home the newest member of the Johnson clan, and it has been awesome. And tiring. And wonderful, and difficult, and everything else all combined. He is growing physically and developmentally, and we are SO, SO fortunate. Huge shout out goes to the outstanding NICU team at St. Vincent's- they were almost too helpful.

Now that we're home, what is this blog about? I can't decide. I guess that depends on what happens next, and we don't have a clear direction- probably because we can't see past the next bottle yet. I have a lot of thoughts about adoption and foster care still, so that may happen here, and there's nothing about child rearing that hasn't been said on some other mom's blog, so I'm not sure. Forgive me a few generic mom blogs while I reestablish my footing now.

For the moment, enjoy some pics!

Thank you to everyone that has encouraged and supported us- it got us through a really rough time, and we can't express how grateful we are. We love you all!

Times, They are A-Changin'

Every time someone new enters the family, of course there will be drastic changes- some of which are predictable, and some that aren't. When Damien and Rayden came to live with us, for example, we knew some of what to expect; I knew we would need to baby-proof, but I didn't realize that I would have to become MacGyver in order to KEEP things baby-proofed, because Damien can dismantle anything. (Truly. He used a fork as a screwdriver to take off one of the kitchen cabinet locks so that he could help with recycling.)

With Theo, we knew that huge changes were coming, and that we would have to adapt quickly, but of course even that changed, so we need to do more, faster, than we ever could have realized. We are simultaneously very impatient for Theo to come home, and terrified at the prospect because we feel so unprepared.

I've been out of the hospital for a week now, and it is SUCH a relief. I was going nuts in there.  I wasn't expecting the truckloads of hospital staff members that would inundate us with questions, schedule appointment, and follow me around everywhere. (I've had more than one person either walk me to my car or to another wing of the hospital when I told them I had to leave.)  I am BEYOND thankful for the quality of care we continue to receive, but it is crazy overwhelming, especially when we're split between home and the hospital.  The boys are radiating anxiety too, poor things- how do you explain to a 2-year old why you're gone at the hospital so much? I cannot wait for this phase to be over.

At the same time, trying to figure out what the new normal is... that's overwhelming too. Damien starts preschool again in a few weeks, Theo's coming home, and I'm staying home for the school year- nothing is going to settle down for quite some time. If you know me well, you know I'm missing work like CRAZY right now, so that's rough. I love my job and I'm staying connected to the school, but not teaching feels like a piece of me is missing, even though I know it's the right decision for our family for a lot of reasons.  We made the decision before I went in to the hospital, so it feels like such a miracle that we were able to prepare for that beforehand instead of scrambling two days before I was supposed to report back... but one of the normalizing factors in my own life is gone.

To be clear, we have been given SO SO SO MUCH support- meals and gifts and encouragement abound.  We've got a master list running of who has watched the boys, brought food, and everything else, so that we can work on thank you cards... but it's in a notebook because we literally cannot keep track of it all. What an amazing problem to have! So many friends and family members have supported us through this time of limbo, when nothing is steady or solid.

But the panic is still creeping in. It's so easy to see all of the gaps in preparation, because human brains do that and it's the worst. I still look at Paul's Camry and worry because we can't fit three carseats in it. I stress about bottles, and diapers, and preemie carseats that we don't have. I obviously worry about the hospital bills and the ongoing care that comes with a preemie. I know some worry comes with being a parent and I'll never lose it completely, so we're trying to work on seeing the positive in all of these changes. We have a sweet, wonderful, increasingly healthy baby boy. My own medical issues are improving. We are loved thoroughly by many. Our boys, while stressed, are attached to us- a huge victory for adoptive families. (I would be far more concerned if they weren't worried about us being gone.) We know that we'll figure it all out- even when it doesn't feel that way.

And, of course, the most brilliant of all the silver linings, this:

Thank you for all of your love, patience, support, and engagement in our story. When I started writing this, it was about walking through an adoption. We wanted to give quick updates and expose more people to the idea of adoption... but instead, the blog turned into something much different. We love you all!

The Best Laid Plans...

If you know Paul, you know that he's a planner. He likes for things to be organized, and planned well in advance. Needless to say, this pregnancy didn't begin in a way that jives with how Paul functions. We kicked it into high gear getting things ready, but it's only been 7 weeks, so we started at the beginning but we haven't gotten that far. We essentially moved Ray into Damien's room and turned the nursery back into a bare bones nursery. As of last Friday, we had a mostly furnished but otherwise empty nursery.
So of course, that's when I got admitted to the hospital, my doctor rushing me in during a regular appointment. I was diagnosed with severe preeclampsia- genetic prenatal hypertension- that was well into the range where seizures and strokes are a risk.
The goal was to medicate, but at best, I would be hospitalized and in bed rest for the rest of the pregnancy. Ideally, the plan was  to keep me pregnant for as long as my body let me stay pregnant...
Which turned out to be three more days.

On Tuesday, we welcomed our third son, Theodore Brian, into this wacky family! 

We are both healthy, even though the situation wasn't ideal. Theo has been a champ- he is already off the CPAP (breathing, for lack of a better term) machine, and everyone in the NICU is hopeful that he will be able to come home around 35 weeks.  I was admitted early enough to get Theo some steroids in preparation for an emergency C section, so that's great news.


Besides the actual hospital stuff, we obviously ran into a crisis in terms of childcare, and let me just say THANK YOU to everyone that watched Damien and Ray for a few hours (or overnight- or with a call in the middle of the night!),  everyone that has brought food for Paul and the boys, and everyone that has sent pick-me-ups from afar.  We literally could not have made it through the last week without you all!

Sorry to everyone that we should have told and didn't- we didn't exactly have time to get organized and I've been doing not so hot in these meds, so people have fallen through the cracks. Some people knew about the hospital but not yet about Theo- yikes! Today has been the first day that I have been coherent enough to actually write something down, so it seemed like the wisest use of time to send this announcement out en masse.  But we love you all! There will definitely be a cuter announcement coming to everyone when things settle down, but probably not until Theo gets home.

Moving forward, we need for a lot of things to happen. First of all, today was the first day that my body reacted positively to the meds to manage my preeclampsia, which needs to continue in order for me to go home.
Secondly, we need Theo to continue to react positively to all of the love and help that the NICU doctors and nurses are giving him. He has done well with everything, but the next step is coming off the IV and moving to bottle feeding. Prayers and encouragements for his continued progress are appreciated. He's a warrior to be sure, and so far it looks like this will be just a matter of time, but there are inherent risks with being a preemie, obviously.
Thirdly, we need to get things ready much faster than we realized, and with less time. We will be spending a lot of time in the NICU, so even the time we have before Theo comes home is cut in half. Yikes! We are at a fabulous hospital with wonderful healthcare professionals (remember my last post?) and we have amazing support- but now we have the practical stuff to deal with. Double yikes!
Lastly, we eventually need to find a way to thank everyone for their support, because WHOA this has been a crazy week. That will come soon.

So... Surprise? It seems like our lives have turned into a soap opera... Let's hope for a little bit of calm, perhaps. I hope I didn't jinx it.

Thank you to everyone that has helped and encouraged through this! I will update more soon. Love you all!

Being a Parent is Scary: A Love Letter to Healthcare Professionals

I have been visiting the doctor a LOT recently, so this is on the forefront of my mind, but having a good healthcare professional is invaluable, and we have been mostly very fortunate with this so far. (Side note: My sister is a nurse. I'm a little biased, but this really isn't about her.)

In January, Rayden split his forehead open in glorious fashion. He is, as many of you know, the clumsiest, most top-heavy kid on the planet. He was in the garage with Paul and Damien and face-planted on the water heater (the first of 3 large lacerations to his head that month), and ended up getting 3 stitches. (We really do watch him, I swear.)  His case worker later said she was surprised that we had managed to keep him out of the hospital that long- he often gets hurt just walking.

Because we had to report all injuries to his case worker, I was panicked. I was calling every number for her, I was calling other people at DHS- I was terrified that this would somehow mess up our adoption. Having everything you do scrutinized as a parent is not comfortable. I wasn't worried about the injury- they happen. My siblings and I were frequent flyers at the doctor's office with sports injuries, and I have seen a LOT.

Paul, however... not so much. I had not yet had a chance in our 13 years together to find out that he does not handle blood well. I wasn't even in a state to notice right then- I was crying because, as I pinned down our 1yo and he screamed, I was imagining the worst case scenarios- would he be taken away? Would we be able to continue as foster parents? Would someone report us?  Meanwhile, Paul was not having any of it- head wounds are serious bleeders- and the doctor asked a nurse to come in to relieve Paul, who had gotten more than a little pale.
 

The woman that came in- a roughly 50yo Native American woman- was perfection. She was helpful and efficient and walked into a room that already had a screaming child, said hi to Damien (in the corner of the room watching PBSkids on my phone), and was soothing to everyone. Even when we were done, I hadn't stopped crying because I hadn't heard from the case worker to assuage any of my fears. I thanked the doctor and the nurse and apologized for being a mess. They could see from his paperwork that we were not yet his legal guardians, and I explained my fear- and that nurse grabbed me in the biggest bear hug imaginable and whispered, "It's not your fault."

So simple, and yet exactly what I needed to hear. I owe her what's left of my sanity.


Fast forward to now, with my super weird pregnancy story that is all the cliches in one- and I am in LOVE with my entire doctor's office. I've had to see a lot of different doctors because I didn't schedule my appts months in advance, which means different nurses, lab techs, etc., and I have adored every. single. one. The boys LOVE the lab tech that has done almost all of my (many) blood draws- she gives them Tootsie Rolls, an easy win- and they know her by name. As I ask questions I should have known the answers to months ago, as I plan the future in fast forward, every single person has been encouraging and patient and wonderful. We're even becoming legends- several have come in and said, "Oh, YOU'RE the one that just found out! Right before the adoption? And three boys? So nice to put a face to the story!" I love them all with borderline obsession, because any modicum of peace I have gained has been from these professionals.

Slowly, too, their friendliness is winning over the kids, which I appreciate more than I can explain. My doctor is in a wing of a hospital, which I never gave a second thought to. In fact, I chose this office years ago intentionally BECAUSE it was a part of a hospital. The first time I questioned this was about a month ago- Damien had been having a rough weekend, and kept almost getting himself or Ray hurt- and we had been talking a lot about getting seriously hurt (and going to the hospital). He apparently mulled this over for a while, because at the dinner table he randomly said, "I don't want to go to the hospital and have a policeman take me away."

Whoa.

He has started to verbalize a little bit about things before foster care, and it's always hard to deal with. You never know what to say, or what he needs to hear. You try to not break down in front of anyone, but how do you not?

Damien and Rayden entered foster care after several days of meticulous note taking and reporting done by healthcare professionals that knew what warning signs to look for. Having read the MASSIVE intake reports from Rayden's time in the hospital, I am convinced that his life was saved. They did the difficult and necessary thing and rescued my son, before I knew he existed.  I've had to call CPS/DHS before for students, and it is one of the most difficult things I have ever done. The emotions are so hard to sort through, and the brain wants to think the best of everyone, justifying certain behaviors and giving people the benefit of the doubt. But without these people... I wouldn't have my sweet boy.

And, bonus! My wonderful doctors now have made Damien more comfortable in hospitals, which is a feat in and of itself. This is especially good, because it's not like I'm able to avoid them right now, obviously.

So, that's it. Sorry this was a terribly long post, and the closest thing you'll ever get to a baby bump picture. Tell all of your doctors, nurses, techs, receptionists, the greeters at the hospital, ALL OF THEM- that they're awesome, because they are.


I'm still not sure with what regularity I will post, but I do want to continue to be transparent about fostering and adopting, and my love for everyone in healthcare felt very close to those topics. Enjoy!  We love you, and thanks for reading!

Surprise- It's Official! We're a Family of... 5?

Yesterday was the big day- the adoption ceremony! We have officially, completely, legally adopted our sweet boys- meet Damien (almost 4) and Rayden (2yo)!

And, because God has a weird sense of humor, here's our 3rd son, He-Who-Has-Yet-to-be-Named Johnson!

I know... not the announcement you were expecting, right? Me neither.

So, to stave off the questions, and since I've pretty well chronicled my infertility, here's the deal. The observant, or experienced, among you will notice that's not a first-trimester sonogram. That's the result of the usual 20-week anatomy sonogram, only for us, it determined that I'm at 24 weeks.

I'm still in shock, too.

So, if you've been following the blog, you can see times when I have talked about our infertility and the various complications, so suffice it to say that we were fairly sure that I couldn't get pregnant. Skipping periods is pretty normal for me, so I wasn't shocked when I skipped a whole bunch of months (7ish)- I took pregnancy tests like usual (all negative) and figured that it was wacky old hormones again, preparing me for another simulated miscarriage. Yippeeeeee.  Every test was negative (Paul contests that on one point, so don't be surprised if you hear him argue), but seriously- multiple tests, different brands, different months- all negative.  All of my other symptoms were totally in line with my other diseases, and I really didn't have many symptoms. I got sick a few times, but there was no ongoing morning sickness- I was tired, but what teacher isn't tired in May/June? I had abdominal pain starting about a month ago, which I assumed was endometriosis/ more cysts, and I was trying to make it through our trip to Cali so I could come home and schedule a hysterectomy.

And then I felt the baby moving.

The night of the 4th of July, I got home and couldn't sleep, because apparently fireworks until 1 in the morning is a thing I should just be accustomed to. Our newest son decided that was the time to try out for the World Cup with a stunning round of cervical soccer, and I knew this was NOT cysts (duh). I hadn't felt him move before, I hadn't had other symptoms, so I'm sitting there Googling "when do babies start to kick" trying to wrap my head around the possibility.

I went in last Tuesday for the blood test. The technical response from the advice nurse was that I was "whoa way pregnant".

Thursday, they fit me in for the big sonogram, and Paul and I were stunned as the tech took one look at the baby (it literally took 5 seconds) before going back to adjust all of his settings to zoom out- we weren't looking at a lima bean.  By the end of the appointment, we had an estimated due date of October 24th.

Of course I had (have) a difficult time wrapping my head around this- I grieved infertility a really long time ago, and now I have to listen to a million of the "If you're having trouble getting pregnant, just adopt!" jokes (and I'm counting- only a handful of people know and I'm already at 7). Oh, boy.  We still don't have answers for a lot of these questions, because we had a kind of big week ahead. Which brings us to...

Adoption day!

We were so fortunate to have people we love there, even if many people we love couldn't attend. The judge was warm and extremely patient, as Damien and Rayden were... energetic. First, they thought that the microphone at the defendant's desk meant they were supposed to sing, which they did, loudly. Then they kept running back to their first foster dad because he is their favorite person in all the lands. Finally, Damien decided he wanted to be a judge, and was allowed to help stamp his own paperwork.  Rayden followed suit, of course, while we all laughed and cried. Some of us cried more than others. (Lookin' at you, friend Kiersten ;) )

It was perfect and crazy and hilarious and wonderful, and such a relief. We all went to dinner afterwards for good food and terrible service at our favorite local place, and it felt like home.

And to answer the question, yes- it feels different. I can't explain it, but today feels a world apart from this time yesterday.  Officially Damien Ash Johnson (middle name given as a thank you to Ashley, his first foster mom, the Patron Saint of Patience), and Rayden Chance Johnson (new middle name a bit more literal, and adorably fitting)- it's finally real.

HUGE thanks go to everyone that has supported us and will support us in the future- we have a wonderful community of giving and loving people and we could not have done any part of this alone.  I'll say this every single day of my life- not everyone can be a foster parent (or even wants to be a parent at all), but supporting those that are is what makes the world go 'round. One person met me at Target the other day for a 30 minute trip just so she could push a cart (with two kids) around while I did the same, because we had a shelter placement and I couldn't fathom going to the store alone with a 2, 3, 4, and 5 year old (three of those kids with diagnosed ADHD and INSANE amounts of energy). Another friend just rode in the car with me to the lawyer's office so she could stay in the car and I wouldn't have to bring in 4 kids. Even with just our own two, we have had SO MUCH support- from meals and babysitting to cheerleading- and that's something anyone can do! If being a supporter means that you can help equip someone else to foster, then do it!

To everyone that we didn't contact about the pregnancy yet- we are TRULY sorry. Everything's running in double time, so we didn't get to contact everyone we would have liked before the public announcement. And since I'm starting to look pregnant, the cat's out of the bag. Please know that we didn't mean to offend or slight anyone, and we love you all!

I have a feeling I'll keep the blog running, but we'll see. Now I can post pictures of the kiddos, so be prepared! We love you all, and we love the way you have loved us through this process. My thanks will never properly express it, but still- THANK YOU!

Grief

NOT BAD NEWS, JUST THOUGHTS...

Sorry, I felt like I had to begin with a disclaimer or people would assume the worst. On to the regular post.


Not that long ago, I read, "Grief isn't something you move past- it is a weight that you learn to carry." I can't find it now, so I can't cite the source, but the truth of it has lived with me and helped me understand grief better. Don't worry- we're not in some awful place right now- I'm just being introspective. That's probably why I can write about it with some clarity instead of watching Sleepless in Seattle on repeat. What- you've never done that?

I think there are things we grieve that have so little weight that we forget them almost entirely (like high school boyfriends). They feel heavy with loss at the time because we haven't adjusted to the new burden, but then we barely even notice them.

There are things we mourn that we only feel occasionally, like the times I miss Los Angeles. This type of a loss feels heavy momentarily, like the strap of my backpack slipped off for a moment, but then it balances back out.

Then, it seems, there are losses that are so heavy that they are a part of who we are- struggles that cause an almost consistent ache, burdens that may feel slightly lighter over time, but the load you bear can never be rid of these. The trick, I'm finding, is to learn how to carry those so that we continue to move forward, instead of being buried by them.

Yesterday we had our now 2 year old's birthday party (!) and I was talking with a fellow foster mom about how she's going to talk to her kids about their birth parents. She has two bio kids and two foster sons, about the same age as our two sons, and these four sweet boys have suffered such devastating losses in their few years- losses I will never completely understand, and losses that they don't fully comprehend yet. These are things we will have to discuss, and we are committed to discussing openly to fight the stigma surrounding adoption and foster care... but that doesn't mean it's easy, or even that it will get easier.

Paul and I have grieved many things in our combined years, some of those things more tangible than others. He lost his father after years of separation, and I watched him grieve not only the loss of his father, but also the loss of what could have been- possible reconciliation, possible grandparenting, possible friendship even. We grieved the loss of our expectations through the fertility struggles- the adorable White Picket Fence family we had planned was no longer a likelihood, and the loss of that dream was difficult. We grieved What Might Have Been, as so many do.

Even now, my grief feels so small when I have these two amazing blessings in front of me- these two wonderful children that have so much more to grieve than I will ever know. We prepare for those conversations, but what do we say? How do we prepare them for a time when this grief will be a thing that they have to carry more independently?

I don't have an answer, but I know that we are devoted to trying. We will help them carry this weight for as long as possible, as many others helped us carry our burdens. We can't carry it all, and we can't carry it forever, but we will try to teach them how to persevere and come out stronger because the other option is sinking beneath it all, and what kind of a life is that?

Thank you for the many people that helped us carry our various weights until we were ready to handle the losses more independently- we are in debt to those that kept us looking towards the horizon.



In other news-

We are SO STINKING CLOSE to this adoption being done! We have a tentative court date (that has already changed once), but the boys should legally be ours by the end of April!  Let's just pray my heart doesn't give out before then. Sorry I'm awful at the updates- let's all pretend I'm going to get better at that, okay?