Guest Blogger Gwen is expecting…for the second time. And once again, no baby bump or stretch-marks will grace her with their pending bambino. Step inside their world of growing a family through adoption. Follow along here at Mile High Mamas and her blog and get a candid feel for the ups, downs, highs, lows and surprises that go hand in hand with the struggles of infertility and the miracle of adoption.

We all have our own “stuff.” The “stuff” that drags us down, causes emotional and physical havoc, brings us to tears, causes us to ask “really, why me?” My “stuff” is a charming disease called endometriosis and its sidekick, infertility. They’ve made a career out of working together to make a dynamic duo in my body. For a long time, I cursed this dynamic duo and spent a whole lot of time with the “why me” stuff. Until I saw the ironic beauty of their partnership.

After 2 surgeries and 2 years of fertility drugs, poking and prodding, we put a stop to the madness that took over our life, thoughts, dreams….no more. We walked through the doors of Bethany Christian Services in Denver and never looked back. They educated us on the reality of adoption in the current century, put us at ease and got us rollin’ with growing our family. Three months after walking in those doors, our case worker called me at work. The conversation went something like this….

“It’s ‘Melissa.’ Are you sitting down?”

“Yes. Sitting. Are you still coming over tonight to approve our home study?”

“Well, yes, but first, you were chosen.”

“Chosen for what?”

“A baby, Gwen.”

Silence.

“But we just handed our profile book in yesterday.”

“I know. This is a first for us, but you guys were chosen by a birth mom in Grand Junction . We overnighted your book to her yesterday and she chose you. It’s a boy.”

Silence. More silence. A gaping jaw on my end. And more silence.

“There’s more. He’s born. And you can pick him up in 2 days if you decide it’s a good fit.”

The rest of that glorious day is a complete blur. I called my husband. I called my mom and dad. I called our best friends. I didn’t cry. I didn’t internalize much of anything. That night we registered at the totally foreign “Babies R Us” with friends in a complete haze. The 800 versions of bottle nipples looked like alien creatures to us, but we didn’t have much time.

We spoke on the phone to the birth mom and her mother the next day. Never have I been that nervous to talk to an 18 year old girl in my life. I cried. I heard his little whimper in the background and it started to sink in. My son? Really? Was it that simple? She told us she really liked us, and she wasn’t changing her mind. She liked that we were old enough to be mature but still young enough to be “cool.” Her only disappointment was that we didn’t have a cat. I guess she was willing to overlook that small detail.

A massive baby shower took place the next day. I cried then too. People came out of the woodwork to support us. They brought bouncy seats, tiny baby socks, books, high chairs, burp cloths, onesies….we didn’t know what half this stuff was even for. Gifts arrived on our doorstep for a year. One whole year. From people we didn’t even know. In 2 days, our house looked like baby central. We were ready to pick up our little dude.

Then the birth father contested the placement the night before we were supposed to go pick him up. That was an angry week. A very angry week. But under God’s grace and provision, a week later, that all worked itself out. We drove our blue Volvo sedan to Golden, where he was staying in a foster care home through our agency. Given the birth father drama, we wanted him in a more stable environment while the kinks were worked out. “Melissa” met us in the driveway, holding this little sleeping blue bundle. We floated to greet her and held our little man for the first time. He slept for 45 minutes while we filled out paperwork and learned about his first 3 weeks in the world. The foster family loved him like their own and blessed him with the care that he so desperately needed during that week.

We showed up that morning as a family of two and came home a family of three. Just like that. Surreal. Completely surreal. It’s at that point that I started thanking God for my “stuff.” For blessing me with infertility. And for giving me the patience to see the beauty through all that ugliness. And for gifting us with a little miracle that we can’t begin to imagine life without. Thank God for “stuff.”

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