When What You Have Is Finally Enough
This bedroom has served many purposes in its short time of housing us. It was Addison’s bedroom when we first moved in, the walls once covered in tall flower decals much suited for a 3-year-old. When I finally became pregnant with Brody 3 years later, my husband and I decided to move Addie into the playroom where she’d have access to the attic that would eventually become her playroom. My husband worked hard on making Addie’s new room fit our then 6 year old’s standards. The closet he built her was one that we envied, and he painted her room the perfect teal blue to match all her room décor and bedding. All the while, I began making plans for the new empty space that would be Brody’s nursery. I dreamed up of paint colors and nursery themes and the exact placement of the rocking chair. Surely, it would sit right next to the front window where I could watch the neighborhood passing by while I rocked a sweet newborn to sleep. Those dreams came to a screeching halt after we lost Brody. Soon after I came home from a traumatic stay at the hospital, I would lay on the floor of that bedroom and sob until there were no tears left to cry. After a while, that room piled back up with Addie’s toys, but the door mostly remained shut as to keep all that pain tucked away behind it.
When we discovered that we were pregnant with our twins a year later I was hesitant to make any plans for that room. We didn’t dream up of baby names or nursery themes or wonder how the heck we’d manage two babies at once. We were scared to think about bringing our twins home because we knew all too well what it felt like to grieve and to have something that we so desperately wanted ripped away from us. And just like that, we were struck with grief again. Our twin boys didn’t get to come home with us. Our dreams for this room and for our lives didn’t play out the way we had hoped so hard for.
Growing up I had this divine plan. I’d marry a great man whose character was in all of my favorite Disney movies and we’d have 4-7 children. I was going to be the best mom and my children would never doubt my love for them. I grew up as an only child, so I’d make sure that my kids had plenty of siblings to grow up and grow old with. When my husband and I began trying for another baby, the process was a lot more difficult than we had anticipated, putting more pressure on me to fulfill these dreams I had envisioned for my life.
I’ve always been a ‘more is better’ person.
More clothes, better wardrobe. More wine, more fun. More food, more joy. More chaos, more laughs. More kids, more love.
You get the idea. It’s not that I wasn’t grateful for what I had. And it’s not that my sweet Addie wasn’t enough for me. I just wanted more of what I had. Because what I had [have] is so good. I wanted more kids to love and to give Addie siblings to share toys and life experiences with. I don’t know, maybe I wanted to do everything differently and to never allow my daughter to feel the way I did as a child.
After we lost our sons, I struggled with the idea that Addie would be our only child. There were just so many emotions and disappointments connected to our loss’s. My husband adopted Addison after we got married and although he has always declared that she is more than enough, I just really felt called to gift him with children who shared our DNA. I wanted him to watch his child being born and to know a love that is indescribable at the first sight and touch of a baby that he created. If you were to ask him though, he would tell you that he already does. The ‘more’ that I wanted wasn’t just about satisfying some guilty pleasure. It was about bringing children into this world to love and raise, and watch reach milestones and be good people and maybe repeat the cycle by raising children of their own.
For an entire year I wrestled with these emotions and thoughts and grief and pressure and sadness and the feeling of wanting more. I asked my husband a lot if he wanted to try again and each time I was met with the same answer. Life was settling again around us – around our grief and overwhelming emotions – but I felt so out of place. For years, I had my entire life planned out and when Justin came into my life, we solidified those plans and talked about them so much that they felt like they were in within an arms reach. After many hard conversations, we decided that maybe our purpose and our dreams were bigger than we anticipated; maybe opening our home and our hearts to children who needed a safe place to land was the plan all along. We took our foster parent certification course and explored deep emotions that we had tucked away. Because, you guys, those classes are hard and dig up old skeletons that were buried for good reason. But rest assured, our social worker got to know us and our vulnerabilities well enough to deem us as suitable foster care parents.
We cleared that room once again and prepared it to sleep children ranging from a fresh newborn to a small toddler big enough for a twin-size bed. I peaked in that room almost everyday wondering who our first placement would be. Would it be a boy or a girl? Would it be a baby who wanted to be wrapped up in my arms at all times? Maybe I’d have a rocking chair overlooking the front window after all.
We waited and waited on that one phone call sure to change our lives until the waiting got old. I got stir crazy, you guys, and began reaching for more. I made an appointment for us to consult with our Infertility Specialist because I was sure that trying again was really a part of this divine plan. Just days after making that appointment we were called to do an overnight respite for two children who were already in the foster care system. Those kids were awesome. They were sweet and fun and it all just felt so right. It was right, until I woke up the next day with these beautiful darlings and had that ‘out of place’ feeling again. This didn’t feel right anymore. The fostering, the IVF, it was all wrong. Everything that was right was already sitting in front of me. My husband, my beautiful daughter and my wild pups. It was at that moment at 5 am while feeding those beautiful babies who could have passed as our own offspring, that I realized what I have is already enough.
Sometimes I catch myself wondering again. But I think that’s griefs way of settling in and reminding me of our baby boys that couldn’t be part of that divine plan. And that’s ok, I’ll take the grief if that’s how I get to feel them.
The things I have been blessed with are things that some people never get to have. These things, these beautiful people of mine fill me up so high that there isn’t anything more that I could ever want. I wallowed in ‘what if’s and tried to be in charge of our divine plan so much that I didn’t allow for contentment to have room in my life. I still grieve my sons and all they should have been able to live for and sometimes, more really is better, but this beautiful family of mine is more than I deserve and more than enough for me.
I want to end this by telling you that while I was writing this post, we got a phone call from social services about a placement for 2 very little boys. The words in this post have been on my heart since giving those babies back to their lovely and gracious foster parents 5 months ago. Today of all days was the day I chose to share them here. The irony and significance of all this is not at all lost on me. I have chills as I type this, and I also have an overwhelming urge to unleash these tears that I have been holding in since this morning.
But here’s the honest truth. As much room as I have in my heart and in that very room for those two little boys, this opportunity didn’t feel like ours to take. It’s for someone else who deserves the feeling of having more than enough.
