Waiting for the Stork

“Okay,” my therapist said, leaning into yet another discussion on a topic we’d hashed out and rehashed together. “If the stork leaves a baby on your doorstep tomorrow, what will you do?”

“Raise it as my own and love it for my entire life,” I replied with the obvious answer. I looked at her as if she were absurd and she looked back at me the same way. In the midst of our deadlocked stare, I understood. She was showing me something that at the time I wasn’t ready to see.

I was sitting on the floor of her office in early 2020, still inexplicably bleeding from a pregnancy loss that had occurred months prior. My husband, Matt, and I were three years into our egg-donor IVF journey and I had miscarried our last remaining embryo. It was the baby that everyone in our lives hoped for, prayed for, and believed we deserved, but it just didn’t work out that way. Instead of being weeks away from delivering a healthy newborn as planned, I was a bloody, emotional mess with incessant hormonal headaches and a broken ankle to boot (unrelated, but unfortunate nonetheless). My seat on my therapist’s floor was equal parts to relieve my ankle and because I desperately needed to feel like I was on solid ground.

I knew what she was trying to get at with her stork business. Matt, my determined and focused husband, was ready to move on and start making plans for an adoption, but I wasn’t there. I wondered over and over: Could I love a child who I had no hand in creating as my own? Theoretically, I’d always believed the answer to be “yes.” Long before I learned of my infertility diagnosis, I’d casually considered adoption a potential part of my life plan. But when it was time to really face that adoption was the only way I could safely become a mother, I sought a level of certainty that I now realize is never available to us as parents or prospective parents, adoptive or otherwise. I wanted someone to tell me that if I went down this particular path — the paperwork and meetings more businesslike than my early imaginings of giving birth and the intrinsic love that was sure to follow — I would be a successful mother, a complete mother, to a child someone else conceived.

The truth is, while I may be a writer who often focuses on grief, loss, and other tricky feelings, generally speaking I do better in the realm of strategy than of emotion. I believe that “prior preparation prevents poor performance.” When my mother was dying, I built spreadsheets and delegated tasks. I’ve developed strategies for Fortune 500 corporations and President Obama. So when the question was that of whether I would be a successful adoptive mom, I sought clarity and found none. There were no firm answers for when to stop IVF, when to consider adoption, or whether to give up on our dreams of parenthood entirely.

So I asked for and enlisted help from my therapist, husband, and close friends to unravel the knot of questions winding itself within me. With their patience, careful questioning, and occasional tough love, I recognized that while I still wanted that baby, I was ready to give up my dream of being pregnant. And, most importantly, that I needed to release that dream in order to fully focus on what really mattered to me: becoming a mom.

I’d love to tell you that once that decision was made, it was smooth sailing, but it was not. I did not stop bleeding, I did not immediately fall into lockstep with my husband, I did not look up and see a stork coming my way. It was instead a year of great uncertainty with an endless stream of tasks and lots of really grief-filled stories about birth parents, but it did indeed work out for us in the end. Today we have a rambunctious toddler, Bennett, who rarely listens and who I did indeed love from the moment I learned of his existence. And while I wish he had shown up sooner, I have no doubt that he is certainly the child that was meant for me.

Navigating the adoption process

If you are considering adoption, here are a few tips that I picked up along the way. There are no shortcuts or guarantees, but I do hope these suggestions make it all a little bit easier!

Get on the same page with your partner

The first, and possibly most important, thing you can do is to get on the same page as your co-parent-to-be (if one exists) about whether you want to adopt, why, what you’re worried about, and what you are open to. In adoption you have to decide up front about the type of adoption (foster to adopt, private, open vs. closed, domestic or international), gender, race, age, health conditions, and substance history. In order to avoid conflict and heartbreak down the line, get clear about your preferences from the outset — and don’t feel guilty about any of them.

Identify trusted voices

Adoption can be confusing and overwhelming, so it’s important to identify the folks and resources who can help you navigate the process. Matt and I started by speaking to friends who had successfully adopted to understand their real-life experiences. On the research end, we hired an adoption consultant to guide us through the process. Having a supportive network and reputable sources for facts and information was essential, and we would not have Bennett without them.

Pace yourself

When Matt and I were adopting, he was working on the front lines of the global pandemic, testing and vaccinating people in the most vulnerable communities. I was writing my first book and running a business, and we were both still processing a lot of grief. We were well aware that we were looking to become parents during an uncertain time. But really, who isn’t? Life was not going to stop for us, so we found ways to slow down the process according to our life and needs. For a while, we checked only one thing off our 27-item adoption to-do list. We didn’t beat ourselves up for doing that, either. We took our time because that’s what was best for us as a family, and we have no regrets. Do this on your timeline, no one else’s.

Seek out joy wherever you can

Between infertility and adoption, it took us five years to complete our journey to parenthood. I knew that once our DINK (dual income, no kids) status was no longer, our priorities would totally shift. So we thought, why not live it up while we wait? We went to Costa Rica, Turks and Caicos, and Napa. We went to NFL games, had more late nights in New York City than I care to recall, and made complex meals together at home without having to worry about a hangry toddler or who is doing bedtime that night. We had fun, and I encourage you to do the same. All of this is so hard, so make it a little bit lighter by adding some levity, laughter, and joy. This is easier said than done, especially when you’re in the depths of grief. But wherever you can, try to find a sliver of joy.

Lean on your community

This is one for the adoption allies out there. Matt and I had 25 and a half hours between receiving a phone call about our son, who was several states away, and having him placed in our arms, and we knew we had nothing. Not a single diaper, much less a car seat or formula; his arrival was simply so unexpected. But our community stepped in, handling groceries and bottles and diapers and a car seat — all of it — while Matt and I focused on the things that were essential for us to do.

If you are trying to show up for someone who is adopting, find something practical to do. Send the groceries, give them a Grubhub card, send a fun playlist or a list of shows to stream in the middle of the night when the kid won’t sleep. Put yourself to work. And please keep any details adoptive parents may share about their adoption to yourself. Someone may share something with you in the moment which they decide to wait to share with others or their child, so please do not be the person who spills personal adoption details publicly or to a child before they are ready.

As my husband reminded me as I was writing this, adoption requires patience and grace. Nothing about it is easy, tidy, or straightforward, but neither is parenting, so consider it all practice for what’s to come. And remember, as long as you do what is best for your particular family, you are doing just fine.