To the Adoptive Mama from your Maternity Nurse (and adoptive mama too)

I’ve seen you walk into the labor and delivery unit, fear, joy, and uncertainty written all over your face.

My heart instantly felt a connection with you. 

I’ve walked into your hospital room and found you in a quiet moment cradling your baby, whispering words of love that you have stored up in your heart for a very long time.  

I remembered those initial moments with my own children, and quietly closed the door to give you some time. 

I’ve told you your child’s birth mom was asking to see the baby. I watched you put on a smile, dress your baby in the most adorable outfit possible, and slowly push the bassinet toward her room.

My heart felt so proud of you. 

I’ve heard your gut-wrenching sob coming from the hallway. In my heart, I knew all too well what this particular cry meant. 

I came to you.

You’ve fallen into my arms and cried, “She’s changed her mind!”

I held you as tight at I could, and I cried right along with you. 

You’ve looked me dead in the eyes, tears streaming down your face, searching for any glimmer of hope and asked, “What’s going to happen?”

I looked back into your eyes and reassured you that God already has this child’s life planned out, and that it’s a plan that is way better than we could ever dream up for our children.

As I’ve left my shift for the evening, uncertainty still hanging in the air, you’ve taken my hand in yours and begged me to pray for you. To pray for your baby. To pray for the birth mom.

I went home and prayed…and cried tears through the night over your potential loss. 

But other times…

I’ve watched you bustling around the hospital room on the day your baby is set to be discharged home with you. The joy and anticipation exuding from your face. The moment you have been waiting for, praying for for years. 

I rejoiced with you. 

I’ve stood by your side as you said your last goodbyes to your child’s birth mom. Watched as you lovingly placed your baby in her arms one last time; gently rubbed your child’s birth mom’s arm, whispered words of affirmation and reassurance to her; thanked her.

With your permission, I’ve quietly documented every moment of it with your camera, knowing just how important these pictures will mean to your child one day.

I’ve wheeled you toward your car in a hospital wheelchair, newborn baby in your arms. The child that you have waited for, prayed for, hoped for for what seems like a lifetime. 

I recognized the emotions you were feeling. I silently prayed for you, while holding back my own tears.

When you’ve burst into tears, as we neared the elevator, and cried out, “How is it that I can be feeling so happy, when I know she (your child’s birth mom), is feeling so sad?”

I got down on my knees, as my own tears started to quietly escape, looked you in the eye and reassured you that your feelings were normal. That I’ve been where you are. Caught in the moment where great joy intertwines with great loss.  That though this situation is anything but natural, it is beautiful, and full of hope.

As we’ve hugged goodbye, I’ve whispered in your ear how happy I was for you. I’ve wished you the best, and promised to pray for you. 

I did. That night, and many more nights to come.

You see, I too, am an adoptive mama. A mom, with children born from my heart and not from my womb. A mom who feels the immense joy of being the forever mama of my children, but whose heart breaks for their birth moms’ loss. I remember the uncertainty of those days prior to the finalization of their adoptions. Oh the anxiety. The jumping every time my phone rang. The fear of losing the most precious thing I have ever known. Because of this, our hearts are connected, yours and mine. I am grateful for the moments I had with you, and hope the beginning days of your journey (whether you got to bring this particular precious child home with you or not), were made just a little bit smoother because of the moments I got to care for you as your nurse (but more so, your kindred spirit).