When I was pregnant, I lived and breathed “What to Expect When You’re Expecting.” I religiously took my prenatals, banned all (well most) caffeine, forced myself to eat a balanced diet, and never missed an ob appointment. It has recently hit me that I have no control over our adopted child’s experience in utero. Zero. Nada. Reality is that his birth mother probably lacks access to clean water, has had no prenatal care, and doesn’t know what a balanced diet even looks like. After all, the well-off do not typically wind up abandoning their children, rather it is those who are unable to provide for them. How sobering.
Since we have begun this process, I have been praying earnestly not only for our child but for his birth mother. I will never see her face, yet I feel a unique connection to her. Having carried two children myself, I know how she is feeling physically. I know how it feels to have a baby roll around in your uterus. I know the nausea and exhaustion. I know what it’s like when you can feel every little hiccup of your child. What I will never know, however, is how it feels to give up your beautiful new baby so that he might have a better life elsewhere. Or what it is like to take your last breaths shortly after birthing a new life.
This breaks me. But it also compels me to rejoice in knowing that adoption provides a way to redeem a sad situation and make it good. And boy is redemption a story that I love to tell…