One week ago today, I met my foster son. We met the social worker on the 3rd floor outside the gift shop and then wandered up into the NICU. It was a total shit show to put it lightly. The staff didn’t seem to get the memo about this placement or DCF involvement. They were confused and looked at us like we were baby-snatchers. Of course, as luck would have it, the bio mom was about 5 feet away from us visiting with Tiny Man. We were shuffled away quickly while everyone tried to coordinate this awkwardness.
So we sat and waited with our own anxiety, not sure what in the world conversation was happening or what would be next.
I asked how she was doing. It surprised the social worker. I suppose many foster parents might not care? I’m not sure, but I genuinely wanted to know how she was doing. I couldn’t imagine going back to her room, knowing soon she would be unable to be with her baby. For whatever choices and mistakes that have been made, there certainly is no way that would be easy.
When it was time, we went into the open room of NICU babies. Not having a clue what we were going to be facing. We were shuffled over to the only baby that did not have parents tending to him. I’m well aware that sometimes parents leave to go get something to eat or get a break but in this instance it felt like a visible reminder and slightly painful. I can tell you, there is probably nothing more fragile than picking up a baby that you have agreed to care for and love.
We cooed over his little tiny body. His loads of hair. And mountains of cuteness. I talked to him and told him we would take care of him the best that we could. I told him our house has another kid and three dogs. I told him we live on a farm and that it would be a lot quieter there than in the hospital. I couldn’t promise how it would turn out. I don’t know whether he will reunify with his bio mom or whether we will be his forever family. But I do know that as long as he is with us, he will be cared for and loved.