Another Mother: Co-Parenting with the Foster Care System

6. Eye of the Storm

138 6 Eye of the Storm A FTER A LONG and busy summer, Martha and Peter returned to school. The first week of September is also Michael’s birthday and this year I had planned a dinner party for him. Although I had ordered Indian food and was making only the desserts, it ended up being a lot of work. On the day before the party, Cecilia was quite fussy, and for the first time I felt fed up with her. I was trying to clean up for the party and make dinner for Peter and Martha, who had been at school all day. Michael called from work and I blurted out that if the agency were to come at that moment, I would have given her up. I know that I also felt fed up sometimes with the older two kids when they were young and demanding, but it was never an option to give them back. The party turned out fine—the weather was nice and we ended eye of the storm 139 up spending a lot of time on the deck. At my table, one of the guests asked what would happen with Cecilia. I said: “I don’t really know. She was supposed to be placed with her half sister but that was months ago. I believe that is still the plan.” When people asked about Cecilia’s future, I often felt in such a bind. We signed an agreement with the agency and one of the stipulations in the agreement was that we would protect the child’s confidentiality . But I found myself often questioning what was confidential. Her past? Her future? And I felt that at some level, privacy must be balanced with honesty. Nothing about Cecilia’s history was shameful, and I didn’t want to give the impression that it was by keeping secrets. On the other hand, I didn’t feel that it was necessary to indulge those just prying for details. A friend who has an adopted daughter said that when people ask her about her adopted child, she inquires if they are interested in adoption or are they just being nosy? Depending on the response, she may or may not share information. As I was being asked questions, my legs started shaking slightly under the table, a stress reaction that I sometimes have. A friend at the table, David, came to my rescue and said, “I am sure that the baby will end up in a loving home, she is so healthy and goodnatured .” It is funny how sometimes your body realizes when you are upset before you actually have the thought in your head. When I felt my legs shake, I knew that I was really upset because of the uncertainties that lay ahead regarding what would happen to Cecilia . Even my thought earlier in the day—that I would have given her up at the moment because I was feeling overwhelmed—was really upsetting. When I put Cecilia to bed that night, I paused to look at her for a moment. She seemed so relaxed and happy to be in her bed—so serene—and I felt guilty that I could have even had that thought. As I struggled to meet the needs of the three children (I had become spoiled in just one week with Michael’s help on vacation), 140 another mother I began to question my commitment to the whole foster care process . How long could I go on with no certainties? I began to note how physically tired I was after carrying Cecilia and pushing the stroller for the day. I also felt that I needed to get out of the house a few days a week, and I wondered if that was influencing my feelings. When I asked Michael’s grandmother earlier that summer what it had been like to go back to work after being home for years, she replied, “It was liberating—to get out and not think about the house all day.” As my anxiety grew, I decided that I needed to be more proactive . The first item on my list was Cecilia’s birth father. I called the lawyer at Legal Aid at the number I had been given the day after Cecilia arrived, now seven months ago. When I asked her about Cecilia’s father, she informed me that it was the agency’s obligation...