theotherbabymama

So I adopted my children. And now I have a babymama and a babydaddy. And a babygrandma. And a babyuncle. The whole reason I adopted in the first place was so I didn't have a deadbeat dad not paying child support, breaking my baby's heart when he didn't show up for his weekend, fighting with me over the phone, and otherwise adding stress to my life and my beautiful child's life. And now I have an entire babyfamily.

I could have paid for a sperm donor, I could have had hot sex with one of the many men out there who so easily get caught up in the moment of heavy breathing and a flash of skin that they don't even want to take two seconds to dig out the condom they have in their wallet. I could have put even more money on my credit cards and adopted internationally and had a babyfamily that was thousands of miles away and probably too poor to ever make it to America. I could have adopted through a local agency and made sure it was a closed adoption with no contact between families and completely sealed records until my baby turned 18. Believe me. I thought of all those options. And trust me I would have chosen #2. Maybe I even should have.

But then I would be missing out on the two smartest, most beautiful children in the world. My own. My own children who have their own babymama.

The first time I met my babymama, we were at a McDonald's. With 2 social workers, some fries, and some burgers. We waited and ate. Ate and waited. While I told a 1 year old and a 3 year old, who had just been ripped from their basement apartment a few weeks ago by the police, "Maybe your mom is stuck in traffic." To which my 3 year old replied, "Oh yeah! Her car probably broke down! That happened ALL the time."

With the allotted hour given to parents for visitation while their child is in foster care almost up, my babymama and her boyfriend strolled in. Or should I say wobbled, or jerked, or whatever word you use for the way a crackhead walks. They sat down at the booth with tears....or maybe those eyes were what you call "glassed over," and their knees bounced and their mouths twitched and they hugged all over my new babies. And I hated them.

I sat there so still with real tears for the babies I'd only had a few weeks, next to the social workers, who were already working on their notes, and I put on a happy face, and I made excuses for my babymama so that my babies didn't feel unwanted. Or unloved. And then, I began to grow some hate in my heart for the babymama I never even thought I could have. And the babydaddy, who already didn't show for his first visit.

"Let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us." Hebrews 12:1