Waiting Game

Once again, our home was empty.  Baby-free.  Back to the status quo.  Just the three of us.

The house felt EMPTY.  

It did, however, give me time to reflect:  I loved being a foster mother.  I loved having a baby in the house.  It afforded us all the much-needed cohesion, common purpose, and group activity we all seemed to crave.  Or so I thought.

We were out to eat.  For me, it felt weird not to have a diaper bag, not to order from the kids' menu, not to ask for a booster seat or at least a high chair, when Darryl hit me with,

"I think we should take a rest from fostering for a while."

What???

"Yeah," Tiernen chirped in, somewhat reluctantly, "we could all use a break."

What what???

They both then went on to tell me how exhausting it was to have both boys (especially W) and how we had had babies in the house nonstop since December 27 (it was now the third week of September) and how "Just Us" would be nice for a while.

"And," Darryl added, "no toddlers.  Our new motto is 'just one under one.'"

Part of me was pissed.  First of all, Darryl was the opposite of involved in Baby O and W over the nine weeks they were with us.  When he was there, he didn't change a diaper.  He would bark at W for doing typical three-year-old things.  Sure, NONE of us loved it when Baby O heard the screeching from the non-verbal autistic four-year-old next door and decided that yes, this was the perfect sound to emulate 24/7, but Darryl was particularly annoyed by it.  Who was he to complain?

And the truth is, you never know with foster care.  A child can go home and you can get a phone call four days later (like with Bram) or four MONTHS later.  You never know. It's the waiting game.  I waited a long time for that first placement.  It felt like forever.  Having an empty nursery for a baby that may or may not come... well, it feels like your baby died.  (No, that's not fair of me to say.  I never had a baby die -- thank God -- but it feels pretty shitty).

For me, that empty nursery was like losing a tooth or worse, having to get one pulled, when you can't help but poke at it with your tongue, constantly reminding yourself that it isn't there anymore.  

Poke, poke, poke.

"Listen," I told them, "I can agree with the one under one -- "  After all, I came into this foster thang because I wanted to mother a baby. " -- but if they call me with a baby, I'm accepting."  You are going to have to deal with it."

They shot each other looks.

"And it might be weeks or MONTHS until we are called again.  I just can't say no."

They reluctantly agreed.