I don’t really have the words….

That shouldn’t be something an aspiring author says right?  I mean I’m working through my edits for my novel. Words should just flow.

Except…it isn’t just words.  It’s emotions.  Emotions so big I put them in a box and tell people, “I don’t want to talk about that.”

And I don’t.

But it seems like when I started talking about foster parenting on this blog, I wasn’t doing it for recognition.  Or to for people to tell me, “You’re such a saint.”  “You’re so kind.”  “You’re…whatever.”

Blech.  Puke.

I’m a foster parent because I want to be a Mom.  The end.

But I started writing about foster parenting for other foster parents.  And if it helps them to know they aren’t alone, I will tell you this piece of the story.  But let’s remember–being a foster parent sucks shit.  It’s awful.  It’s horrible.  It’s agonizing.  But if there is just one other foster parent who reads this and knows that it’ll *eventually* be ok.  If they know that, yeah, this crazy train you boarded is torture, but at least you’re not on it alone, then I guess I’ll peek into my box and let a few of those emotions out.

Because, if you’re doing it right, foster parenting sucks.  It hurts to love little people who are so innocent and sweet.  It hurts to think that you just want to be a parent soooooo bad, but you can’t for whatever reason, and then here are these wonderful little children who just need to be loved, and their parents who SHOULD love them best are abusing them.  Whether it be by the choices they made before they were born like with TinyPants or by the unfortunate mate choice like with FeistyPants and BoyBlue.  But you take them into your home, and you love them.  And the 14 month old doesn’t know his name, chew food, or stand, and you help him through.  And you love him, and you rock him, and you sing to him.  And the 2 year old is furious.  She’s two and she’s just so angry.  She has bad dreams.  Not night terrors, but legitimate, I’ve been through some shit and I have bad dreams-dreams.  And you love her, and you help her feel safe, and you sing to her, and you put bows in her hair and dresses on her–because it makes her feel amazing, and you do it because you love her just so much.

And all the while this is happening, their mom is getting better.  She’s healing.  She’s busting her butt in order to get her kids back because she’s their MOM and she loves them, and it hurts so bad.

It hurts just so bad because you can see her getting better, and you want to wish her ill, but you just can’t quite do it.  Instead you see the beautiful hand of God healing her heart, her body, and her mind just as He’s healing her children, and there is this giant piece of you that wants to shake your fist at the heavens and ask Why?!?!??!  Why can’t I just have a baby of my own.  Why does it have to be like this?  Why do I have to help other people’s babies get better?  Why, when they’ve screwed up so bad, does it still feel right that they get their kids back?  Why do I have to do this?

Because damn it, you just want to be a mom.  You just want tiny people to love and sing to and read to and take on walks and give them the best Christmas ever, but you don’t want to do it for 9 months.  You want to do it forever.  But those tiny people?  They aren’t yours.

And they leave.

And it hurts so bad.

*

*

*

But you know what?  Somehow, despite that whole shaking the fist at the heavens thing, Heavenly Father makes it–if not ok–better.  He helps you to realize that they aren’t the mom’s kids or your kids.  They’re His kids.  And He’s got a handle on them.  And He’s got a handle on you.  And if you trust Him and follow Him, your life will still suck.  It will still be hard to let the children go.  You’ll still have to get up and do your job, and love TinyPants while being terribly afraid that she too will go home.  Even go home to parents who didn’t try as hard as FeistyPants and BoyBlue’s mom.  But despite all of that, knowing He’s there for you, healing your heart–makes it…endurable.

Even beautiful.

Because He lets you know that He’s there if you’re willing to listen, to put down your fist, and trust.

So, obviously, FeistyPants and BoyBlue went home.  I named Feisty because she was angry and smacky.  But when she left, she was happy.  She sang in the quiet moments.  She gave kisses and hugs, and she had a light in her eyes.  I named BoyBlue that because he was chill.  He was in a cloud and just didn’t care.  When he left he was tantruming and using sign language and carried around books and ran in circle jabbering.  He was a normal two-year-old beast, and it was amazing.

Being a foster parent is miraculous.  And beautiful.  And amazing.

And hard.

But so worth it.

Will I do it again?

I don’t know…

It’s also terrifying.  And even though Heavenly Father made it ok this time, I’m still afraid.

~Amanda

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