The summer leading up to our fall in Florida was a whirlwind, but there we were, at the hospital, waiting to go upstairs and discharge our daughter. S had just been discharged herself and had signed the termination of parental rights. The only way she could come back to claim the child was by proving fraud and/or duress — both of which would be difficult, as the agency made sure all the T’s were crossed and the I’s were dotted. It was really happening!
We went upstairs to meet the social worker, our daughter — who still didn’t have a name — and the discharge nurses. We learned how to clean her soft, delicate skin, how to clean her umbilical stump, and how to aspirate her tiny nose. We received diapers, formula, alcohol swabs, and the clothes she had been wearing earlier. In all, it was two huge bags of stuff. As we got ready to leave the hospital, Dave decided he’d drive the car around for the baby and me (the baby and me!) and meet us downstairs. He took a load of stuff with him, leaving me with the little girl, our diaper bag, and the car seat.
As we (the baby and me!) got ready to leave, the nurses said that I couldn’t walk out with her — I had to be taken out in a wheelchair. What?! Even though I didn’t give birth, I still had to be wheeled out with the baby — hospital policy. How cool was this?! As Dave had the camera in the load of crap he took down to the car, the nurses snapped a picture with my phone — me, sitting in a wheelchair, holding our daughter in her little pumpkin seat. It was an amazing moment.
When we arrived downstairs, we loaded everyone up in the car — I’m sure all the newly discharged moms who saw me jump right out of that wheelchair were a bit confused and jealous — and headed back “home” (our hotel). We still had 7-10 days of waiting for the interstate compact agreement to process before we could go to our real home and start our life as a family.
The interstate compact agreement is drawn up between the two states in which the adoption is taking place — in this case, Colorado and Florida. Since we weren’t the legal guardians of our little girl yet, Florida had to get assurance that all the legal necessities would be taken care of on Colorado’s end. Once Colorado agreed that they’d follow through with us, Florida would let us go home. Otherwise, we’d be kidnapping. Not so good when you’re building a family. So we had to wait, again. But this time, we were three!
Our first night in the hotel was pretty comical. Little girl — who still didn’t have a name — didn’t want to sleep in the portable crib. We (thankfully) brought one of those mats with the two wedges on it that holds the baby in place — sleep positioner! that’s what they’re called — so she could sleep on the bed with us or the couch (with us, too). We took turns sleeping — while one of us slept, the other watched her sleep. Also, she was deeply freaked out by any amount of poo in her diaper. So freaked out that she almost flipped fully over screaming the first time we discovered a pea sized poo in her diaper. She’s like the princess in the story “The Princess & the Pea.” We felt like we had no idea what we were doing, and no one was around to help us. But she ate, peed, and burped like a champ.
She even tried to latch onto Dave’s nipple. Never again has he held her without first putting on a shirt.
After a couple of days, we were still overwhelmed and sleep deprived, but we felt much better about everything. The hotel staff all signed a card for us and sent up a big pink balloon. We took walks with her. And we all took numerous naps a day. We also settled on a name — Carly Althea. I had originally wanted to call her Charlotte, but every time I tried, it just didn’t fit her at all. Carly is for her two grandfathers — both named Charles. Althea is for Althea Gibson and a reference to The Grateful Dead.
When she was 8 days old, we got an early (very early) phone call from our social worker — we were cleared to go home! HOME! In fact, we could leave today if we wanted to. TODAY! I immediately called our travel agent and got us on a flight that afternoon. She told us that if anyone asked, baby was two weeks old. Just in case. We furiously packed all the crap that had accumulated in our room over the past week or so. We actually had to run over to Walgreens and buy a cheapo duffel bag to store all Carly’s things for the flight. Somehow, we did it all — including cleaning out the little kitchen in our hotel — in time to return our car, check our bags, and make our flight. We called our folks from the airport to let them know we were all set to return home. As a family.
The flight itself was pretty uneventful — thank goodness. Carly ate on the way up and on the way down, and she slept for the rest of the time. She just rested in our arms, swaddled in her blanket, with a little baby cap on her head. Precious.
When we arrived home, we installed the car seat into our own car — our own car seat for our own daughter! — and made the trek home. Our dogs were SO excited to see us, and they sniffed EVERYTHING we brought home — including Carly. They didn’t know what to make of her, but that was ok; they’d have plenty of time to figure her out.
Skip several weeks, so I can get back to the process of the adoption. (We can discuss the details of all the fun stuff at home later.) Our social worker back home had to make sure we weren’t swinging Carly from the rafters and beating her with sticks, so we had a couple more interviews with her. We also kept in touch with our social worker in Florida. Just over three months later, we finalized. We had the option of “going” to court by phone, so we did. I met Dave at his office with Carly, and we had a conference call with the judge in Florida. The call seriously didn’t last more than 10 minutes.
Congratulations. We were parents. Parents. Carly was officially ours. In the eyes of the law, it was as if I had given birth to her. Amazing.
Several weeks after that, her new birth certificate arrived in the mail. It was true. She was ours! Our daughter Carly Althea.
Ever since (and I know it will sound cheesy, but whatever), I can’t imagine my life without her. She is my daughter. She is Dave’s daughter. We are her parents. She doesn’t know anyone else as Mommy and Daddy. She loves us as if she was our blood — which as far as I’m concerned, she is.
