Falling in Love --the arrival of Baby Megan
Between October and March we received around fifteen calls from various members of the Washtenaw County Department of Human Services with children they would like to place in our home. With each call, it was difficult to decline, but it was also right. They weren’t a fit for us, or we weren’t a fit for them. We wouldn’t be doing anyone a favor by saying yes when it was clear that we should be saying no. But, it was hard, because the question always lurked, If not us, then who?
Then, at the end of February Joey started praying that God would bring us a foster baby we could keep within a week. Twenty minutes short of a week later we got the call for Megan. I knew that it was right. Matt was still home. I didn’t even have to call him. We said yes, then called our pray-ers to get them praying for this little baby.
Late that afternoon I dropped my kids at my sisters and headed to the hospital. I prayed all the way there, through the parking garage, and down the hallway, the presence of the Spirit was nearly tangible. After having my ID checked twice and two security guards and a Child protective Services Worker escort me up the elevator, my ID was checked yet again. Then, the CPS worker and I went back to a hospital room filled with four or five nurses and one tiny baby. Weighing in at less than five and a half pounds, she was a tiny little thing, two pounds smaller than my smallest baby had been. So little. So perfect. The nurses eyed me suspiciously, clearly wondering who I was to take this precious baby away. Who could blame them? We’ve all heard the horror stories of foster care gone horribly wrong.
A reluctant nurse handed her to me, and I drew her close, this little blessing so helpless in my arms, spiky black hair, rosebud lips. She was sleeping so soundly, oblivious to the unusual steps her life was taking, and I was hopelessly lost. I knew that it was supposed to be a temporary placement. She had family waiting for her out of state. But, the message didn’t quite make it to my heart. When the CPS worker told me that a foster care worker would be assigned to the case in five days, and I thought, Oh, good, at least I get to keep her for five days, I knew that I was in trouble.
It took just two days for her to feel completely like my own. And now, nearly three months later, I hold her in the crook of my arm as I type one handed. She snuggles into me, looking up with large trusting brown eyes, fuzzy hair standing every which way, smacking her little lips and grunting in anticipation of a meal, this tiny baby who spits up in my hair, poops on my clothes and keeps me up all night. She may not have grown beneath my heart, but she’s grown so quickly within it that it really makes no difference.