Anybody still there?

So, I'm back.  I think. 
I need an outlet again, and you guys and the world of the blog were very therapeutic. 

So here I am.

Lets see.  Dawn did indeed get prego, and now has a special needs, medically fragile infant--born two months early to an emergency c-section with gastroschisis (intstines, liver and stomach on the outside instead of inside) and extra fluid on her brain. She is not coping with motherhood well, and I may have to make a second call to social services.

Leigh eventually was released from residential way too early.  Even the state medical director in charge of the entire system agreed she needed to stay, but ordered her released based on the rules and regs of the state system. It's been an incredibly turbulent 7 months, in which time Leigh discovered the joys of pot and has decided to live elsewhere because we will not allow her to use drugs at home. 

Danae is doing well, preparing to graduate and spreading her wings.

The babies are both toddlers now and are probably going to be a permanent addition.

I'm hanging on thanks to sheer force of will (where I got it, I have no idea) and modern pharmacology (who knew xanax was so nice?!)

Any way, I need to vent, and there are lots of stories to tell. 

Panel Review

Panel review was today. Definition: Group of citizens who volunteer to work along with a judge to evaluate placements and progress of kids and their bioparents in the foster care system. They also look at how the foster parents and foster families are holding up under the stress of fostering. Three people, bio-mom, the judge, two caseworkers, Hubby, the babies and my very observant Danae, sitting around a large conference table. Talking about progress. Or in this case, lack thereof. Mom says that she's finished rehab, but has no proof, and after the panel, tested positive for pot. She has a place to live-- in section 8 housing, illegally with a friend of a friend. When asked about a support system, and if the lady she is living with could be one, she replied, "I don't know her like that." She started looking for a job Friday. Five months after she lost her kids. One of the panel members asked her if she's dating. She said she has a boyfriend. The judge asked if she's sexually active. She said yes. On birth control? No. Do you want to have another baby? Not until I get my first two back. The judge very firmly told her she'd better not come back to panel review in October pregnant. The civil rights part of me wonders if that's even legal, but the practical foster mom side of me wonders if I could sneak up behind her and accidently give her a Depo shot. I'm moving my mark from "feels sorry for mom" to "what the hell?"

OPB... Other People's Babies

I had one of those moments yesterday that reminds me that when it comes to loss and mourning, we never really get over the things that break our hearts.

I went to my niece's baby shower yesterday, and it was a lot of fun. I got to hang out with my in-laws, who, despite all the horror stories, are not as bad as in-laws are supposed to be.  My sister-in-law had it at her house, which was way too small for the 45 people who attended.  There were four diaper cakes. Mine was the cutest.

I do not exaggerate when I say that the impending baby girl will not wear the same outfit twice until she is in kindergarten.  I also do not exaggerate when I say that they did not get enough diapers.  I have learned recently in my new role as a foster parent that one can NEVER have enough diapers. Or wipes.

But I'm birdwalking.

I'm here to write about what happened after the shower, when everyone but the family had gone home, and we were all sitting around, drunk on too-sweet punch and pigs in blankets, talking about nothing in general.  Then, my oldest niece announced to the room that she and her husband are expecting again. 

So by Christmas, I'll be a great aunt thrice-over.  I am thrilled for them --  my nieces and their husbands are terrific people, and are and will be awesome parents.  And, after spending time with my own children, it's nice to know that there will be some normal people to continue our name and lineage. 

However, they are a reminder of something I'll never be.

Pregnant.

I've gotten very good at pretending that prenatal announcements don't bother me.

But they do.

Deeply. And in parts of my heart and soul that only another woman who knows that pain will ever understand. 

And I cried.  Not then and there, but later, in bed at my in-laws' house, where no one but the pillow and my battered copy of Pride and Prejudice could hear me. 

And today we ate breakfast, one big happy family, and no one knew I'd cried myself to sleep.