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I’m not supposed to, but the moment I open an email from my adoption agency, I can’t help picturing the baby, a precious human wrapped snug, tight and safe in their hospital blanket, waiting for me to take them in my arms and finally claim the title I’ve wanted for over 20 years: Mom. As I read the bullet-pointed details about a newborn or soon-to-be-born infant in urgent need of adoptive parents, they transform from an abstract concept into a very real person who might soon be sleeping in the mint-green nursery attached to my bedroom.
Instead of picturing me holding them, cuddling them, feeding them a bottle, whispering in their ear, reading to them from the dozens of picture books I’ve carefully amassed, I’m supposed to be stoic and reply that I’m interested but keep my full self at a remove. I know this because when I let myself believe that this child is going to be The One, and it doesn’t happen, I inwardly collapse, becoming emotionally hollow or, worse, viciously jealous. For almost two years, the wait has been emotionally grueling, a heartbreaking popularity contest that feels rigged against me.
Compounding my struggle is the keen awareness that my age — 48 — likely works against me in this harrowing process. While I know I’d be a better mom now than I would have been at 28 or 38, it’s hard to convey that on paper.
Every time my boyfriend and I aren’t picked, I wonder if the birth parents — often more than two decades younger than we — see us as less worthy, less agile, less competent because of our ages. I hope to convey that I’m actually at the peak of my maternal instincts, putting them to use by planning our household’s meals, making sure my boyfriend is hydrated and rested, being a caretaker for my elderly mother, and, thanks to walking five to 10 miles a day, I’m in better physical shape than I’ve ever been.
Even though rationally, I know there are countless reasons a birth parent might choose a specific person or couple to adopt their child when I’m rejected, it feels personal. I wonder what I could do differently to convince them I’m ready to devote myself to raising an empathic, kind, curious person. What I wish I could tell the people deciding my fate is that I’ve done all the personal and professional things I’ve wanted to and gone through all the biggest life lessons. I’ve traveled solo to Dubai, London and Berlin, judged cupcakes on national TV, and been in my favorite singer’s music video. I’ve written books and taught writing workshops around the world. I’ve had my heart broken many times over, made desperate, disastrous dating choices before finding someone who loves me entirely for me and I’ve suffered the painful deaths of close friends.
Now, I’m ready for the next phase of my life, where I let my ego go and focus my emotional energy on someone who will need me the ways I long to be needed.
I’m eager to learn the meaning of my baby’s varying cries, to teach them how to eat, speak, crawl, walk and read, and, most of all, to get to know them as a unique individual, whether they’re literary and nerdy like me, artsy and culinary like my boyfriend, or into things like science or astronomy that we know nothing about. I know very little about sports, but I’ll attend every one of their games if I wind up raising a soccer whiz or basketball star.
In my heart, I know it’s not just the almost half century I’ve lived, but my newfound domesticity — my ability to finally be still and quiet after a lifetime of being constantly on the go and the financial privilege to take a few years off work — that will make me the kind of doting mother I know I can be.
The deep irony is that just when I’ve finally stopped looking for validation from others on social media or in my personal life, I still need someone’s approval to fulfill the role I know I was meant to perform. Hopefully, soon, one of them will look beyond my age and see my mom potential. In the meantime, I’ll be picturing the moment I bring my child into the home that’s waiting for them, fully aware that the reality is likely to be both messier and more glorious than anything I could ever envision.
Have any of you adopted a child later in life? How did it go? Let us know in the comments below.
Elia Barbieri
Follow Article Topics: Relationships
