You Can't Always Get What You Want....

The Rolling Stones have a song "You Can't Always Get What You Want." I'm not a big fan--haven't been since my junior year of high school when a boy that I really liked wrote the chorus of that song in my yearbook as a way to explain that we didn't have a dating future. [Don't worry. This isn't what made me gay.]

"You can't always get what you want.

But if you try sometimes, you might just find, you get what you need."

Beth and I started the adoption process in 2000. The Cradle in Evanston had just began to allow same gender couples to adopt. They didn't exactly have all their processes worked out. When we received a mass mail piece it was ALWAYS addressed to Mr. & Mrs. We complained. Other same gender couples did as well. We were told they hadn't figured out a way to fix the automatically generated greeting.

You might say that I'm data driven. Apparently this means I'm in exact opposition to SOME social workers who are driven by hoping, wishing, puppies and stuffed unicorns in the rear window of their beat-up Nissan Sentras. The adoption process wasn't a fun one for me. I wanted statistics. I wanted averages. I wanted predictable timelines. The social workers couldn't give me any of those things.

Then entire adoption process took us about a year and a half. It was a year of getting prepared: attending classes, group therapy sessions, writing our dear birth mother letter. Some make it through that part faster. We slowed ourselves down. There were so many things to figure out. So many things that would challenge us and our future kid.

Once we had completed all the necessary steps, the really hard part started. The waiting. The out of my control, jump every time the phone rings, wait patiently, wait not so patiently part of adoption. We were lucky. It seemed every time I was ready to throw in the towel, Beth was up and feeling positive. And then we switched roles and it was my turn to be glass half full about the situation.

Each time a birth mother would approach the Cradle they would ask if she might be willing to consider a same gender couple. Not many were. We didn't get many "at bats." Part of the "getting ready" process is to determine what "medical risks" we would be willing to accept. If the birth parents had a history of mental illness, would we say yes? If the birth mother used drugs throughout the pregnancy would we say yes? What about a history of mental retardation? Cleft palate? Blindness?

A few times during the wait our social worker called us and said that she had a birth mother willing to consider choosing a same gender couple. But there were risks beyond what we had indicated was acceptable. These were difficult situations. One birth mother did heroin every day of her pregnancy. Would we say yes? One birth mother tried to self-abort by doing 12 shots of tequila and throwing herself off a bed. Would we say yes? The first call was the toughest. I'm not sure anyone enters the process hoping for this. Secretly we all hoped for the brilliant college student, fitness-freak birth mother who found herself in an unplanned pregnancy. These were tough discussions for Beth and me. Someone was asking us to put a stake in the ground about what we wanted, what we valued, who we were as people.

We decided, if not us, then who? It became our mantra for future calls. We would say yes. In our hearts we knew that we would have the strength and resources sufficient for the situation. If not us, then who?

The thing is, these birth mothers didn't say yes to us. What??? We had created this life that included a house with a backyard, stable jobs, a loving relationship and yet it still wasn't good enough. I may have been just a little angry.

Finally in August of 2002 a birth mother came to the Cradle looking for a same gender couple to parent her baby. She wasn't sure about the father...may be Black, may be Caucasian, may be Hispanic. Oh, and she was headed to prison after the birth. She wanted a same gender couple. She was willing to take a chance on us. She wanted to see the materials of a male couple and a female couple.

She didn't choose us. Devastation.

During the whole "getting ready to adopt" process, we had become friends with the gentlemen she did choose. We found out she didn't choose us because the guys called to let us know they would have a baby in a matter of days. We hid our tears; we shared their joy. We decided that maybe having children wasn't the plan for us. We decided to use all the money we had saved for the adoption to buy big jewelry.

A few weeks later a colleague of mine, Susan, gave birth to her first son. Susan's office was next to mine. During each stage of her pregnancy she would tell me what was going on. The baby is developing fingers and toes. The baby can respond to sound. The baby can kick a soccer ball down the field for a goal. Susan gave me the "feel" of pregnancy without the swollen feet and hands, without the morning sickness and exhaustion.

Since I had walked the pregnancy journey with Susan, it made sense to visit her shortly after the birth. After my visit, I returned to the office and to a voice mail from our social worker. I returned the call sure that I needed to sign another form or attend one more class. But instead she said the most magical words ever.

Social Worker: You and Beth have been chosen to parent a little girl.

Me: When is she due?

Social Worker: She was born 4 days ago.

Me: When can we meet her?

Social Worker: Come now.

Peyton, Bennett and Emerson have the same birth mother. This one call started us down a path that completed our family.

Seven years ago I got what I needed. I always get what I need.