Not Mine Anyway

Just playing on the floor with Baby H this morning when the phone rang and I innocently answered it. The case worker from Bethany said, "I need to tell you something..."

Baby H is almost one year old. His growth and development have been nothing short of miraculous. Every step of the way he has met and surpassed the expected milestones. With his birthday only a week away he is able to walk, climb stairs (not that we encourage or allow it), finger-feed and kind of spoon-feed himself, say six or so words and sign for about four others, make corresponding noises for five or six animals, understand and respond to "no-no" - and just about everything else we say to him.

He also has four teeth. This is the only area of development in which he is somewhat lagging as the first two came in at around ten months old with the next two following a few weeks later. And this is where the problem starts...

As is not uncommon with babies, Baby H experienced some side effects from teething: runny nose, fussiness, diarrhea, excess drool resulting in a chapped chin and cheeks. Also common with diarrhea is a diaper rash, and at one point his became severe enough that we treated it with Neosporin in addition to the typical diaper cream; severe enough that it caused him discomfort to sit on his bottom. Admittedly, it was sore.

After about two weeks, the top teeth broke through, the diarrhea stopped and the diaper rash resolved itself. During those two weeks, Baby H visited with his parents at which time his birth mother commented on the diaper rash and was given the explanation above. Only when she had to change one of his diapers did she make the comment, "Well at least now I see for myself that he actually has diarrhea." At the suggestion of the case worker, I made an appointment with the pediatrician to have the rash examined. At the time of the appointment the doctor noted that the rash had been resolved. Documentation was passed along to the case worker and birth mother and life moved on.

About three weeks later - today - the phone call came. "I need to tell you something... the birth mother has gotten her attorneys to get an early relist for court."

Court had been scheduled for mid-January so that the judge can hear all the evidence regarding the baby's initial placement into foster care and so that Baby H will be officially entered into the foster care system (even though he's been here for seven months already.) An early relist is scheduled to introduce other information.

The other information being introduced is birth mother's concern over her baby's safety and welfare in our home due to the diaper rash he experienced; and which we treated, and had checked by a doctor. She is asking that Baby H be removed from our home and placed with relatives.

Our case worker is wonderful and took the time to explain what she had heard from the baby's advocate/attorney: that there really does not seem to be enough evidence to require his removal, and that placement with a family member is out of the question since the baby is not even legally in the system - once a child is entered into the system, a plan for permanancy is made beginning with relative resources.

However, as we all know, there are no clear answers; and just when you think you know what might happen, you are reminded that there are always surprises.

Feeling very upset and unsettled, I put Baby H down for a nap and called Stan and some friends - just needed to vent, to cry, to express my frustration. This mom is so concerned about a diaper rash, but what about the events that led to the near-death of her baby eight months ago? Why is she putting all this effort into a common baby ailment and not into figuring out what caused her child to have brain damage and broken bones?

And it bothers me that this bothers me: How dare she throw Stan and I under the bus in her desparation to get her own way. How dare she question our love and ability to care for her baby.

Somewhat drained, but still angry, frustrated, and scared, I headed to the shower - to get away from it all, to cry it out where no one would have to hear, to block out the sound of another phone call from the case worker with more news. In between the deluge of my own emotions and snippets of prayer, this is the word I received: "Dawn, he's not yours anyway."

This is something I realize, and have had to live through many times. These kids are not ours. Our "own" kids are not ours. We have given them back to God, we are only here by God's grace to help raise and love them into who God has planned for them to be and to do what he has called them to do.

While I hold tightly to my kids - all my kids - while I can, there is a bigger picture. And only when I allow God to do his perfect work in his perfect time and perfect way, am I honoring God. Baby H belongs to God, not to me.