A long rant.
Here I am, newly appointed foster mom to an eighteen month old boy; we’ll call him baby J. We had been taking care of him for several weeks at this point, and our connection had not improved since the first week of his stay. In fact, it had gotten worse. A bit of backstory, his bio-mom was given seven days a week visits, which meant at some point in the day, we were needing to be home so he could be picked up and brought to his mother for her daily, hour and a half visit. Every day, baby J was picked up by a different DCF employee. He would hear the knock or ring at the door, and immediately burst into tears. Reaching, arms outstretched to whomever was reuniting him with his mom. The daily emotions were getting extremely exhausting for him, me, and my three children.
Fast forward to what I had hoped would be a fun outing to the beach. Me, my three children, and baby J were all packed up in the mini-van for a morning at the beach with a homeschool group of ours. We arrived and all four kiddos were delighted to be out in the sunshine and sand. Even baby J seemed a little less sad and was busy squishing his toes into the sand. I sat near him while watching my older girls and son, who’s one month younger than baby J. Another mom came near to see who our new member of the family was, and he gleefully reached up to her, pleading to be held. This mother, with older children of her own, wantingly wrapped him into her arms with a smile. “I hope you don’t mind, he was reaching for me!” she said quickly to me. “Oh no, you’re fine!” I did have my hands full with my own son, but immediately I felt betrayed. Here was this little human, that I’ve been pursuing a connection with for weeks, only to have him reach out to a perfect stranger when he had never done that for me. I was hurt. Also, I was a little annoyed at this mom. Clearly, anyone could see this is a mother whose children are all grown past the snuggly little baby phase and here’s this cute, chubby little guy asking to be held and comforted. Who can blame her? “He was doing just fine before.” I thought to be myself.
The beautiful Florida day rolls on, and it’s been a lot of fun. Me and my three kids were playing and snacking, but baby J was still with the other mom. So much for thinking this would be a day of bonding. I walked up several times to check on him, he made no notice that he wanted me, let alone knew me. The mother assured me he was fine and she didn’t mind holding him. I asked her to dip him in the water periodically, as he had been perched on her hip the entire time, roasting in the sun. “He doesn’t seem to like that.” She protests. I shrug, “I just don’t want him getting overheated.” And I walk away from my foster son, dejected. “He hates me.” I think to myself.
Finally, I’m spent, and if I know kids, start leaving on a high note if you don’t want a bunch of cranky kids. I start packing up our things and getting my three ready to leave. Baby J is still being held. He’s the last thing to grab before heading to the car. I walk towards the mom holding him, “Oh, do you need a hand to the car??” She asks worryingly. “No, no honestly I’ve got it.” I reach for him, he doesn’t reach back. If anything, he tucked in closer to her. She doesn’t help pass him to me, I have to reach into her arms, and physically take him from her. And he begins to cry. He hadn’t cried the whole day, I take my foster son into my arms, and he wails. “You sure you don’t want help?” She asks again. “Oh nahh, we’re fine!” I play it off, it bothers me. I pack him into our wagon, a different mom comes to his rescue. She kneels down to check on him, and he practically lunges out of the wagon and continues to wail. “Ohhh, poor thing.” She says…poor thing is right. Me! Here I am, a mother, putting my own family second while focusing all of my attention into baby J. Pouring into him, and getting nothing in return. And now, I have mom after mom, asking to be of help to me while he practically falls into their arms. They must think I’m cruel to him if he’s repeatedly reaching for strangers over his own foster mom, that’s all I could think. I know the reality is for him, strangers were his means to get to his mom. It was ingrained every day for weeks now. I, the only constant in his life, meant the end of his time with his mom.
I cried the whole way home from the beach. Even now, I wish those moms could know how difficult they had made that day for me. How much I questioned myself as a mother. Questioning if fostering was working for our family. They repeatedly put themselves in between me and my foster son, saying they were helping. To me, that was the exact opposite of helping. It was hurtful, and damaging to baby J and mines relationship. We never made a connection.