Desertmum has moved…!

Thanks for stopping by the blog.

Excitingly, I now have a new home for Desertmum, which you can find here. Please pop across and keep me company while I wait for everyone else to turn up.

You could also, you know, add me to your bookmarks, share the new website with everyone you know and write the words ‘lucyrycroft.com’ in beautifully artistic brush-strokes across your bathroom mirror.

Just sayin’.

Lucy x

the un-birthday: celebrating the birthday of the child you haven’t met

I wrote the following nearly two years ago, on the occasion of our twins’ first birthday.

Image result for 1st birthday candleToday, our twins turn one. I haven’t yet met them, but I love them already. We need to celebrate – and yet how does one celebrate the birthday of someone they’ve never met? Someone who is already so firmly locked inside one’s heart, but so achingly distant? Perhaps our celebrations looked a little odd from the outside. But I think that those who, each year, mark the birthday of a child they never met, a child born asleep or taken too soon – maybe they can understand our need to celebrate.

We did some of the usual traditions. There were balloons, cake and candles, and homemade cards. Missy didn’t struggle to create a card for each of her new little brothers. But, lacking the no-nonsense self-confidence of a 4-year-old, I stared at my blank card last night and I was stuck. Making a homemade card for each of my children’s birthdays is a tradition so firmly imprinted into the DNA of our family that I couldn’t do anything else – yet how do you make a card for someone you’ve never met? I settled on a generic caterpillar design, suitable for a first birthday. Twins, please forgive me – I don’t yet know your characters, your traits, your gifts and your passions. Next year will be different.

We sang ‘Happy Birthday’ – to each twin, individually, marking the start of an upbringing which will firmly recognise each of them as separate, unique entities. But it was our birth kids who blew out the candles, it was they who were in the photos. Next year will be different.

There were no presents. The twins are coming into a home already bulging with entertainment and activity and, besides, there will be moving-in presents and Christmas presents. Their birthday presents were the cots, drawers, shelves, clothes and nappies I’m rapidly sourcing from eBay and Gumtree. Next year will be different.

There was no measuring on the height chart. We have a permanent record of how tall each of our birth children were on their first birthday – but, for the twins, we will have to be content to measure them two months late. Next year will be different.

There was no party – not at our house anyway – because how can you party without the guests of honour being there? Instead, they celebrated at their foster home, and their brilliant foster mum deserved every minute of this joyful day with them. She has been the one to feed them, nurture them, love them through their first year. Next year will be different.

For me, there were no nostalgic reminisces, no casting my mind back to the first twinges, the contractions, the labour, the birth, the early minutes and hours. I have no idea what I was doing one year ago today. Next year this won’t be any different. Nor will it be next year, or the year after, or the year after that. I will never have this date indelibly etched into my memory because, at the time, I had no awareness of the significance of it, no idea that our family had just changed forever.

But I think of her. And I wonder how many hours she laboured, and how she felt, and what she was thinking, and if she had anyone by her side. And I like to remember my joy when each of my birth children screamed their way into this world, and imagine her feeling this about her birth children, giddy in love with them like I was with mine.

They are our twins. But they are hers as well. Today we celebrate the three of them.

adoption: am i excited?

We’re preparing to adopt. (For more I’ve written on adoption, click here.)

People keep asking me “Are you excited?” or pre-empting with “I bet you’re excited!”. Usually, for a quiet life, I respond with a simple “Yes, I’m excited!”, and that ends an otherwise awkward conversation. Apologies if you’re one of the friends I’ve fobbed off in this way – please understand that it’s only because the answer is so very long and so very complicated that you’d be at risk of missing your flight for next year’s summer holiday if I actually gave you the honest truth.

But I feel you deserve a bit more of an explanation, so I’ll attempt to explain how I’m feeling. Overall, I guess I’m excited – we chose this path, after all, and the arrival of new members of the family is always exciting. But this emotion, for now at least, is clouded by so much else.

I’m busy. Writing emails, taking phone calls, filling in paperwork, answering the same questions over and over again to myriad professionals.

I’m shopping. Planning what we need, what we can borrow, what to ask for. Scanning eBay and Gumtree for second hand bargains. Comparing prices, sizes, colours, efficiency. Reading reviews.

I’m preparing. Laminating family photos, shooting a DVD, sleeping with cot sheets and soft toys, recording our voices onto special toys. All crazy stuff I’d never have imagined would be part of welcoming children into our family.

I’m mothering. Preparing our birth kids, chatting to them, dealing with their emotions, asking questions, picking up on their clues. As well as the usual routine of school runs, clubs and groups, playdates, mealtimes, bedtimes, endless tidying and cleaning.

I’m nesting. Yep, you read that right. These children may not be growing in my tummy, but they’re growing in my heart. I’m painting, assembling, moving, re-housing, washing and arranging. Preparing their bedroom makes my heart skip every time I’m in there.

I’m catching up. By phone and in person. Coffees, lunches, dinners. Trying to make the most of my friends while it’s still easy to make time for them. Knowing that the next bit of life will be chaotic, that it won’t be so easy to get out in an evening, that my child-free daytime hours will reduce to zero.

I’m nervous. Nervous of meeting them for the first time, nervous of being watched by the social workers, nervous of how our birth kids and adopted kids will get on.

I’m clueless. How will we cope with four kids? Will we cope? Will I be able to ask for help when I need it? What will mornings look like? Bedtimes? Can we really protect our adopted kids from over-interested parties?

I’m naive. I know there’s lots that I haven’t thought of. Will I regret not having prepared more? Will it matter? Will we be OK?

And, I’m excited. Overall, I am. I promise. But perhaps, at this moment in time, you are more excited than me. Because you see the bigger picture. You’re not caught up in the detail – you don’t have to be. And, friends, please keep being excited for us, because it is this which sustains me through the long, long to-do list, and reminds me to keep focused on the end goal: the huge blessing of the children God is giving us to love for the rest of our lives.

And yes, I’ll hand it to you – that is exciting.