On Friday, I attended my first Foster Mommy Support Group, at a nearby church. I was reluctant to attend, for several reasons. Mainly because Baby Berry (who was with us for eight months) was reunified with her Bio-family, a few days prior. Although I’m beyond grateful that we keep in touch, I learned that she was having a difficult time with the transition. It brought back extremely painful memories of witnessing Banana’s transition (after two years with us).
New year. New me.
I know. What a cliche’. How many times have we made New Year’s resolutions that we failed to sustain? Too many to count, for me. However, I wanted to share a few goals I have for 2018. Hopefully, this will motivate you, while holding myself accountable.
In my last post, I shared a pretty traumatic experience my husband, Scott, and I went through. It was a foster parent’s worst nightmare. Being led to believe that we were adopting a foster child, after her first fifteen months with us. Rearing her from the beginning of her life as well as throughout, and beyond the critical bonding months. And, dealing with an excrutiating transition (especially for the child) in sending her home, after her first two years, with us.
Would you believe that I had never tried eggs benedict, before I was in my thirties? I’m ashamed to admit that I misjudged its delightfulness. While the origin of “eggs benedict” is somewhat disputed, I can share how this dish became an annual tradition at The House on High Street.
“You’re an angel from heaven…” “You’re such a strong woman…” “I could never do what you do…” “There’s a special place in heaven for people like you…”
Just a few of the flattering remarks I’ve heard. Ever since we said, “I DO”, to becoming foster parents. Honestly? I thought, at the very least, I was a strong woman. Maybe, even a strong Christian. Until I became a foster parent.