Elijah Paul
“You’re open to every race, even black?” Her words caught me by such surprise, like a punch in the gut.
Some might say I have lived a life of white privilege, and before now, I would have had no idea what they were talking about.
We had been open to any sex, race, bio history, or in utero exposure since the beginning of our adoption journey. The county preferred placing children according to common ethnicity. We were a white family with white kids, but not because we wanted it to stay that way. To us, it didn’t matter.
She Picked Us!
It did not take long for Noelle to choose us. We were one of three families she considered. When she had made up her mind, she called her social worker to let her know, and then Mary called us.
“A birth mom who is seven months pregnant would like to meet you.” She’s Caucasian, the birth father is African American. It’s a boy. “She’s going to name him Elijah.”
I sat stunned. Paul saw it on my face so I wrote him a note. A boy — she’s naming him Elijah. Paul shook his head in approval and I knew I had to tell her. “That was one of the names we had picked for our next son.”
For Noelle, it was a comfort to hear that, a reassurance that she was making the right decision. For us, things became very real, very quickly. We would be meeting with them both in a couple of days, but I already felt the familiar nausea that comes from hearing I’m going to be a mom again. From 0 to 60 in 4.2 seconds.
Our First Meeting
Mary picked Noelle up and met us at Larson’s Barbecue. When we pulled up, they were already there, sitting in the walkway. Mary introduced us and we all shuffled through the door quickly to grab a table and a bite to eat.
Conversation was light — it seemed Noelle had already made up her mind. It was a time of getting to know each other, and talking about our other children. When she finally asked, “Would you be Elijah’s parents?” we were a little taken back. “Of course, we would love that!”
We had offered complete openness for this adoption and Noelle accepted. This was our first wide-open adoption, so we didn’t really know what to expect. She took the lead. In seconds we were discussing doctor visits and exchanging phone numbers. It felt like a whirlwind of information in such a short amount of time. All of us were just getting caught up in the flow.
By the time we exchanged hugs and walked away, Paul and I were spent. What just happened? This wasn’t the first time a birth mom chose us. We had been here before. But this time was different. I was going to be a white mom to a black son, and we just gave out our personal contact information. It all felt so surreal.
Getting to Know Each Other
Over the next three months our summer was filled with doctor visits and girl dates. She met us at Chuck E Cheeses to spend time with our children. We had her mother and sister over for lunch. We ate out for dinner with her entire family. It became very clear that our family was growing exponentially this time around.
“Jory is very dark.” Noelle watched my face as she made that statement. “Oh yah? That’s cool,” I said, catching David as he came down the slide. A couple of weeks later we got pictures from her 3D ultrasound. I put the picture in the book I was reading and looked at it several times a day.
All of this was so new for us, it was difficult to know how to navigate all of it. Doctor visits were scheduled, and I was invited, so I made room for them on our calendar. We enjoyed the time we had to get to know Noelle and her family, but we also felt the pressure to be perfect parents to the children we already had, and Lord help us if they were having a bad day!
Noelle wanted us at the hospital when she delivered Elijah. “Would you be my birthing coach? I want you to be the first one to hold him.” Their family had a healthy understanding of adoption. One of her brothers had been adopted. Of course I accepted, grateful that she wanted me there, that I could be such an intimate part of Elijah’s birth.
Special Delivery!
When we got the call, we were so beside ourselves. Noelle’s doctor decided to induce her. Having to find babysitters at a moment’s notice was not something we had thought about. Fortunately our good friends, and neighbors were available.
The hospital was a 2-hour drive away. We also needed to stop at Costco to pick up snacks for the hospital delivery staff. Every bit helps, and we wanted to make a good impression. When we finally got there and settled in, things seemed to be progressing slowly, so Paul and Noelle’s mom, Kim, decided to go get some shuteye before the delivery. I would stay and keep Noelle company.
It felt awkward to be the “adoptive mom” in the equation. No one really knew how to respond to me at the hospital. There was an air of uncertainty. I tried to focus on how I could be there for Noelle and support her in the birth of our son. We talked for hours; I was thankful for her trust. When the contractions started to become more frequent, I kept time.
Hours spent watching Baby Story came in very handy for me. Noelle had requested an epidural, but still felt the cramps. “I think we should call your mom and Paul back to the hospital. They’re really close now.” “You think?” and with that we made the calls.
They had walked into the room and been there no more than 15 minutes when Noelle told me she felt like she needed to push. Speed-walking to the nurse’s station, I relayed the message. “Oh honey, this is her first. It’s going to be a long time.”
I returned to the room and sat next to the monitor. “She thinks you still have some time to go.” No sooner did my backside hit that chair than I saw Elijah’s heart rate drop. “Renee, what is it? What happened?” Noelle saw it all over my face. “Nothing, I’m sure it will be fine.” Just seconds after that, the nurse ran into the room, ordering everyone to get out. I was the only one who stayed.
After one push, the doctor entered the room. Three pushes later and Elijah was out. It went by faster than I ever thought. Into the world and then into my arms, slimy as I stood there, all eyes on me. I had a death grip on him, my hand grasping for the opposite arm and leg. It was anything but what I imagined it would be. All I could think about is I didn’t want to drop him.
They cleaned him up as the rest of the family came in. You would have thought he was a celebrity with all of the cameras clicking. A beautiful little boy. Two families staring, doting, just waiting to hold him.
I felt possessive, but then talked myself out of it. Paul should have his turn, and so should Noelle. As Elijah was passed from one family member to the next, I watched patiently, wishing I hadn’t let him go.
After a while, the bustle settled down, and I was able to feed Elijah his first bottle. No sooner did he suck it down than it came back up, all over the floor. “He must have taken in some amniotic fluid.” Two more tries later, it became obvious he would need medical intervention.
Becoming Mom
Noelle and I were led to our room and Elijah was scheduled to spend the evening in the nursery. They would suction the fluid out and make sure he could keep down his formula. “So you’re adopting him, huh?” I had just met the nurse on duty that night. “Yep.” “Do you know anything about him?” “Not much,” even if I did, I was not interested in telling her.
I left, sad to have to be without him that first night, but knew that it was necessary if we wanted to leave the hospital the next day. I crashed, exhausted from everything that had happened. It felt like seconds before I was woken from a deep sleep by the blaring alarm. BING, BING, BING. I heard it in my dream, first. Then, prying my eyelids open, I turned toward Noelle’s bed. Empty.
My heart began to race, in seconds, adrenal was pumping through my veins. The nurse had placed a bracelet on Elijah’s arm before she took him away. She said an alarm would go off if he was removed from the nursery. I felt sick.
Quickly walking down the hallway, I tried hard not to run. Welcomed relief came as I rounded the corner and saw Noelle standing next to the nurse who was holding Elijah, safely, in her arms. “He was able to keep down a bottle!” Noelle remarked, excited. “That’s great (smile). What’s up with the alarms?” Someone must have been smoking too close to the emergency exit. Awesome.
“Well, I guess I’m going to go back to the room,” Noelle walked back down the hallway.
The nurse watched her go. “I didn’t know if she wanted to hold him, if she was supposed to hold him,” she said just as soon as Noelle turned the corner. “Oh sure, that would have been fine.” She handed Elijah to me. “You know, I don’t know if it’s any of my business, but I thought I should tell you,” she said, her voice scaling down as she spoke so no one close could hear, “He’s black.”
“Yes, I know,” I replied, staring her down. She became fidgety, uncomfortable, and feigned an apology. “Oh, well I just thought it would be important for you to know because there are specific health needs you should be aware of.” She was talking in a normal voice now. 
A knot welled up inside of me. I knew what she was thinking, that Noelle tried to pull a fast one over me. That I had no idea my son was black. And in that moment I felt something I did not know would become an all-too familiar friend — anger. The mama bear inside me stood on her hind legs and it took everything I had to hold my tongue.
In that moment I changed from a white woman, oblivious to the injustice that surrounded me, to brown. His fight was my fight. I could no longer turn my eyes from people’s prejudice. It was obvious and ugly.
I held Elijah close, kissing his cheek and smelling his head, wrapping my arms tightly around him. There was no turning back. Two steps forward, you wouldn’t have been able to distinguish the line between us. Black, white, brown. Family.
Elijah Paul, cutie Butterball (I know you both hate and desperately love that I call you that). My beautiful son, my life’s blood, what would I have become without you? The all-around academic, social, and athletic kiddo, he stole my heart the moment we met on that ultrasound screen. Always up for a good laugh, I marvel at his wit and chemistry. With a heart bigger than anyone I know, it is a pleasure to watch him grow in compassion for his fellow man each day — I take my notes from him. May he always strive to be his best self, turn a deaf ear to haters, and become the man he is destined to be. Fly high, my dreamer, and always keep your feet anchored in love. Forever your biggest fan, and mother bear.
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One Comment
Patty Schell
Beautiful.