Today we found ourselves at the Randburg courts applying to foster Ben. Yes, a year and some days on and this is where we still find ourselves thanks to the system.
We arrived sans baby at 09h00, our appointment time, to find a queue ahead of us, with the same appointment times AND with babies in tow.
Off we went back home to fetch Ben for his date with the magistrate. Emma, who’s on mid term break, wasn’t staying home for love or money or the promise of Wakaberry so into the car we climbed and made our way back to the courts.
While sitting waiting I got chatting to a couple who were in the process of adopting a little boy from the Lighthouse Baby Shelter, the same home where we got Emma and Ben.
Of course we covered the usual topics AP’s talk about. Why adoption? Hair care, unsolicited comments from strangers and how our little miracles came to be with us.
I don’t know whether all adoptive parents look for ‘signs’ or answers when starting the process but I know I did. I needed to believe that my infertility was for a reason and I wanted confirmation that my children were heaven sent. I suppose we all do, to a degree.
Eleanor, mom to all children at the shelter is a reborn Christian and often prays that the kiddies in her care find the right homes. She also prays for guidance in placing them correctly. This particular woman had emailed asking whether there were any newborn coloured babies. There weren’t and so she kind of shelved the idea. Until she got a call.
A little baby boy had been left in the Moses basket. He was only a day old and he was also coloured. The excited woman popped in to see him, fell in love ad looked for her sign.
She asked Eleanor to pray for a name for her baby boy, which she did. The answer didn’t come immediately but when it did it came like a bolt of lightning.
The next day when she called to find out whether Eleanor had a name yet she answered that she did. “Simon Peter.” There was silence on the other end of the phone. “Simon Peter?” asked the mom to be. “That’s my husband’s name. He’s Simon Peter.” Eleanor hadn’t met the husband and she didn’t know his name. They have since called him Gabriel.
After sharing a few happy tears and swapping phone numbers we went our separate ways. Emma, Ben and I made our way to the magistrate’s room for our appointment. We walked into this stark boardroom type set up but Emma, dare I say being Emma, was in heaven. She found a whole lot of microphones on the table. The ones people lean into to answer rather serious questions.
She placed them in front of her and when the magistrate asked us how we all are, Emma said “life is good. Thank you. Thank you very much!” She then proceeded to ask the magistrate whether there was a particular song she might want to hear. Before getting an answer she broke into the “Zing song” from Hotel Transylvania…
That’s our Emma