I said in Child F.'s letter that the Momma Bear would come out at some point, if needed. But when it came, I was surprised.
I arrived at the per-determined visit-location just about on time. I try to arrive a few minutes early in case the girls' parents are early, that way they get a few extra minutes. This motivates me and usually I manage to arrive on time as a result. When I'm a few minutes late at pickup, I tell myself it's okay because I'm giving the girls a few extra minutes with their parents.
So on this particular day I arrived a minute or so early. It doesn't really matter. The point is, I arrived just as mom did. Yay! She met me in the parking lot and asked if I needed help juggling the bags, 3 young girls, and Noah (he was in charge of holding the hands of the older two girls).
"Sure," I replied, not sure what to hand off to her. We have a system and sometimes it's hard to figure out how to allocate in a mildly stressful situation (anticipating leaving the kids, dodging not-the-best-drivers in the parking lot, running through the list of last minute info I should mention such as last diaper changes and reminder that the toddler isn't fully potty trained). The older two are bopping around, excited to see their mom, but also remembering to keep their hands in Noah's.
"Can I have the baby?" she asks.
"Sure," I say. Who's going to say 'no'? As soon as Baby E. is out of my arms I cringe internally expecting the baby to protest.
She has a one-track mind - and it goes something like: "I want momma, I want momma, I want momma" - and sadly her definition of "momma" is not mine or her first mom's either. It's something she's decided on and her favorite place is in my arms.
But she's content to sit in her mom's arms. Phew. She did have a 3 hour nap, unlike most visit-days when we just don't have time to fit in the nap(s) she needs.
I'm excited along with relief. We make our way in to the building and Noah's anxious to leave. We have an epic library visit planned.
"Hold on," I say, feeling impatient with Noah. I'm having to remind myself that I can't just walk away from a mom with her kids. She's not allowed to be alone with the kids. I have to call the foster care unit and let them know we're here.
By the time I hang up, Baby E. has decided she is done with this, and is reaching for me. She's starting to cry. "Momma, momma!" she says.
"I'm going to cry," her mom says, and I feel myself getting hot under the collar. I nod sympathetically feeling increasingly uncomfortable but not raising my arms to rescue the baby who is increasingly getting upset. "I'm your momma!" her mom explains to her kindly. "She gets you all the time, I get you right now," she explains to her baby.
Meanwhile the older two are grabbing at their mom, starting to take their coats off, frantic to tell her the million things they've been holding on to - just to share with her when they finally see her again.
The baby is crying and reaching and "momma"-ing still.
Noah is still begging to leave.
Finally the appropriate staff member emerges, and I make a hasty escape.
And then realize I'm still holding a bag and make a quick re-entry to pass the bag off lightening-fast before retreating again, never giving last minute instructions.
I left shaking. It's not about the mom! It's about a baby who wanted comfort from the "momma" she's living with every day. We need to do what's best for our kids, and put ourselves behind their needs. Because if we don't meet those needs, who will? The kids can't. They can't. They are kids. They can't meet all of their needs without a grownups help. It would have been an easy fix to calm this baby. But this was a mom who chose her own needs over a baby's.
But did I do any different? Should I have ignored my social discomfort and my desire to let this mom parent as much as she is allowed (which is not a lot) and reached for this distressed baby?
Part of training is a lesson in parenting kids 100% - just as you would parent a child you birthed. But I would never leave a child I birthed in anyone else's arms as I stood there, looking on helplessly. But here's the thing: I didn't birth this baby, and it isn't the same. I find myself in situations, needing to do uncomfortable things, explaining impossible scenarios - all because of fostering, nothing to do with parenting. Everyone says what we do is in the kids' best interest. But that's not true. Our first priority is the kids' parents. We don't consider the damage of multiple moves, visits, changes - or at least we don't let that influence our decisions around these kids lives to the extent these effect the kids' lives. We consider how best to help parents - we set up services, visits, appointments that we implore parents to participate in. We give parents time and resources to meet their goals. We move children home and hold our breath, hoping that that time, those resources, that service, etc will be enough of a foundation to support this family - a family that admittedly faces challenges many of us can only imagine. We do all we can to make parents comfortable. Kids so often seem an afterthought.
But that's the best we can do. Kids need parents who can keep them safe. And the best we know how to do is support parents to keep kids safe. So we encourage parents to parent by not taking that baby back who is reaching for the "momma" that they know day-in-and-day-out. We pass off the children we're raising to strangers-to-us in a place we'd never bring our kids in the normal course of life. We hold our breath and hope for the best. And we tell ourselves that this makes a difference. Even when sometimes it feels like it doesn't.
