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A little warning: today’s post isn’t very funny, if at all. I’m just…not in the mood.

We finally had our disposition hearing a few weeks ago. As expected, both Birth Parents received reunification services. This means they each have an individualized case plan to complete in the next six months before we meet again in April to assess their progress. And less expectedly, I have been granted de facto parent status. This doesn’t mean a lot right now, but could be highly beneficial should another caregiver enter the picture or later during the permanency plan hearing wherein my attorney can call expert witnesses on my behalf. I don’t know yet what the strategy will be in the spring…

I agree with the Court’s decision. Minor’s attorney said during the hearing that, “we have to give them [the Birth Parents] the chance to reunify––what they do with it is up to them.” In the weeks since the hearing, Birth Mother has left her sober living facility and is now MIA. Contrary to what you might think, this does not make me happy. I’m worried about her and I want her to receive the help she so desperately needs.

Birth Father continues to treat virtual visitation as a casual livestream of the baby in which he feels he does not have to actively engage, but rather glance at on occasion from his bed or car or job site. Tomorrow we begin in-person visitation with him for the first time since March. I’m entirely curious to see how he handles the hands-on situation. I am also concerned for the well-being of the Babe, as he’s starting to experience bouts of separation anxiety. I’ll be there if he needs me.

Speaking of separation anxiety, I’ve started having darker and darker visions of a future without my boy. I consider which toys I might pack up for the little one should he leave me. I ponder a role reversal of doing weekly virtual visits with him at his Dad’s house, putting on a brave face so as not to scare my sweet, little empath. I admonish myself when I find I am complaining about limited free time or a messy kitchen because I know I will yearn for the consuming cuddles and self-feeding adventures one day.

I wonder if it’s the combination of upcoming holidays and the Babe’s first birthday that are producing these feelings. With every “Baby’s First Christmas” purchase I make, there is a voice in my head telling me “it’ll be the first and last, are you sure you want these keepsakes?” And when I think perhaps I’m overdoing the planning for his birthday party, I reason “it could be our only opportunity––go big!”

Part of it, too, is the Birth Father’s progress in his case plan. Of course the bar is incredibly, tragically low. I am already angry that my foster child could have an entirely different outcome than his siblings (to my knowledge, the decision to terminate rights was not reversed in Birth Mother and Fathers’ appeals). It doesn’t seem fair or just. But perhaps I should live in the moment and let this run its course instead of being consumed by hypothetical anger.

It’s clear my own Father––Papa––is also feeling the impending dread. He sent me a text message today that read, “I was thinking you should explore putting your name on a list for adoption.” I haven’t responded yet. I may never. I don’t know what to say. I’m not ready to give up on my little Muppins yet, and that’s what a Plan B feels like to me.

Tomorrow I will laugh again. Tomorrow I will find joy in my child’s simple wonder. Tomorrow I will be strong. Tonight, I weep.