The Age Gap

A few days after Frankie was born, Patrick flew back to Illinois to be with our older boys while I waited out ICPC with our new baby in Florida. It was the sweetest time for just he and I to get to know each other. One afternoon Frankie and I were at the store; while he slept soundly in his infant seat just out of her view, the cashier asked me if I had other children. When I told her, “Yes! We have two older boys; 10 and 7.” She said sympathetically, “that’s ok honey, it happens”. I smiled sweetly and thanked her but wanted to burst out laughing or maybe crying. This little family of ours didn’t just happen. We longed for, prayed for, fought for this family. And God in his providence gave us each of our boys in His perfect timing. Not always ours. But His.

I think I imagined having each of our children two or three years apart. It seemed like that was the cultural norm and what most of our friends were doing. That seemed like the perfect, happy distance to me. And when Henry was just over two, William was born. They were both babies; it was busy, happy chaos. We decided to try for our third baby when William was two. He turned three, and then four and it was painfully clear that it wasn’t working. When we started our homestudy, Henry was 7 and William was 5. I worried about the age gap, but felt optimistic about bringing a baby home quickly.

I’ll pause here for a moment to explain that it’s both a joy and a burden to walk alongside older children through adoption. There is so much joy in telling your children that they’re going to have another sibling regardless of how that child comes to your family. There’s joy in the anticipation and in praying for the child whom you’ve never met but cannot wait to bring home one day. But there’s a burden in walking with older children through the ups and downs of the process. There are so many unknowns. When we started the adoption process, it was our desire to be open with them and to answer their questions as honestly as we knew how.

When we were matched for the first time, Henry was 8 and William had just turned 6. We surprised them with balloons and a tiny blue onesie wrapped in a gift box. After months of talking about adoption, they had a baby brother on the way and a due date to look forward to in just a few short months. They affectionately began calling him “baby blue”;  Henry told his second grade class, and William, beaming at the prospect of being the big brother, drew our stick figure family as five complete with a tiny stick figure baby. The adoption fell through shortly before the baby’s due date. I cried behind my sunglasses the entire way to school pick-up the day we found out. I was crushed and felt the added burden of bearing Henry and William’s loss. Patrick and I took the night to process together before we shared it with the boys. I closed the bathroom door and cried on the floor. Friends showed up for us; leaving dinner on the front porch, and donuts and a bouquet of flowers the next morning. When we told the boys, we talked only about what a good thing this was for our dear “baby blue”; he gets to stay with his mama! She is able to take care of him and raise him forever! Because we stayed so positive, they were able to focus on the good. I remember so clearly being prepared for any response. After we delivered the news William said, “ok. Can I have another donut?” And it was ok. They were sad and we still talk about that sweet baby and pray that he and his mama are well, but they were ok. Children are resilient, and children are imitators. They saw that we were going to be ok and that we were happy for the baby and his mama, and they followed suit. That was a huge lesson for us moving forward; we wanted to be honest with them but to always lead with optimism and our trust in the Lord.

Today, Henry is 11, William is 9 and Frankie is 18 months. Frankie is the most adored baby in the land; he has two older brothers that will drop whatever they’re doing to play trains with him, who willingly share a lick of their chocolate cone with him, who cheer the loudest for him when he learns a new word or trick, who dance with him unabashedly in our living room, and who fiercely protect him and champion him before their friends. Henry and William are the most adored brothers; Frankie loves to curl up on Henry’s lap to read books and he loves to jump on the trampoline with him; he feels safe and Henry is protective. He loves to play animals with William because he does the best tiger growl and lion roar; he has so much fun because William is silly.  And can I tell you how wonderful it is to have older children that can put on their own coats and shoes and then offer extra sets of hands to help carry bags and sippy cups? It’s not what I pictured all of those years ago, but it’s pretty beautiful.

In my best plans I wouldn’t have imagined an 8 and 10-year age difference between them. I wouldn’t have chosen this great of an age gap for them if my plans had succeeded. But instead, I surrendered. I decided to let God write this story and found that letting Him be the author of the story is letting Him create the most beautiful version possible.