Why Fostering Newborns is Not Like Having Your Own

In our home right now, we have what you’d call Irish or Catholic twins, siblings who are less than 12 months apart.  I know there are many families with far more children than I have (And seriously, kudos to all those super moms.  Please tell me all your secrets), but for me, I’m finding that 3 young children is the magic number to attract strangers who desperately want to approach me and comment on how full my hands are.

I mean… they aren’t wrong.  I’m sure I do look a little crazy carrying two non-mobile babies while maintaining a vice grip on my son’s hand and any bags we might be toting.  But once they look beyond the obvious bulky lifting, people are quick to take notice of the gorgeous babies I’m carrying.  People congratulate us, call us blessed, and tell us how lucky we are.  By all appearances, we lead a charmed life.  We scored the enviable newborn placement.  Our kids would make a cute Christmas card.  To the outside world, it would seem that getting a foster child as a baby is akin to having your own biological child- a blank slate, a child without baggage.

Except it’s not.

When I was pregnant with my son, I went to the hospital right away to confirm my pregnancy at 4-5 weeks, but even before that positive test result, we were hopeful.  We were prepared.  I meticulously followed all the pregnancy recommendations, gave friends a death stare when they offered me a sip of wine, and I attended every OB appointment with excitement and anticipation.

In contrast, infants entering the system are 8 times more likely to have never received prenatal care.  At a time when the brain is growing more quickly than any other point in a child’s development, these babies probably aren’t being given prenatal vitamins that help reduce the risk of neural tube defects by 70% or ultrasounds to check for serious complications.  Furthermore, studies have shown that an infant’s brain development is affected by a mother’s stress during pregnancy.  I knew a woman who read the entire Bible aloud (twice!) to her unborn baby.  There is a stark contrast between that woman’s developing baby and the children you are likely to meet in the system.

Another concern is many children who are removed as newborns have been drug exposed.  10-30% of all infants born each year have prenatal substance exposure.  That’s a lot of infants with very specific and sometimes severe challenges.  Caring for these babies is an entirely different ball game.

The initial withdrawals can be a little scary, and many drug-exposed babies will be hospitalized for a few days to several weeks while they go through withdrawals.  In some cases, you’ll be called when the baby is born, but you won’t know when he’ll be stable enough to be released.  It could be a week or a month later.  At one point, we were anticipating a little one coming into care who was still detoxing in the hospital, and I contacted a local photographer who had an ad for free newborn sessions.  After talking to the lady and explaining how I wasn’t sure when the baby would be released, she informed me that the deal only applies to newborns under 10 days old.  Yeah… that’s a gamble for any drug-exposed infant.  We’ll pass.

When we did finally bring that baby home, there were still persistent symptoms of drug exposure which lasted for several more months.  Common symptoms include sweating, tight muscles, sleeplessness, poor feeding, tremors, seizures, breathing problems, and fussiness similar to having a colicky baby.   Then when that phase ends, a new pattern emerges of children who are more likely to have hearing and vision loss and cognitive or language delays.

From an outside perspective, it looks like I’m taking my time and leisurely feeding my baby throughout an entire church service.  What you don’t know is we’ve been going at this for the past hour, this is the 5th brand of bottle I’ve tried, and no matter what we do, baby struggles to take a bottle without back-arching screams.  You see me carrying baby everywhere I go, but what you don’t know is I can’t put her down for more than a couple minutes before she’s inconsolable.  You see a strong newborn who can stand with support or hold his head up well.  What you don’t know is it’s not because I have an unusually developed child; it’s because the drug exposure has left him with a rigid muscle tone that doesn’t easily relax.  I don’t have a baby that melts into me for cuddles.  I have an infant who lies straight, stiff as a board in my arms.

Through trial and error, we’ve learned to tell the difference between tremors and seizures.  We’ve learned to dim the lights and avoid loud noises.  We’ve learned how to do a tight swaddle. And most importantly, we’ve learned that our experience as parents to our own biological child was only able to take us so far.  There would be so many things we would have to do differently.  There would be so many more sleepless nights and oh so much more coffee.  And yet, it’d somehow be easier to get up that 6th time in the middle of the night knowing that responding right away to that high-pitched scream meant you were helping that baby bond and their brain to grow.  Every little action seemed more purposeful.  Every inconvenience worth the sacrifice if it meant it could give the baby a better start in life.