Because no two paths to parenthood look the same, “How I Got This Baby” is a series that invites parents to share their stories.
In her mid-20s, not long after moving from New York back to her hometown of Indianapolis, Lauren picked up a new public-relations client at her advertising and PR firm. The client was a foster-care agency looking for help with a rebranding campaign. Working with them, Lauren learned more about the foster-care system — as well as America’s chronic shortage of foster-care homes — and began to imagine what it would be like to be a foster parent herself. “I’ve always loved kids. I nannied during and after college and had a lot of experience with babies,” she says. “But, even when I was young, I never really envisioned having children of my own. I didn’t want to be pregnant.” Fostering held appeal because it was temporary. “I loved the idea that I could help out for a couple of weeks or months, then be free and independent again,” she says. “I wouldn’t have to be a forever-mom.”
About five years after working with the foster-care agency, Lauren felt ready.
Becoming a licensed foster parent in Indiana takes several months. As Lauren trained, she kept her plans secret. She feared that fielding judgmental questions from friends or family might discourage her. There was one person she did confide in, though — her mom. And her mom’s reaction was precisely what Lauren had wished to avoid. “She was really against it, kind of mad at me,” she recalls. “She would say to me, ‘You know, you can prepare yourself all you want, but until you’re a parent, you don’t know what you’re getting into.’ But she knew better than I did how hard it was going to be to do this by myself.”
But Lauren’s mother came around. By the time Lauren got licensed six months later, her mother was excited by the prospect of helping Lauren welcome children into her home. For Lauren’s 33rd birthday, her mother bought her several baby outfits in different sizes.
A few weeks later, in the spring of 2016, Lauren welcomed her first foster child, a baby girl. Here, she recounts what happened next:
On applying and training to foster
I submitted a written application and had to go through a home study process where someone from Indiana’s Department of Children’s Services came out to interview me. They want to get a feel for you, for your background and your character, as well as find out if you’ve been through any trauma. I also did a bunch of trainings to learn more about the nuts and bolts of the foster-care system, child abuse, parenting basics, and trauma-informed parenting, as well as CPR and First Aid.
I decided I would be comfortable fostering children ages 0 to 2, of any sex and ethnicity, and taking up to two kids at a time. The only thing I was wary of was taking in children with severe medical needs. I just felt nervous at the thought of having to deal with a feeding tube or something.
On preparing her home — and herself
I was living in a two-bedroom condo at the time and set up the guest room as a nursery. One night I was building a crib by myself. The instructions literally said, “This is recommended to be a two-person job,” and I read it and laughed out loud. After I put it together, part of me was proud. But the other part of me was like, Oh, man. I wish I had a partner here who could help.
It always feels so crass talking about this, but as a foster parent, you do get a monthly stipend. For a healthy infant in Indiana, it’s about $600 a month. The amount varies, depending on the age of the child and their medical needs. On the other end of the spectrum — like, for example, for a teenager with special needs — the stipend could be up to $1,200 a month. In theory the money is supposed to help you pay for everything the child needs. But the money goes fast. Child care is costly, and not every state subsidizes child care for foster children. Some states offer free day care for foster children, but Indiana isn’t one of them. When I started fostering, I think I was paying around $2,000 per month for day care.
And a lot of other out-of-pocket costs crop up as well. Before my first placement, I went out to Target and Old Navy and bought a couple of different gender-neutral outfits in every size from 0 to 2 years old. Same thing with diapers. When I was just starting out, I made a pretty sizable investment.
Once you accept a call for a placement, the baby usually arrives an hour or two later. I’d read all the books by then — What to Expect When You’re Expecting and all the rest. The nursery was fully stocked. I had bottles and formula ready to go. But I was nervous. Here in the midwest, 33 isn’t young to have a baby — lots of people I know had their third or fourth kid by then. But I still felt young for the responsibility I was about to take on.
On her first foster baby
My first call was for a baby girl who was 3 months old. Naïvely, I thought the caseworker would come in and hang out for a couple of hours and make sure we settled in. But it was like a FedEx delivery. She came into the condo, put the car seat inside the threshold, had me sign some papers, then was like, “Okay, bye!” And that was that.
The baby was the most beautiful baby you’ve ever seen in your life. But she was tough. She was colicky, and she started crying hard. I went into panic mode. I burst into tears, called my mom, and begged her to come over. Luckily, she was around and able to come over right away. But it was a huge shock.
Those first few months were rough. My thinking on taking maternity leave while fostering has changed since I started — but during that first placement, I chose not to take it, because I didn’t feel like I was entitled to it. If I’m a single woman who is choosing to do this, I need to suck it up and deal with it, I thought — which was stupid. Because very quickly, I started to unravel with the sleep deprivation. The baby was extremely hard to soothe, and I was up all night, feeding her every three hours. After a few weeks I seriously considered giving up — calling the social worker and saying, “Hey, I can’t do this, please take her.” I felt so much shame at that moment, like, God, this is the exact kind of foster parent that I didn’t want to be. But it was so tempting. In the end, I ended up hiring a night nanny two nights a week, and that changed everything. If I could be fully functional two days a week, I could keep things together.
On her first baby reuniting with her biological family
When the conditions are safe for a foster child to return to their biological family, that’s really the best option for them. Family reunification is always the goal. I assumed that when my first foster baby moved on, I’d let out this big sigh of relief — like, Okay, now I can go back to my 30-something, single, dating self.
But dropping off my first foster baby was crushing. She’d been with me for six months, and we’d become super attached. I was sobbing as I drove away. A couple of days later, I found a rogue baby sock in my sofa and broke down. I was really surprised by the grief.
Because of privacy rules, foster parents generally aren’t able to get updates about their placements after they leave. But I was lucky: I got to meet her aunt and cousin, purely by chance, at the DCS office during the handoff. They seemed great. They asked a lot of questions about her and her routine, and seemed invested in her care. I was truly happy the baby was going with them. But I quickly realized I wasn’t really “free” again in the way that I’d expected.
On the emotional toll of temporary placements
As I fostered more and more children, I learned that it always hurts to let go. When you say good-bye, it’s usually for the last time. Then again, I think having that reaction is a sign that I’m in this for the right reasons. If you’re a foster parent and you’re not heartbroken to say good-bye to a child you’ve cared for, you probably shouldn’t be fostering in the first place, you know? If you spend six months loving a child, seeing them leave should break your heart.
On discovering a tragedy
My fourth baby was a little girl named Cherish, a baby who had been born prematurely. I picked her up from the hospital and she left my home a couple of months later. A year after that, I found out that Cherish had died. Her mother’s boyfriend had done something that resulted in her death. I was on a playdate with another foster-mom friend of mine who knew somebody who knew somebody who heard it through a social worker.
It was completely shocking — the first time something like that had happened, to my knowledge, to a child who had been in my care. That night I lay in bed obsessively scrolling through all the photos I had from my time with her, just crying, thinking to myself, How can a person do such things to a child? She’d been such a peanut — that’s what we called her, “Peanut,” because she was so small when she was born. Theoretically, every foster parent knows this sort of thing can happen. But you never think it’ll happen to one of the children who’s been in your care. When I found out about Cherish, I was fostering an 18-month-old little girl. I wanted to pull her closer to me. It really heightened my anxiety and sense of protectiveness.
You can drive yourself crazy trying to track what happens to the kids who used to be in your care. Most of the time you do find out biological parents’ names; I fully admit that I stalk them on social media. But to some extent, you do have to compartmentalize. When I found out that Cherish died, I was gutted. My only comfort was knowing that, for three months of her life, with me, she knew safety and love and was wanted.
On being matched with a baby named James
About a year into fostering, during a gap between placements, I was on a business trip in Chicago, in my hotel room, getting ready for a happy-hour work event, when I got a call from a social worker. He had three babies he needed to place including a 5-month-old boy named James. “He’s currently in a foster family,” the social worker said, “but the couple wants us to find another placement because he cries too much.” Something about that grabbed me. Like, you mean to tell me that two people can’t divide and conquer to handle a crying baby?
It made me so sad that this baby was being displaced again. I knew I could handle a colicky infant, so I told the social worker I’d get there tomorrow to pick him up.
I drove back to Indianapolis the next morning and remember bracing myself for a screaming, crying baby. But when I arrived, he was the most peaceful, serene baby in the world. He looked like an actual doll, with this perfect porcelain skin, rosy cheeks, and these giant blue eyes. I can still distinctly remember him; it’s like a snapshot in my mind that I’ll probably never forget.
I thought maybe he’d cry in the car or when we got home, but from minute-one, he rarely cried. In retrospect, I think I felt a connection to him right away — probably because I was more confident and experienced at that point. I knew what to expect.
Because I wasn’t in panic mode, I was able to relax and enjoy him more. His foster-care plan was reunification with his family; adoption wasn’t yet on my radar. But very quickly there was this bond between us that felt different.
On gradually understanding the scope of James’s health needs
I knew James had tested positive for drugs at birth. Foster parents aren’t able to see their foster children’s medical records. Because of that, I didn’t know exactly which drugs James’s mom had been on, nor the other complications around his birth.
But I could tell he was behind developmentally. He was small for his age, still wearing newborn clothes, and very much acted like a newborn, too — he had no head and neck control and wasn’t even trying to roll over. He also had a really flat head. I suspect his first foster family kept him flat in his crib a lot and didn’t interact with him much.
James’s pediatrician agreed that James wasn’t hitting his milestones and referred us to a state-funded occupational-therapy program for kids under 3. For about six months, James had therapy twice a week to get caught up on his gross- and fine-motor skills. He continued to be late with all of his milestones — he never really crawled, and he didn’t sit up by himself until almost his 1st birthday, or pull to stand, then walk until well after that. When he was 2, I realized he needed glasses. He’d been cross-eyed since birth.
On fostering James’s younger brother
Eighteen months after James’s mom had him, she had another baby boy, Harris, who also ended up being put with me as a newborn. Before she even delivered, actually, James’s biological mother asked DCS if they would place the baby with me, since I already had James. Harris was in the NICU for three weeks, and he showed signs of neonatal-opioid-withdrawal symptoms even after I took him home. He would cry nonstop — putting him in a warm bath was basically the only thing that worked to calm him down. He also had tremors and startled very easily. It was heartbreaking.
On the opportunity to adopt James
James had been with me for about a year when it became clear that he wasn’t going to be able to be reunited with his parents. The family-court judge overseeing his case ended up changing James’s DCS plan from a reunification track to an adoption track. When they asked if I wanted him, I was like, 4,000 percent, yes. There wasn’t one particular moment when it clicked with me — that I went from wanting to be his temporary parent to his forever-mom. It happened gradually. But I just knew. So I petitioned immediately. It was important to me that James have access later on to his biological family, to know them and know where he came from, and it was important for James’s parents to have that access, too. So we agreed to an open adoption. Everything was finalized when James was 2.
In the courtroom, during the adoption ceremony, adoptive parents can say whatever they want to say. I basically wrote vows for James and read them to him: “I’ll love you forever, no matter what, and I’ll support you to be whoever you want to be.” I cried throughout the whole thing.
James officially took my last name that day. I still have a video of him from that night, saying it for the first time. “What’s your name, James?” I ask him, and he says it in his tiny, cute little voice. I just love that moment.
On finally gaining access to James’s full medical history
After the adoption was finalized, I got access to all of James’s medical records, starting from birth, plus his full DCS case file. That’s when the full picture of what he’d been through started to come into focus. James had intrauterine growth restriction (IUGR) when he was in the womb, a condition in which the fetus doesn’t grow at a normal rate. James was also born almost a month and a half early. He had kidney issues, as well, and had to stay in the NICU for weeks. He was on methadone. It’s what they give an adult in rehab for opioid withdrawal, just in microscopic doses.
Finding out all of this, my heart broke. Did anybody visit him in the NICU, I wondered? Did anyone come to hold him? I also learned he’d been in two foster homes before he came to me, not one. His case file contained photos that DCS had snapped. Just seeing how tiny and sad he looked, it really hit me, how much he struggled.
On finding James the right support
It’s taken a while to figure out how to best support James. He started exhibiting aggressive behaviors as a toddler, kicking, biting, and hitting, and was kicked out of two day cares, as well as preschool — this ultra-fancy, ultra-expensive private school I chose for him that was known for producing incredible students. By then I’d gotten James a therapist who realized James had ADHD. She recommended a developmental preschool for special needs, and that school ended up being a godsend. It was a super-small program — just one classroom, run by an occupational therapist, a speech therapist, and a special-ed teacher who adored James from the start. Between that program and another, similar school, James got the help he needed to prepare for kindergarten.
Around the time he turned 5, James also started taking medication. I had begun taking him to a developmental pediatrician to see what else I could do to support him. I had some trepidation around meds; people often judge parents for giving them to children with ADHD, and I worried about the stigma. But medicating him was a total game changer. I could see an instant impact — it tamed his aggression and lengthened his attention span, dramatically improving the way he learned and interacted with the world.
On managing James’s open adoption
No matter what kind of adoption a kid goes through, there’s always some trauma there, always baggage a kid will eventually have to work through. But pretty much all of the research says that open adoption is best for children. I wanted him to know where he came from, and be able to ask me and his bio family someday about whatever he wants to know.
And it’s working for us. His biological mother is clean now, and today we have a great relationship, although it took a long time for us to get here. She went on to get James’s brother back and have more kids. She’s a great parent. We see her regularly, and she and I text all the time. We keep a picture of her in our house. But it’s still painful for me, and for her, I think, to reflect on what James has been through. Especially given all the things he struggles with today. She feels tremendous guilt and shame; when she asks about how he’s doing and I tell her about all the specialists we’re seeing for this or that, they’re awkward conversations.
On how motherhood has affected her dating life
Initially I figured that being single with an adopted child would be less intimidating to a man than, say, being divorced with a biological child and an ex-husband in the picture — another guy in our lives who’s going to be around forever. I thought men would see that as a plus.
But I was wrong about that, and I didn’t realize it until a man I’d been dating explained it to me. It was actually more intimidating to him that James’s biological dad ― who is part of our open adoption but doesn’t see James much — doesn’t play a big part in James’s life. “If you and I get serious, I’ll automatically become James’s dad,” he reasoned. He could handle being a stepdad or a bonus dad, but being the dad, the person James looked to as a father-figure, felt too hard, more than he was ready for.
It was tough to hear, but helpful in a way, too. He was right. James and I are a package deal. I’m not just looking for a husband, somebody who’s great for me — I’m looking for a father for James, too. And I’m picky.
On life with James and other foster children today
James is almost 8 now. Not long ago, a really good friend of James asked, “Who’s your real mom?” He’s a sweet kid — he didn’t mean it in a bad way. But James had never heard that question framed in that way before. And so when he came home from school, I could tell that he was sad. Like: Wait — who are you? Are you not my mom? Have I been lied to this whole time? You’re just a random lady? He’d only ever heard the terms “bio mom” and “adoptive mom” — never “real mom.”
So we talked about it. I said, “You have two real moms. I’m your real mom and your bio mom is your real mom. I’m your real mom because she couldn’t be a safe mom when you were born, and asked me to be your mom forever. And we went to a judge and the judge wrote it on a piece of paper that I would be your mommy forever and ever and ever. But your bio mom is also your real mom, because you grew in her tummy.” Which seemed to clear things up for him.
Now, James has started saying that he has two moms. It’s kind of funny. This summer he went to this Jewish summer camp and kept going around being like, “I have two mommies,” which made me laugh. I think all of the counselors assumed I’m a lesbian.
Today, James goes to an awesome public school. He has an individualized education plan that requires a special-education teacher to stay with him for most of the day while he’s in his general-ed classroom. James has had her for the last three years, and she’s an angel. The special-education teachers in our lives have been some of the best people I know, and I’m endlessly grateful. But James still has a lot of challenges.
He loves being in a family that fosters other kids. He’s always asking me when we’ll get someone new. We’re on a pause from babies right now, because we’re so busy. I’m tired! But I don’t plan on stopping fostering. Since I began eight years ago, it’s made me a different person. I was a mean girl in college. I was selfish. Fostering — and being James’s mom — changed my life. I’ve fostered 24 kids at this point.
On her hopes for James’s future
I’d be lying if I said I don’t worry about what James’s life will look like as he gets older. I can easily fall into a doom-spiral imagining the worst. But then I look at James, and I feel hope, because he really is the best kid. He’s so affectionate, kind, generous, creative, and hilarious. He is my best friend. Just the joy in his eyes … he’s brimming with it. He brings so much happiness and laughter to my life. If someone told me all of the challenges James would have the day I got the call about him, I think I would’ve said no to accepting him. Thank God they didn’t, because I would have missed out.
The names of all subjects have been changed to protect their identities.
