'We got a call yesterday. Birth mum's had another baby' The Times Rosie Lewis 'We got a call yesterday. Birth mum's had another baby' new Candid tales from inside a support group for foster and adoptive parents that offers a lifeline — and cake ALAMY Rosie Lewis Tuesday October 20 2026, 5.00am BST , The Sunday Times Listen 0:00 / · 9:34 min Share Share this article Email Twitter Facebook Link Save Puzzles Challenge yourself with today's puzzles. A dozen chairs circle a low table scattered with biscuits and pastries. A candle flickers nearby, beanbags and cushions giving the air of a therapy room. I help myself to a cake and settle in. “Shall we start with CAMHS?” I suggest. “We're coming up for two years on the waiting list now.” “Ditto,” says Rachel. She knows all about teenage depression, with her daughter Aimee in A&E a few weeks ago after a desperate attempt to end her own life. “I'm worried we've dropped off the list,” she says, shaking her head. “But I can't get beyond the answerphone to find out.” Most commented 1 Russian strikes 'leave half a million Ukrainian homes without power' Russia-Ukraine war 390 comments A few sighs ripple around the circle. Many of us are trapped on the same weary merry-go-round of referrals, from GP to hospital consultant to CAMHS (child and adolescent mental health services) and back again. Neither service is willing to take responsibility. “What you need,” I say, “is a parenting course.” Parenting newsletter Join our community receiving professional advice and sharing personal stories. Sign up with one click You've successfully signed up to the Parenting newsletter Explore our newsletters An error occurred. Please use the link below. Parenting newsletter Explore our newsletters It's a running joke: whenever any of us asks social services for help, we're referred to a parenting course. We all laugh, the camaraderie reminding me of the fellow feeling forged at school. Top stories 1 Clodagh McKenna: I always get up at 6am on holiday. I love the calm Inspiration 2 16 of the best safaris in Africa Africa As Adoption England begins a new recruitment drive, I find myself wondering how they can reach more prospective parents. I know one place they'd get an honest insight. Welcome to our adoption support group. Advertisement It is the one place we never have to apologise for our children's dysregulated behaviour, or for being exhausted, or admitting that, at the end of a particularly difficult day, we've been known to question our life choices. Top stories 1 Prepare now for the inheritance tax mess coming for your pension Tax Three of us started the group a decade ago after bonding at our children's first school assembly. Mine, Rachel's and Claire's were the ones climbing the props, dodging the teaching assistants and patting other children's heads while they sang. We're 30 strong now. Our WhatsApp group is a constant hum of questions — “Have you tried a body sock?” “Anyone know anything about sensory integration?” — interspersed with hard-won triumphs and the occasional cry for help. When someone posts, “Chloe came first in trampolining!” two dozen celebratory pings quickly light up the chat. As the room fills, I remind everyone that the Chatham House rule applies: speak freely here, but don't name names outside these walls. Perhaps that's what prompts Rebecca, a quiet woman fairly new to the group, to admit, “I found out the other parents in Ginny's class have started a WhatsApp group about her.” “Don't take it personally,” says Claire, who recently adopted a third child alongside her three birth children. “You can't blame parents for being frustrated.” Advertisement Rebecca nods ruefully, the sting already softening. Our children were all removed from severe abuse or neglect, so simply managing a day at school is an achievement in itself. But their trauma doesn't make it any easier for the other parents, who want to support their own children's learning. I fostered Megan, now 14, straight from the special care baby unit and adopted her at the age of three. She has one primal wound to contend with, but most adoptees experience broken attachments with at least one foster family on top of losing their birth parents. It's no surprise that some cling, while others push away. That's one of the comforts of the group; the acceptance that we all face the same impossible task, the soothing of an irreparable wound. Read more 'Fostering was exhausting. But it made our lives so much richer' I was adopted as a baby from China. People asked if I ate dogs I gave my daughter up for adoption. What should I leave her in my will? I get up to pour some tea and notice another newcomer, Hannah, sitting quietly with her son Zac, 11 months old and asleep in her arms. She's been listening intently but hasn't said much. “How are you doing?” I ask, with a gentle touch of her shoulder. That's all it takes. She bursts into tears. We all rally round. Rachel tucks a blanket around her lap, while I hand her a tissue. “I spent a decade longing for this,” she says, after a few shaky breaths. She glances down at her son, then around the room, as if checking whether we'll judge. “I do love him. It's just …” “Other women have nine months of hormones preparing their brain to leave their old life behind,” someone says. “We go in cold.” Advertisement Hannah nods, dabbing her face. “Birth mum wanted to meet me,” she says. “I know I didn't have to, but …” She shakes her head. “I didn't expect her to be — nice.” She sniffs, gathers herself. “I wonder sometimes, when I can't soothe him, if it's her he wants. Not me.” A chorus of reassurance follows, but we all know that Zac has sensory memories of other arms holding him, another heartbeat, another voice. We know that yearning may have a lifelong impact on his emotional regulation, physical and mental health. We also know what happens when children like ours don't get the help they need. Ninety-one care leavers died in England in 2024-25, most aged between 16 and 21. Fifty-nine per cent of children in custody have been in care. The figures are shocking. And yet the Labour government has reduced the Adoption and Special Guardianship Support Fund's annual allowance from ￡5,000 to ￡3,000 per child. For families already stretched to breaking point, it deepened the sense that once the ink dries on the adoption certificate, we're on our own. “Talking of babies,” our host Louise says. “We got a call yesterday. Birth mum's had another baby. Isla. They're looking for someone to foster-to-adopt.” Advertisement The room fizzes with excitement. “What are you going to do?” I ask. Louise and her husband Russell had adopted Theo six months earlier — he'd been removed from his birth mother at three — but while Theo had warmed quickly to Russell, never having had a male father figure at home, Louise is still waiting for him to let her in. Louise shakes her head. “We don't know. Theo clearly doesn't consider me suitable mother material. What if the baby couldn't stand me either?” We tell her to keep going. That it will come in time. And we'll be there to support them, whatever they decide. Read more parenting advice, interviews, real-life stories and opinions Driving to Megan's school afterwards, I feel steadier than I have in weeks. Whatever mood she's in, however difficult her day, I feel able to manage the fallout. But therapeutic care at home can only do so much. The following weeks are difficult. Megan holds herself together at school and unravels at home. One evening the push-me, pull-me behaviour goes on for over two hours. “Get out of my room!” she screams. But as soon as I'm on the stairs she yells, “You're always leaving me. Why does no one want me around?” I wait, listening for the shift, the moment anger gives way to sorrow. “Sorry, Mum,” she whispers a little later. It's almost midnight but she's trembling too much to sleep so I lie beside her, smoothing her brow, telling her I'm not going anywhere, no matter how hard she pushes me away. As her breathing steadies, my phone buzzes. A message from Louise. Advertisement “I have NEWS! Looking forward to seeing you all soon.” When I arrive at Louise and Russell's, I hear it before I knock — a small cry from inside. Russell opens the door, beaming. In his arms, a small bundle. “I knew you would,” I say, smiling, as he rests her in my arms. Inside, the chairs are arranged in their usual circle, candles lit, pastries on the table. And then I see something that lifts my heart: Theo, sitting close to Louise, peering out shyly as he snuggles against her arm. She catches my eye and we exchange a look — triumph, relief, exhaustion, love. All of it at once. If ministers truly want to recruit more adopters, they could do worse than pour themselves a cup of tea, pull up a chair and listen to these stoic, resourceful, wonderful people. They're doing their bit. But they shouldn't be doing it alone. Isla blinks up at me with a look of puzzlement as I take a seat, entirely unaware of how wanted she is. Perhaps she always will be. I think of her birth mother, out there somewhere, letting go. I think of Hannah, finding her feet. Of Louise, who kept going when Theo struggled to transfer his love. Besides the camaraderie, our group plugs a gap; the knowledge that someone has your back. That whatever you're facing — the sleepless nights, the school exclusions, the circular referrals — someone else has been there too. And that, however cast adrift we feel, most of us would still make the same choice, over and over again. Names have been changed Rosie Lewis's newsletter, Parenting, Foster Care, Adoption, is on Substack Life & Style Parenting Share Share this article Email Twitter Facebook Link Save