Our adoption story: The best laid plans

I wish I had endless amounts of time. Don't we all? :) Enough time to get all the housework done, all the dangling projects completed, meal prep, laundry, exercise, running errands... and still have some leftover for "extras," like blogging.

Since I don't have endless amounts of time at my disposal, and since I don't want to spend great amounts of the time I do have staring at a computer screen, I'm going to break down pieces of our adoption story to retell. It goes without saying that some things are non-blog material, and still other things just aren't worth the time -- yours in reading, mine in writing -- to record. But, I hope that I can tell enough to paint an accurate picture. Sound good?

To preface the adoption side of the story, I should first address the infertility side of the story, since that is what first landed us in an adoption agency in the fall of 2006.

In the spring/early summer of 2005, Mr. Incredible and I decided we were ready to start our family. We had the house. We had the dog. The next step? Babies, of course. :) I'd been ready for this step since I was ten; he was finally ready to indulge me. I felt like I'd waited my whole life to be a mommy, and I wanted to shout to the rooftops that I was finally at the threshold! What joy and excitement this would bring our families!

Mr. Incredible wisely urged me to remain silent about our plans until we had something to tell... in other words, a positive pregnancy test. Okay, I thought, a little disappointed. But I quickly got over that need to tell and fully enjoyed the "secrecy" of our plans. I felt like we had this wonderful, special, exciting secret (non-news, really). And besides, I could stay quiet for a couple months, right? Because surely it wouldn't take longer than that. We'd be making our announcement by Thanksgiving. Christmas at the latest.

Oh, those best laid plans. :)

For the first three months or so, I was completely relaxed about the whole thing, which is funny to me now because "relaxed" is hardly the word I would use to describe myself in most situations! :) However, I just wasn't worked up about it. When I still wasn't pregnant in October (our fourth cycle trying, if I remember correctly), I took up charting my temperature, but just casually. By November though, I became religious about it. I kept my thermometer on my bedside table, and would set my alarm for the same time each day to check it, even if I wasn't planning to get up yet. Then, I'd recorded all the temps in an online calendar I'd found, watching it desperately for my temps to creep up, up, up... only for them to come crashing down a day or two before my period inevitably arrived.

What was happening? Why was this taking so long? I was supposed to be making a pregnancy announcement by the holidays. I'd selected (and purchased) meaningful "grandmother" Willow Tree figures for each of our moms, and this would be how we would give them the news. And now they just sat in a cabinet mocking me, hidden behind any mish-mash of items to conceal them from others, but also from myself. I didn't want to look at them or be reminded of what I perceived to be my "failure."

By February 2006, I was ready to lose my mind. I made an appointment with my OBGYN to ask him what the heck was up with my body. No testing at this appointment, just a plea to relax and let it happen naturally. He ordered me to stop charting, because he could see it was making me a crazy person, and was likely hindering rather than helping by this point. He explained that it's a vicious cycle... with every passing month, I got more anxious and less relaxed, meaning my body wasn't as "able" to conceive as naturally. He encouraged me that conception would be very likely on our upcoming Alaskan cruise, scheduled for June, and that he had no doubts in his mind that I'd be returning from that trip with a little extra "souvenir." I really did feel so much better after talking with him that day. I just felt like I could put my fears at ease, because if anyone knew what he was talking about, a doctor certainly would.

The next few months came and went, and off we flew to the Pacific Northwest for a memorable trip. If I'd had doubts about conceiving on that trip, they were only more confirmed by how seasick I felt for most of the trip. I couldn't have brought home that "souvenir" even if I'd wanted to. :)

The bottom line was that I was still not pregnant, and now we had been trying for more than a year. I could not believe it. I never would have thought we'd have still been without a baby by this point in our life.

Summer 2006 was primarily occupied with fertility testing and doctor's appointments. Initial bloodwork came back fine for me, and my next scheduled test was an HSG, which I was completely horrified by. I'd heard it was an invasive, painful test, and could lead to a significant amount of cramping even afterwards. I dreaded that test with every fiber of my being, but what made me even more concerned was what would happen between my bloodwork tests and the possible HSG: sperm analysis.

This falls under the "not worth the time" category (because it's gross, and private, and did I say gross?), but I'll summarize this part of the story by saying we had a winner! Or a loser? I'm not sure which. :)

Due to some complications going back to his birth and toddlerhood (again, I look back and can't believe this sincerely NEVER occurred to me as a possible problem in the midst of it), we were given two options -- IVF or adoption.

I remember the moment those words came out of the doctor's mouth. I remember we were sitting in a white, sterile, tiny room on metal exam chairs, and that it was the least possible environment of comfort. I remember a vision in my mind's eye of a young girl with soft, blonde ringlets pulled back in pigtails, skipping off to a tree swing, laughing with a beautiful smile and sparkling eyes. And I remember feeling that girl had been taken from me in that moment, in that exam room. I remember the doctor could barely offer me a tissue, let alone a sliver of hope to hang my dreams on.

He left the room, and I was relieved to see him go. I can understand now, all this time later, that he was just doing his job, and that this was the hard part of his duties. But he didn't have much in the way of a bedside manner, and all I wanted to do was cry and scream... and that's what I did. I wailed and sobbed and gasped for air. I knew patients in other exam rooms, nurses, doctors, and anyone nearby could hear me, but I didn't care. Mr. Incredible held me tight and stroked my hair, allowing me to only begin the grieving process.

The prompting

I'm considering trying to write a series of posts (over who knows how long) to tell our adoption story. There are good moments and bad... high points and low ones... and I will say that it doesn't necessarily paint the agency we used in a positive light, much to my dismay. :(

I've wanted to write this "story" (although, it's our life, not a fictional essay) since we were in the midst of it happening, but I couldn't... for a number of reasons. And now, nearly three years later, I'm at the point that I don't know how much time and effort and emotional energy I have available for sharing the hard things... but I also know there won't ever be a day when I have endless amounts of those things, anyway. :)

It's easy to pop in here and write about "fluff" once in a while. I've gotten to be a pretty lazy blogger as it is, but that's all for good reasons. I want to use my time in the best, most productive ways that I can, and I want to honor the Lord and serve my family by doing that.

But maybe? Maybe I should not be silent. I've chatted with many people over these past few years about it, and I've shared privately with some. But I get the itch from time to time to stand up and speak publicly about our experience, not because I think I have a well-heard platform, but because this is where I am, right now. This is where I can speak... if I choose.

My chest is tight right now. I'm physically tensed up and my heart hurts to remember. I think I'm willing to speak, albeit reluctantly. Not because it is not important, but because it is hard. Because it is painful to relive.

Well, here's a new one

Just when you think you've heard it all, people never cease to amaze you!

Mom #3 and I were working in the nursery together again this weekend. Another mom is apparently expecting her fourth, and at twenty weeks has less of a tummy than I do with only the previous night's supper in me. That's always nice to see.

So, as we know, no topic is off limits among nursery workers. Oh, nursery duty days... I just love how I never know what to expect from you!

So as the other two moms in the room were talking about their various delivery experiences (seven, between them) at different area hospitals, which had a good nursing staff, which did not, which nurseries were the nicest, which doctors they preferred, etc. I know this topic tends to come up among younger moms, and I do know that it's just one of those things I can't control, but also that I don't really have much to add to the conversation... obviously. :)

Finally, Mom #3 (see the linked post) asks me, "Where did you have Sassy?"

Um? Wasn't the whole "adoption" thing clear from previous conversations we've had?

Thinking she must have just forgotten, I smiled and said, "I didn't have Sassy." It was at this point that she looked at me like I had grown a third eye.

I filled her in on the fact that we had adopted Sassy, so I didn't actually birth her. :) The response was one that I can honestly say I had never gotten before. She told me I was wrong. I actually had someone tell me I was lying about Sassy being adopted. HUH??

Of course, she wasn't being mean... but apparently the adoption was just so incredulous to her that she sincerely thought I was telling her a story. I don't for the life of me know WHY I would lie about that, but okay then.

"No, you didn't! You HAD her! I know you did!" Exact. words. And repeated over and over... and over... and over...

I finally had to say, look, I was there, and it wasn't me she was coming out of. :) (Although I wasn't actually in the delivery room for a number of reasons, it was the only thing I could think of that seemed to get her to acknowledge that, yes, in fact, I was being completely honest!)

She never really indicated why she so strongly thought that Sassy was my biological child. I didn't ask... didn't seem productive.

Oh, it gets better though!

"So, whose is she then?" YES, REALLY!

"Mine!" was my reply, because that's the honest answer!

"No, I mean, who had her? Did you know her?"

"Well, we do now!" I said. I was into literal answers on this occasion, I guess!

I explained that we went through an agency, that we had a home study, that it was (ironically) about nine months from being approved to Sassy's birth, that Sassy's mom chose us from the profiles she had to view, that we have an open relationship with her, and that we do still visit when we have the opportunity.

I think she was still pretty shocked, though. I just didn't realize we were so... abnormal! Are we really that weird?!

Sigh of relief

I love finding new blogs about motherhood, adoption, teaching your children... anything I feel has a pretty big place in my life. Months and months ago, I stumbled across an adoption blog -- I can't even remember where -- and found myself nodding along with what the writer was saying. I felt like she really got the loss aspect of adoption, something that's traditionally swept under the rug by most.

I'll admit I'm not the most faithful blogger or blog-reader anymore. I just don't feel good about putting in the amount of time it takes. I flip through a few favorite reads quickly on a pretty much daily basis, and I try to do one "clean out the reader" session about once a week. But a lot of times, I just "click, click, click" without paying TOO much attention, unless it's a blog I know that I love and will glean something from.

After skimming through a post recently on the aforementioned adoption blog, I did what I've been meaning to do for quite a while. I deleted this particular blog from my reader. It was overdue, and I finally found the two-and-a-half seconds to search for it in my list and hit "delete." And you know what? I honestly breathed a sigh of relief. It felt wonderful, and I'm not sure what took me so long to fix this oversight.

The point of this post is not to be ugly -- as you can see, I'm not naming names, and I'm not even giving details about what finally pushed me to the limit. I guess I'm just saying that, when you live with adoption in any form, there's bound to be a measure of grief/loss/stress that come along with it. Why have I been allowing my blood pressure to be raised when it's completely and totally unnecessary? Why am I allowing a stranger to make me cringe with, what I believe, is a completely skewed view of adoption, loss, and healing?

I will say this alone, and then I'm done with this topic. It literally pains me when the very thing I wish NEVER had to happen is the thing that some others are hoping and praying for.

Learning names

Before Sassy was born, someone gave us a little baby-proof picture book. The cover says something about "people who love me," and there's pockets for your own pictures of family members and friends to be inserted. I thought this was such a great idea, and I even remember noting while I was opening the gift that one of the slots could be used for FirstMom's picture.

Even though Sassy's baby days are quickly slipping away (some would argue that, at age two, there's very little "baby" left in her), we'll still pull out that little baby picture book from time to time. We go through it and discuss who is in each picture. It's also interesting to let her figure out who that baby (at varying stages) is with all of these people she calls her family.

There's a picture framed in her bedroom of FirstMom holding Sassy the day after she was born. Occasionally, I'll point it out and ask her who that is. She knows now and can tell me FirstMom's name. She doesn't yet understand that she is the baby, all swaddled in nursery blankets.

We talk about "who" FirstMom is to her, as much as is possible at a young toddler's level. We practice various "terms," trying to try them on for size, if you will. I don't yet know which one will fit. As an adult who is fully secure in who I am to my child and that no one can ever take her from me, I'm personally a fan of "first mom," just because it's true. It makes sense. It's honest. But, from the position of my young child, who isn't yet old enough or mature enough to comprehend (even in part) what it means to be adopted (thereby having a complete "other" family before the family she knows now), I don't know that I'm ready to commit to one particular term above another for her sake.

I've noticed lately that as I ask Sassy who someone in a particular picture is, she'll almost certainly reply with FirstMom's name. Even if it's someone who looks NOTHING like her. Even if it's a picture of Sassy herself as a baby. She says her name with a questioning tone, but looks at me with a proud grin.

Why is this? Why has FirstMom become her default guess? I'm not bothered that she knows her name; after all, this is what we've been practicing, right? I don't think it's appropriate to bring her up daily at this point, but I also don't want my daughter to feel blindsided by new information someday. But why does she make this same guess each time?

Maybe it's time to back off from learning names for a while.

Open Adoption Bloggers: Interview with Sally Bacchetta

I recently had the pleasure of interviewing author Sally Bacchetta, of The Adoptive Parent, for the Open Adoption Bloggers Interview Project. Sally is an adoptive mama to a daughter and a son. She's been involved in this crazy world of adoption for a few years more than I have, so I always appreciate hearing insight from those who are further down the road than I!

Poor Sally will likely keep having to answer questions from me, even though this interview project is over. I excitedly sent off my first batch of questions (yes, first), and within a matter of a day or two, I'd thought of more things I wanted to ask her. Now that it's all said and done, and I'm putting the final touches on this post... I've thought of more questions. My apologies in advance, Sally! :)

One really nifty thing about this lady is that she doesn't just blog... she writes books. Specifically, this one. Keep reading below to get a sneak peek at what's inside her recently released "What I Want My Adopted Child to Know."

***

For those new to your blog, can you give a little background on you and your family?

Despair and my husband (Dennis) led me to adoption. After a few years of trying to conceive followed by a few years of the infertility circus, we called it quits. I had developed some serious complications that made it almost impossible for us to conceive and life-threatening to me if we did. So it was time to move on.

We meandered our way through the thoughts and emotions of healing from infertility, and eventually Dennis suggested adoption. After much discussion and prayer, we emerged together at peace and ready to embrace adoption as our path to parenthood. We had been married for 8 years when we adopted our daughter, now almost 5, and last year we adopted our son, who just turned a year old. I can’t imagine becoming a mother any other way.


Was there a moment in time that really drew you to open adoption over other types of adoption? Or was it something you sort of "fell into" unexpectedly?

I never considered (and would never consider) a closed adoption. Our children’s biological families are theirs. Their origins are theirs. I consider their birth families among the most important people in my kids’ lives, because it’s they who chose this life for my kids. We want our children to know their birth families as much as possible because that’s knowing part of themselves. We want them to be able to ask questions and share feelings as their lives evolve and their thinking about adoption changes.

Selfishly, I could never be at peace without contact with my kids’ birth families. I needed to meet their birth mothers, I needed to hold their hands and look in their eyes and ask them why they chose adoption. I needed to tell them that it’s OK to change their minds, that it doesn’t matter what anyone’s expectations are, it doesn’t matter what papers are waiting to be signed, it doesn’t matter how much Dennis and I want children… that this is their baby, and they are the mother, and no one else knows what’s in their heart or head, and if they decide to raise the baby themselves, then that’s the right choice. I needed them to look at my face and know that I meant what I said.

And because we had those opportunities, I can love my children freely. I can love them without guilt or uncertainty. I can love them without any insecurity about their birth families. All because of openness.

And I have to say that we use the term “birth mother” in our family because our children’s birth mothers asked us to. Our children call their birth mothers by their first names and refer to them in conversation by their first names or as “my birth mother.”


Do you feel that your family and friends are overall supportive of your family's open adoption, or have you encountered more questions and concerned statements from those close to you?

I guess they’re as supportive as they’re able to be. I’m fairly certain none of them really understand the unique relationships we have with our kids’ birth families, but I don’t expect them to. The only time it bothers me is when someone asks an ignorant question like, “Aren’t you afraid she’s going to change her mind after she sees him/her?” If you have to ask that, you really don’t get it.


If you could tell your children's first parents anything, what would you tell them?

Thank you. I love you. I love seeing you and my kids together. I hope you’re OK. I worry about you. I wish I heard from you more often. I’m afraid of sharing too much about how amazing the kids are because I’m afraid it’s painful for you. You inspire me. (I tell them those things already.)


Having been through the adoption process twice, how did your experiences compare or differ from each other? How did you process the emotions and the grief side of placement the second time around?

This is something I often think about, yet being asked here, now, the question has proven much more difficult for me to answer than I originally expected. I felt very little grief the first time around, and there are several reasons for that. One, "M," our daughter's birth mother (herself an adoptee) was very young, and it was really easy to understand why she chose adoption. Two, we met her the night before we brought our daughter home, and we haven't seen her since. Three, our journey to parenthood had been terribly long and incredibly painful, and I was literally light-headed when we met "M" and later, our daughter. I was emotionally intoxicated by the "miracle of adoption." It was like falling in love... the world fell away... I felt nothing but pure bliss. Within a few days of homecoming my thoughts turned to "M," and I wondered how she was doing and if her life still fit. Still, she had been so clear and decisive about her decision I never imagined her grieving. Curious, yes... wistful, maybe. Not grieving.

I'm sure that's why I was stunned by the near-obsession I've felt for our son's birth mother, "J." We have a more open relationship with "J" (emails and visits in addition to pictures and letters), and we spent quite a bit more time with her before bringing our son home. "M" has always been sort of a mystical character in my mind, whereas "J" has always been real. Our relationship with "J" snares me in uncertainty - how much detail should I share? Why hasn't she written back yet? Does she ever regret her decision? The up-side about our openness is that I can ask her these questions, and she seems sincere when she says she does not regret her decision. I, of course, worry that she may yet, that she may be protecting herself from grief. But I take her at her word and trust that she will let me know if things change for her.

I know this is a long answer! I think about this a lot. I'm obviously definitely not anti-adoption, but I think the adoption industry can do a much better job educating prospective adoptive parents in this regard. I think most adoptive parents don't realize what angst and healing most birth mothers go through... for some, peace never comes again in this lifetime... and I think that piece should be in place before adopting. Otherwise, it's like having surgery without giving informed consent. Potential adoptive parents should know the WHOLE picture, and that includes talking to birth mothers (with both positive and negative experiences) and adult adoptees (both pro and con adoption) before making a decision. For me, the issue is general under-education by the adoption industry, not adoption itself. One of the reasons I wrote my book is to help change that. I think there's great value in partnerships between adoptive parents, adoption professionals, and birth parents... working together to make sure that "open" is really open for everyone involved.


What do you think has been most influential for you (or any member of the triad) in terms of support?

Maybe surprisingly, birthmother/first mother forums and blogs are the biggest influence on me. I find them generally difficult to read because of the intensity and prevalence of pain expressed there, but for that same reason, I think they’re vital to me as an adoptive parent. I think all adoptive and prospective adoptive parents need to actively cultivate their understanding of birth mothers’ experiences. I think Ann Fessler’s book, The Girls Who Went Away, should be required reading for anyone considering adoption.

Even at the time of our second adoption I was very naïve about the adoption industry. Both our children’s birth mothers had family support and no one pressured them into adoption. Both did consider raising their babies, and both would probably have been able to make it work. Each ultimately chose adoption for her own reasons, but since they were (and still are) at peace about their decisions, I never questioned the rhetoric that adoption is a “better” choice than single parenthood or unwed motherhood. At the time, I had no reason to question it.

Since then, through the writing of my book (What I Want My Adopted Child to Know: An Adoptive Parent’s Perspective), I have met and spoken with countless birth parents, extended biological family, and adult adoptees, and my understanding of adoption is much more comprehensive. Certainly, no one birth mother speaks for all birth mothers, and no group speaks for all people, but there are universal themes running through adoption that I think adoptive parents need to understand.


In terms of their adoptions, what do you most want your children to know as they grow up?

Several things – that’s why I wrote my book :), and each is a chapter in What I Want My Adopted Child to Know:

• I Would Do it All Again
• We Really Are Your Parents
• I Regret What I Can’t Give You
• You Are Not Different Because You Were Adopted. You Are Different Because You Are You
• To My Daughter/To My Son (“I can’t imagine any mother loving her child more than I love you.”)
• I Want to Be Part of Your Process
• I Think About Your Birth Parents
• Before You Search (“The truth is that your birth story has no real bearing on the opportunity you have to create the life you want.”)
• I Will Always Love You

What are some of your favorite traditions you enjoy with your children?

Cooking and baking. Reading! Making up songs, exploring the natural world, and writing love notes to each other.

***

Thank you, Sally, for such a lovely interview! I've enjoyed getting to know you a little better. Thanks for letting me pick your brain!

Besides her blog, further information and resources can be found at Sally's website, The Adoptive Parent.

The million dollar question

Why is it that probably a good 90% of my difficult moments relating to infertility and adoption happen at church?

It was my turn to work in the nursery this morning, and more commonly than not, conversation at some point will turn to babies, who's having babies, who just had a baby, or who will probably soon be having a baby. Pregnancy hormones, labor horror stories, and childbirth scars are all fair game for topics of discussion. I understand that when moms get together, particularly young moms, pregnancy and childbirth does come up at times. I usually just sit quietly and hope for the subject to be changed quickly. Most people know that Sassy was adopted, but it's still an awkward topic for an adoptive mom, as I honestly don't have anything to contribute.

This morning, though, I was dragged into the conversation. I'm sure it was an attempt to make me feel included, but I would have felt better just waiting it out.

Mom #1: "So, are you guys going to be started the proc---"

Me (cuts her off in the middle of the word "process"): "Nope, I'd rather not think about it! I have no idea what we're doing."

Mom #1: "Wouldn't you like to have another baby?"

Me (not interested in explaining the difference between desires and reality): "I'm just really happy with my one kid right now."

Mom #2: "But you don't want them to be too far apart. I know someone who is six years older than their sibling, and they never were very close."

Me: "Oh, I'm not too worried about that yet."

Mom #3: "Well, my kids are all three years apart."

Me: "Maybe I just have a different frame of reference because my next sibling is four years younger than me."

Mom #3: "Really? Are you close?"

Me: "Yes. I'm actually probably even closer with the one who is five years younger than me."

Mom #3: *gives me a dissatisfied look*

Mom #2: "You know, you always think you won't be able to love your second child as much, but you do. I had a few pregnancy scares before I actually ended up being pregnant -- and still got pregnant before I wanted to *laughs* -- and just wasn't excited about that at all. But it all works out in the end."

Mom #1: "Yeah, it's like you can't imagine life any other way now, but once you have another, you won't be able to imagine life any other way then."

Me: "I mean, I know I'd love a second child, but it definitely hard to imagine another loving another child as much as you love your first. It's like -- how can anyone else compare?"

Moms #1, #2, and #3: *smiling, nodding, and giving knowing looks* "You'll be fine! You'd love having a second one!"

Me: "I've always thought how it just won't be the same again, even from when she was a tiny baby."

Mom #1: "Oh, but it is!"

Me: "No, I don't mean about love... I mean about time and attention."

Mom #1: "It really does work out. You really will have enough of everything to go around."

Me: "I mean things like -- when Sassy was a baby, I'd take twenty or thirty minutes just to change her diaper if I wanted to. We'd play or talk or whatever."

Mom #1: "Well... yeah, that DOES change!"

Me: "Even things like Sassy still waking at night sometimes. I'm not ready to be up all night every night again!"

Mom #1: "Yeah. My cousin is an only child, and their reasoning was that her dad didn't think he could love another one as much. When she was a kid, she HATED it. But now as an adult, it's nice because her parents can follow her all around the country when they move and not split their time. She has two boys, and I think her dad now understands what it's like to love two kids. I think he sort of wonders... maybe he could have done it."

Me (getting that the obvious implication here was regret, but not wanting to go down that road with people I'd consider acquaintances): "You know... there's just SO many factors that go into that decision."

Mom #2: "Oh, sure! But you're never really 'ready'... until it happens."

*Another worker brings a young baby into the room, and MY child flocks to see the baby.*

Mom #1 and #2: "See?! She'd be FINE!"

Me: "Yeah... it's ME that I'm worried about though!"

Mom #2: "You'll be FINE! Come on! Have another one! I'm going to talk you into it."

Me (voice shaking): "It's just... I, um... (*getting teary-eyed*) I had a really difficult time bringing Sassy home."

Mom #1 gives me a sympathetic look at this point, and the rest of the room waits for me to divulge as many details as I will.

Me: "It's just, you know... it's tough. I mean... it's taking someone else's child away. I mean, it's not... but it feels like that..."

Mom #1: "But you'd have to think of the good---"

Poor Mom #1. I cut her off for the second time, because I know darn well what was going to be said. Think of the good home you're providing for a baby who needs one. Think of all that she has that she wouldn't have otherwise had. Think of the wonderful Christian home she's now in. Think of what a godly thing adoption is. Think of what her life would have been like if you hadn't intervened.

I couldn't do it. Absolutely never. I couldn't stop the question from coming, but I intercepted it as best I could and spun it in a different direction.

Me: "I know, you think of the end result being that you love your child so much, and you'd go through anything for your child. We talk about this actually, and I know that if it came down to it, I'd have to just push through the initial bad stuff to come out on the other side and be able to love my second child as much as I do Sassy. It's just that... the beginning... it's tough."

I would LOVE to know what anyone else does in situations like these. I try to say the standard line of "We're just happy with one!" and leave it at that, but sometimes, as evidenced by this morning's conversation, that one-liner isn't enough. How can you convey, particularly to a group of people who have NO frame of reference for adoption -- other than it being a "good" thing to do -- the feelings of loss, grief, and hesitation to jump back on the ethics crap shoot? How can you explain, in a relatively brief and somewhat elusive manner, that it's SUCH a multifaceted process? That just because point A leads to point B doesn't mean there aren't eight million microscopic points in between, many of which can carve out a canyon in your soul?

Trying to switch the focus off me a little bit, I asked the only other mom in the room who was parenting an "only" if she got that question a lot, too. She said she was already ten weeks pregnant with her second. Oh. Of course you are.

I'm in

By the skin of my teeth. :)

Deadline ends today for the Open Adoption Bloggers Interview Project.

Uncomfortable exchanges

I'm not sure what about me says "adoption poster mom," but apparently there must be something others see that I cannot.

I do understand that adoption is a unique life experience that most people just have not had, so that "singles us out" as being different. That's okay, but sometimes there are those who cross the line into being inappropriate or just plain obnoxious.

This post has been brewing for weeks, and I just haven't had the time or the energy to sit down and pour my thoughts out here. Though, I will say, my husband has gotten an earful. :)

A couple months ago, an older woman from our church (whom I've known for years) came rushing up to me, all excited to tell me some news. Let me preface this story with the fact that this woman, although very kind, is not someone who is known for being tactful or soft-spoken. She's taken an interest in us, though, for different reasons, and I think one of those reasons is the fact that we are an adoptive family. Evidently, this intrigues her. I think she also likes to interact with my daughter as a "granddaughter" of sorts, because she does not have grandchildren.

She was very aware of our being in the adoption process three years ago. She was happy for us when we were matched, even giving us a huge gift bag of adorable coordinating Carter's outfits for our daughter-to-be. But, she's never understood anything about what we've experienced, much less the loss our daughter and her first mom have gone through. I listened to her literally question which month she should pray for Sassy to be born in -- November, because her birthday would not be close to Christmas? Or December, because it had a prettier birthstone? I believe she finally settled on praying for early December, the best of both worlds.

Ahem.

So, this is the picture.

Back to a couple months ago, when she excitedly rushed up to me to share some news.

"I just had to tell you this exciting news! My best friend's son and his wife can't have children, so I told them all about you."

Naturally. Glad to hear I am the silent spokeswoman for infertility.

"I told them how you couldn't have kids and how you adopted and you went through [agency] and had such a marvelous experience."

Marvelous. That really is the word I'd use for an organization who bullied, lied to, and threatened us, and still is operating under the name of Christ.

"Anyway, they were so encouraged by your story, that they also went through [agency], and they just finished up all their paperwork..."

Um, wait a minute... when exactly did they hear MY story? And what part of it would make anyone WANT to support the same organization? I think I'm missing something...

"...and they just got a call that they are getting a baby in 6-8 weeks!"

I really do love when the FedEx man can give me a rough estimate of when to expect a human child to be dropped on my doorstep. It's nice to plan ahead.

"The birthparents are this really nice, young couple who attend [in-state university], and they just don't want the baby."

Yeah. I can totally buy that. Most nice, young couples don't want their babies, so nothing about that statement seems absurd or even a little off-base to me.

"Anyway, I just told them all about you and what a blessing Sassy is to you. I knew you'd be so excited, so I just had to share with you!"

Excited. See? This is my excited face. Pick up on the cues, woman.

I'm not entirely sure where to begin with what is wrong with this picture. I don't even know what bothers me the MOST. Is it the fact that this couple went through the same agency who has brought so much pain upon so many people? Is it the fact that the baby involved is being referred to like a UPS package? Is it that nagging worry that these "birth" parents might be making the wrong decision, with no one to guide them toward reality? Is it the flippant attitude that infertility is no big deal and that adoption is the cure-all for it? Is it that I now feel like I had some part in contributing further to said agency's profits without my knowing or my permission? Is it that adoption is still being painted as a win-win-win situation, with no room or regard for its less marketable (though still very real) qualities?

And how exactly do you BEGIN to scratch the surface with someone who just HAS. NO. CLUE.

The answer? You don't. You simply just don't. I wish I had a better answer, a more positive one. Something that would make me feel like I've at least made a small dent in someone's mind -- just one person. But it's such a MASSIVE issue with so many complexities... how can you do it justice in a five minute conversation in passing?

As my blank stares and glazed-over eyes apparently said nothing to this woman, all I could squeak out was that "it's an emotional time, for sure." That's it. That's all I could say. And then I went home and sobbed.

I had a good cry that day -- for the parents who were facing the dread of losing their child, for the baby who would be losing his or her mommy and daddy, for the waiting parents who might not even have a clue what adoption loss is, and for us. This meaningless, one-sided conversation ripped open wounds that I thought were more healed than they were. I cried because adoption is such an ugly process. I cried because building our family is not so simple as planning nine months in advance. Because I don't know how I can stomach the adoption process a second time, knowing full well what it is like to leave a hospital room with someone else's baby. And yet, if I am completely honest with myself, I know that I would love nothing more than to have more babies, when the time is right. So, what are my options? Adoption or a miracle from God.

Well, it is now 6-8 weeks later. That same woman was ever so thrilled to tell me that the couple's (as in, the adoptive couple, not the people who had the baby) baby had been born, and they were going to "pick it up" the following day. Guess that delivery man must have lost their address. Faulty delivery system.

Then, she said to me, with voice lowered and eyebrows raised, "But... I have to tell you, they were so nervous because... the birthmother breastfed the baby." She raised her eyebrows further and gave me a look as if to say she'd really just told me a juicy piece of dirt.

I let it fly, and I didn't care one bit. I'd had ENOUGH and couldn't tolerate one more shred of this crap.

I don't remember exactly what all came flying out of my trap, but it was something to the effect of how ecstatic I'd have been if Sassy's mother had been able and willing to breastfeed her. How amazing that experience is for a mother and baby both. How nutritionally beneficial, and how emotionally bonding. What a unique experience that no one else can duplicate. I'd have been cheering her on. And what's more, a mother is a mother always. No piece of paper is powerful enough to deny the connection that mother and child have forever. Think of how she felt when her children were born, and imagine trying to squelch that love you automatically have in the most natural way. The fact that my child has another mother does not in ANY way take away my place in her life as her mom. It may not be "normal" to some people, but it IS her reality. We've always viewed this as a choice -- to embrace it or to deny it. What good does it do anyone, least of all our precious daughter, to sweep honesty under the rug? It is what it is, and we are proud of that!

She stood there for a second, a bit taken aback, I think. And then she changed the subject to something completely unrelated and random. The weight of the conversation had shifted, and now she was the one who was uncomfortable. It was obvious she didn't know HOW to respond, so she chose NOT to respond.

I came home that night and told my husband that I'd like to think I made just a small, tiny, microscopic dent in her way of thinking... but I seriously doubt it. She probably just thinks I'm a nut job, but maybe at the very least, it will deter future commentary. :)

At least for a little while.

Goodbye, 2009

Goodbye, 2009, and good riddance. I was ready for you to be over by April.

Spring and summer were overtaken by my dad's sudden and severe health issues. It started out in the winter with just some leg pain and weakness, but within months, it became clear it was not a routine problem. The big worry initially was multiple sclerosis, which was scary enough to think it could take his life in the coming years. Then one night in April, the bomb was dropped that ALS was the greater concern. All of a sudden, we were talking about the time he had left, and it wasn't years... it was months. I sat in utter and complete shock, then totally lost it. Then I hyperventilated and had to put my head below my knees just to be able to calm down enough to catch my breath.

Tests, more tests, doctors, more doctors, waiting, more waiting. No one seemed to be able to figure it out, so we hung in the balance, thinking my dad might well be dying and no one could even tell us from what.

We got to a point of being "okay" for the moment. No imminent fear of a terminal illness, but still a healthy fear of the unknown.

Then came July. We received the shocking and horrific news that my uncle had committed suicide. He'd been separated from his wife for a while, but she and their young daughter had returned home recently. They had a fight one night -- who knows what about -- and he barricaded himself in a closet where he kept his guns. His daughter, not much older than mine, was home at the time. I have no words.

It was the first time, and what I pray will be the last, someone I knew died at their own hands and by their own choosing. I couldn't get over what he could have possibly been thinking, and how any parent could put that on their child, and willingly be absent to watch the rest of their lives. And what is more -- none of us has any reason to believe he ever accepted Christ as his Savior. This was also the first time, and what I also pray will be the last (but know it likely won't be), that someone I knew died and went into an eternal hell, separated from God forever. It's so permanent, and so devastating, that I literally cannot wrap my mind around it.

The summer wasn't over yet. Sassy's mom announced her unexpected pregnancy. And she was due in the same month as Sassy's second birthday. And she was having another girl. And if you think that didn't come with a truckload of mixed emotions for me, you're darn well mistaken.

A dear member of Sassy's biological family broke the news that she and her husband were dealing with infertility. My heart ached for her, because I know so very well what it feels like when everyone around you is carrying a precious baby, and you are not. She cried a lot, but came to a point of acceptance of it, as best as you can. How thrilled I was to receive a surprise phone call from her one Monday out of the blue... she'd had a positive pregnancy test that morning! Completely in shock and over the moon, she wanted to share her wonderful news, and I couldn't have been happier for her or more honored that she'd included us in her "important people to tell right away" list.

A few short emails followed, and the news was not good. Bleeding, trips to the emergency room, and no heartbeat. The baby stopped growing. She waited to lose her precious little one, dying inside her. The miscarriage was only days after that phone call.

Ordinary problems and simple inconveniences seem so small, comparatively speaking. Who can remember that our brake lights decided to stop working in our car, or the subsequent eighty-seven trips to the car dealer to have the problem fixed? Who even cares?

I can't lie; 2009 has been one of the most trying years of my life, and that's including the infertility years. When I felt I couldn't take any more, His arms were holding me. When I had no words to pray, He understood my tears.

Miracles happened this year. My dad, while facing the very real possibility of death at an early age, came under conviction of his years upon years of "pretending" to be a Christian. Through his illness, and by God's amazing grace, he made assurance of his salvation, and now knows that he is a child of God! This is still such a hard concept for me to fully grasp. I still find myself trying to figure it out and make sense of so many things in my childhood and early adulthood. I don't feel like it was based on a lie, but I do have some weird feelings about this realization that he wasn't saved, as we all thought he was. But, he knows for SURE now, and how could I not be thrilled about that?

My husband and I went through a difficult patch in our marriage last year, as we discovered how infertility had affected us more than either of us had understood. Many things, but none more than my dad's illness, brought us closer this year. I'm so thankful for my sweet husband. Sure, we get annoyed with each other from time to time, but I KNOW I can depend on him no matter what the years ahead will bring.

Sassy's has a new baby sister, and while it still does bring up some bittersweet feelings, all babies are miracles. I hope we are able to meet her in 2010.

In November, a miracle happened that I could never have predicted or been prepared for. We met Sassy's biological father for the first time ever. You have to understand that this is a man who had no involvement in the pregnancy (aside from conception), delivery, or adoption. None. His name was not even listed on Sassy's original birth certificate. There's been a lot of "he said, she said," but this much we know: we had no reason to believe BioDad would ever make himself known. Ever. And he willingly came to meet the daughter he'd never known, and to meet us, her parents he had no involvement in choosing. I have no idea where this will go in the future, and to be honest, we still question if it will go anywhere. But, at the VERY least, I have pictures of my daughter with BOTH of her biological parents, together. I have the memory of that day and the experience of having met him, even if it's just once. That's more than I ever thought I'd have for my little girl.

Finally, peace. A little bit of peace as this tumultuous year fades away.

And then... the phone rang at 11:30 last night. My dad was being taken by ambulance to the emergency room in extreme pain, an extension of his year-long difficulties. My mom, husband, and I spent the better portion of the night (well, morning really) in the ER with my dad, while not even morphine could touch the pain he was in to provide any relief. It was a long night. I tried to settle myself down somewhere around 4:30, and my husband didn't fall into bed for another hour beyond that. My dad was nearly admitted, but around 4:00 this morning, they decided that his pain was under control enough that they felt comfortable releasing him. He's slept most of the day, and the pain meds are keeping the intensity down for now. We think the worst is behind us... hopefully. He'll be having spinal cord surgery within a week or two, and I don't even want to think about that yet.

Whatever it's been, 2009 is done. I'm ready to go put on my pajamas, turn on my electric blanket, and snuggle up with my husband to watch the ball drop in a few minutes (and be ever so thankful I'm at home instead of out in the craziness at Times Square).

Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
Psalm 139:7-10

Christmas gifts

A 10"x10"x15" box just arrived on our doorstep. Inside are six Christmas gifts from Sassy's first mom and grandma.

At this point in our relationship, I'm never surprised that she receives packages from them at birthday and Christmastime (which happen to be in the same month). Even with a very busy few weeks for FirstMom, I knew she'd remember.

But, my heart is always so full when things like this arrive for my girl from her first family. I have a huge grin, and I just feel warm all over.

It's SO not about the actual gifts. It's about the time, the thought, the energy that went into getting them here, and in plenty of time for Christmas Day. She's remembered and loved always, and she will have these tangible little things throughout the years as a reminder. She's one of them, and she's one of us, too.

Two years ago today

Two years ago today, my daughter was three days old. She lay in a hospital nursery, swaddled in pink and blue blankets, completely oblivious as to how her life was changing so drastically on that day.

Her mom, just a few doors down the hallway, signed to terminate her parental rights, allowing her second-born child to go home with a couple she'd only met a handful of times prior. To be loved and snuggled and cared for and protected by them. To be raised in a different home, a different town, and with a different last name.

A few floors below, we sat in the lobby, waiting, torn between the deep desire to be parents to this precious little girl we'd met and the horrific dread of watching a mother and child be separated permanently.

The social worker came downstairs, giving us a thumbs-up sign, which is another post for another day. It was well-intentioned, but felt so very inappropriate in that moment, and I still believe it was, although I do know she didn't mean it the way it came across. I crumpled into my husband and sobbed. They were not tears of joy, and would not be for weeks, or even months maybe.

We listened to all the legal jargon, so void of emotion, but still understandably necessary. We signed where we were told, on papers that said we were now parents. Just like that. Like someone flipped a switch from "off" to "on."

Up an elevator, through locked doors, down a hallway, around a corner, inside a hospital room sat FirstMom. I will never forget the moments that followed. As we walked into her room, she was putting the last of her belongings in her bag. Three family members assisted her. She wore a baggy brown sweater and gray sweatpants over her postpartum stomach. Her hair was pulled up out of her face, and she wore no make-up. We sat together on a little couch in her room and cried together. We hugged, we talked, we tried to laugh, and we prayed. We took a picture together. I said I couldn't leave that day feeling like we might never see her again, and she assured me we would see each other again because we were now family.

A nurse came with a wheelchair, and FirstMom left. I'll never forget watching her leave the room and out of my sight. I sobbed even harder. She was gone, and her baby, who was now my baby, still lay in the nursery, unaware.

We left the hospital that day as a family of three. It took a long time for me to feel that it was okay to be joyful about Sassy being with us. Attachment was not immediate for me, but it did come as the days went on. Sassy, on the other hand, transitioned beautifully. There were only a few occasions that I felt strongly that she might have been confused or upset, and I did everything in my power to comfort her. Even though it took me a while to feel confident in my role as her mom, I always had the instinct to protect and nurture her.

Life went on, as it always does. We've grown and changed. FirstMom has grown and changed. Choices are made. Circumstances follow. Though the loss will always be there, life does become normal again, even if it's a new normal.

On that day, we were placed with our daughter, and FirstMom went home empty-handed. Today, exactly two years later to the day, FirstMom has delivered her third child, her second daughter. Baby Sister was born this morning, and everyone is healthy. She is likely lying in a hospital nursery, swaddled in pink and blue blankets, and awaiting her discharge in a few days to go home with her mommy, the only one she's ever known.

On the exact day of the year that FirstMom lost a daughter, another daughter has been born to her whom she will not lose. Baby Sister is in no way a "replacement" for Sassy. But, I can't help but think how very ironic it is that her birthday would be today.

Open Adoption Roundtable: Birthdays

I've been absent from the "roundtable" discussions as of late, not because of being uninterested in discussing important issues in open adoption, and not because of being unwilling to think through the complexities of such an intricate and unique relationship. It's simply been because of time restraints, and other things being a higher priority than blogging. :)

However, this topic is especially timely for me, as Sassy's second birthday is less than a week away. I really wanted to participate this time, and as life would have it, have been given much more "fuel for the fire" in terms of topics and events to discuss.

In response to two of Thanksgivingmom's questions, most applicable to us:

What do you/your family do to integrate open adoption and birthday celebrations?
We've only been at this thing for two years now, so we really only have one birthday (other than, of course, the day of her birth) under our belt, in the most technical sense. Of course, that will change within the week. Prior to Sassy's first birthday, I emailed FirstMom and asked her if she'd be open to receiving a birthday party invitation (which happened to fall on Sassy's actual birthday that year). She did not respond, and we understood that to mean she just wasn't ready yet. I was disappointed, but accepted that. She sent some very thoughtful gifts in the mail ahead of time so that Sassy could open her presents on her birthday. (She did the same for Christmas a couple weeks later, as a matter of fact.) We also received the most amazing card and handwritten letter in the mail on that exact day. She wrote to Sassy and told her how much she loved and had missed her, but that she was so excited she was turning one. Like any mother, she wrote about all the wonderful things she knew God had in store for her precious girl, and how she is uniquely loved, for always. I cried tears of joy upon reading that letter. It was like finding a brick of gold in my mailbox, and I promptly put it away in Sassy's "special box," where I keep all the little scraps of this or that from her biological family for her to have one day.

What do you wish you would see in future birthday celebrations re: involvement with your child’s adoptive parents/birth parents?
I have always wished for some acknowledgment from FirstMom on Sassy's birthday each and every year. I can't imagine going through that day without any sense of remembrance or recognition. I hope (and at this point, feel relatively secure in that hope) that Sassy will always be remembered by her first family on her birthday each year, whether that comes in the form of a phone call, a birthday card, or a gift sent. It has nothing to do with the amount that is spent on such items, but EVERYTHING to do with the fact that she is loved, and therefore time was invested to shop for, pick out, purchase, wrap, and send something to let her know they are thinking of her and loving her and that they remember it's her special day.

Additionally, if I were to hope for more than what I'd consider the "bare minimum," I would like to be able to celebrate Sassy's birthday with FirstMom, at least one year. I wish that someday she will be able to join us for her party, to sit amongst our closest family and friends as one of us, and to revel in the sheer joy of watching our daughter experiencing the thrill of her big day -- the cake, the presents, all of it. I can't say I've had the same level of confidence in this hopeful participation, but I've dreamt of it since the day she was born.

As I sat addressing FirstMom's invitation to Sassy's birthday party a few weeks ago, I noted to my husband that I was fully prepared to not hear a response again this year, but that at least she would know we remembered her and wanted her to feel included and welcome. Additionally, being aware of some very specific happenings in FirstMom's life right now, we could not have been more surprised to receive an email, just days after mailing the invitation, telling us that FirstMom was planning to make the drive that day and join us for the party! I cried again those same tears of joy, in awe of all that she will be able to experience by being here that day. Not just reading it in an update, or flipping through pictures, or watching a video, but to actually BE here and participate... it's amazing to me, and I feel so grateful for that opportunity! Sure, there are worries about her meeting our family for the first time, visiting our house for the first time, and just the inevitable emotions the day will bring... but I feel confident that it will ALL be worth it in the end, if for no other reason than I will have that one more memory for my daughter. Actions speak louder than words, and the fact that FirstMom is setting aside her current challenges to make the effort to be here for Sassy will ring much more clearly than my reminders someday to Sassy that FirstMom does love and care about her.

It's a wonderful thing, isn't it?

So. That was last week. And now it is this week. And as it turns out, we've gone from preparing our family members for our unexpected visitor, to hanging in the balance to see how the remainder of this week unfolds, and if FirstMom will be able to join us after all. This new branch of our adoption story has been an interesting one, and I've been contemplating when, or even if, I would feel "ready" to discuss it publicly. To be honest, I still don't feel ready. I still feel concerned, nervous, and anxious, but I know that life is about to change in a way I was not prepared for, and there's really nothing we can do about it but hang on for the ride.

Sassy is going to be a big sister. We've known this was coming for several months, but in some ways, it still feels as much of a shock as it did the day we heard the news. FirstMom will be delivering another baby girl as early as this week, though her due date is not until after Christmas. She will be parenting this precious little one, and for that, we are grateful. I cannot fathom FirstMom going through a second relinquishment. However, I would be lying if I said I was not nervous. Not about her mothering -- not in the least. FirstMom does parent in some different ways than we do, but I have no doubt whatsoever in my mind that she loves her children and cares for them in the best ways possible. But, I am worried about the logistics of many things, and the day-to-day changes it will bring for them. While some aspects of this pregnancy are different than her last, we see many similarities. It breaks our hearts. It's not how it's "supposed" to be. Some of it is circumstantial; much of it is choice. It's a rough cycle to try and break when it's just too "easy" to remain at status quo.

We love FirstMom dearly. We want the absolute best for her and her family. She's in a totally different mindset this time around. It's very clear that she IS happy, and we thank God that this family is being spared from the loss of a child a second time in two years.

But... it's still hard. It's still unfair. It's still a punch in the gut to a woman who couldn't conceive if her life depended on it. And, MOST importantly, it's heartbreaking to think of my daughter, my precious baby girl, who will one day ask why her mom placed her, and then parented her sister just two short years later.

Shotgun adoptions

I stumbled across this article tonight while searching for something entirely different. It is eye-opening and startling, and I must warn any readers that it could be highly disturbing and triggering, particularly if you've relinquished a child.

While I must first of all say that I am extremely pro-life and do not apologize for that stance, what I read tonight deeply saddens me. This article provides account after account of women -- mothers -- who were strong-armed into placing their children for adoption. And what is particularly disturbing to me is that this is many times done in the name of Christ! "Christian" adoption agencies are among the largest contributors to this coersion. Why is this? Can someone please explain to me how those who claim to know Jesus personally would so grossly abuse their authority in order to "feed the machine," so to speak?

I do not agree with having a sexual relationship outside of marriage. I believe Scripture is very clear on that issue. However, is it not also clear on lying, cheating, disrespecting authority, and a host of other "permissible" sins? Do we parade those among us (ourselves included) who've committed these "permissible" sins in front of the church and shame them into making restitution -- a restitution that is acceptable to others?

Then why do unwed mothers receive this treatment?

Oh, I know. It all adds up to one thing. Money, and lots of it! But what floors me is the guise of Christian service that this manipulation is performed under. It literally breaks my heart that the women in this article, and so many more, have endured such a loss at the hands of those who declared they were working in the name of God. That is not God's heart at all. No, He certainly doesn't approve of the sin that took place, but He doesn't condone my "little" sins either! How unspeakably sad it is that Jesus' name is being used in such a profane way! It offends me as a Christian, and makes me ache for those who've had this experience.

Emotional day

Today has been a tough day. I knew to expect certain things, but others were a curve ball that I didn't see coming. I awoke with a headache, which was with me for most of the day. I'm sure the events of the day didn't help.

At church this morning, a visiting ministry team performed a skit in which a husband and wife receive the news that they've had a failed adoption. Dramatic skits are normally a little overdone, but this took the cake. I felt my face get hot and seriously considered finding the nearest exit. Instead, I sat and squirmed in my seat, focusing hard staying calm. It was a little too ridiculous for a short paragraph in one post, but I want to come back to this later. It had to have been in the top five most uncomfortable moments in church I've ever had... including many painful childless Mother's Days.

We rushed home for a quick lunch, and then shortly after, I was off to a bridal shower for my sister. It's an exciting time for her, and I will be ever so delighted when all the wedding festivities are over by this time next week... but the realization is hitting me that she is moving away, and not just for the school year at college. Out of the three girls in our family, I am the only one who is living near our parents. One sister lives almost six hours away, and the other will soon be living almost four hours away. And I am here. Alone. And, as in the case of recent months, the one who is daily confronted with our father's potentially terminal illness. (Though we've gotten more good reports than bad as of late, which we're thankful for.) I know we all love our parents equally, but I feel like the brunt of the responsibility falls on me, not only as the oldest, but also as the only local one. There's also be no more last minute shopping trips, Starbucks visits, or lazy afternoons spent at my house together. It will be different now, and though it's obviously a wonderful time in her life, and I couldn't be happier for her... I feel, well, sad for myself in a way. It's the end of an era in some sense.

I came home from the shower to meet two very nice people who drove over an hour to visit us today... for the purpose of taking our dog home with them. We've had our dog for more than four years. He will be seven years old on Saturday. He was part of our family long before we ever got our infertility diagnosis or had adoption on the radar screen. He was my baby when I had none. And while I still love him, he's had a difficult time adjusting the past (almost) two years to sharing the spotlight with Sassy. He's not good at playing second fiddle, and it's been showing more and more in his behavior. We've talked about this and debated (postponed?) it for months, but as he began to show signs of mildly aggressive behavior toward our daughter, we knew it was the choice that had to be made. We were so fortunate to find family members of our neighbors who were so excited and thrilled to be taking him home with them. He'll have more land to run than he knows what to do with -- more than he's EVER had before in his life -- and plenty of love and all of the attention. Many reasons made this the best decision... but I still cried when he left, and off and on all evening. I know it's the best decision, but it was harder than I expected it to be.

It's been a tough day. I'm so ready to go curl up in bed next to my husband, probably cry a bit more, and have a good night's sleep. It's a busy week ahead, and I need all the energy I can get.

Thank you, Mommy

Sassy has started saying "thank you, Mommy" instead of just "thank you" in the last few weeks. It is adorable and melts my heart every time I hear her sweet little voice say those words. It really is too precious!

Thanking me for anything from a snack of Cheerios, a book to read, a little toy, or even just at a completely random time when I haven't "done" anything in particular for her has become a hobby of sorts for my sweet twenty-one month old. But I know she understands what she is saying, because she will thank other people (grandmas, grandpas, aunts, uncles) in the same way, and using the appropriate name for the person.

Last week, as I was putting her to bed, I tucked her in and handed her the first comfort item within reach, which happened to be a little pink stuffed bunny that she's had since she was very, very small. It plays a lullaby and has soft fuzzy ears that she always liked to feel. This bunny was a gift from her grandma -- her biological grandma, "Grandma M."

As I handed Sassy the bunny to snuggle with as she drifted off into dreamland, she looked up at me, and with that precious little voice said, "Thank you, Mommy."

I know she was just thanking me because it has become a habit, a ritual in a way. We have always worked with her to say "please" and "thank you" when appropriate, and so far, we've always had a (mostly) polite little girl. She was happy I had handed her the little bunny to cuddle with, and she thanked me. But, I couldn't help but think of how we never would have had that little bunny from her first grandma, had we not allowed our hearts to be opened toward Sassy's biological family.

Open adoption is not the cure-all for the loss and grief that is caused by severing a family through adoption while creating a new one. It's not a quick and easy fix; it's not a Band-Aid. It's not "adoption without tears." There are still tears, and there are still lots of them sometimes.

But, open adoption is worthwhile. There is value in it. It will provide my child with access to her genetic heritage, and what may be more important to her someday, the option of having a relationship with those from whom she came.

It's not always easy. Sometimes, it's challenging. Often times, it's confusing. It can even be downright hard. But, my daughter? She's worth it. She's worth every single ounce of it.

You are so very welcome, sweetheart.

Open Adoption Roundtable: One Small Moment

From the roundtable this time: write about a small moment that open adoption made possible.

When I first read this week's discussion topic, I must not have been paying close enough attention. I thought Heather was asking us to write about a small moment that made open adoption possible. My mistake. :)

But I think I'm on the right page now!

In thinking of our particular situation (and maybe others can relate), the entire relationship has been made up of a lot of small moments. In the past almost twenty months, we've had very few earth-shattering moments where our relationship with "A" is concerned.

And though I would still consider our adoption to be an open one, it is often more "semi-open," or even somewhat "closed" in practice. It's not for lack of trying; but, this is how things have more often than not played out.

So, maybe all the more because of that fact, I greatly treasure the one visit we have had since our sassy little girl was born. She was six months old at the time--the perfect age for still being a cuddly baby, and yet having so much awareness of her surroundings, responding to others, and being fully entertained (and entertaining) with smiles and laughter.

We spent the entire day with A, her family, and friends. We visited with those we had not see in six months, and we met others who had known our precious girl before she was born, not yet having had the opportunity to see her in person. She was passed from person to person, family member to friend, grandparent to grandparent, and mother to mother. She did beautifully the whole time, and on that day more than ever, I was SO grateful for her easy-going nature and flexibility in unfamiliar situations.

She was a baby, though, and naptime did come. I had wondered how we would manage to not push her past her limit, while still allowing A to savor every moment with her. I tried not to worry about it too much beforehand, and just decided we would take the day as it came.

It came time for a bottle, and A gladly did the honors. I loved that she got to snuggle her sweet baby as she ate. There's something so precious about feeding a baby--your baby. After mealtime was over, the room started to quiet down as others went into the kitchen to eat or went outside to chat and play games. People stopped coming and going as much, and the room became still for the first time all day. Maybe others sensed the need for a few quiet moments between A and the daughter she'd missed all these months, or maybe everything just fell into place.

She began to rock our sweet baby. She relaxed her arms so she would lay back in them. She cuddled her and stroked her face. She quietly "shhh'ed" her, just like all mothers do with their tired babies. It was the most natural thing in all the world, and in a way, I felt like I was intruding a bit by being present in the room. I quickly took a few pictures of the two, and then left to sit outside with my husband and enjoy the cookout. I told him what a precious thing was going on at that moment, and how I only wished our little girl would stop her attentive nature for just a few moments, so that she wouldn't be raising her head to look at me. We smiled at what a lovely day it really had been.

Days later, as A and I were corresponding via email about the visit we'd had, she noted that, among other things, she loved being able to rock our daughter in her sleepy state, and how it brought her such relief to see her craning her neck to watch Mommy. She commented that, as a "birth mom," she was so happy to see our girl safe and secure. She had been worried that their strong connection as a family, similar physical attributes, and other characteristics would make us feel sad or upset on that day, and how she hoped we understood that our parenthood wasn't being threatened.

I wrote back immediately and told her that, first of all, I had been worried that she had been upset by the neck-craning, and second, having a sense of acceptance and biological heritage for our daughter on that day was the thing I had most been hoping for on our visit. How funny that the things we were each fearing for the other were the very things that meant so much to us.

I will never forget the image of A rocking our baby girl. It was as if they'd never been separated. I'm so thankful to have the pictures from that day, but I'm also so thankful for the quiet moments between a mother and her child.

Open Adoption Roundtable: Wish List

The theme this time is: share your wish list for your open adoption. See the other responses here!

I feel like someone has just given me the permission to dream of my "ideal" situation, all that I hope for our relationship with our daughter's first family to be, and even some of what I fully expect it will not be. I'm continually learning (and re-learning) that this relationship -- not unlike any other -- is a two-way street. I am only in control of my half of the road, but there is a great responsibility in that.

If I could make a wish list in our situation, it would include things such as:

• More frequent visits
• Consistent and reciprocal communication
• Sharing my daughter's birthdays with her first mom in person rather than via letters, cards, packages sent, and late night emails (but, I feel I should note that I AM thankful for those things as well)
  
• More honest and open discussion of feelings and emotions -- a throwback to what it once was
• Clear answers for my daughter about some fuzzy areas of her story
• Communication from her biological father that comes with a pure intent
  
• Medical, social, and family information from the paternal side
• An open relationship with her biological father's side... someday... maybe...
• The ability for my child to pick up a phone, write an email, or send a letter to either of her first parents, and the expectation that her communication will not go unanswered
• A feeling of acceptance and love for her in ANY part of her biological family
  

My wish list for our open adoption is fairly extensive (I am a particular person, after all!), but my ultimate wish, prayer, and hope can be summarized into one basic thought:

That my daughter will be completely fulfilled, happy, and at peace with her life and its unique circumstances.

That's really all any parent could ask for, isn't it? We all want our kids to be happy, healthy, well-adjusted. We want them to be kind, respectful, honest, and responsible individuals. We do our best to mold them into the people they were born to be, and to be what God created them to be. We never, ever want to see them hurt from something outside of their (and our) control, and that is often times a real and present fear in the adoptive family.

So, even if our adoption never achieves the new heights of openness that I myself would desire, I wouldn't change it, as long as my sweet girl can understand why she was placed, who she was meant to be in life, and how much she is loved by all who are blessed to call her part of their family.

Open Adoption Roundtable: The Beginning of Openness

Heather (on whose blog you can find the list of Open Adoption Bloggers) has organized a great idea to start a discussion on various open adoption-related topics periodically. The first discussion prompt: recall the beginning of your experience with open adoption.

2006 was a difficult year. Having received an infertility diagnosis and trying to come to grips with life not at all turning out the way we "planned" it, we were now additionally trying to muddle through the initial thought process of adoption.

Adoption was honestly never on our radar screen until a fertility doctor suggested it, knowing our severely low chance at conceiving a biological child. At the time, I thought "What? Us? Adopt? That's what people who are rich or famous (or both) do! Not ordinary people like us!" It just seemed so against the grain of everything I'd ever imagined. Would I be able to love a child who wasn't biologically mine? Wasn't adoption horridly expensive? Would we be able to afford it? Would I regret not experiencing pregnancy? Would others view us as less of a family, or our child less valuable in some way? And worst of all -- what if the real parents came back for the child?

It's a tough place to be in, for sure. But within a few weeks, I was throwing myself into researching adoption. I read books, browsed message boards, listened to others' experiences, attended seminars -- anything to just try and gain some knowledge about this topic of which I truly had NO clue or experience!

As I started to gain head knowledge, I came to the realization that I already had "heart knowledge." Years prior to beginning the adoption journey ourselves, I had completely fallen in love with a three-year-old boy in my class at a daycare/preschool where I had been working at the time. He started in my class and brought with him a fair share of baggage. This sweet little hearing-impaired boy had an unstable home situation. He acted out quite a bit, but I began to see that he had no sense of stability or consistency. I loved that little boy with all my heart, and he developed a trust in me. He responded uniquely to me in a way that even co-workers noticed. The end of the day would come, and he'd go home. It broke my heart, and I would literally think in my mind of how I could provide for him, if opportunity arose. I imagined tucking him into the bed in our spare room, watching him sleep and knowing he was safe and sound. I knew I couldn't love him any more if he'd been born to me.

All these years later, I saw how that experience had already shown me that it didn't matter if your children were biologically yours or had no genetic ties to you. What mattered was the love that is unique to a parent and child.

So... I could love a child that wasn't "mine." And it could be 100% natural, in a way that you truly almost "forget" that your child has someone else's nose and funny little quirks.

So, I could adopt, as long as we did so in a closed or semi-open fashion. Because, my 2006 self thought, open adoption means you are co-parenting. And we won't have any of that.

Do you ever look back on things you always said you'd NEVER do, only to realize some time later that not only are you doing them, but that it's also just a normalcy in your life?

More research, more reading, more studying, more exploring... but possibly most importantly, keeping an open mind. I honestly DIDN'T think we'd pursue an open adoption in the beginning days of our adoption experience, but we also didn't shut the door completely. We left ourselves open to how God was leading us, and that is what makes the difference.

I began to listen to stories of women who'd relinquished their child. I listened to adoptive parents who were in open relationships with their child's first parents. I saw how many adoptees truly desired some level of openness, knowledge from their past and heritage.

And I started to realize... it's not about me. It's not about what I want or what I am comfortable with. It's about what is in the best interest for the child, ironically the triad member who has the least say in their being adopted.

So as we started to move out of our comfort zone, we realized that most women who place children are doing so for various reasons, but similarly because in some way, they feel that this is the best choice for their child.

We began to see these parents in a new light. Thinking back to the questions we'd had at the beginning of the process, I could turn around all of those questions to the fears that someone else might be having in a very different situation. "What? Me? Relinquish my child? That's what drug addicts or teenagers (or both) do! Not an ordinary person like me! Could anyone else ever possibly love my child the way I do? Isn't adoption horridly complicated? Will I ever get over losing my child? Would I regret not experience parenthood? Would others view me as less of a woman, or my child less valuable in some way? And worst of all -- what if the real parents shut me out of their lives?

Certainly, it's against the grain of everything anyone's ever imagined.

Eighteen months into this open adoption journey, and I honestly don't know where it will lead. We've had varied levels of contact and openness, at the choosing of our daughter's mother. We have gone through times of daily contact, and we've been through periods of communication drought that can last months at a time. So in that way, I am still learning, still feeling my way through it all.

I assumed when we checked the "open" box on our paperwork that doing so would equal a consistent, ongoing relationship. I had lofty dreams of frequent visits, weekly telephone chats to catch up as we would with a family member, and being guests in each others' homes. I envied adoptive parents who spent holidays with their child's first parents or even went on vacation together. I expected to be braiding each others' hair and having pillow fights by this point (well, maybe not quite that extreme!), but it just isn't like that for us right now.

And that's okay. It's just different from what I imagined. I wish I had known then how I feel now, and know that sometimes relationships can wax and wain, and that it's all a normal part of life.

The one thing I would tell my 2006 self, if I could, would probably be that life DOES become normal again. Life will be good again. You will not forever live in this barren land of childlessness, and although it will be through a manner you'd never expected, it is wholly worthwhile and satisfying. Don't feel as though you have to force your way through the challenges of adoption (of any kind), but take life as it comes. Be on guard that your relationship with your husband and with God doesn't deteriorate, but remember that (as much as you hate to hear this cliche) everything truly does happen for a reason.

Mommy journals

This morning, I have gotten up, showered and dressed, ate breakfast, checked my email, made the bed, started a load of laundry, sorted the rest, hung up clothes, did some cleaning, got my daughter up and dressed, fed her breakfast, dropped off lunch for my husband, went to the grocery, came home with a crying toddler, put groceries away, got her started on lunch... and am now sitting down to check my email once more before finishing lunchtime (hers, not mine).

It's only 12:15 in the afternoon. And it's Monday. And my head hurts.

This afternoon, I hope to eat lunch myself, take my daughter on a walk, read her some books, put her down for a nap (glorious!), finish the cleaning the bathrooms (which I started this morning), finish the load of laundry I started already, wash the kitchen curtains that my daughter grabbed with her chili-covered hands, spend a few minutes exercising (maybe), plant some flowers outside, and start preparing dinner.

Any other moms' days look like this?

It sounds like a lot, and some days it feels like a lot. But other days, things just fall into place and I go to bed feeling like I accomplished everything I wanted to do that day. Those days are nice, but when that doesn't happen, I try to remember that I get another chance to do it all over again tomorrow. Right?

So that's pretty much it. I'm a wife of six years, I used to be a teacher in my previous life, and now I'm a stay-at-home mom who enjoys spending time with my eighteen-month-old daughter, cooking, taking care of our home, reading, photography (but I pretty much only have one subject!), doing crafty projects when the budget and time allows for it, and I'm currently loving selecting, planting, and transferring plants and flowers in our yard.

Oh, and our daughter came into our family through domestic open adoption.