Melissa asks, "What was the meeting like when you met Firefly's birthmom? What kind of questions were asked, how did you feel etc."
I went back to the posts I wrote right before and after that meeting. I sound like I was holding a lot of emotion at bay. That's pretty accurate.
By the time of our first meeting, it had been almost two months since we first learned Ms B was interested in us. So there had been a lot of time to sit with the basic information we had about B's pregnancy and circumstances, and to ask follow-up questions of the agency counselor. We weren't officially matched or whathaveyou with Ms B (we needed to meet first), but our profile materials weren't circulating anymore. What we hadn't been able to do was sit face-to-face with Beth and see if we meshed as people. Which, to me, is just so crucial in open adoption.
Much of the meeting and the lunch afterward was the sort of small talk you make when you're getting to know somebody--the questions about childhood and hobbies and all that. Like so many early interactions in open adoption, it was oddly ordinary on the surface with all sorts of emotion churning underneath. As far as our questions for her, we wanted to know about her process so far, what had brought her to the point of planning an adoption, what options had been explored, the reactions of her family and the baby's dad. (Quick sidenote: It turned out this was her second agency. She dropped the first--which only did closed adoptions--when her mom pointed out that she hated the fact that her own adoption was closed. She contacted the first agency when she was like five minutes pregnant and told them she wanted to place. They said, "Wonderful!" and sent her preliminary placement paperwork to fill out, no questions asked. Great "counseling," huh?)
Ms B asked a lot about our relationships with Puppy's first parents--how those worked, how frequently we interacted with them. I remember she wanted to know if we called them every time Puppy hit a milestone like a first tooth. (No.) We talked quite a bit about our particular philosophy of open adoption and what our expectations would be of her. She also had questions about our parenting style and what sort of time we spent together as a family. She seemed eager to convince us that we could confidently expect this to be our baby, which made me squirmy.
As far as feelings, I was full of nervous anticipatory excitement. T and I had talked a lot about things we wish had gone differently in our first adoption, and I was putting a lot of pressure on myself to not make the same mistakes twice. For some reason, I was stuck on the fact that she had seen a ton of pictures of us, but we didn't know what she looked like. I don't know why that bothered me so much, but it did. I think because it made it hard for me to visualize what it would be like to meet with her while we waited. If it had only been a week or two before we met her, I don't think it would have been as big of a deal to me.
It felt a lot different than our first meeting with Puppy's birth parents. T and I were more confident this time, more sure of what was important to us. We weren't worried about saying something that would cause her to "unpick" us. If anything, we wanted to get as many of our weaknesses and non-negotiables out there as we could, so that Beth could move on to another family if we weren't right for her. Better to find out incompatibilities now, than to be stuck trying to fix things a few years down the road. Which is one reason I think these kinds of meetings require a different kind of counseling approach in open adoption than in semi-closed. It's not about getting to the point of placement, but about all those years afterward.
Showing posts with label Adoption--it's a process. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Adoption--it's a process. Show all posts
February 18, 2009
September 08, 2008
It's Been One Year
We went to our adoption agency's annual picnic on Saturday (where I got to hang with some pretty cool folks).
The picnic made me go all inwardly thoughtful, remembering last year. This week is when it all began. The day before last year's picnic I answered the first of a series of phone calls that would lead to us meeting Ms B and, eventually, to Firefly. (The whole Firefly adoption story is under the category Adoption-It's a Process.) I remember chatting with other parents under the tall pine trees and secretly wondering if we'd have a baby with us the next time we gathered.
I've been through a handful of those phone calls (aka "The Call" among adoptive parents) during our two adoptions and they're always the same. Heart pounding, thoughts racing, scribbling bits of information onto the closest piece of paper. Information that later, when the descriptions have turned into real people and the people into relationships, will seem so oddly superficial. Trying to listen to the social worker and the whole time wondering, "Is this how it's going to happen?" And the moment of stillness after hanging up the phone when you realize that, in your little little corner of the world, you alone know what just occurred. It's amazing how instantly everything can change when you're adopting.
The picnic made me go all inwardly thoughtful, remembering last year. This week is when it all began. The day before last year's picnic I answered the first of a series of phone calls that would lead to us meeting Ms B and, eventually, to Firefly. (The whole Firefly adoption story is under the category Adoption-It's a Process.) I remember chatting with other parents under the tall pine trees and secretly wondering if we'd have a baby with us the next time we gathered.
I've been through a handful of those phone calls (aka "The Call" among adoptive parents) during our two adoptions and they're always the same. Heart pounding, thoughts racing, scribbling bits of information onto the closest piece of paper. Information that later, when the descriptions have turned into real people and the people into relationships, will seem so oddly superficial. Trying to listen to the social worker and the whole time wondering, "Is this how it's going to happen?" And the moment of stillness after hanging up the phone when you realize that, in your little little corner of the world, you alone know what just occurred. It's amazing how instantly everything can change when you're adopting.
July 22, 2008
Q&A: Dealing with the Wait
Bailan asks, "How did you navigate the emotional rollercoaster of waiting during the adoption process? My husband and I are adopting domestically, and we are finding the waiting and rejections to be quite challenging. It's a bittersweet time for us."
It is bittersweet, isn't it? You're so close to adding a child to your family, but there are still all these emotional hurdles. It sounds like you've had some potential matches or placements not work out, too. I'm sorry; those can be especially hard.
I'll admit upfront that we had it pretty easy. We didn't wait exceptionally long in either adoption and we never experienced the heartbreak of a disrupted placement. We also didn't know most times our profile was looked at by expectant parents, which probably lessened the feelings of rejection. But it still wasn't much fun.
Everyone handles the wait in their own way, but I can tell you how I approached it.
First, I just accepted that sometimes it was going to be hard. I'm not a big fan of using pregnancy as a metaphor for adopting, but here goes. Sometimes pregnancy kinda sucks. Being uncomfortable, nausea, tiredness, pain, scary unknowns--there are some not so fun parts of being pregnant, at least as I've witnessed it. Just as there are some not so fun parts of the adoption process. Adding a family member is such a huge, wonderful thing that it requires some hard work along the way. I think this is where the "Adoption is so beautiful!" folks sometimes set adopting parents up for disappointment. Because while there are some aspects that are amazing, it's also at times tedious, nerve-wracking, or painful. I reminded myself that the specific difficulties may be unique to adoption, but still were (a) normal and (b) worth it.
Second, as best I could, I resisted the temptation to label things as fair or unfair. If there is anything I'm not proud of, it's how often I gave in to resentment during our first adoption. Probably most people who've experienced fertility issues can at least nod in recognition. Others' accidental pregnancies, not having the certainty of a due date, being crushed when a match didn't work out--those sorts of things could send me stomping my figurative foot and saying, "It's not fair!" While I don't fault myself for having flashes of those emotions, I do fault myself for spinning them into cosmic justice issues. Mostly because it's self-centered b.s., but also because it only made me feel worse. Once you've started thinking you're being treated unfairly, you start seeing it in everything. And, at least for me, it makes it a lot harder to be compassionate toward others. And in adoption it is just so essential to move through it with a measure of compassion. There is little in adoption that is really fair, including for the parents who find themselves considering placement and the child whose life is turned upside-down. Keeping that perspective helped.
Finally, my mantra was: don't make it harder than it already is. For me, that meant not outwardly changing my life. We didn't prepare a nursery, we still traveled, I didn't read parenting books (although I did read a lot about adoption), we didn't purchase baby gear before we were matched. Some people do all those things during the wait and thrive. But I wanted my external world to be a space I could be in and pretend we weren't waiting. The hardest thing about the wait for me was just how open-ended it was. Not knowing if it would be long or short, not knowing if specific possibilities would amount to anything. Sometimes I needed an emotional break and keeping life as normal as possible gave me that. Most days the only reminders of the adoption process were in my mind.
The other thing I did to not make things harder was to make sure I had a little group of people who were safe to talk to about the adoption process. By "safe," I mean I could be completely honest about how I was feeling. The sort of friends who I could say, "I need you to be sad/happy/frustrated with me right now," and they would do it. We shared all the details of the process with them, as opposed to the vaguer version we shared with the general public. Whenever I got a weird reaction along the way, whether from a store clerk or a family member, it wouldn't bother me as much because I knew I had a safe little supportive cocoon who knew everything that was going on.
Wow, that turned into a book. I think this is one of those questions where more voices make for a better answer. If any adoptive parents are still reading this gargantuan post, what helped you during the emotional rollercoaster of waiting?
It is bittersweet, isn't it? You're so close to adding a child to your family, but there are still all these emotional hurdles. It sounds like you've had some potential matches or placements not work out, too. I'm sorry; those can be especially hard.
I'll admit upfront that we had it pretty easy. We didn't wait exceptionally long in either adoption and we never experienced the heartbreak of a disrupted placement. We also didn't know most times our profile was looked at by expectant parents, which probably lessened the feelings of rejection. But it still wasn't much fun.
Everyone handles the wait in their own way, but I can tell you how I approached it.
First, I just accepted that sometimes it was going to be hard. I'm not a big fan of using pregnancy as a metaphor for adopting, but here goes. Sometimes pregnancy kinda sucks. Being uncomfortable, nausea, tiredness, pain, scary unknowns--there are some not so fun parts of being pregnant, at least as I've witnessed it. Just as there are some not so fun parts of the adoption process. Adding a family member is such a huge, wonderful thing that it requires some hard work along the way. I think this is where the "Adoption is so beautiful!" folks sometimes set adopting parents up for disappointment. Because while there are some aspects that are amazing, it's also at times tedious, nerve-wracking, or painful. I reminded myself that the specific difficulties may be unique to adoption, but still were (a) normal and (b) worth it.
Second, as best I could, I resisted the temptation to label things as fair or unfair. If there is anything I'm not proud of, it's how often I gave in to resentment during our first adoption. Probably most people who've experienced fertility issues can at least nod in recognition. Others' accidental pregnancies, not having the certainty of a due date, being crushed when a match didn't work out--those sorts of things could send me stomping my figurative foot and saying, "It's not fair!" While I don't fault myself for having flashes of those emotions, I do fault myself for spinning them into cosmic justice issues. Mostly because it's self-centered b.s., but also because it only made me feel worse. Once you've started thinking you're being treated unfairly, you start seeing it in everything. And, at least for me, it makes it a lot harder to be compassionate toward others. And in adoption it is just so essential to move through it with a measure of compassion. There is little in adoption that is really fair, including for the parents who find themselves considering placement and the child whose life is turned upside-down. Keeping that perspective helped.
Finally, my mantra was: don't make it harder than it already is. For me, that meant not outwardly changing my life. We didn't prepare a nursery, we still traveled, I didn't read parenting books (although I did read a lot about adoption), we didn't purchase baby gear before we were matched. Some people do all those things during the wait and thrive. But I wanted my external world to be a space I could be in and pretend we weren't waiting. The hardest thing about the wait for me was just how open-ended it was. Not knowing if it would be long or short, not knowing if specific possibilities would amount to anything. Sometimes I needed an emotional break and keeping life as normal as possible gave me that. Most days the only reminders of the adoption process were in my mind.
The other thing I did to not make things harder was to make sure I had a little group of people who were safe to talk to about the adoption process. By "safe," I mean I could be completely honest about how I was feeling. The sort of friends who I could say, "I need you to be sad/happy/frustrated with me right now," and they would do it. We shared all the details of the process with them, as opposed to the vaguer version we shared with the general public. Whenever I got a weird reaction along the way, whether from a store clerk or a family member, it wouldn't bother me as much because I knew I had a safe little supportive cocoon who knew everything that was going on.
Wow, that turned into a book. I think this is one of those questions where more voices make for a better answer. If any adoptive parents are still reading this gargantuan post, what helped you during the emotional rollercoaster of waiting?
June 23, 2008
Officially Four
On Friday we headed to the town where it all began to finalize Firefly's adoption. It looks like there will be two adoption days to remember in June for us. While we were waiting, Puppy and the clerk practiced standing up when the judge entered the courtroom. She forgot to mention the part about sitting down afterward, so Puppy spent a good part of the ceremony yelling, "Stand up! Stand up, everybody!" Ah, memories.
So now we are a family of four and can flit across the border without so much as telling a soul. Hurrah! And Firefly's connection to Ms B is recognized and protected in the open adoption agreement, at least on a minimal level.
You'd think that after almost two years of of preparation and waiting and contentious decision-making, we'd be ready to stand still for awhile. But no! Because T and Imake decisions by talking the crap out of them well before we actually need to take action are overthinkers, we keep coming back to the extremely hypothetical and confusing child #3.
When we got married, I vaguely wanted two kids and T wanted enough to field a football team. He later reduced his vision to a basketball team. Even now, as he's still reeling from the transition to two children (twice the kid, thrice the work), the energy of a large family appeals to him. My original defense ("When you birth the babies you can decide how many we're going to have.") doesn't hold much water anymore.
We sorta agreed not to make any family planning decisions until Firefly turned one. The corollary was that we also wouldn't talk about next steps for several months. I think we lasted all of three weeks. We both agree that we are D-O-N-E with private adoption, either domestic or international. We just don't have the resources--emotional or financial--to responsibly travel that road a third time.
Our intention in the very beginning was to adopt two children of color. Obviously that plan didn't go as expected. So we ponder questions of balance and the ramifications of Firefly being the only non-white person in the household. One of us isn't ready to take a non-adopted child off the table yet. One of gets squirmy at the thought of more than three kids. One of us is nudging the other toward fostering. One of us wonders if our family isn't just right as it is. I'll let you guess where each of us falls.
Above it all, both of us feel lucky to be considering questions of "more" and not "if." This is not the exact road we expected take and once started we found it more morally complicated than expected, but how joyful it has been nonetheless.
So now we are a family of four and can flit across the border without so much as telling a soul. Hurrah! And Firefly's connection to Ms B is recognized and protected in the open adoption agreement, at least on a minimal level.
You'd think that after almost two years of of preparation and waiting and contentious decision-making, we'd be ready to stand still for awhile. But no! Because T and I
When we got married, I vaguely wanted two kids and T wanted enough to field a football team. He later reduced his vision to a basketball team. Even now, as he's still reeling from the transition to two children (twice the kid, thrice the work), the energy of a large family appeals to him. My original defense ("When you birth the babies you can decide how many we're going to have.") doesn't hold much water anymore.
We sorta agreed not to make any family planning decisions until Firefly turned one. The corollary was that we also wouldn't talk about next steps for several months. I think we lasted all of three weeks. We both agree that we are D-O-N-E with private adoption, either domestic or international. We just don't have the resources--emotional or financial--to responsibly travel that road a third time.
Our intention in the very beginning was to adopt two children of color. Obviously that plan didn't go as expected. So we ponder questions of balance and the ramifications of Firefly being the only non-white person in the household. One of us isn't ready to take a non-adopted child off the table yet. One of gets squirmy at the thought of more than three kids. One of us is nudging the other toward fostering. One of us wonders if our family isn't just right as it is. I'll let you guess where each of us falls.
Above it all, both of us feel lucky to be considering questions of "more" and not "if." This is not the exact road we expected take and once started we found it more morally complicated than expected, but how joyful it has been nonetheless.
February 28, 2008
Debutante
T, Puppy and I--along with Puppy's first mom--are guinea pigs in a study that is vaguely about the effects of nature and nurture in adopted children (I think we'll find out what it's really about when they publish the findings). We had a visit from the researchers on Saturday, and at one point T and I sat in front of a video camera for 20 minutes conversing off of generic prompts they provided. The first prompt asked, "Think back on the past week? Was it a regular week? How was it for you?" I think we laughed for five straight minutes. It was just such an absurd question under the circumstances. No, we always head out town, bring back a new family member, and have some of the best and worst moments of our lives all at once. Totally typical week for us!
Firefly is two weeks old tomorrow. It has been a good two weeks and certainly an intense two weeks. The overarching feeling for me is that she has somehow always been with us. I remember the same feeling when Puppy came home. I was prepared for life to feel topsy-turvy as we adjusted to parenthood, but instead it seemed as if we had been feeding and bathing and shushing a little one all along. The illusion didn't last, but it certainly created a nice bit of emotional respite during the initial weeks.
Puppy harbors no illusions that Firefly has always been here. It's true that he has been wonderfully sweet toward her. It is touching how gentle he tries to be with her, how he wants to show her off to visitors and make sure she's attended to when she cries. But it is an enormous transition for him to not be the only child and his feelings about that are seeping out in other ways. He's testing his boundaries with us pretty constantly, particularly with this screech that peels the paint off the walls. Underneath it all is a fairly clear plea for reassurance, so we've been trying to give him the extra love and attention he needs right now without jettisoning our basic behavioral expectations of him. Honestly, helping him through this has been more tiring than anything Firefly has required of us.
We've mostly been hermits since Firefly came home. I was ready to be more adventurous this week, but by Monday I was sicker than I've been in years and I'm sort of still recovering. (Knock on wood, Firefly seems to have escaped the stomach bug that the rest of us got. They tell you to keep newborns away from sickies, but what to do when the sickies are inside the house?) But, no more hermiting! Today Firefly makes her debut into society at playgroup. I need to see some friends and Puppy needs to stick as close to his regular routine as possible. And the world needs to see Firefly's cute face.
Firefly is two weeks old tomorrow. It has been a good two weeks and certainly an intense two weeks. The overarching feeling for me is that she has somehow always been with us. I remember the same feeling when Puppy came home. I was prepared for life to feel topsy-turvy as we adjusted to parenthood, but instead it seemed as if we had been feeding and bathing and shushing a little one all along. The illusion didn't last, but it certainly created a nice bit of emotional respite during the initial weeks.
Puppy harbors no illusions that Firefly has always been here. It's true that he has been wonderfully sweet toward her. It is touching how gentle he tries to be with her, how he wants to show her off to visitors and make sure she's attended to when she cries. But it is an enormous transition for him to not be the only child and his feelings about that are seeping out in other ways. He's testing his boundaries with us pretty constantly, particularly with this screech that peels the paint off the walls. Underneath it all is a fairly clear plea for reassurance, so we've been trying to give him the extra love and attention he needs right now without jettisoning our basic behavioral expectations of him. Honestly, helping him through this has been more tiring than anything Firefly has required of us.
We've mostly been hermits since Firefly came home. I was ready to be more adventurous this week, but by Monday I was sicker than I've been in years and I'm sort of still recovering. (Knock on wood, Firefly seems to have escaped the stomach bug that the rest of us got. They tell you to keep newborns away from sickies, but what to do when the sickies are inside the house?) But, no more hermiting! Today Firefly makes her debut into society at playgroup. I need to see some friends and Puppy needs to stick as close to his regular routine as possible. And the world needs to see Firefly's cute face.
February 19, 2008
We're Home
And she is with us. Sleeping on my chest while I type. We arrived home yesterday evening. Leaving with the baby wasn't any easier this second time.
Yesterday morning Ms B looked at me over her baby's wee head and said through tears, "I never knew you could love someone so much." If only those who dismiss all first parents' emotions could have been flies on the wall. She has some good people standing with her during this difficult transition, but I know she would appreciate your prayers.
I have been so grateful for your comments and simply for the knowledge that you are marking this event with us. There is comfort in sharing this time with people who I know understand that adoption is about ands: this emotion and that one and this other one. The happiness and sadness do not diminish one another, but exist alongside.
Last night at the dinner table I looked at the wee girl in my lap and at the two-year old boy who has brought such joy to our lives, and I marveled that we have the chance to do this all over again. Her first name is derived from the Latin for "light" and she brightens up any room she is in. She is our little Firefly.
More substantive thoughts and pictures (which I know are what you're really after) coming soon.
Yesterday morning Ms B looked at me over her baby's wee head and said through tears, "I never knew you could love someone so much." If only those who dismiss all first parents' emotions could have been flies on the wall. She has some good people standing with her during this difficult transition, but I know she would appreciate your prayers.
I have been so grateful for your comments and simply for the knowledge that you are marking this event with us. There is comfort in sharing this time with people who I know understand that adoption is about ands: this emotion and that one and this other one. The happiness and sadness do not diminish one another, but exist alongside.
Last night at the dinner table I looked at the wee girl in my lap and at the two-year old boy who has brought such joy to our lives, and I marveled that we have the chance to do this all over again. Her first name is derived from the Latin for "light" and she brightens up any room she is in. She is our little Firefly.
More substantive thoughts and pictures (which I know are what you're really after) coming soon.
February 16, 2008
It's a Girl
Baby B was born late Friday night by C-section after a long, frustrating and ultimately unproductive labor. She has a head full of dark curls and a champion sucking reflex. She looks like a baby version of Ms B; she's lovely.
T would like you to know she scored a 9 on her Apgars, because he's competitive like that.
Mama B is recovering slowly. Thank you so much for the good wishes left on her behalf. It's been a rough couple of days. She is looking forward to some quality snuggling and feeding time once she emerges from her post-delivery fog.
T and I are sleepy and happy. We're enjoying the hospitality of another adoptive family at our agency who opens their home to folks who come through town for this sort of thing. The hospital staff have been incredibly respectful both of Ms B's place as mama and our presence as potential adoptive parents. I can tell that we are guarding our hearts, as they say, to a certain degree but are ready to fall in love.
T would like you to know she scored a 9 on her Apgars, because he's competitive like that.
Mama B is recovering slowly. Thank you so much for the good wishes left on her behalf. It's been a rough couple of days. She is looking forward to some quality snuggling and feeding time once she emerges from her post-delivery fog.
T and I are sleepy and happy. We're enjoying the hospitality of another adoptive family at our agency who opens their home to folks who come through town for this sort of thing. The hospital staff have been incredibly respectful both of Ms B's place as mama and our presence as potential adoptive parents. I can tell that we are guarding our hearts, as they say, to a certain degree but are ready to fall in love.
February 14, 2008
Actual News
Ms B phoned to say she is being induced this evening. We laughed that it will be one of her more unique Valentine's Days. She asked us to come join her tomorrow morning, and so we are.
This is really, finally happening. Oh, my.
This is really, finally happening. Oh, my.
February 08, 2008
Deserving That Baby
ETA: If you're landing on this post from a Google search for "Juno storyline," there is a fairly detailed plot summary here.
I love love love Jennifer Garner from her ass-kicking Alias days. I would watch an entire movie about nothing but Jennifer Garner and Victor Garber planting tulip bulbs together. So I was happy to see an Oscar plug for her in the current issue of Entert@inment Weekly (page 45, for those of you reading along at home):
But that last sentence wilted my enthusiasm a bit. "She definitely deserved that baby..." It captures in a few words much of what makes me uneasy about Juno: its affirmation of domestic adoption as a transfer from the undeserving to the deserving. The storyline is designed to appeal to our sense of what is right and fair. Vanessa (Garner's character) desperately wanted to mother; Juno did not. Vanessa paid steep emotional and financial costs in her attempts to become a parent; Juno conceived without even meaning to. Vanessa "practically glowed with maternal warmth and longing;" Juno was detached and decidedly non-maternal. In the logic of the story, then, Vanessa deserves the baby and Juno does not. Therefore, Juno did the "right thing" by following through on her adoption plan. (What the baby deserves is kind of left out of the equation.)
I understand why we say to one another that certain people deserve to be parents. Infertility is absurdly unfair. Most of us know--or have ourselves been--wonderful people who were prevented from bearing a child for no reason that makes any sort of cosmic sense. Sometimes the people most capable, most desirous of parenthood just can't achieve it on their own. It's shitty even without infertility treatments, and years of disappointing procedures just make it that much worse. Without picking apart the definition of "deserve," it seems to me that when we say that those people deserve a baby, we're acknowledging the arbitrary nature of it all. We're saying that no one should have to go through all of that heartache to experience something as universal as parenthood.
But when we venture into the world of adoption, I'd argue that it's best to leave talk of "deserving" anything behind. Because you're no longer talking about successfully creating a child, but being entrusted with an existent child. It's too easy after a match to shift from the idea of deserving to be parents into deserving a certain baby. But if I start to talk about deserving someone else's child, especially a specific someone else's child, I am in a dangerous place. One in which I might make choices I regret.
I'm not claiming to be some saint who has never felt these things. I've broken down in bitter sobs over a sister-in-law's accidental pregnancy, simmered in indignant frustration when one of T's students cavalierly fathered three children in one year. There were even moments I struggled with K's pregnancy. But I think envy--like grief and anger--is one of those feelings you've got to work your way through before it blows up in your face. We're going to feel what we feel, but we shouldn't always act on it. And too often adoptive parents' sense of deserving a baby leads us to reduce expectant parents who are making adoption plans into certain roles. In our tidy categories, they don't deserve their babies that we've waited for and wanted for so long. Then those who end up setting adoption plans aside in favor of parenting get demonized.
I think all sides of the triad deserve to be treated compassionately and respectfully. Baby B deserves a family who will love her well, but it doesn't have to be us. Ms B doesn't owe us anything except honesty. Maybe Puppy deserves to be a big brother someday, maybe T and I deserve a second child--but we don't deserve that baby, we don't deserve her baby.
I love love love Jennifer Garner from her ass-kicking Alias days. I would watch an entire movie about nothing but Jennifer Garner and Victor Garber planting tulip bulbs together. So I was happy to see an Oscar plug for her in the current issue of Entert@inment Weekly (page 45, for those of you reading along at home):
But that last sentence wilted my enthusiasm a bit. "She definitely deserved that baby..." It captures in a few words much of what makes me uneasy about Juno: its affirmation of domestic adoption as a transfer from the undeserving to the deserving. The storyline is designed to appeal to our sense of what is right and fair. Vanessa (Garner's character) desperately wanted to mother; Juno did not. Vanessa paid steep emotional and financial costs in her attempts to become a parent; Juno conceived without even meaning to. Vanessa "practically glowed with maternal warmth and longing;" Juno was detached and decidedly non-maternal. In the logic of the story, then, Vanessa deserves the baby and Juno does not. Therefore, Juno did the "right thing" by following through on her adoption plan. (What the baby deserves is kind of left out of the equation.)
I understand why we say to one another that certain people deserve to be parents. Infertility is absurdly unfair. Most of us know--or have ourselves been--wonderful people who were prevented from bearing a child for no reason that makes any sort of cosmic sense. Sometimes the people most capable, most desirous of parenthood just can't achieve it on their own. It's shitty even without infertility treatments, and years of disappointing procedures just make it that much worse. Without picking apart the definition of "deserve," it seems to me that when we say that those people deserve a baby, we're acknowledging the arbitrary nature of it all. We're saying that no one should have to go through all of that heartache to experience something as universal as parenthood.
But when we venture into the world of adoption, I'd argue that it's best to leave talk of "deserving" anything behind. Because you're no longer talking about successfully creating a child, but being entrusted with an existent child. It's too easy after a match to shift from the idea of deserving to be parents into deserving a certain baby. But if I start to talk about deserving someone else's child, especially a specific someone else's child, I am in a dangerous place. One in which I might make choices I regret.
I'm not claiming to be some saint who has never felt these things. I've broken down in bitter sobs over a sister-in-law's accidental pregnancy, simmered in indignant frustration when one of T's students cavalierly fathered three children in one year. There were even moments I struggled with K's pregnancy. But I think envy--like grief and anger--is one of those feelings you've got to work your way through before it blows up in your face. We're going to feel what we feel, but we shouldn't always act on it. And too often adoptive parents' sense of deserving a baby leads us to reduce expectant parents who are making adoption plans into certain roles. In our tidy categories, they don't deserve their babies that we've waited for and wanted for so long. Then those who end up setting adoption plans aside in favor of parenting get demonized.
I think all sides of the triad deserve to be treated compassionately and respectfully. Baby B deserves a family who will love her well, but it doesn't have to be us. Ms B doesn't owe us anything except honesty. Maybe Puppy deserves to be a big brother someday, maybe T and I deserve a second child--but we don't deserve that baby, we don't deserve her baby.
February 05, 2008
Checking In
I've gotten some sweet notes from people who've noticed my absence the past several days. Half of you think Baby B is secretly here and the other half are worried I'm falling apart. The truth is much less exciting, I'm afraid. Puppy is recovering from a bad bout of croup. I'm engulfed in a wave of sentimentalism over these final days of being a family of three. Both have kept me away from the computer and attached to my baby boy.
Ms B called yesterday. She is understandably ready to be done with this whole pregnancy thing and finally meet her daughter. Her doctor predicted she'll go into labor between February 1 and 15. He's a gambler, that one.
T thinks she will be born Thursday. I think it will be Valentine's Day. Care to make a prediction?
Ms B called yesterday. She is understandably ready to be done with this whole pregnancy thing and finally meet her daughter. Her doctor predicted she'll go into labor between February 1 and 15. He's a gambler, that one.
T thinks she will be born Thursday. I think it will be Valentine's Day. Care to make a prediction?
January 30, 2008
The In-between Time
We are ready. The cloth diapers are folded and the bottles washed. A blank copy of my favorite baby book rests next to Puppy's on the bookshelf. One of the families in our playgroup gave us two enormous boxes of girl clothes that have been sorted and stowed away. The bassinet finally made it into our bedroom, lined with its cheerful red-and-white bedding. We have done the things we hoped to do to prepare Puppy.
And so we wait. I don't even know that we're waiting for Ms B's daughter to be born as much as we're waiting for this to be over. One way or another, to be done with this time in which we're almost parents of two, but not quite yet. Just to know where we stand again.
I kind of hate this part. I am good at waiting to match and I'd like to think I'm decent at playing my post-adoption role. But this in-between time is draining. The time between being told hey, you're going to have a kid and that kid actually becoming yours. When the end of one woman's parenting overlaps with the preparation for your own to begin. Most days it doesn't affect me too much outwardly, but I notice it sapping some of my emotional energy. Other days it stretches me thin until I break at the most inane provocation. Poor T bears the brunt of those moments because I think he will be the only one who will understand.
We happily prepare to welcome a child while also remaining able to gracefully step aside if Ms B's plans change. It's what we must do that until the day it all becomes final. If Baby B does end up staying with us, we will look back on this in-between time and say, "This is when we first started loving you." Retroactively it will become the beginning of our parenting.
If you overheard us talking, you might mistake us for some couple about to have a baby the usual way. We talk about those eminent sleepless nights, wonder where that last box of baby gear is hiding in the garage, joke about not being ready for two kids. But if you listen closely, you might notice that we talk about "the baby" or call her by her name. But we never say "our baby." It's amazing how much is caught up in that one little word.
And so we wait. I don't even know that we're waiting for Ms B's daughter to be born as much as we're waiting for this to be over. One way or another, to be done with this time in which we're almost parents of two, but not quite yet. Just to know where we stand again.
I kind of hate this part. I am good at waiting to match and I'd like to think I'm decent at playing my post-adoption role. But this in-between time is draining. The time between being told hey, you're going to have a kid and that kid actually becoming yours. When the end of one woman's parenting overlaps with the preparation for your own to begin. Most days it doesn't affect me too much outwardly, but I notice it sapping some of my emotional energy. Other days it stretches me thin until I break at the most inane provocation. Poor T bears the brunt of those moments because I think he will be the only one who will understand.
We happily prepare to welcome a child while also remaining able to gracefully step aside if Ms B's plans change. It's what we must do that until the day it all becomes final. If Baby B does end up staying with us, we will look back on this in-between time and say, "This is when we first started loving you." Retroactively it will become the beginning of our parenting.
If you overheard us talking, you might mistake us for some couple about to have a baby the usual way. We talk about those eminent sleepless nights, wonder where that last box of baby gear is hiding in the garage, joke about not being ready for two kids. But if you listen closely, you might notice that we talk about "the baby" or call her by her name. But we never say "our baby." It's amazing how much is caught up in that one little word.
January 09, 2008
I Didn't Expect It to Be So Hard
We met with Ms B and an agency counselor yesterday to go over our open adoption agreement and her birth/hospital plan.
We've had a string of house guests and social obligations, and I hadn't put too much thought into the meeting. Not that I was blowing it off; it was obviously important. But we have a good base of honesty with Ms B and have talked enough to know that we're on the same page about our expectations for openness. I expected to drive down, enjoy some time with Ms B, hash out some details, and go home. We had done this once before, after all; we are adoption veterans. Ha.
But it wasn't easy, at all. Not because we had major disagreements, although we did have to work to consensus on a few things. It was just super emotional and draining. I think the reality of this adoption has been hitting each of us in different ways. By the time we were talking about leaving the hospital, I was reaching for the tissue. (I wasn't the first one to tear up, but those are other people's stories, not mine.)
As the due date approaches, everything seems to grow larger. Forgive the lame image, but imagine all the emotions of adopting as soap bubbles. Until recently, they were wee little bubbles on my mental landscape. One would float up from the depths of my heart, dance around in the breeze and occupy my attention for awhile, then--pop--it would be gone. A bubble of excitement here, a bubble of concern there. But now the bubbles are larger and more frequent. They hang longer in the air, jostling with each other for space. As my joy at the prospect of another child grows, so does my heartache for Ms B. There are bubbles of affection for Ms B, bubbles of anger at her circumstances, bubbles of frustration at ethical obstacles, bubbles of gratefulness for the support we each have, bubbles of love for Baby B, bubbles of sadness for us all.
With all the talk about Juno in the air, I've been thinking lot about the persistent cultural idea that, (spoiler?) with the right combination of pluck and detachment, a woman can sail through relinquishment unscathed and go off into the sunset with her new boyfriend and her guitar. Sometimes adoptive parents are accused of fostering that idea for our own self-interest, enabling us to bury our heads in the sand and imagine adoption as sunshine and roses. No doubt that is partly true. But I think sometimes we misguidedly cling to it out of sincere concern for our children's mothers, these women we have come to love. We desperately want it to be true for their sake, as if by believing we can spare them the heartache.
I'm sure I'll see Juno someday, maybe I'll even enjoy it. But yesterday I sat with a real-life woman who is neither snarky nor detached. And as much as I want to believe that this won't hurt as much as she fears, my heart is breaking because I think it will.
This is not at all where I intended this post to go. There are other things I wanted to say about yesterday (good things, really), but that will have to wait. R arrives tomorrow (yay!) and there is much to be done to get ready.
We've had a string of house guests and social obligations, and I hadn't put too much thought into the meeting. Not that I was blowing it off; it was obviously important. But we have a good base of honesty with Ms B and have talked enough to know that we're on the same page about our expectations for openness. I expected to drive down, enjoy some time with Ms B, hash out some details, and go home. We had done this once before, after all; we are adoption veterans. Ha.
But it wasn't easy, at all. Not because we had major disagreements, although we did have to work to consensus on a few things. It was just super emotional and draining. I think the reality of this adoption has been hitting each of us in different ways. By the time we were talking about leaving the hospital, I was reaching for the tissue. (I wasn't the first one to tear up, but those are other people's stories, not mine.)
As the due date approaches, everything seems to grow larger. Forgive the lame image, but imagine all the emotions of adopting as soap bubbles. Until recently, they were wee little bubbles on my mental landscape. One would float up from the depths of my heart, dance around in the breeze and occupy my attention for awhile, then--pop--it would be gone. A bubble of excitement here, a bubble of concern there. But now the bubbles are larger and more frequent. They hang longer in the air, jostling with each other for space. As my joy at the prospect of another child grows, so does my heartache for Ms B. There are bubbles of affection for Ms B, bubbles of anger at her circumstances, bubbles of frustration at ethical obstacles, bubbles of gratefulness for the support we each have, bubbles of love for Baby B, bubbles of sadness for us all.With all the talk about Juno in the air, I've been thinking lot about the persistent cultural idea that, (spoiler?) with the right combination of pluck and detachment, a woman can sail through relinquishment unscathed and go off into the sunset with her new boyfriend and her guitar. Sometimes adoptive parents are accused of fostering that idea for our own self-interest, enabling us to bury our heads in the sand and imagine adoption as sunshine and roses. No doubt that is partly true. But I think sometimes we misguidedly cling to it out of sincere concern for our children's mothers, these women we have come to love. We desperately want it to be true for their sake, as if by believing we can spare them the heartache.
I'm sure I'll see Juno someday, maybe I'll even enjoy it. But yesterday I sat with a real-life woman who is neither snarky nor detached. And as much as I want to believe that this won't hurt as much as she fears, my heart is breaking because I think it will.
This is not at all where I intended this post to go. There are other things I wanted to say about yesterday (good things, really), but that will have to wait. R arrives tomorrow (yay!) and there is much to be done to get ready.
January 04, 2008
Some Things I Want to Remember
Last Friday we woke Puppy up in the early morning and bundled him into the car to visit Ms B. He ate his banana and smiled patiently at us as we drove south through misty farm land.
We have a final "official" meeting with Ms B next week, one facilitated by an agency counselor. At that meeting we will work on a draft version of the open adoption agreement and hear what kind of interaction with us Ms B would like during her time in the hospital. We really wanted to see her once more before that more formal time.
We picked her up and went to the city library, where Puppy could enjoy himself in the children's section and we could sit and talk. Her stepfather joined us for an hour or so. Gracious yet reserved, he kindly let Puppy show him page after page in a Thomas the Tank Engine book. Somewhat out of the blue he started to share about what it was like for him to be a white parent of two children of color. "I've always thought the greatest gift I gave them and the greatest mistake I made was ignoring their race. It was the spirit of the times, I suppose. We all thought the best thing to do was to be color blind."
After the library, we had lunch together, then drove Ms B home. It was an enjoyable time. We touched on some deeper topics, but for the most part it was a lighthearted morning. Getting to know one another better and joking around a bit. It may seem strange to talk of laughter when it is such a serious matter that brings us together in the first place. But it is the combination of the more vulnerable conversations and these easygoing interactions that make it possible for me to envision entering into an open adoption with her. I do not think it is necessary to enjoy the company of your child's other parents in order to have an open adoption, but it does make it immensely easier.
Oh--Baby B has a name now! A first name, at least. Ms B was upfront from the beginning about not wanting her daughter's name changed, a conviction born of personal experience. (I realize there are a range of positions on naming in adoption. I don't think there is a one-size-fits-all answer.) But she didn't have a name picked out; she had cycled through a couple, but not found one that really fit. So T and I have had the privilege of collaborating with her on possible names. We finally hit upon one which resonated with us all. I found it while noodling around the Social Security website. I was nervous about putting it on the table, because I had grown rather fond of it in the week or so I was mentally trying it out. But when I shared it, B immediately said, "Oh, yes." It is not super common (important to someone who grew up with the #3 name for her birthyear), it means "light," and I love it.
We have a final "official" meeting with Ms B next week, one facilitated by an agency counselor. At that meeting we will work on a draft version of the open adoption agreement and hear what kind of interaction with us Ms B would like during her time in the hospital. We really wanted to see her once more before that more formal time.
We picked her up and went to the city library, where Puppy could enjoy himself in the children's section and we could sit and talk. Her stepfather joined us for an hour or so. Gracious yet reserved, he kindly let Puppy show him page after page in a Thomas the Tank Engine book. Somewhat out of the blue he started to share about what it was like for him to be a white parent of two children of color. "I've always thought the greatest gift I gave them and the greatest mistake I made was ignoring their race. It was the spirit of the times, I suppose. We all thought the best thing to do was to be color blind."
After the library, we had lunch together, then drove Ms B home. It was an enjoyable time. We touched on some deeper topics, but for the most part it was a lighthearted morning. Getting to know one another better and joking around a bit. It may seem strange to talk of laughter when it is such a serious matter that brings us together in the first place. But it is the combination of the more vulnerable conversations and these easygoing interactions that make it possible for me to envision entering into an open adoption with her. I do not think it is necessary to enjoy the company of your child's other parents in order to have an open adoption, but it does make it immensely easier.
Oh--Baby B has a name now! A first name, at least. Ms B was upfront from the beginning about not wanting her daughter's name changed, a conviction born of personal experience. (I realize there are a range of positions on naming in adoption. I don't think there is a one-size-fits-all answer.) But she didn't have a name picked out; she had cycled through a couple, but not found one that really fit. So T and I have had the privilege of collaborating with her on possible names. We finally hit upon one which resonated with us all. I found it while noodling around the Social Security website. I was nervous about putting it on the table, because I had grown rather fond of it in the week or so I was mentally trying it out. But when I shared it, B immediately said, "Oh, yes." It is not super common (important to someone who grew up with the #3 name for her birthyear), it means "light," and I love it.
December 24, 2007
Peeking
I like the lull in activity on the internet right now. I imagine all of you gathered around sparkly trees with warm drinks in hand, enjoying your beautiful families. If you are actually trapped traveling or rushing through last-minute things, I hope you get your warm drink moment soon.
I am soaking up Christmas with a toddler who delights in the "pretty lights" and thinks every present is for him. It is said that you experience holidays in fresh ways as a parent, and that has been so wonderfully true for me. I am falling in love again with the pageantry of Christmas as he discovers it for the first time.
And perhaps it is the holiday season or the nearness of January*, but I have been indulging more and more in the delight of a possible second child. Thoughts of a fourth stocking hung and hair clips and siblings and ruffly Christmas dresses and a house made just that much more alive by the presence of another.
Of all the emotions of adopting, it is sometimes the joyful anticipation that I know least what to do with. I remember being surprised by how quickly I attached to Puppy--or rather the idea of Puppy--when we first met K and R. All my thoughts of a hypothetical child suddenly found a specific focal point. In the six weeks between first talking with K until Puppy came home, there were moments the anticipation was so much that I could scarcely breathe. I remember standing in the dark room that would be Puppy's one night a few days before K's due date feeling that my heart would burst from the not-knowing, from the possibility of becoming a parent being so impossibly close yet still not sure.
On a certain level, it frightened me. Because although the joy of building a family is one of the wonderful aspects of adoption, it is thrilling and scary all at once. Scary because I sensed how great the heartache could be if Puppy didn't become our Puppy. And scary because--although I still don't know what drives some over the edge of reason--I glimpsed what is underneath the entitled behavior we adoptive parents too often exhibit if our desire to adopt turns desperate.
When Ms B entered into our life and we into hers, I again felt that familiar thrill. But there were months to wait and the usual uncertainties and challenges of adopting to navigate. The excitement seemed neither helpful or sustainable. So into one of my many emotional compartments it went, boxed and wrapped and tied with bow, waiting for the day it would be appropriate to open.
As a girl I loved to play with the wrapped presents under the tree, sorting and shaking them and wondering what was inside. Lately I have been paying great attention to my pretty, unopened gift. Like a child sneaking a look under the wrapping paper, I have been peeking into the box, letting the thrill of possibility rush over me. Thinking about the possible day we welcome another little one into our family. And when I've dreamed for a moment, I shut the lid tight once again and set it aside, waiting to see if it will ever be opened for good.
--
* January was the completely self-imposed, semi-arbitrary earliest month I said I would start preparing to have a baby in the house again.
I am soaking up Christmas with a toddler who delights in the "pretty lights" and thinks every present is for him. It is said that you experience holidays in fresh ways as a parent, and that has been so wonderfully true for me. I am falling in love again with the pageantry of Christmas as he discovers it for the first time.
And perhaps it is the holiday season or the nearness of January*, but I have been indulging more and more in the delight of a possible second child. Thoughts of a fourth stocking hung and hair clips and siblings and ruffly Christmas dresses and a house made just that much more alive by the presence of another.
Of all the emotions of adopting, it is sometimes the joyful anticipation that I know least what to do with. I remember being surprised by how quickly I attached to Puppy--or rather the idea of Puppy--when we first met K and R. All my thoughts of a hypothetical child suddenly found a specific focal point. In the six weeks between first talking with K until Puppy came home, there were moments the anticipation was so much that I could scarcely breathe. I remember standing in the dark room that would be Puppy's one night a few days before K's due date feeling that my heart would burst from the not-knowing, from the possibility of becoming a parent being so impossibly close yet still not sure.
On a certain level, it frightened me. Because although the joy of building a family is one of the wonderful aspects of adoption, it is thrilling and scary all at once. Scary because I sensed how great the heartache could be if Puppy didn't become our Puppy. And scary because--although I still don't know what drives some over the edge of reason--I glimpsed what is underneath the entitled behavior we adoptive parents too often exhibit if our desire to adopt turns desperate.
When Ms B entered into our life and we into hers, I again felt that familiar thrill. But there were months to wait and the usual uncertainties and challenges of adopting to navigate. The excitement seemed neither helpful or sustainable. So into one of my many emotional compartments it went, boxed and wrapped and tied with bow, waiting for the day it would be appropriate to open.
As a girl I loved to play with the wrapped presents under the tree, sorting and shaking them and wondering what was inside. Lately I have been paying great attention to my pretty, unopened gift. Like a child sneaking a look under the wrapping paper, I have been peeking into the box, letting the thrill of possibility rush over me. Thinking about the possible day we welcome another little one into our family. And when I've dreamed for a moment, I shut the lid tight once again and set it aside, waiting to see if it will ever be opened for good.
--
* January was the completely self-imposed, semi-arbitrary earliest month I said I would start preparing to have a baby in the house again.
December 21, 2007
We Interviewed Lawyers Today
We live in one of those states some people term "adoption-friendly"--meaning the adoption laws are completely lopsided in favor of the adoptive parents. Think short minimum times before consents can be signed, no revocation period, and few legal rights for fathers. The laws in our neighboring state are even worse. Most infant adoptions here are essentially final before anyone has even left the hospital.
This is the state we live in and it is the state Ms B's baby will be born in, so these are the laws we have to work with. We feel that we shouldn't just blindly follow them, though. Legal is not always the same as ethical, and our hope is (obviously) to do things legally but go beyond the legal minimums. It was something we talked about before starting the process, and something we discussed with the agency during our homestudy. (Every time we start talking about our messed-up adoption laws, T says he's going to run for the state legislature. It amuses me.)
We're at the point now where we need to arrange legal counsel for the possible adoption. So we spent some time on the phone today interviewing lawyers. We always opened by asking about their usual procedures, to get a sense of where they were coming from. It pained me how quickly some touted the state's "great" adoption laws. They were so eager to assure us they could get that baby permanently in our arms as quickly as possible, so sure that would be our primary concern as the potential adoptive parents.
We told them some of our discomforts with the current laws and that we hoped to find someone who would help us to find creative ways to work around them. (Hm, "around" sounds like we're trying to evade the laws. It's more "beyond" them.) It was discouraging how most just tried to talk us out of our convictions. One guy straight up lied to us about the law.
We just finished a conference call with a lawyer who seems promising, though. He generally represents more first parents than adoptive parents and understood our perspective. He was animated when brainstorming options. He had some good points that we hadn't considered. He seemed excited about trying something new and potentially using it with other clients.
In all of this, I can help thinking that it shouldn't be so much work for us. Not adopting a child--obviously that's not a process that someone should breeze through on a lark. But the work of trying to do this in a way that respects us and Ms B and her daughter and the father. A way that tries to acknowledge the harder aspects of adoption. A way we can feel good about twenty years from now. Sometimes that feels like an uphill battle.
This is the state we live in and it is the state Ms B's baby will be born in, so these are the laws we have to work with. We feel that we shouldn't just blindly follow them, though. Legal is not always the same as ethical, and our hope is (obviously) to do things legally but go beyond the legal minimums. It was something we talked about before starting the process, and something we discussed with the agency during our homestudy. (Every time we start talking about our messed-up adoption laws, T says he's going to run for the state legislature. It amuses me.)
We're at the point now where we need to arrange legal counsel for the possible adoption. So we spent some time on the phone today interviewing lawyers. We always opened by asking about their usual procedures, to get a sense of where they were coming from. It pained me how quickly some touted the state's "great" adoption laws. They were so eager to assure us they could get that baby permanently in our arms as quickly as possible, so sure that would be our primary concern as the potential adoptive parents.
We told them some of our discomforts with the current laws and that we hoped to find someone who would help us to find creative ways to work around them. (Hm, "around" sounds like we're trying to evade the laws. It's more "beyond" them.) It was discouraging how most just tried to talk us out of our convictions. One guy straight up lied to us about the law.
We just finished a conference call with a lawyer who seems promising, though. He generally represents more first parents than adoptive parents and understood our perspective. He was animated when brainstorming options. He had some good points that we hadn't considered. He seemed excited about trying something new and potentially using it with other clients.
In all of this, I can help thinking that it shouldn't be so much work for us. Not adopting a child--obviously that's not a process that someone should breeze through on a lark. But the work of trying to do this in a way that respects us and Ms B and her daughter and the father. A way that tries to acknowledge the harder aspects of adoption. A way we can feel good about twenty years from now. Sometimes that feels like an uphill battle.
December 14, 2007
I'm Just Discovering These
I ordered this little series of pocket guide books a while back for Ms B. Several were on the agency's suggested reading list and I thought she might appreciate them. She doesn't do the internet (I know!), so I didn't think she would pick them up on her own. They arrived earlier this week. I've been flipping through them and they're really good.
You can read the descriptions of the four guides at the Open Adoption Insight website, but they're sort of expanded brochures on some of the major issues for first parents in domestic adoption:
- What is Open Adoption? -- Advocates for fully open adoption and emphasizes the importance of honesty, respect and flexibility. Touches on some of the philosophy behind child-centered open adoption.
- Being a Birthparent: Finding Our Place -- Discusses of some of the unique challenges birth parents face and the ways in which becoming a birth parent is a transformative experience (for better and worse).
- Birthparent Grief -- Acknowledges the huge loss that results from adoption and defines some aspects of the resultant grief. Resolution isn't described as "moving on," but rather as integrating the loss of a child into your life in a sustainable way.
- Your Rights and Responsibilities -- An overview of expectant parents' legal rights throughout the process, but also their responsibilities to themselves and their children (like honesty, being well-informed). Covers a whole range of issues and questions--all those things that so many first parents have said they wish they had known to consider.
I just wanted to let you all know about them as potential resources, if you hadn't heard of them already. (I'm probably the last one!) Nothing replaces in-person counseling but the written word is powerful in its own way. I am the sort of person whose epiphanies often come in the quiet of my room with a book on my lap. And I figure even if these are things Ms B has already talking through with her therapist and/or social worker, it can never hurt to have the information in another format.
December 11, 2007
Ramble With Me
I owe you an update on the adoption process. I have been at a bit of a loss for what to write about it lately. Not because there is nothing on my mind, but because there is so much.
This is such a tricky time, because there is no clear ethical road map. The right choices seem simpler to me in the beginning of the adoption process (find a trustworthy agency, be honest) and while waiting to match (don't stress, don't go advertising for babies). This post-match/pre-placement time is less obvious, partly because it is so unique to each individual situation. It's hard to make a comprehensive black-and-white list: do this, don't do that.
We made peace with well-mitigated pre-birth matching at the beginning of the process (although I think the ongoing debate over it is an important one). But in any case, right now I am in this budding relationship with Ms B and clearly no baby has been born. So I am faced with how to conduct myself in the situation I am in now, inside the system we have now. The larger ethical debates are always in the back of my mind, but the choices I'm making are terribly personal to our tentative little triad. It is the tension you always face when doing justice (and I do think how one adopts can be a means of working for justice)--how to connect your ideals to the real.
I have been grateful for this time, not only for the opportunity to get to know one another but for the chance to ask questions about her situation and her process thus far. In an ideal system adoptive parents could come to a placement confident that the placing parents had made their decision fully informed and free of pressure. But we don't yet have that system. And in domestic infant adoption as it now stands I don't think we can chalk all the ethical issues up to systemic failures. We have personal ethical choices to make about our own conduct throughout the process. I feel I owe it to my kids to make sure I did everything I knew to do to make sure their placements were as ethical as possible. When the agency's role in all this is over, I'll still have to answer for the actions I took and the things I said or didn't say. I don't want to look back and realize I did too little.
I've noticed a change in Ms B since we first met her, a certain freedom in her emotional connection to her daughter. More talking to her and about her, a stronger sense of being bonded to her. More feeling like a mother, I suppose. Maybe it's just this final stage of the pregnancy. But Ms B and her social worker have both said that meeting our family made a difference in her general peace of mind. It is as if having the pieces of an adoption plan in place allowed her to more fully give herself to the pregnancy and to motherhood. If adoption is something she tries on and ultimately discards in favor of parenting, then the trying on seems to have helped her toward that in a way. It is a good change, in my mind. Now is the beginning of Ms B's lifelong relationship with her daughter, whether or not that is filtered through an open adoption. And as the social worker commented, unless that bonding is present, it is hard to really consider the ramifications of choosing adoption.
Ms B and I have talked some about options, we've talked about parenting. We've talked about loss and regret. It is an odd place to be in, because I am not her therapist, I am not her social worker, I am not family or friend. I am not even someone who knows her all that well. I don't think my job--or anyone's job, for that matter--is to talk her in or out of anything. This is her process, not mine. I'm seeing one small piece of her life; only she knows the how all the pieces fit together. But I also don't think I can just take everything at face value. I owe it to her, to her daughter, to myself to prod a little. To make sure all the things I believe are important to say have been said. It's not my role, necessarily, but I feel it's my obligation.
She asks us questions, too. About our approach to open adoption and about transracial parenting. About how our family works and how she would fit into it. She wanted to spend time with us with Puppy. There have definitely been times I have felt like we're auditioning for something. And more power to her for that. Being entrusted with someone else's child should be the hardest job I ever interview for.
It is difficult, because the more we trade questions, the more I sense her trusting me. The trust that is essential in a healthy open adoption, but potentially coercive prior to placement. And so I stay back, trying to give her space. Always trying to keep the balance.
This is such a tricky time, because there is no clear ethical road map. The right choices seem simpler to me in the beginning of the adoption process (find a trustworthy agency, be honest) and while waiting to match (don't stress, don't go advertising for babies). This post-match/pre-placement time is less obvious, partly because it is so unique to each individual situation. It's hard to make a comprehensive black-and-white list: do this, don't do that.
We made peace with well-mitigated pre-birth matching at the beginning of the process (although I think the ongoing debate over it is an important one). But in any case, right now I am in this budding relationship with Ms B and clearly no baby has been born. So I am faced with how to conduct myself in the situation I am in now, inside the system we have now. The larger ethical debates are always in the back of my mind, but the choices I'm making are terribly personal to our tentative little triad. It is the tension you always face when doing justice (and I do think how one adopts can be a means of working for justice)--how to connect your ideals to the real.
I have been grateful for this time, not only for the opportunity to get to know one another but for the chance to ask questions about her situation and her process thus far. In an ideal system adoptive parents could come to a placement confident that the placing parents had made their decision fully informed and free of pressure. But we don't yet have that system. And in domestic infant adoption as it now stands I don't think we can chalk all the ethical issues up to systemic failures. We have personal ethical choices to make about our own conduct throughout the process. I feel I owe it to my kids to make sure I did everything I knew to do to make sure their placements were as ethical as possible. When the agency's role in all this is over, I'll still have to answer for the actions I took and the things I said or didn't say. I don't want to look back and realize I did too little.
I've noticed a change in Ms B since we first met her, a certain freedom in her emotional connection to her daughter. More talking to her and about her, a stronger sense of being bonded to her. More feeling like a mother, I suppose. Maybe it's just this final stage of the pregnancy. But Ms B and her social worker have both said that meeting our family made a difference in her general peace of mind. It is as if having the pieces of an adoption plan in place allowed her to more fully give herself to the pregnancy and to motherhood. If adoption is something she tries on and ultimately discards in favor of parenting, then the trying on seems to have helped her toward that in a way. It is a good change, in my mind. Now is the beginning of Ms B's lifelong relationship with her daughter, whether or not that is filtered through an open adoption. And as the social worker commented, unless that bonding is present, it is hard to really consider the ramifications of choosing adoption.
Ms B and I have talked some about options, we've talked about parenting. We've talked about loss and regret. It is an odd place to be in, because I am not her therapist, I am not her social worker, I am not family or friend. I am not even someone who knows her all that well. I don't think my job--or anyone's job, for that matter--is to talk her in or out of anything. This is her process, not mine. I'm seeing one small piece of her life; only she knows the how all the pieces fit together. But I also don't think I can just take everything at face value. I owe it to her, to her daughter, to myself to prod a little. To make sure all the things I believe are important to say have been said. It's not my role, necessarily, but I feel it's my obligation.
She asks us questions, too. About our approach to open adoption and about transracial parenting. About how our family works and how she would fit into it. She wanted to spend time with us with Puppy. There have definitely been times I have felt like we're auditioning for something. And more power to her for that. Being entrusted with someone else's child should be the hardest job I ever interview for.
It is difficult, because the more we trade questions, the more I sense her trusting me. The trust that is essential in a healthy open adoption, but potentially coercive prior to placement. And so I stay back, trying to give her space. Always trying to keep the balance.
November 25, 2007
One Reason We Chose a Local Agency
A social worker from our adoption agency called the other day with a story to tell.
She was picking up a pizza with her kids last weekend. They were waiting in the lobby when she heard them call out the name of another customer to pick up his order. The name happened to be the same as the dad of Ms B's child.
When the guy stepped up to pay for his pizza, she realized it wasn't just that he had the right name. He was also the right age. The right color. The right build. They were in the right neighborhood.
She's been diligently calling him for a couple of months, trying to engage him in the process. They've talked once or twice over the phone, but he didn't show up for the one appointment they scheduled. She watched him walk out of the restaurant and thought, "If that is him, I can't pass this up." So she stuck her head out the door and said, "Excuse me. Do you know a woman named [Ms B]?"
It turned out to be him, the father of Ms B's baby. The social worker introduced herself. They had a little chat right there in the parking lot while her kids waited inside. He was polite. He asked for her card and said he would call her.
It may turn out to be nothing; he may never call. But the social worker feels that now they've at least met she can be a little more direct in talking to him. Trying to communicate that even if he doesn't want to raise his daughter, he doesn't need to give up the chance to be part of her life.
The morning of her call to me, I had actually been thinking about him quite a bit. Wondering what was going on for him, how everything was going to play out. Thinking about how hard it would be to explain why--when faced with such similar circumstances--R chose to commit to his kid and this guy didn't. Making a mental list of information to grab now to set her up well if she ever wanted to find him.
Although my particular faith compels me to believe that God at times orchestrates events both large and small, I am not one who sees meaning in every coincidence. But part of me so wants to find a purpose in this chance meeting. To be able to look back and realize this was a turning point.
She was picking up a pizza with her kids last weekend. They were waiting in the lobby when she heard them call out the name of another customer to pick up his order. The name happened to be the same as the dad of Ms B's child.
When the guy stepped up to pay for his pizza, she realized it wasn't just that he had the right name. He was also the right age. The right color. The right build. They were in the right neighborhood.
She's been diligently calling him for a couple of months, trying to engage him in the process. They've talked once or twice over the phone, but he didn't show up for the one appointment they scheduled. She watched him walk out of the restaurant and thought, "If that is him, I can't pass this up." So she stuck her head out the door and said, "Excuse me. Do you know a woman named [Ms B]?"
It turned out to be him, the father of Ms B's baby. The social worker introduced herself. They had a little chat right there in the parking lot while her kids waited inside. He was polite. He asked for her card and said he would call her.
It may turn out to be nothing; he may never call. But the social worker feels that now they've at least met she can be a little more direct in talking to him. Trying to communicate that even if he doesn't want to raise his daughter, he doesn't need to give up the chance to be part of her life.
The morning of her call to me, I had actually been thinking about him quite a bit. Wondering what was going on for him, how everything was going to play out. Thinking about how hard it would be to explain why--when faced with such similar circumstances--R chose to commit to his kid and this guy didn't. Making a mental list of information to grab now to set her up well if she ever wanted to find him.
Although my particular faith compels me to believe that God at times orchestrates events both large and small, I am not one who sees meaning in every coincidence. But part of me so wants to find a purpose in this chance meeting. To be able to look back and realize this was a turning point.
November 19, 2007
Confessions
Yesterday I bought a wee purple jumper from the baby girl clothes section.
But only after making sure February sits well within the store's window for returns.
I must have picked up that dress (so cute! so tiny!) and put it back down ten times before realizing IT'S JUST A PIECE OF CLOTHING. An Ethica SWAT team will not come banging down my door because I dared buy a dress for a girl who is not yet (and may never be) my daughter.
I have never regretted our decision to start our family via adoption. But it sure can make me crazy in the head sometimes.
But only after making sure February sits well within the store's window for returns.
I must have picked up that dress (so cute! so tiny!) and put it back down ten times before realizing IT'S JUST A PIECE OF CLOTHING. An Ethica SWAT team will not come banging down my door because I dared buy a dress for a girl who is not yet (and may never be) my daughter.
I have never regretted our decision to start our family via adoption. But it sure can make me crazy in the head sometimes.
October 26, 2007
Sixteen Things About Wednesday
Can't pick out a narrative from the last couple days, so a list it is:
- I tried on
a fewseveralsix different outfits Wednesday morning. - I picked up T from work to drive to our appointment and realized we inadvertently dressed in matching outfits. I seriously considered being late to the appointment so I could go home and change. I also considered dying on the spot of pre-emptive embarrassment.
- I wore the necklace.
- I spent most of the morning thinking about my appearance to avoid thinking about the fact that we were about meet someone who may become a permanent member of our family and how incredibly odd that is.
- Just before walking into the counselor's office, I heard Ms B's voice on the other side of the door. When I realized in a few steps we would meet I experienced a moment of pure panic.
The panic was short-lived and it was a pretty comfortable meeting. She described herself as a very private person, which is certainly something I can relate to. So I appreciated the extent to which she opened herself to us and I did my best to match it. I was impressed by the determination she has exhibited at various points in her life. - She brought two friends with her, a married couple. They had read our profile materials, which include pretty much everything there is to know about us short of n@ked photos. (The materials are a combination of the home study, autobiographies, health histories, and reflections on our family life and approach to adoption.) They are so revealing that I can't read through them to myself in one sitting because I feel so exposed. It was terribly vulnerable to sit in a room of people who all knew more about me than most of my friends, yet know next to nothing about them. I think it is fair considering the situation, but--dude, I'm ok if I don't do that again for awhile.
- Even more so than the first time we did this with Puppy's first parents, T and I were aware that it was the two of us entering into her decision-making process. This may be part of her pulling together the pieces of an adoptive placement. Or we may be part of her trying on the idea of adoption and ultimately deciding it is not the best course for her. Either way, we have this sense that we have a certain role and it's very much just one piece of the larger whole. There is a huge body of experience and history which brought her to this place, and there is of course so much going on right now in her life that we are not privy to.
The reverse is also true: she is a piece of the larger whole of our adoption process and our evolving family history. I think I once conceived of adoption as this linear storyline in which T and I were the central characters and meeting an expectant mom like Ms B filled in the "meeting 'our' 'birthmom'" slot. But this time it feels more like the overlap of two circles in a Venn diagram, ours and hers. - There wasn't any instant connection. I didn't walk in and think, "Oh, she's the one!" But c'mon, this is me we're talking about. If I ever say something like that no one will blame you if you notify the authorities that I appear to have been replaced by a pod person.
- She brought us some copies of pictures from her last ultrasound that she wanted us to have. There was 2-D ultrasound picture and some 3-D ones. I guess 3-D ultrasounds are pretty standard now? In the 2-D picture I thought the baby's nose was a foot, so obviously I rocked my response there. The 3-D ones are...creepy. (T on the way home: "Can we not put those on the refrigerator next to the food?") I think there is a reason babies grow where we can't see them. The baby did look all snuggly and relaxed, so I guess all is good on that front. It was very kind of her to share those with us.
- At one point I quoted myself verbatim from a blog post and completed my transformation into a living, breathing cliché.
- We went out to lunch afterward with Ms B and her friends. The friends monopolized the conversation, to the point of answering questions I asked B directly. I woke up the next day pretty frustrated about that. Not that they were there--Ms B had the right to invite along whatever support people she needed--but that B, T and I were facing this major decision that didn't directly involve them and hadn't been able to have decent conversation after we left the office.
- We exchanged phone numbers so we could continue to get to know one another. We hope to see her again sometime next month. The next agency-coordinated meeting with all three of us would be in January.
- The agency is working separately with the baby's dad. He has been reticent, not necessarily about the possible placement (or it wouldn't have gotten to this stage), but about openness and being much involved in the process or going to counseling. This is weighing heavily on my mind.
- There was some information we received on Wednesday that factored into our decision to move forward. I'm still working out what is appropriate to share.
- Ms B's daughter (that's right, I said daughter) is due February 8.
- If MaybeBaby joins the PNR clan, we'll be a transracial family.
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