My T-shirt Today is a Solid Grey

I'm generally not one to make statements with my t-shirts. (Save my "This is what a feminist looks like" tee, of which I am ridiculously fond.) And I'm a little resistant to most things that reduce adoption to twee soundbites. So it probably goes without saying that I don't have any adoption-themed shirts in my closet. Or in the kids' closet, for that matter. Just not my cup of tea.

But there's twee and there's offsensive. I thought we had hit the lowest point with that Adoption is the New Pregnant shirt* that came out a couple of years ago. Remember that? The one that manages to demean adoptees (you're a fad!), first moms (sure, you actually were pregnant, but whatever), and adoptive parents (we're just being trendy, plus all we really really want is a pregnancy) all at once?

Then the other night I had the misfortune of finding this:

If you can't read the text, it says, "Parenthood is an act of nuture, not nature."**

My fellow adoptive parents, we're better than this. C'mon. Are we really so insecure that the only way we can feel good about our families is to tell the world, "Birth parents are nothing! We're everything!"? Then let's just print up some shirts that say "I'm the only REAL parent" and be done with it already.

I know (and am grateful) that Todd and I get to be Firefly and Puppy's parents. We're their everyday parents, their publicly recognized parents, their legal parents. I get that we are the ones parenting Firefly and Puppy. But we're not their only parents. They each had a mother and a father before we entered their lives. Every single person who was adopted did, even if those parents weren't very involved, were abusive, or (in the case of some dads) didn't even know about the pregnancy. The fact of their parenthood still exists; adoption changes the shape of it, but it doesn't erase it. It's like the most elemental truth of adoption: your kids had parents before you, regardless of whatever birth/biological/first/natural/genetic qualifier you choose to add. And that fact makes all the difference in the world. If it didn't, there wouldn't be umpteen books and blogs and magazines and workshops devoted to adoptive parenting. And no one would feel the need wear a shirt insulting birth parents just to feel like more of a parent themselves.

Thanks to open adoption, Puppy and Firefly are able to be nurtured by some of their first parents, too. They get a little bit of that nature/nurture combination that a lot of us non-adopted folks took for granted growing up. It matters to me, as their adoptive parent, that I can affirm their "nature" connections and make emotional space for them to think and talk about their first families. It's about affirming the whole of who they are, both nature and nurture (plus their own unique-to-them bits). About not sending the message that they are only allowed to think of themselves as my son and daughter. By saying "nature" is nothing and "nurture" is everything, this shirt tries to erase a big chunk of their identity.

The website copy says that it's a shirt for "all adoptive parents." But this is one who would never let it anywhere near her closet. And before an adoptive parent buys it, I think they need to answer the question, "Would you wear this in front of your child's birth parents?" And if the answer is no, why would you wear it at all?

* Under sizing, that website notes, "One size fits most bumps." For a shirt clearly designed for adoptive/adopting parents. Way to know your target audience, there.
** See also, "Fatherhood requires love, not DNA"

People Are Not So Bright Sometimes

T was talking to some acquaintances of ours and mentioned that we would be seeing Ms B soon.

One of the people listening wanted to clarify that B was Puppy's birth mom, too. Confused, T explained that, no, our kids have completely different first families.

Why would this person think that Puppy and Firefly shared a birth mom, you ask? In his words: "Oh, I just thought--I mean, you always call them brother and sister."

***

Which made me remember a time I shared a straw or a spoon or something--maybe it was a lollipop?--with Puppy in front of some other moms. One woman was looking at me funny and I asked her if she wasn't big on sharing straws/spoons/lollipops. Because some people just don't like the idea of sharing utensils, you know? My dad is like that.

She answered that of course she didn't mind sharing with her children, but that was because she is related to them (emphasis hers). Shared DNA makes a spit-covered lollipop less gross, I guess.

I just pointed out that she wasn't genetically related to her husband but I bet she had shared a lot more than a spoon with him.

Reading Between the Lines

When you say...

• you don't think you should have to deal with birth parents after the adoption is done;
  
• you're sometimes grateful your child was abandoned with no information, because that way it's like his history starts with you;
  
• you don't believe in openness because it is uncomfortable;
• that birth parents should be able move on with their lives, knowing that their child is loved and safe with you;
• that speaking ill of your daughter's first parents has no effect on her, since they're not her family anymore;
  
• you know your child is fine with her adoption because she never brings it up;
• you never talk about adoption in your family because it's an event that's done and in the past
  

...what I hear is that you became a parent through adoption, but you don't really want to be an adoptive parent.

At Least

"At least you were able to adopt."
"At least you were able to be there when he was born."
"At least you got a kid who looks like you."
"At least you know where she came from."

"At least you still get to see her."
"At least you know you're not infertile."
"At least you know he's safe."
"At least you don't have to deal with diapers and screaming kids."

"At least she has some medical history."
"At least he has that one copy of his original birth certificate."
"At least he wasn't abandoned on a doorstep or something."
"At least they'll know you wanted them."

These are all things people have said to me, to my kids' first moms, or about my children. Always in response to us opening up about the harder aspects of infertility or adoption. We crack the door to give them a peek at our emotions and they use the opening to kick us.

I'm know they're trying to be comforting, pointing out the cloud's silver lining and all that. (Although sometimes they're lashing out of their own hurt.) I admit that I've done it to others in the past, especially when I was younger and hadn't yet experienced core-shaking grief. Looking back, I'm ashamed at how I tried to mitigate their loss.

There are experiences in life which permanently change us. To have someone minimize those is deeply troubling. I love the mis-matched, not-genetically-related, adoptive family we are. I wouldn't change who my children are for the world. But the parallel losses--not knowing what a biological child of ours would look like, not being my children's sole mother, not knowing them from the womb--are still there. Even though they no longer hold the emotional power they once did, they have shaped the ways I identify myself. When someone minimizes those losses, they are minimizing me. The same goes for my children or their first parents.

There will be a moment when you're confronted with a friend's anger, grief or fear over an injustice or loss. Maybe it will make you uncomfortable. Maybe it will dredge up a hurt of your own. If you find yourself about to point out that it could be worse, please don't.

At least you could honor her experience.

The Next Cutting Edge Adoption Issue?

If my rabbits' records* are opened before my son's**, there will be hell to pay.

I'm all kinds of curious about this now. Is there really such a thing as a pet adoption record? And why in God's green earth would it be closed? Do they issue little breeding certificates with the owners' names listed as the biological parents?

* Don't tell anyone, but there aren't any records. Our rabbits were totally black-market adoptions.
** Firefly was adopted in an open records state.

Fading into the Background

Gold stars all around if you can tell me what's missing from these magazine covers:

Aw, how sweet. The Jolie-Pitts have become a beautiful family of five.

What's that you say? They actually have other three other children? Don't be silly. Everyone knows adopted kids aren't really family, especially those embarrassingly obvious transracial adoptees.

I'm not surprised, but I am royally annoyed. Especially since their eldest child is old enough to read and understand this slight.

Bonus gold star if you can answer this head-scratcher: if one of their adopted children was white, would he/she have been acknowledged on the cover? My guess is still no.

A Bathroom Conversation

We went briefly with Ms B to a small church thing so she could introduce the group to Firefly. I was in the bathroom changing a diaper when a woman came through with her young son. I honestly thought she knew Ms B, which was the only reason I let this conversation go the way it did. I didn't want to be rude to someone in Ms B's world.

"Is that your baby?"

"Yes."

"Out of your body?"

"No, it was an adoption."

"Is she black?"

"Yes--well, she's biracial."

"Why do people always pick the biracial ones?"

I decide to ignore both the truth in her statement and her assumptions about me. I'm now keenly aware that she is African-American and I am not. "Well, we didn't pick her, her mom picked us."

"Is your husband black?"

"No, he's white."

"Huh. So why'd she give her to you?"

"I think you'd need to ask her. She's [Ms B]'s baby. [Ms B Lastname]?" I gesture toward the room outside.

"I don't know her. Wait, so her mom still sees her?"

"Yes, that's what open adoption is."

"That must be hard on you."

"Well, I think about her [Firefly] in the future and how much harder it would be for her to not know all her parents or where she came from."

"Are you going to have your own kids?"

"Probably not. And she is my own." I look down at Firefly and she squeaks happily.

"Look, she knows who you are. You're her new mom."

"Mmm-hm. I'm one of her moms."

"She seems happy. She's cute."

"Thanks."

"Weird." She starts to leave. "This parenting thing. I don't know. I didn't know how hard..." She gestures at her son. "Will you take mine?"

Say Anything Else

I have enjoyed introducing Firefly to our little community. I have not enjoyed some of the things people are saying to us. What ever happened to, "Congratulations"?

Typically I don't mind people's ill-thought-out comments too much; heaven knows I've made enough of them myself. But I've been a bit overwhelmed by the sheer volume of them lately--and by the fact that the exact same ones keep falling out of folks' mouths:

1. "Where did she come from?"
   
   
2. "I thought she would be darker."
   
   
3. "So are you going to have to do cornrows and beads?"
   
   
4. "You adopted [Puppy]? Really?"
   
   
5. "How nice for you that you did this the easy way."

I know that we'll hear less of these as the novelty of Firefly wears off. But even just a week off would be nice right about now.

At least I've gotten my responses down pat.

Non-sequitur

K mentioned to a friend that we're hoping to adopt a sibling for Puppy.

Her "friend" asked if that meant K was hooking up with R again.

Ahem.

If I had known all we needed to do was place an order with K and R, we wouldn't have bothered with all that tedious adoption prep these last seven months.

The things no one tells you about adoption. Sheesh.

Why is it...

... that when I mention open adoption to acquaintances for the first time, they almost always bring up first parents who might pose a danger to their children?

Yes, there are cases in which direct contact between first parents and their children wouldn't be beneficial. No one is arguing that. But somehow those situations are held up as the norm.

When I tell them I'm married, they don't warn me that spouses can be abusers and some marriages end with restraining orders. Yet they assume we should approach our relationship with Puppy's first parents with great caution. The idea that K and R are just normal people in an unusual family arrangement is quite a paradigm shift.

I wonder if people bring up Joan Crawford when K and R tell them about us. I doubt it. We adoptive parents get much better PR.

What is so frightening about open adoptions that people who aren't near them automatically assume the worst?

A Conversation with My MIL

"[Puppy's cousin] is a genius," declares my mother-in-law.

I laugh, thinking she's kidding. Puppy's cousin is one year and two days older than Pup. T and I regularly joke about parents who declare their toddlers geniuses based on the flimsiest of evidence. Timmy's an early talker--call Harvard! But I suddenly realize she's completely serious.

"Oh? How so?"

She launches into a description of a toddler with great verbal skills, a good memory, and a wonderful imagination. He's fascinated by animals right now and can tell you all kinds of details about their natural habitats, what they eat, etc. And apparently he counts.

"That's great! He sounds like he's a fun kid to be around."

"He's just brilliant. It's really no surprise. I mean, look at who his parents are."

"Yes. [Tom's brother and sister-in-law] do a wonderful job with their boys."

"[Puppy] won't be where [his cousin] is developmentally this time next year. But that's okay."


Alrighty then! I still haven't figured out whether she was insulting Puppy's genetics or our parenting. But either way? Dude, not cool.

What's Your Damage?

I get it. You're stuck in the notion that families waiting to adopt domestically are in some big competition. You still think it's about what you "deserve." You waited almost two years before your daughter was placed with you. It was hard to wait. When you hear we didn't wait very long, you don't think it's fair. You're right. It's not fair. I can think of about three things in domestic adoption which are fair.

But if you ever tell me again that the only reason you waited so long is that you weren't "willing to accept a damaged child," I will look your little girl in the eyes and say, "Sweetie, I'm sorry you got such a damaged mama."