The Los Angeles Times is doing a two-part series on open adoption, beginning today and ending Monday.
Part one looks at openness through the story of a family (families? a first family and adoptive family) who opened their adoption in the early days of the movement. I'm interested in seeing where the journalist takes the piece on Monday; it looks like she really did her homework. The list of adoption experts in the sidebar reads like a showdown of some of the biggest names on both sides of the debate.
I will say this now--I am terribly grateful for the families who went before ours and figured out openness more or less on their own. It is no overstatement to say that their commitment made my family possible.
ETA: Part two is up
August 05, 2007
August 04, 2007
Everything Is Scheduled
We're heading down to Southern California (en route to Mexico) next week, which means our house right now is a flurry of last-minute lists and phone calls.
We're seeing K and her parents on Friday. We're having dinner with R and his family on Wednesday.
I wish we lived closer together. I miss them. I miss having them see Puppy more frequently, and vice versa. He changes so much between visits and there is no way to capture that on film or in words. It's been eight months since we saw R, five since we last saw K.
I'm remembering the first time I heard about open adoption. T and I, freshly engaged, were visiting friends who had recently adopted. Over dessert in their living room, they told us the story of waiting and matching and being at their daughter's birth. It was a semi-open adoption and they lost touch with her first mother almost immediately after placement. I thought then that they had lucked out--they got to be there at the beginning of their daughter's life and didn't even have to bother with her birth mother after that. (My cheeks burn, remembering now.)
As I sat on their couch and sipped my coffee I had no idea that years later the thought of losing touch with my son's first parents like that would make my heart skip a beat.
We're seeing K and her parents on Friday. We're having dinner with R and his family on Wednesday.
I wish we lived closer together. I miss them. I miss having them see Puppy more frequently, and vice versa. He changes so much between visits and there is no way to capture that on film or in words. It's been eight months since we saw R, five since we last saw K.
I'm remembering the first time I heard about open adoption. T and I, freshly engaged, were visiting friends who had recently adopted. Over dessert in their living room, they told us the story of waiting and matching and being at their daughter's birth. It was a semi-open adoption and they lost touch with her first mother almost immediately after placement. I thought then that they had lucked out--they got to be there at the beginning of their daughter's life and didn't even have to bother with her birth mother after that. (My cheeks burn, remembering now.)
As I sat on their couch and sipped my coffee I had no idea that years later the thought of losing touch with my son's first parents like that would make my heart skip a beat.
August 02, 2007
I Even Shaved My Legs
I got together for a playdate today with some women I met posting on an online adoption forum. It was the first time I had done that, actually met someone face-to-face whom I only knew over the internet.
I imagine everyone wants to come into such meetings the epitome of put-togetherness: the confident woman with effortless wit and a well-behaved child. The other women acquitted themselves flawlessly. And me? Let's just say that by the end of the afternoon (to which I arrived late), while I gave a sticky Puppy a time-out on the strip mall sidewalk, everyone else's children were dutifully picking up the goldfish crackers he dumped next to his spilled smoothie.
If you told me one year ago that I would be doing something like this, I would have said you were nuts. Online forums seemed like a waste of time and I could barely gather the nerve to comment on someone else's blog. But one of the things we left behind when we moved last summer was our network of adoptive families. It was nothing formal, just friends and coworkers who had also adopted who were regularly in our lives. International, domestic, transracial, open, closed, public, private, family adoption--there was a bit of everything. There was always someone I could talk to without having to explain everything. And none of our kids were growing up as the only adopted person they knew.
When we moved, I had no idea how to go about adding adoptive families to our circle. I knew they were out there. But short of literally wearing my status on my chest or saying to strangers, "I notice your kid doesn't look like you. Was she adopted?," I wasn't sure what to do.
So I went online, hoping that it would one day lead to the kind of support I saw others enjoying and maybe even connections with some local-ish people. And, much to my surprise, those things have slowly started to happen.
We didn't go deep about adoption today, but that wasn't the point. It was enough that no one looked askance when the bottles came out or had to explain what they meant by "first dad." Everyone knew the freight carried by the word "wait" and the experience of coming into parenthood through relationship, not pregnancy. Being with a group that transforms your difference into similarity is such a restful thing. Even when you're the one with the overtired, messy kid.
I imagine everyone wants to come into such meetings the epitome of put-togetherness: the confident woman with effortless wit and a well-behaved child. The other women acquitted themselves flawlessly. And me? Let's just say that by the end of the afternoon (to which I arrived late), while I gave a sticky Puppy a time-out on the strip mall sidewalk, everyone else's children were dutifully picking up the goldfish crackers he dumped next to his spilled smoothie.
If you told me one year ago that I would be doing something like this, I would have said you were nuts. Online forums seemed like a waste of time and I could barely gather the nerve to comment on someone else's blog. But one of the things we left behind when we moved last summer was our network of adoptive families. It was nothing formal, just friends and coworkers who had also adopted who were regularly in our lives. International, domestic, transracial, open, closed, public, private, family adoption--there was a bit of everything. There was always someone I could talk to without having to explain everything. And none of our kids were growing up as the only adopted person they knew.
When we moved, I had no idea how to go about adding adoptive families to our circle. I knew they were out there. But short of literally wearing my status on my chest or saying to strangers, "I notice your kid doesn't look like you. Was she adopted?," I wasn't sure what to do.
So I went online, hoping that it would one day lead to the kind of support I saw others enjoying and maybe even connections with some local-ish people. And, much to my surprise, those things have slowly started to happen.
We didn't go deep about adoption today, but that wasn't the point. It was enough that no one looked askance when the bottles came out or had to explain what they meant by "first dad." Everyone knew the freight carried by the word "wait" and the experience of coming into parenthood through relationship, not pregnancy. Being with a group that transforms your difference into similarity is such a restful thing. Even when you're the one with the overtired, messy kid.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
