What I wish everyone knew about adoption

This post was originally written on September 13, 2011. These are my thoughts on what I wish everyone knew about adoption. It is being re-posted in honor of National Adoption Month.






A few weeks ago I was at a friend's home attending a home sales party when my friend asked me how life was going since our return from Russia with our new son. This was a good friend and so of course she knew about our adoption adventures. And everyone who knows us knows that we wear our adoption badge proudly - in our trans racial family it is certainly no secret that our boys are not American by birth. I don't mind a friend asking an innocent question about my family. What I do mind is what happened next. Another guest at this party, someone I had not met until that evening, made the following comment: "Why didn't you just have your own children? Can't you have children of your own?" While I was processing these questions another guest followed up with the statement nearly every adoptive mother has heard a million times: "You know, now that you have adopted you will surely get pregnant." I then did something I don't normally do at these types of events. I accepted the glass of wine the host was pushing into my hands and I smiled as I responded through clenched teeth: "Oh, well, with two little ones at home I am not interested in getting pregnant!" (cue awkward laughter.)

Adoption touches so many lives that nearly everyone knows someone who has joyously grown their family in this way. It's time to set the record straight. I am sure that most of these comments are meant with no harm intended. After all, people are naturally curious. But it's not just the thoughtless comments that burn into the memories of adoptive mothers everywhere. It is also conversations we are not included in and assumptions that are made about our decisions and our families.

I don't enjoy being left out of conversations about pregnancy and birth. Just because I didn't carry my child for nine months doesn't mean I didn't do all of the things an expectant mother does. I planned the nursery. I worried about the health of my new child. I dreamed about counting fingers and toes. I wondered what my baby would look like and if he or she would be more like me or my husband. I shopped for clothes and would sit in the chair in my baby's room, looking at the empty crib, full of anticipation. I didn't wait for labor pains to hit; I waited for the phone call and the travel letter to arrive. And once it did, my labor wasn't over in hours or days. The time between notification of travel to meet my sons and the day I held them in my arms took months. So don't think I don't have anything to offer to your conversations about pregnancy or labor.

And your stories about caring for newborns? Don't leave me out of those discussions either. While both my sons were older when they joined our family we still had our share of "newborn" type concerns. My oldest son was fifteen months old when he came home but his sleeping habits mirrored those of a much younger baby. He was difficult to put down and then once asleep he would wake frequently throughout the night, screaming. His night terrors lasted for over a year. I may not have cared for an infant but I understand sleep deprivation. I understand feeding difficulties and worrying over how much, or how little, formula the baby is taking. I have thoughts to add to your conversations, but so often I am not asked.

I had someone comment once to me about how adoption must have been "easier" than a traditional pregnancy. Just because I may not have talked about every part of our adoption process doesn't mean it was "easy". If your obstetrician chose to meet with you in the waiting room of his office, ask you very personal questions about your finances, your marriage, your extended family, your health, your home, your career, your fertility, or lack of fertility, while everyone in the room listened in, how would you feel? If you had to welcome the fire marshal into your home and allow him to poke into every closet and check your fire extinguishers, just to have him tell you that they weren't placed exactly in the right spot, or have him wait, impatiently, while you ran around placing outlet covers in the outlets on your counters, because "babies climb, you know", as if you were completely ignorant of how children behave, how would you feel? How about having to take off your clothes in front of doctors (note the plural there) that you have never met, in a room in a foreign country while other total strangers milled about just outside the not completely closed door, and everyone in the room talked about you in a language you didn't understand? Or having to meet with a psychologist to prove that you are appropriate parent material? What if you went to the hospital to deliver your baby but was not guaranteed to bring that baby home with you? What if a judge held the fate of your family in his or her hands? After undergoing two rounds of invitrovertilization I know how invasive the pregnancy medical appointments and delivery must be. I am not saying that adoption is more difficult than traditional pregnancy and birth. But I am saying that just because I didn't receive an epidural doesn't mean that somehow adoption is the easier choice.

I need you to know how frustrating it is when I am told about women who adopted and then found themselves pregnant. First of all, no one knows the story of our fertility except us. When these types of comments are made so are a lot of assumptions. I may be able to have biological children. I may not be able to have biological children. Either way, our choice to adopt was not some convoluted way to conceive. It was not "plan B". And I never want my children to ever think that it was. It was God's plan for me to have my tender hearted, smart, music and football loving Chinese boy and my sweet, tough, dancing Russian boy. And we all know that God doesn't have a backup plan. There is no "plan B" where my boys are concerned.

I wish as my boys grow older they will be seen for the wonderful individuals they are. I hope that they will not be introduced as my "adopted" boys but simply as my boys. I have never once introduced my niece by saying, "This is my niece. She was born prematurely but is doing great now!" Sounds crazy, right? But that is how my boys are referred to every day. Every day. And while I write about adoption and adoption related issues frequently I do not push that onto my boys. I want the history my boys have from the months they lived before they joined our family to be cherished and remembered, but I also want it to be placed appropriately in the overall scheme of their lives. I want people to look at them and see just them.

I want the questions about my reproductive system to stop. I am not going to tell you how much it costs to adopt internationally. If someone is seriously interested in adoption I am the first person to share the joys and the low points of the process. I love love love to talk about growing families through adoption. But I will not answer a question that makes it sound as though I somehow purchased my children. Please stop reducing my family to dollars and cents.

So many people assume that our children arrived to our family just the way they are now. With a biological child you learn to parent as the child grows. The child learns the language you speak. The child learns to love you and bonds with you, never for a moment thinking that you might one day be gone. My children learned to sooth themselves because maternal figures came and went. They learned to speak, or at least to understand, in a language different from my own. And my husband and I learned to parent in hotel rooms and airports. When our son needed medical attention we didn't have the luxury of calling our pediatrician or running down to the corner drugstore for antibiotics. My tiny, underweight fifteen month old was treated at a hospital in a foreign country. He screamed as I handed him through a window, a window, to have blood taken. I could hear him screaming but could not hold him or comfort him. I tried to keep him clean as I watched parents wring out not just wet, but soiled diapers onto the concrete floor of the hospital waiting room, which was outside, so that the diaper could be used again. I struggled with the question of whether to give my new son the mystery powder with the unreadable label or just hope the bronchitis worked itself out on it's own. We didn't have the luxury of making our parenting mistakes in the privacy of our own home. We made our slip ups in public, in airports, hotels, and flights full of witnesses. Talk about feeling judged.

I don't think about these issues very often. It is important to me that you understand that. I don't dislike the way we are viewed as a family. I don't think that every kind smile or comment is a reflection of our adoption story. My kids are adorable and high energy; it's hard not to look. I get lots of great comments as well. One of my favorites came after I returned home with my youngest son. The entire month long trip had been difficult and the three day journey home, alone with a toddler, was difficult as well. My sweet friend Karen probably had no idea how much her words meant to me when she said "I have no doubt that your labor was much harder than mine." Harder, I don't know. But at least just as difficult, in it's own way. So there are great comments made. But there are also times when I just wish the world out there knew what I knew. So now, a few more of you do.

if mothering were a drug, it would be a Category "C"

I was pregnant once, for about a week. And then there was another time that I was "possibly" pregnant. Yes, through the wonders of IVF you can be "possibly" pregnant. "Your levels are high enough to maybe be pregnant but we really need to wait a few days and take another few gallons of blood to be sure." But the other time, when I was really truly pregnant my husband and I received the startling news while in the hospital ER, where I had gone for a totally unrelated issue. Imagine our surprise - we weren't even trying to have a baby. I came home from the hospital dazed and surprised, and armed with pamphlets on how to care for myself, safely, especially how to treat the horrible case of flu I was suffering. I landed squarely in the world of drugs and their alphabetical categorizations.

Category "A" are the drugs considered completely safe for a pregnant woman to ingest. Basically, it's vitamins. Category "B" are generally safe. These drugs have been proven to not have any adverse effects on the baby. The categories go down to "D", if I remember correctly. Category "D" drugs you don't even think about taking, no questions asked.

But Category "C" is the one that always worried me. These drugs are sometime safe. Sometimes not. Sometimes it depends on the doctor prescribing them, as every doctor has a different opinion. often the decision to take these medications is based on the potential outcome. If the expected outcome outweighs the potential risks then you take the drug. Category "C" is a very gray area. I understand gray areas, and even enjoy them in some aspects of my life. Many a passionate discussion has been had over a "gray" area - religion, politics, sexual orientation, career choices - I am thankful that this world is not black and white. But when it comes to parenting I wish it weren't so gray. When it comes to my parenting decisions I often feel as though I am trapped in a Category "C" kind of life. I find that Category "C" is a tricky place to be. And I feel as though many of my motherhood decisions fall into this gray and confusing category.

Some of my mothering decisions falls very easily into an understandable category. Kissing my boys goodnight, Category "A". Taking my shoe off and beating my child with it- Category "D". Give a time out when the 2 year old refuses to sit at the dinner table? Category"C".  Do enough research on a discipline or children's medical issue and you will find experts weighing in on both sides of the equation. I feel as though many of the decisions I make regarding my boys are Category "C" decisions.

• pulling the preschooler out of school all day for mommy and matthew time
• allowing the tiny toddler to eat the cheerios he just found on the floor, even though I cannot remember when we last had cheerios. On the one hand, they may have been there a while, but on the other hand, I scrub the floor frequently, so how old could they really be?
• letting my big four and a half year old ride his scooter without a helmet.
• the occasional all day pajama and television fest that occurs in my living room.
• letting the big four and a half year old occasionally sleep in my bed with me when he wakes up at the crack of dawn.
• giving my boys juice. in sippy cups.
• giving my big four and a half year old most of his drinks in sippy cups instead of  teaching him how not to spill.
• occasionally giving the boys popsicles for breakfast.
• pulling pants out of the hamper for the boys to wear again.
• testing the truth in advertising when they say those diapers will hold for 12 hours. (please don't judge me. most of those hours are spent asleep.)
• allowing the boys to watch tv during breakfast on a school day just so they will, for god's sake, eat and get moving.
• putting the baby to bed in the crib awake. not crying, but awake.

My Catagory "C" list could go on and on. Daily I allow my boys to do something that I feel maybe I shouldn't do. We all do, I am sure. As mothers, we are sometimes frustrated, in need of a few moments of peace, or just plain tired.

We all allow Catagory "C" to creep into our daily routines. I don't know about you, but I know that I need to give myself a break when this happens. And if your Catagory "C" moments are weighing on your heart, then you need to give yourself a break too. Besides, I have to say, I don't think my boys are any worse off for my moments of weakness. This parenting job is a long exhausting journey and there are going to be Catagory "C" moments. Which is hard for me, a past straight A student. I want to always be an A. I strive to always  be an A. But sometimes, I will be lucky to be a C. And I need to be ok with that.

side note: this former straight A student can't spell the word "category" and misspelled it every single time in this post. Thank goodness for spell check. The word shows up at least 15 times here- it took me longer to fix the spelling errors than to write the post!

God doesn't have a Plan B- what I wish everyone knew about adoption

A few weeks ago I was at a friend's home attending a home sales party when my friend asked me how life was going since our return from Russia with our new son. This was a good friend and so of course she knew about our adoption adventures. And everyone who knows us knows that we wear our adoption badge proudly - in our trans racial family it is certainly no secret that our boys are not American by birth. I don't mind a friend asking an innocent question about my family. What I do mind is what happened next. Another guest at this party, someone I had not met until that evening, made the following comment: "Why didn't you just have your own children? Can't you have children of your own?" While I was processing these questions another guest followed up with the statement nearly every adoptive mother has heard a million times: "You know, now that you have adopted you will surely get pregnant." I then did something I don't normally do at these types of events. I accepted the glass of wine the host was pushing into my hands and I smiled as I responded through clenched teeth: "Oh, well, with two little ones at home I am not interested in getting pregnant!" (cue awkward laughter.)

Adoption touches so many lives that nearly everyone knows someone who has joyously grown their family in this way. It's time to set the record straight. I am sure that most of these comments are meant with no harm intended. After all, people are naturally curious. But it's not just the thoughtless comments that burn into the memories of adoptive mothers everywhere. It is also conversations we are not included in and assumptions that are made about our decisions and our families.

I don't enjoy being left out of conversations about pregnancy and birth. Just because I didn't carry my child for nine months doesn't mean I didn't do all of the things an expectant mother does. I planned the nursery. I worried about the health of my new child. I dreamed about counting fingers and toes. I wondered what my baby would look like and if he or she would be more like me or my husband. I shopped for clothes and would sit in the chair in my baby's room, looking at the empty crib, full of anticipation. I didn't wait for labor pains to hit; I waited for the phone call and the travel letter to arrive. And once it did, my labor wasn't over in hours or days. The time between notification of travel to meet my sons and the day I held them in my arms took months. So don't think I don't have anything to offer to your conversations about pregnancy or labor.

And your stories about caring for newborns? Don't leave me out of those discussions either. While both my sons were older when they joined our family we still had our share of "newborn" type concerns. My oldest son was fifteen months old when he came home but his sleeping habits mirrored those of a much younger baby. He was difficult to put down and then once asleep he would wake frequently throughout the night, screaming. His night terrors lasted for over a year. I may not have cared for an infant but I understand sleep deprivation. I understand feeding difficulties and worrying over how much, or how little, formula the baby is taking. I have thoughts to add to your conversations, but so often I am not asked.

I had someone comment once to me about how adoption must have been "easier" than a traditional pregnancy. Just because I may not have talked about every part of our adoption process doesn't mean it was "easy". If your obstetrician chose to meet with you in the waiting room of his office, ask you very personal questions about your finances, your marriage, your extended family, your health, your home, your career, your fertility, or lack of fertility, while everyone in the room listened in, how would you feel? If you had to welcome the fire marshal into your home and allow him to poke into every closet and check your fire extinguishers, just to have him tell you that they weren't placed exactly in the right spot, or have him wait, impatiently, while you ran around placing outlet covers in the outlets on your counters, because "babies climb, you know", as if you were completely ignorant of how children behave, how would you feel? How about having to take off your clothes in front of doctors (note the plural there) that you have never met, in a room in a foreign country while other total strangers milled about just outside the not completely closed door, and everyone in the room talked about you in a language you didn't understand? Or having to meet with a psychologist to prove that you are appropriate parent material? What if you went to the hospital to deliver your baby but was not guaranteed to bring that baby home with you? What if a judge held the fate of your family in his or her hands? After undergoing two rounds of invitrovertilization I know how invasive the pregnancy medical appointments and delivery must be. I am not saying that adoption is more difficult than traditional pregnancy and birth. But I am saying that just because I didn't receive an epidural doesn't mean that somehow adoption is the easier choice.

I need you to know how frustrating it is when I am told about women who adopted and then found themselves pregnant. First of all, no one knows the story of our fertility except us. When these types of comments are made so are a lot of assumptions. I may be able to have biological children. I may not be able to have biological children. Either way, our choice to adopt was not some convoluted way to conceive. It was not "plan B". And I never want my children to ever think that it was. It was God's plan for me to have my tender hearted, smart, music and football loving Chinese boy and my sweet, tough, dancing Russian boy. And we all know that God doesn't have a backup plan. There is no "plan B" where my boys are concerned.

I wish as my boys grow older they will be seen for the wonderful individuals they are. I hope that they will not be introduced as my "adopted" boys but simply as my boys. I have never once introduced my niece by saying, "This is my niece. She was born prematurely but is doing great now!" Sounds crazy, right? But that is how my boys are referred to every day. Every day. And while I write about adoption and adoption related issues frequently I do not push that onto my boys. I want the history my boys have from the months they lived before they joined our family to be cherished and remembered, but I also want it to be placed appropriately in the overall scheme of their lives. I want people to look at them and see just them.

I want the questions about my reproductive system to stop. I am not going to tell you how much it costs to adopt internationally. If someone is seriously interested in adoption I am the first person to share the joys and the low points of the process. I love love love to talk about growing families through adoption. But I will not answer a question that makes it sound as though I somehow purchased my children. Please stop reducing my family to dollars and cents.

So many people assume that our children arrived to our family just the way they are now. With a biological child you learn to parent as the child grows. The child learns the language you speak. The child learns to love you and bonds with you, never for a moment thinking that you might one day be gone. My children learned to sooth themselves because maternal figures came and went. They learned to speak, or at least to understand, in a language different from my own. And my husband and I learned to parent in hotel rooms and airports. When our son needed medical attention we didn't have the luxury of calling our pediatrician or running down to the corner drugstore for antibiotics. My tiny, underweight fifteen month old was treated at a hospital in a foreign country. He screamed as I handed him through a window, a window, to have blood taken. I could hear him screaming but could not hold him or comfort him. I tried to keep him clean as I watched parents wring out not just wet, but soiled diapers onto the concrete floor of the hospital waiting room, which was outside, so that the diaper could be used again. I struggled with the question of whether to give my new son the mystery powder with the unreadable label or just hope the bronchitis worked itself out on it's own. We didn't have the luxury of making our parenting mistakes in the privacy of our own home. We made our slip ups in public, in airports, hotels, and flights full of witnesses. Talk about feeling judged.

I don't think about these issues very often. It is important to me that you understand that. I don't dislike the way we are viewed as a family. I don't think that every kind smile or comment is a reflection of our adoption story. My kids are adorable and high energy; it's hard not to look. I get lots of great comments as well. One of my favorites came after I returned home with my youngest son. The entire month long trip had been difficult and the three day journey home, alone with a toddler, was difficult as well. My sweet friend Karen probably had no idea how much her words meant to me when she said "I have no doubt that your labor was much harder than mine." Harder, I don't know. But at least just as difficult, in it's own way. So there are great comments made. But there are also  times when I just wish the world out there knew what I knew. So now, a few more of you do.

my current favorite things list

my current favorite things...

homemade berry bliss muffins. strawberry and blueberry heaven.

matthew's new responsibility chart. he calls the magnets "stickers" and he can't wait to earn them. we have been using for 7 days, and have had 7 days of my 3 year old making his bed, helping to set the table, getting dressed by himself... nirvana via little round smiley face magnets...

my favorite holiday mug. i like it so much i don't even store it with the christmas decorations. it is really big and can hold lots of hot chocolate, irish coffee, or lose leaf tea.

Dax the Wonder zhu zhu pet. this is MY new toy, and I love it! Plus, it is great fun to turn him loose in the kitchen when the cat is about...

other things I am currently absolutely thrilled about...

• Starbucks red cup is back. There is something about this simple color change from traditional white and green to holiday red that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside...
• the fact that two people I really like have recently told me they are pregnant. I am so happy for both of them! (and this time I really mean it- possibly for the first time in years, I am honestly thrilled when I hear of a pending birth- and that feels really really good.)
• my current view from the kitchen table- both my boys on the living room floor building a monster train track. awwww.

stress, arm pain, roller coasters and the principal's office

Yesterday was not a particularly good day. I spend my work days in a perpetual state of chaos, always feeling as though I am not doing enough, not spending enough time with every member of my team, not reviewing the right data, not submitting the right report at the right time. I usually try not to worry about this feeling because I know that many other regionals at my company feel the same way. The organization has high standards and high expectations, and so do I. My boss and my fellow regionals make me want to be a better leader and coach, and so I put even more pressure on myself and give even more. I know this is the pattern, and it works. I work in a constantly changing field, for a large corporation that takes what feels like rather sudden twists and turns but what are,  in reality, carefully thought out and calculated steps towards success in this economy. There are some days that I feel as though all I do is put out fires. Then there are other days that seem like one endless conference call. Other days I feel as though I have spent half my life in the car, the painful reality of a road warrior. never does it seem as though I spend enough time coaching, teaching and mentoring. Yesterday was a fire day. I had my fireman hat on all day long, soothing nerves, talking team members off ledges, correcting others mis-steps. My to do list in my Franklin Planner grew longer and longer, and there were very few check marks, to me the sign of a successful work day. Perhaps tomorrow I should simply write "put out fires" in my planner. That, at least, I could check off.

Somewhere around 2:00 yesterday my entire right arm started to hurt. It was a nagging pain, one that wouldn't subside with movement or Tylenol. I was vaguely worried about this pain so I did what everyone does in this easy access to information world we live in - I logged on to webmd. I immediately ruled out broken bones and shingles. Nothing really fit, so I gave up searching for answers online, satisfied that it wasn't a symptom of something truly bad.

After spending all day putting out fires with severe pain in my arm I spent some time on the phone with our consultant from the adoption agency. You would think I would have this more pulled together, it being my second time hacking my way through this paperwork, but I don't. It didn't get any easier. In fact, I think it might have gotten harder, because this program is so new. No one really has all the answers, there were no families blazing the trail before us, working out all the kinks. I hung up the phone slightly more confused than when I placed the call. The calls that followed, to the local police station, the Franklin County sheriff's office, and the BCI did nothing but increase my confusion and agitation.

Fires, arm pain, frustrating phone calls that led to more questions instead of answers - I head into daycare to pick up my son. My precious little baby boy. My sweet little angel who was summoned to the director's office earlier that day because he keeps tackling his friends. Now I don't think he is alone in this; many of the boys are rough housing and many of them are getting called on it every day. But I am not concerned about those other boys. Yesterday  my son had his first visit to the principals office, so to speak. Truly a proud moment.

I wanted to attend the first MOPS meeting of the year but couldn't. Between the arm pain, which was really distracting and the fact that I didn't want to put Matthew in the Moppets room for 2 hours after being in day care all day I just couldn't pull it together to go. Sometimes you just know when you need to call the game and go home.

The entire rest of the evening, through dinner, cleaning up, putting clean clothes away, tidying the upstairs, two thoughts swam through my head. "My arm really hurts", and "We are never going to get this dossier done in time." I couldn't pull my head away from the logistics of getting signatures notarized, the photos a friend will be taking of our little family later this week, the fact that our birth certificates and marriage license still have not arrived, the increasing arm pain, and my son's visit to the day care director's office. Add how far behind I feel I am at work and you've got the recipe for a total meltdown. Which occurred at exactly the  moment I lay down in bed. Step 1. brush teeth. Step 2. Lay down and pull blankets up to chin. Step 3. unleash massive tears.

Normally I press on. I handle things well. Today I woke up with no arm pain and a fresh perspective on how I am going to get all this done. But last night all I could think about were those happily pregnant women who go about their normal lives for 9 months while they wait for junior to appear. They don't have to prove they are worthy. They don't have to jump through someone else's hoops. I know this is unrealistic. I have been pregnant. I know that there is worry and fear and invasive doctor's appointments mixed in with the joy. But last night I didn't care about any of that. Everyone who has been there will tell you that the adoption journey is a roller coaster of emotions, with many highs and many lows. And last night was truly a low. It was a low I haven't felt in a very long time.

Today I am back to knowing that we were placed on this journey for a reason. So what if I have to prove my worthiness to be a parent? So what if I have to jump through hoops?  The first time I jumped through those hoops I was given the opportunity to parent the most spectacular child. I get to learn Serbian words to add to my limited Chinese vocabulary. I get to celebrate little christmas along with autumn moon festival and chinese new year. We will add to our family and we will have the children we were meant to have. Today I know this. Today I worked at solving the time crunch issue with our dossier, instead of throwing in the towel. Tomorrow I will hack away at it a little more.

I usually carry all my stress in my neck and upper back. I always know it has been a bad day when I can't lower my chin to my chest without blinding pain. Maybe yesterday's wicked arm pain was a new way my body will show stress. Maybe I pinched something. Who knows. Today it was gone, and so were my doubts and heavy heart. Today the roller coaster started back up the big hill.