What is the Magic Number?

I always thought I wanted at least two children, maybe three. But things are just not working out (it’s been a year and a half since trying to adopt a second child) and maybe the “plan” is for us to have only one. I’m not feeling sorry for myself; I don’t work that way. I’m just trying to be honest with myself, and prepare myself (as best I can) for what the future may hold.

Let’s face it; I’m not getting any younger. I know people have kids at a lot older age than I am now, but I do not want to be 40 bringing home an infant (and, well, 40 isn’t that far away). And, we’ve got a great thing going right now: a wonderful, amazing four-year-old daughter that we feel so lucky to have, we can afford to do things we might not be able to afford with two (or three) kids (like vacations!), and we’re comfortable. By that I mean, we’ve got our “routine” down and we’re all three having a great time together.

But I have to admit, I finally understand how those women who have one or two children—but desperately want another child—feel. For the longest time, I couldn’t help but think, “Get over it, Ladies! You have one (or two) wonderful children at home. If you want another so badly and can’t get pregnant, adopt already.”

Ah, the irony of it all.

It breaks my heart to write this, let alone think it. I really feel I’m meant to parent more than one child. And I don’t want people assuming I’m feeling sorry for myself. I appreciate the sentiment and support of my family and friends—I truly do—and I know people are just trying to help when they tell me to be patient or that “good things come to those who wait.”

But having gone through this process before (though with our daughter, the whole process took just barely nine months), I know all to well that we adoptive parents do a whole lot of waiting. And let’s face it; waiting for some unknown or unforeseen future is really hard to do.

Actually, it sucks.

You feel like your life is on hold. You move along with your day to day stuff, but you don’t want to make any really big future decisions (like whether or not I should start grad school in the Fall) until you know for certain whether or not a child will be joining your family. Life just feels so unsettled.

So, for now I suppose I’ll just stay the course and try to prepare myself as best as I can (as I continue waiting) for all the possibilities: that one, two, or maybe even three child(ren) are in future.

Open + Adoption = Love

The word “open,” when put together with the word “adoption,” can be a scary concept for many unfamiliar with its true meaning and intention. I know we had our reservations before adopting our daughter. But then we talked with friends who had adopted and who had been adopted, talked with our adoption agency coordinator, and did some further research on our own.

There are a lot of misconceptions about what open adoption really means. And because all domestic adoptions are now considered “open,” I can see why that might frighten a prospective adoptive family. My hope is to help ease that fear a bit because open adoption can be a wonderful thing for everyone involved.

In a nutshell, open adoption means a sharing of information between the birth and adoptive families (the records, so to speak, aren’t sealed like back in the “old” days). It can also allow for an ongoing relationship with the birthmother (and possibly her extended family), which can be an amazing, rather than scary, thing for the child, as well as for the adoptive and birth families. But the level of information shared is up to both the birthmother and the adoptive family. Just like with any relationship, it builds over time.

The degree of openness between an adoptive family and a birth family is usually decided before the child is born and is something both parties agree to. It doesn’t mean the birthmother will be at your house every weekend (unless through the building of your relationship with her, you all decide you want to spend that much time together). But whatever level of openness is agreed upon, it needs to be honored throughout the child’s life.

Studies have shown time and time again that if a child who was adopted has some information about his or her birth family, that child may not struggle with some identity issues and the like. Think about how hard it would be to know absolutely nothing about where you came from. Now think about what it would be like to at least know the name of your birthmother and maybe to have photo or a letter from her. Even better, what if you got to meet that person and build a relationship with her?

It truly is an amazing thing—a child can never be loved by too many people.

When researching “open adoption” for this post, I was saddened by some information I came across from a few extremely negative women telling birthmothers that open adoption is a lie and that once you “give up” your child, you will never see him or her again. It breaks my heart to read that adoptive parents have gone back on their word to have an open adoption and are not remaining in contact with a birthmother. What’s even more heart-breaking (for me personally) is that I know a birthmom that this happened to.

It’s inexcusable, and frankly despicable in my opinion, that an adoptive family would not honor their commitment. Open adoption has many benefits for a child, as well as for the birth and adoptive families. If honoring the openness of domestic adoption, as well as respecting the birthmother who gave life to the child you adopt, is not something you can see yourself doing, International adoption is probably the way to go for you.

With our daughter, though we have an “open” adoption, we don’t have a relationship with our birthmother. We send pictures and letters twice a year, but we don’t hear back from her. This saddens us and we hope to one day have a relationship with her, but she isn’t yet comfortable with that. We respect her feelings. In the meantime, we honor her by telling our daughter her adoption story (at our daughter’s request) every night before bed. We share as much information as we have—including a photograph—and let our daughter know she is loved by many.

Additional information on open adoption:
http://adopting.adoption.com/child/open-adoption.html
http://www.kir.org/adoption/benefits-of-open-adoption.html
http://www.adoptionhelp.org/open_adoption/benefits.html
http://www.lfsneb.org/adoptionservices/adoption/infant/benefits.asp

A Compassionate Nature

Compassion. One little word with a whole lot of meaning. To me, anyway.

Webster’s Ninth defines compassion as a “sympathetic consciousness of others’ distress together with a desire to alleviate it.” Long before we started our family, my husband heard me say over and over again how strongly I feel about raising compassionate kids. My mantras included: no child of mine will treat others with disrespect; I have no tolerance for intolerance; and finally, I want my children to fight for what they believe in and to stand up for others. I believe compassion is at the root of all this.

But is compassion learned or inherited? Or both?

When you adopt, the ol’ nature vs. nurture “debate” comes up again and again. Not only as something we are constantly thinking about as adoptive parents, but we are often reminded of it by our well-meaning friends and family.

From a young age, my daughter showed clear signs of compassion for other people, for animals, toward her dolls; a general sensitivity to others’ feelings. As she gets older, I see her compassion growing stronger (and I have to say, this thrills me!). She recognizes when I’m sad about something and is right there with a hug and a pat on the back, and a few words of wisdom only a child could provide.

Over this past weekend, I committed involuntary cat-slaughter. (Any one who knows me well knows what an animal lover I am; I don’t even squish bugs.) Ava was with me when it happened, and handled it remarkable well; better than I did, actually. Right after it happened, she said, “Mommy, let’s say a prayer, maybe the cat will come back to life.” Every day since the accident, she asks me, “Mommy, are you still sad that you squished the cat?” When I say yes, she gives me a hug, pats my back, and tells me it’s okay, the cat is with Chani (our cat that died of old age last year) in “Chani Heaven” (as Ava calls the place where cats go).

I can’t say for sure if Ava’s compassion comes from “nature” or “nurture.” Unfortunately we don’t know much about Ava’s birthmother, nor have we ever had a conversation with her. I do know that I will do everything in my power to lead by example and continue to nurture my daughter’s compassion. Not only for the welfare of others, but for her own health and happiness.

Mini Me

Like it or not, our children are a reflection of us. Naturally, we want that reflection to be positive regarding how a child behaves and treats others. What many parents don’t worry about (okay, what many men don’t worry about; I know my husband doesn’t) is how a child’s appearance reflects on them. Such as what a child wears out of the house in the morning or whether or not their hair is combed.

Correction: what many parents of white kids don’t worry about is how a child’s physical appearance reflects on them.

That isn’t to say that if you have a white child, you don’t care whether or not their clothes are clean or their hair is combed and styled. But as transracial adoptive parents, we are judged a little differently than others. Our senses are heightened to the fact that we’re different, true. But I don't think it's entirely in our heads that people are judging us. I do think it is largely a “mom” thing though—moms are judged a little differently than dads when it comes to a child’s appearance. Sad (and wrong), but true.

Luckily, most of the comments I’ve received about my daughter’s appearance are positive and helpful in nature, for which I am appreciative. Women will approach me in a beauty supply shop (specializing in hair care products for African American women) with all kinds of advice. Sometimes the staff will even talk slower and louder, assuming I don’t speak the hair care language. Though when they examine Ava’s hair up close, they realize I do know how to care for her hair and I often get compliments, which makes me proud. (See my earlier post on the negative hair comments I've received!)

I can only speak to my own experiences, of course, but I have had friends confess that they also feel they are being scrutinized just a wee bit harsher than most parents. But hey, that’s the nature of the game. Whether we like it or not, as transracial adoptive parents we are sort of the spokespeople for the adoptive community. It wasn’t all that long ago that transracial adoption was not allowed.

We will be watched, judged, scrutinized, and the like. Not because anyone wants to see us fail, but because we’re different, in a good way I believe. Yes, we may have to continually prove we’re doing right by our children when it comes to “cultural” differences. And yes, someone will always have something to say about something we aren’t, or shouldn’t be, doing. I embrace the challenge and look forward to exploring—with my daughter and husband—just what it means to be a transracial family.

Drug Exposure

I’ve been trying to figure out how to word something I want to discuss because it sounds better verbalized than it does written. The subject is drug exposure.

But let’s back up. What’s the one thing every parent wants when their child is born? A healthy baby. Statistically speaking, I understand the rate of babies exposed to drugs is higher among babies being placed for adoption. And one of the things required of parents who adopt, before they can adopt, is that they take classes. Lots and lots of classes. From how to care for a newborn to identity issues a child who was adopted might face to in vitro drug exposure. (Personally, I think everyone should be required to take some of these classes, not just parents wanting to adopt, but I don’t get to make those calls.)

As adoptive parents, we start out very prepared. We know what to expect. And we’ve been forced to have many discussions about what we can handle. That’s one reason my husband and I decided we’d like to be paired with a birthmom who has not had drug exposure. Based on the reactions we get from some, you’d have thought we’d asked for the moon and a million dollars too, rather than just a healthy child.

Our daughter’s birthmom did not do drugs; we know there are other birthmoms out there that don’t. Because we’ve chosen to build our family through adoption doesn’t mean we should be made to feel bad if we want a drug free kid. And that’s what has happened—we’ve been made to feel guilty for wanting a child that hasn’t been exposed to drugs. I don’t think the guilt is intentional. There is a perception (based in part on facts) that most birthmoms have done drugs. Why else would they place their children for adoption, some ask. (There are actually lots of reasons people place a child for adoption; we can discuss that later.)

One difficult thing about adoption is all of the choices you have to make; all of the conversations you have to have about topics that would likely never come up otherwise. [That might account for why, statistically speaking, the divorce rate among couples who adopt is tiny (like five percent) compared to the national average which is something like 50%.]

This is what I mean by this being a hard discussion to have in written form—I would hate for anyone to feel like I’m saying anything negative about children who have been exposed to drugs. Some of our closest friends have children that were adopted, and exposed to drugs, who are thriving (and excelling), and who are the warmest, sweetest kids I’ve met. Ultimately you have to decide what you’re capable of. You want to create a family environment that will succeed—biting off more than you can chew doesn’t help anyone. For us, we’ve decided that with all the other potential issues and risks, we’d like to take one off the table (drug exposure) and go from there.

I’d love to hear from other adoptive parents to learn what your experience has been.

Whatchu Lookin’ At, Willis?

Genetics are an amazing—albeit somewhat bizarre—thing. And society’s obsession with looking like someone else (I’m talking about family members) is equally strange. Of course I say that because I don’t look a thing like any of my biological family members, but yet people would mistake my step-sister (four years younger than I) as my twin.

I don’t place much emphasis on looking like anyone else. To be perfectly honest, I never gave it much thought since no one in our family looks much like anyone else in our family and we do share the same DNA. Whenever I would see families with kids that looked exactly like them—almost like clones or “mini-me’s”—it sort of freaked me out. Being an adoptive parent—especially a transracial adoptive parent—the part about looking alike, or not looking a like, is most definitely brought to the forefront whether you want it to be or not.

I don’t mind. We live in a diverse neighborhood and have a fairly diverse friend base (another reason why transracial adoption was fine by us, and even made sense). I’m sure we attract some looks—when I’m out alone with our daughter, I think people just assume her dad is black—but I don’t pay too much attention.

Will our daughter mind when she grows up? There’s a good chance she will, but if we handle it well—as in talk about it openly and address it head on—there’s a chance she won’t. Hopefully (if we’ve done our job) she accepts the fact that none of us look alike, and knows that it doesn’t make us any less of a family.

This isn’t to say that I don’t fully understand the importance of identity and having a sense of where you came from, especially for children who were adopted. I most certainly do. And I can only imagine what it would be like to not have that link. Where our daughter is concerned, we’re fortunate to have a link (including photographs) to her birthmom. I’m sure that will help.

Back in the day, domestic adoptions were all the rage, largely because people were hoping for a child that looked like them so no one would know about the adoption (that and, well, International adoptions just weren’t happening yet). My grandmother—who tried, unsuccessfully, to adopt twice—told me stories about women wearing pillows under their clothes for nine months, and then bringing home a newly born and adopted baby in the trunk of a car so no one would be the wiser. The next day, word would spread through the town that the woman had given birth during the night. All that to give the illusion that the child was biologically their child.

I’m sure glad times have changed. I can’t imagine what it would have been like to live in a time when adoption carried such a stigma. We’re by no means “there” yet, where adoption is concerned. But thankfully I don’t know of anyone carrying home a baby in the trunk of their car. I’m also glad for our diverse and wonderfully colorful group of friends (and their children). Our daughter will most definitely know that families are made in all different ways, that they come in all different colors, and that some look alike and some don’t.

Depending on where you live, if you’ve adopted transracially, your family is bound to stand out, to attract some attention. That’s just part of the whole adoption “thing.” I offer to you this story about assumptions and people who don’t mind their own business, in attempt to help you see that no matter what the situation or circumstance, there will always be “those people” who feel they have to comment on something. I try to take it all with a grain of salt and find the humor in every situation. Here’s the story:

My sister was shopping at an unnamed box store with her three children, ages two, four, and six. A woman walking by took one look at my sister’s three children—who do not look alike anyway, aside from being a blond, a red-head, and a brunette—and said to my sister, “People like you make me sick with different fathers for your children.” The same man, my sister’s husband, is the father of all three children, just as my sister is their biological mother. But alas, the children don’t look alike and in the eyes of some people, that is somehow not okay.

Well, guess what? It is okay. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

What's That I'm Feeling?

I put a lot of stock into my gut feelings. So, I’ll admit it: I was a little excited when I recently took the Myers-Briggs personality test and it revealed that I’m borderline for having the rarest of all personality types, the one that “know[s] things intuitively, without being able to pinpoint why, and without detailed knowledge of the subject at hand.” This part is fun too: “They are usually right, and they usually know it.” I digress.

Why is this a big deal to me? Well, regarding adoption, it has really helped me. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I truly believe that the baby meant for you will come home to you. But I rely on my gut to help the process along.

Too often people don’t rely on their gut feelings and get stuck with a job, for example, that they didn’t feel right about taking, but did anyway. Where this gets tricky with adoption is wondering if you’re playing the role of god (or whatever spiritual being you believe in).

Recently we had an opportunity to pursue an adoption through the state (our first real opportunity in more than six months). Out of approximately 80 interested families, we were chosen as one of three families to go to committee (where a panel decides who will adopt the child). We were thrilled—everything we knew about the child matched exactly what we were hoping for.

Unfortunately, right before we were scheduled to go to committee, the agency disclosed many more details about the child’s history, and the child’s foster care mom revealed some “insider info” as well. We were then faced with the difficult decision whether or not to move forward or follow our gut, which was signaling that we might not be the best match for this child, as we may not be equipped to provide the best care for this child’s needs.

As you probably guessed, we decided against pursuing the opportunity. And that was an awful decision to have to make. We felt like we were letting down a child we’d never met. We wondered if we were “bad people” for deciding not to go forward. I felt like I was playing “god” with this child’s life. It sucks. It really, really sucks to be put in this position and to keep going through this. Of course, we could have gone to committee and not been selected (keeping with the whole “what’s meant to be will be” theory). I think that would have made me feel better.

There’s a reason case workers and agency coordinators call this whole thing a roller coaster ride; they know what they’re talking about. But, as tough as it is, as strong as my desire is to grow our family, adoption is the way we’ve chosen to grow it. And I wouldn’t change that. Our child is out there. I just hope he/she will find his/her way home soon.