I wrote this two weeks ago. I wanted to make a minor edit before posting ... and then I forgot until a little while ago. So "today" is April 9th in this post.
There's a song in the LDS Children's Songbook that begins with the line, "Saturday is a special day" (it is, you see, the day we get ready for Sunday). The older I get, the less special Saturdays seem to be, because after a few years the luster of doing laundry and sweeping the floors tends to wear off. But today really was a special day, because it was an Adoption Academy day.
Have I written before about Adoption Academies? I don't remember. I'm also too lazy to go through my archives and find out. In short: Adoption Academies are put on every three months by FSA to help couples meet the education requirements for certification. I'm sure they do them other places, maybe a little differently and with different names. But here in the Phoenix area, they're called Adoption Academies, and Roo's parents have been the ones in charge of the Mesa ones since a little bit before I met them. Part of the academy is a birth mom panel, and since P and M know me and my story, they've asked me to be on the birth mom panels they've arranged since I placed Roo. That's what I did today. But because I love adoption, and because P and M do such an amazing job, I stayed the whole day instead of just being there for my part.
It was awesome. I know I toss that word around like confetti, but I really do mean it. It was awesome. Everyone did a good job - all of the panelists, and P and M. I cannot even imagine how much work it is to put one of these things on, but I think it totally paid off. Today left me with the warmest, fuzziest feeling about adoption. And I am not being facetious. It was the best Saturday I've had in ages.
Oh, and my mother was on the adult adoptee panel. I love to hear her talk about adoption, because it wasn't something she ever used to feel comfortable talking about. My father was the first person she ever told that she was adopted. They'd been married six months at the time, and she told him the night before they were going to be sealed in the temple. Isn't that crazy? My mom never had any issues about being adopted, but I think it took her a while to feel like talking about it was okay. I am very proud of her.
The birth mom panel was after lunch. I don't really get nervous about that sort of thing anymore. I guess I've done it enough times now that it's not stressful. It went pretty much the same as other birth mom panels have gone. But something unusual happened - or rather, didn't happen. I've lost count of how many times I've told my story and Roo's. Dozens, certainly. And every time, I cry.
I didn't cry today.
I'm not sure how I feel about that. I think I might have cried, if I'd had more time to blather. Not that I didn't have plenty of time, but for some reason I feel like I skipped some parts of my story today - idiot that I am, I somehow completely glossed over the part where I met P and M and chose them, and that's one of the best parts of the story! Anyway. I got choked up for sure. But I didn't use a single Kleenex.
This bothers me. How could I not have cried? I've never not cried. I AlWAYS cry. I didn't think I could get through my story without crying. I guess I wonder what it says about me that I didn't. Does it mean I care less? I certainly don't care less. I'm getting teared up just thinking about Roo and how much I love her and what an amazing little person she is.
I don't know why I didn't cry. I guess it's not really important. If tears are a measure of love, I've certainly proven the depth of my feeling over the past two years. A few months after placement I was starting to consider buying Kleenex by the case and recommending that friends and family buy stock in the company. Perhaps I've just gotten most of my tears out of the way. I don't know.
It shouldn't matter. I know that I love Roo, whether I cry about it or not. But maybe that's it - I know, but I feel like maybe the couples who were there won't know unless I prove it by crying. Is that ridiculous? I think it's ridiculous, but the thought is there just the same (it is absolutely exhausting inside my brain).
I digress. Today was a fantastic day. And M said something about maybe having a visit in a few weeks! That would be amazing. It's nothing definite, but even so it was so awesome of her to suggest it. It means a lot. I've sort of had this itch lately to see Roo again. But what's kind of funny is that I'm almost as anxious just to see P and M again. I really do love them, and it was so good to be able to see them today and talk for a little while. I wanted to brag to every person I saw today that P and M are "my" couple, that these awesome people who put on such a good academy are Roo's parents.
I am glad that they're Roo's parents. I'm glad for her, and I'm glad for them. They are my favorite little family in the world.
I'm rambling, aren't I? Oh well. I think a little ramble now and then is a good thing, provided you know when to quit.
Which I do :)
Showing posts with label ldsfs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ldsfs. Show all posts
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Never Say Never
Thursday morning I got to do another round of school presentations - three classes in a row, starting at 7:50am. I am not precisely what you would call a morning person. If I'm awake at 5am, I'm more likely to still be awake than I am to have just awoken. But I love doing school presentations, so I woke myself up, made myself presentable, and headed out.
I took the 60. Why did I take the 60? The 60 is almost always a bad idea. But Google Maps told me the 60 would save me six minutes over the 202, and I live much closer to the 60 than the 202. In the end I was only five or so minutes late, but I could have done without the stress of stop-and-go traffic (mostly stop) and having to repeat to myself, "It's okay, my brakes worked, I'm not dead yet."
I digress.
This was my first school presentation in several months and I felt a bit rusty. I think I did okay, though. Well, actually, I think I did terrible, but I always think I've done a terrible job. It's so hard to tell with teenagers. You don't get much of a response from them. It doesn't seem to matter what you say; they just sit there and stare at you with bored looks on their faces. I feel like I need more feedback than that.
I found myself mentioning irrelevant or unimportant parts of my story just for comedic effect. I got a few perfunctory laughs for them, at least. After I talked, there were a few minutes for questions. The first class was silent. I don't even know if it registered that I'd finished talking. The second class had no questions but a few comments. Three comments, in fact, all from girls. All of them said the same thing when Calli (the LDSFS caseworker) asked if anyone had any thoughts or experiences about adoption.
"I could never do that."
Have I mentioned before how much I loathe that phrase? I believe I have. And I do. Loathe it, that is. I don't believe there's a woman in the world who thinks they could do it. I sure as heck didn't think so. I said as much to the girls. I told them that when I'd heard about adoption before I was pregnant, I thought, I could never do that. But never say never, right? Because not only could I, but I did.
When I spoke to the third class I changed up the conclusion to my story. I told them, "So many girls hear I'm a birth mom and say, 'I could never do that.' But I didn't think I could do it, either. No one does at first. What it comes down to isn't so much, 'I could never do that, it would be too hard for me,' but, 'I have to do it, because it's not about me.' Motherhood is about making hard choices and doing what's best for your child."
This time, when Calli asked for comments, a girl in the back raised her hand. "I think that if I was pregnant and I didn't know what to do, I might think about adoption," she said. "I mean, I wouldn't want to or anything, but I think maybe if I was in that kind of situation I could think about it."
I could have kissed her.
I hope this young woman doesn't face an unplanned pregnancy. I hope none of the girls I spoke to ever has to, really. But odds are if this young woman doesn't, one of her friends will. And what she realized is all I ever want these teenagers to get out of a presentation - adoption is an option. It's not for everyone, maybe it's not for you, but it's an adoption. It's a possibility. It's worth looking into. Never say never.
I never thought I could do it, either. I never thought I could place my precious little baby for adoption. But I did, and I am so glad! I hope that someday Roo will be glad I did, too.
(I'm sure she'd be happy about it now if she weren't preoccupied with things like learning to walk properly, and growing teeth, and being adorable.)
I took the 60. Why did I take the 60? The 60 is almost always a bad idea. But Google Maps told me the 60 would save me six minutes over the 202, and I live much closer to the 60 than the 202. In the end I was only five or so minutes late, but I could have done without the stress of stop-and-go traffic (mostly stop) and having to repeat to myself, "It's okay, my brakes worked, I'm not dead yet."
I digress.
This was my first school presentation in several months and I felt a bit rusty. I think I did okay, though. Well, actually, I think I did terrible, but I always think I've done a terrible job. It's so hard to tell with teenagers. You don't get much of a response from them. It doesn't seem to matter what you say; they just sit there and stare at you with bored looks on their faces. I feel like I need more feedback than that.
I found myself mentioning irrelevant or unimportant parts of my story just for comedic effect. I got a few perfunctory laughs for them, at least. After I talked, there were a few minutes for questions. The first class was silent. I don't even know if it registered that I'd finished talking. The second class had no questions but a few comments. Three comments, in fact, all from girls. All of them said the same thing when Calli (the LDSFS caseworker) asked if anyone had any thoughts or experiences about adoption.
"I could never do that."
Have I mentioned before how much I loathe that phrase? I believe I have. And I do. Loathe it, that is. I don't believe there's a woman in the world who thinks they could do it. I sure as heck didn't think so. I said as much to the girls. I told them that when I'd heard about adoption before I was pregnant, I thought, I could never do that. But never say never, right? Because not only could I, but I did.
When I spoke to the third class I changed up the conclusion to my story. I told them, "So many girls hear I'm a birth mom and say, 'I could never do that.' But I didn't think I could do it, either. No one does at first. What it comes down to isn't so much, 'I could never do that, it would be too hard for me,' but, 'I have to do it, because it's not about me.' Motherhood is about making hard choices and doing what's best for your child."
This time, when Calli asked for comments, a girl in the back raised her hand. "I think that if I was pregnant and I didn't know what to do, I might think about adoption," she said. "I mean, I wouldn't want to or anything, but I think maybe if I was in that kind of situation I could think about it."
I could have kissed her.
I hope this young woman doesn't face an unplanned pregnancy. I hope none of the girls I spoke to ever has to, really. But odds are if this young woman doesn't, one of her friends will. And what she realized is all I ever want these teenagers to get out of a presentation - adoption is an option. It's not for everyone, maybe it's not for you, but it's an adoption. It's a possibility. It's worth looking into. Never say never.
I never thought I could do it, either. I never thought I could place my precious little baby for adoption. But I did, and I am so glad! I hope that someday Roo will be glad I did, too.
(I'm sure she'd be happy about it now if she weren't preoccupied with things like learning to walk properly, and growing teeth, and being adorable.)
Friday, July 23, 2010
May 2009, Part Four
Although I continued to think about adoption fairly regularly, I had decided that it would simply be too much for me to handle and I had mostly decided on single parenting. As such, I’d given up on LDSFS, but S hadn’t given up on me. In what was perhaps a last-ditch effort to dissuade me from single parenting, S arranged for me to meet with a single mother and a man who was raised by a single mother. She (S) said it was just to give me an idea of what single motherhood entailed, but it was pretty obvious by the stories I heard that no one in the room thought I should keep my baby. It made me angry. I was sick of people pushing me toward adoption without asking me what I thought of things. I know that people meant well, but the thing about unsolicited advice is, it’s unsolicited. I didn’t want other people’s thoughts bouncing around in my head. I had enough of my own thoughts up there.
Have you ever seen the movie Wall-E? It’s a very cute movie I’ve seen several times. It’s set in a future where people no longer walk. They are fat, blob-like, and get around on little hover-chairs. Their feet are too fat and puffy to be walked on. At the end of May, My feet looked like Wall-E people feet.
Feet aside, I thought I'd be bigger at this point in my pregnancy. My belly was still pretty reasonable. I became convinced that the reason I didn’t have a bigger belly was because my baby was burning off calories for me. She had the busiest feet I’ve ever seen. She kicked and wiggled and hiccupped and punched happily for hours on end. I’m not sure where she found the room to move, but somehow she managed.
I bought diapers and wipes on sale at Target. All I needed was a car seat and a crib and I was set. I decided that my baby was going to be born exactly one week late (which she was!), so I had a little time left. I made a few halfhearted attempts at putting a hospital bag together but couldn’t find the energy or the motivation.
My mother spoke and planned as though I was going to keep my baby, which was a relief. I wasn’t sure how to explain to her that I didn’t feel I could make up my mind until the baby was born. But she seemed to know just the same, in the way that my mother so often seems to know the things I can’t voice.
My decision (sort of) made, I began to worry about more practical things, like money. I have a cosmetology license, so I knew that I was employable. But I hated the thought of strangers watching my baby for twenty-plus hours a week, and I didn’t want to impose on my mother and have people accuse me of making her raise my baby for me.
At my next doctor’s appointment, (TMI ALERT!) I had more protein in my urine than my doctor was happy with. My blood pressure was also high (for me, anyway), so my doctor ordered some blood tests to check for preeclampsia. If anything came up abnormal, my baby was on the way out.
I panicked. I was expecting another month to prepare. I wasn’t ready yet! After my blood test, I hurried home to throw together a hospital bag. I talked to my mom for a while and felt a bit better about things but the nerves remained.
My pregnancy books said to start watching my body for signs of labor. I wrote in my journal: “Oh, joy. One more thing to worry about. Because, you know, I don't have enough on my mind at the moment. Now I get to watch for signs of labor. Is irritation a sign of labor?”
My blood test came back fine, and now I found myself nervous in a good way. In a month, give or take a few days, I was going to be a mommy, and I couldn’t wait for my baby to be born!
Have you ever seen the movie Wall-E? It’s a very cute movie I’ve seen several times. It’s set in a future where people no longer walk. They are fat, blob-like, and get around on little hover-chairs. Their feet are too fat and puffy to be walked on. At the end of May, My feet looked like Wall-E people feet.
Feet aside, I thought I'd be bigger at this point in my pregnancy. My belly was still pretty reasonable. I became convinced that the reason I didn’t have a bigger belly was because my baby was burning off calories for me. She had the busiest feet I’ve ever seen. She kicked and wiggled and hiccupped and punched happily for hours on end. I’m not sure where she found the room to move, but somehow she managed.
I bought diapers and wipes on sale at Target. All I needed was a car seat and a crib and I was set. I decided that my baby was going to be born exactly one week late (which she was!), so I had a little time left. I made a few halfhearted attempts at putting a hospital bag together but couldn’t find the energy or the motivation.
My mother spoke and planned as though I was going to keep my baby, which was a relief. I wasn’t sure how to explain to her that I didn’t feel I could make up my mind until the baby was born. But she seemed to know just the same, in the way that my mother so often seems to know the things I can’t voice.
My decision (sort of) made, I began to worry about more practical things, like money. I have a cosmetology license, so I knew that I was employable. But I hated the thought of strangers watching my baby for twenty-plus hours a week, and I didn’t want to impose on my mother and have people accuse me of making her raise my baby for me.
At my next doctor’s appointment, (TMI ALERT!) I had more protein in my urine than my doctor was happy with. My blood pressure was also high (for me, anyway), so my doctor ordered some blood tests to check for preeclampsia. If anything came up abnormal, my baby was on the way out.
I panicked. I was expecting another month to prepare. I wasn’t ready yet! After my blood test, I hurried home to throw together a hospital bag. I talked to my mom for a while and felt a bit better about things but the nerves remained.
My pregnancy books said to start watching my body for signs of labor. I wrote in my journal: “Oh, joy. One more thing to worry about. Because, you know, I don't have enough on my mind at the moment. Now I get to watch for signs of labor. Is irritation a sign of labor?”
My blood test came back fine, and now I found myself nervous in a good way. In a month, give or take a few days, I was going to be a mommy, and I couldn’t wait for my baby to be born!
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Outreach
I got to do an outreach presentation at Compadre on Monday (the 3rd). Compadre is always a fun one because instead of a health class full of bored fifteen-year-olds, I get to speak to single girls who are facing unplanned pregnancies. Compadre has classes for pregnant girls and for girls who are already single-parenting. On the one hand, I think it's fantastic and innovative and a good idea. On the other hand, it depresses me that there are enough pregnant girls in the Tempe Unified School District that they need their own program.
I've done an outreach presentation at Compadre once before. Talking to the class of single mothers is awkward. It's like going to a prison and talking about the benefits of a law-abiding lifestyle. Fortunately for me, I didn't get to speak to that group Monday. That honor (I think) went to another birth mom I know, Heather. But Heather had to go back to work after that, so the second class was all mine, and the class was all pregnant girls.
I do pretty well speaking to teenagers, because they appreciate my attention to humorous detail and my asides about trouble with my ex. They were a terrific audience, and they all oohed and aahed over the Roo pictures I showed them. When I finished, Sarah, an adoptee and adoptive mom spoke. I've heard Sarah speak before at adoption academies before and I love her story. The time was mostly gone after we'd both talked, but C (the LDSFS caseworker doing the outreach) passed around some fact sheets and asked the girls if they had any questions or if they'd learned anything.
This is usually when the girls take a sudden interest in their mobile phones or their homework, and they refuse to look up or make eye contact. This was a good group of girls, though. They all enthusiastically thanked Sarah and me for speaking and said they'd loved our stories.
C asked if what they'd heard had changed any ideas any of them had had about adoption. One girl - this stick-thin 14-year-old with a gigantic hairstyle, gave me a big grin and said, "I really liked your story. It helped me make up my mind. Now I know I'm never giving my baby up for adoption. My situation isn't like yours was. My boyfriend and I really love our baby."
This is what I believe the 'nets refer to as a facepalm moment. Had she not heard a word of my story? After she thanked me and opined, a few other girls nodded their assent. They, too, had conclusively decided against adoption.
These teenage girls ... they just kill me. You want to make a birth mom breathe fire? Imply that she chose adoption because she didn't love her baby. They just didn't GET it! It was pretty discouraging for me because even though I figure no one at an outreach presentation is going to leap up and say, "Yes! Yes, adoption! That's it!" this is the first time after one that a girl has actually told me that I persuaded her against adoption.
I wanted to cry. It felt like I'd done more harm than good, and I wondered if I should have just stayed home. But while I was wallowing in stunned disbelief, one of the girls in the class mentioned to C that she was definitely going to consider adoption, because certain parts of her pregnancy story paralleled mine, and she wanted more for her baby than she alone could offer.
C, I didn't tell you this, but when you offhandedly mentioned what that young girl told you, you saved my bacon and my day. Thank you. Thank you for paying attention to the quiet, reasonable girl and not just the cheerfully loud one. Thank you for making me feel better about the words of the toothpick teen with the big hair.
And thank you, quiet girl on my left who spoke to C, for listening with your heart and not just your ears. I haven't forgotten you, and I never will.
I've done an outreach presentation at Compadre once before. Talking to the class of single mothers is awkward. It's like going to a prison and talking about the benefits of a law-abiding lifestyle. Fortunately for me, I didn't get to speak to that group Monday. That honor (I think) went to another birth mom I know, Heather. But Heather had to go back to work after that, so the second class was all mine, and the class was all pregnant girls.
I do pretty well speaking to teenagers, because they appreciate my attention to humorous detail and my asides about trouble with my ex. They were a terrific audience, and they all oohed and aahed over the Roo pictures I showed them. When I finished, Sarah, an adoptee and adoptive mom spoke. I've heard Sarah speak before at adoption academies before and I love her story. The time was mostly gone after we'd both talked, but C (the LDSFS caseworker doing the outreach) passed around some fact sheets and asked the girls if they had any questions or if they'd learned anything.
This is usually when the girls take a sudden interest in their mobile phones or their homework, and they refuse to look up or make eye contact. This was a good group of girls, though. They all enthusiastically thanked Sarah and me for speaking and said they'd loved our stories.
C asked if what they'd heard had changed any ideas any of them had had about adoption. One girl - this stick-thin 14-year-old with a gigantic hairstyle, gave me a big grin and said, "I really liked your story. It helped me make up my mind. Now I know I'm never giving my baby up for adoption. My situation isn't like yours was. My boyfriend and I really love our baby."
This is what I believe the 'nets refer to as a facepalm moment. Had she not heard a word of my story? After she thanked me and opined, a few other girls nodded their assent. They, too, had conclusively decided against adoption.
These teenage girls ... they just kill me. You want to make a birth mom breathe fire? Imply that she chose adoption because she didn't love her baby. They just didn't GET it! It was pretty discouraging for me because even though I figure no one at an outreach presentation is going to leap up and say, "Yes! Yes, adoption! That's it!" this is the first time after one that a girl has actually told me that I persuaded her against adoption.
I wanted to cry. It felt like I'd done more harm than good, and I wondered if I should have just stayed home. But while I was wallowing in stunned disbelief, one of the girls in the class mentioned to C that she was definitely going to consider adoption, because certain parts of her pregnancy story paralleled mine, and she wanted more for her baby than she alone could offer.
C, I didn't tell you this, but when you offhandedly mentioned what that young girl told you, you saved my bacon and my day. Thank you. Thank you for paying attention to the quiet, reasonable girl and not just the cheerfully loud one. Thank you for making me feel better about the words of the toothpick teen with the big hair.
And thank you, quiet girl on my left who spoke to C, for listening with your heart and not just your ears. I haven't forgotten you, and I never will.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Adoption Academy and a Bit of Rambling
Yesterday I got to speak at another adoption academy. The birth mom panel wasn't until 12:45, but I went much earlier because my mom was on the adult adoptee panel and I wanted to support her. She did such an amazing job. I'm so proud! My mother never talked about being adopted until 6 months ago at the last adoption academy. I think it's been good for her to do them.
One thing she always emphasizes is that adoption was an enormous blessing for her. Her parents were supposed to be her parents. She grew up with the family she was meant to have. Being adopted never made her feel any less; I can vouch for that. I always got the impression that my mom was her parents' favorite, as a matter of fact. My grandma always told my mom that she was a joy. How blessed is my mom to have such a great family? I don't doubt she was meant to be theirs. My grandma knew it, too. Her family must have thought she was crazy, adopting a baby when she was seven months pregnant. I'm so glad she did!
My mom had to leave after her part because she had a flight to catch - she's in Canada for about a week visiting my brother and his wife and their sweet little kids. I stayed. For my part, of course, but for the rest of it, too. I LOVE adoption academies. There is such an amazing spirit there and I always come away feeling like the luckiest person in the world to be a part of them, and a part of adoption in general. There's just something very special about the people there - those who can bear witness that God puts people in the families they're meant for in a very real way. I don't think I've heard an adoption story yet at an academy that didn't give me chills.
I was on the birth mother panel with Tamra, who placed more than 12 years ago and who is one of my favorite people, ever; and Krista, who placed about 6 years ago. It was a little intimidating for me to be the one with the most recent placement, and the most open. But it was good for me, too. One thing I tire of is having my placement compared to others that might be more open, and having people think that there's something wrong with me or with my couple that we're not as super open as some others are. I think the birth mother panel helps people to see that just because each level of openness is different, doesn't mean they're any less than or not as good as another level of openness.
The level of openness I have with P an M works incredibly well for us. It's what we're all comfortable with, and I know that we're mature enough and communicate well enough that if something needed to change, it would. But it's great the way it is now. I get very regular pictures and video and updates, and visits when I need them, and we're all happy.
I don't feel like Roo's mommy. I tried to emphasize that on the panel. A lot of these couples who are certifying for the first time are very anti-open adoption, because it scares them and intimidates them. They just don't understand it. There are no boundaries blurred. Roo knows exactly who her parents are. I feel more like her aunt, and she's my favorite niece. I love her more deeply than I can say, but I'm not her mama, and I haven't tried to be. That's not my job. I didn't place her for adoption only to try to be her mom.
I so love to see opinions and thoughts change. I love to see couples understand how amazing openness can be (if that's what works for them). Obviously, Tamra doesn't have an open adoption. I admire her strength and courage. I don't think I could have done it without the promise of openness. She did. She's a hero of mine.
I probably sound like a gushing moron, but I just LOVE adoption academies! They're emotionally exhausting but oh so worth it. The Spirit is so strong there.
I think it's funny how my little flying leap off the straight and narrow has helped me feel God's love for me so much more acutely. My testimony is so much stronger now that it's ever been before. Adoption is an integral part of God's plan for his children. I am so blessed to be a part of it!
Roo's daddy gave me a CD full of pictures from the past few months of Roo, many of them including Roo's sister. The two of them are the cutest things ever. They love each other so much. I hope that they'll always be good friends. I like to picture them in a few years walking hand in hand to primary on Sunday.
And for the first time in maybe forever, I can picture my own children doing the same. I don't know when I'll marry and be a mother, but I know it will happen. God's time, not mine. Can I be super cheesy and end with a testimony? I am so blessed to have played a part in creating an eternal family. I will be forever grateful to have been chosen to bring Roo into the world; to have been trusted by my Father in Heaven to carry and deliver one of His precious children and then to find her family.
Adoption is the most amazing miracle. I am more thankful than I can ever say that it is a part of my life.
One thing she always emphasizes is that adoption was an enormous blessing for her. Her parents were supposed to be her parents. She grew up with the family she was meant to have. Being adopted never made her feel any less; I can vouch for that. I always got the impression that my mom was her parents' favorite, as a matter of fact. My grandma always told my mom that she was a joy. How blessed is my mom to have such a great family? I don't doubt she was meant to be theirs. My grandma knew it, too. Her family must have thought she was crazy, adopting a baby when she was seven months pregnant. I'm so glad she did!
My mom had to leave after her part because she had a flight to catch - she's in Canada for about a week visiting my brother and his wife and their sweet little kids. I stayed. For my part, of course, but for the rest of it, too. I LOVE adoption academies. There is such an amazing spirit there and I always come away feeling like the luckiest person in the world to be a part of them, and a part of adoption in general. There's just something very special about the people there - those who can bear witness that God puts people in the families they're meant for in a very real way. I don't think I've heard an adoption story yet at an academy that didn't give me chills.
I was on the birth mother panel with Tamra, who placed more than 12 years ago and who is one of my favorite people, ever; and Krista, who placed about 6 years ago. It was a little intimidating for me to be the one with the most recent placement, and the most open. But it was good for me, too. One thing I tire of is having my placement compared to others that might be more open, and having people think that there's something wrong with me or with my couple that we're not as super open as some others are. I think the birth mother panel helps people to see that just because each level of openness is different, doesn't mean they're any less than or not as good as another level of openness.
The level of openness I have with P an M works incredibly well for us. It's what we're all comfortable with, and I know that we're mature enough and communicate well enough that if something needed to change, it would. But it's great the way it is now. I get very regular pictures and video and updates, and visits when I need them, and we're all happy.
I don't feel like Roo's mommy. I tried to emphasize that on the panel. A lot of these couples who are certifying for the first time are very anti-open adoption, because it scares them and intimidates them. They just don't understand it. There are no boundaries blurred. Roo knows exactly who her parents are. I feel more like her aunt, and she's my favorite niece. I love her more deeply than I can say, but I'm not her mama, and I haven't tried to be. That's not my job. I didn't place her for adoption only to try to be her mom.
I so love to see opinions and thoughts change. I love to see couples understand how amazing openness can be (if that's what works for them). Obviously, Tamra doesn't have an open adoption. I admire her strength and courage. I don't think I could have done it without the promise of openness. She did. She's a hero of mine.
I probably sound like a gushing moron, but I just LOVE adoption academies! They're emotionally exhausting but oh so worth it. The Spirit is so strong there.
I think it's funny how my little flying leap off the straight and narrow has helped me feel God's love for me so much more acutely. My testimony is so much stronger now that it's ever been before. Adoption is an integral part of God's plan for his children. I am so blessed to be a part of it!
Roo's daddy gave me a CD full of pictures from the past few months of Roo, many of them including Roo's sister. The two of them are the cutest things ever. They love each other so much. I hope that they'll always be good friends. I like to picture them in a few years walking hand in hand to primary on Sunday.
And for the first time in maybe forever, I can picture my own children doing the same. I don't know when I'll marry and be a mother, but I know it will happen. God's time, not mine. Can I be super cheesy and end with a testimony? I am so blessed to have played a part in creating an eternal family. I will be forever grateful to have been chosen to bring Roo into the world; to have been trusted by my Father in Heaven to carry and deliver one of His precious children and then to find her family.
Adoption is the most amazing miracle. I am more thankful than I can ever say that it is a part of my life.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Watch Your Language
I don't usually borrow blog content, but I feel the urge to opine on the topic of positive adoption language. The following chart comes from LDSFS, on this page *here* (source code FTW!).
Not every person who has an adoption connection is going to take offense to anything found in the left-hand column. I think with a few of these items it's sort of like how some people to whom the terms apply prefer "black" and some prefer "African-American." And similarly, I find that while many people involved in adoption may use some of the negative terms, they don't like to hear those who aren't involved using them. Sort of the adoption equivalent of the "n" word.
(I'm probably going to get a lot of tripe for that comparison, but I stand by it.)
"Gave up" doesn't bother me as much as what I tend to hear, which is "gave away." I did not give my baby away. That makes it sound like I placed an ad on Craigslist or Freecycle. That said, I neither gave her up nor gave her away. I gave her more. And I use "keep" instead of "parent" on a regular basis.
I also refer often to "adoptive" parents, but not as any slight on them or to imply that they aren't really their child's parents. In the case of my blog, I use it as a means of identifying people who have adopted. Not in any negative sense. But for my part I feel that if I simply mentioned "parents" it would be unclear if I was referring to people who had children the typical way and for some reason really liked my blog anyway.
Part of the reason - well, all, if I'm honest - that I wanted to blather about positive adoption language is because of one phrase that just peels the enamel off my teeth: "unwanted pregnancy."
I want to rip my hair out when I hear that. Just because a pregnancy was unplanned does not mean it was unwanted. I wanted Roo as soon as I found out she was growing in my belly. I wanted her before then, I think. I always wanted her. I did not plan for her to get here the way or time that she did, but never, ever mistake unplanned for unwanted.
I hate "unwanted." It makes it sound like I chose adoption to get rid of my baby - I didn't want her, so I didn't keep her. Please, please, please don't use the word "unwanted." Adoption truly is about love. Make no mistake, no baby could ever be as wanted as my Roo. I grew her and birthed her and cared for her and placed her with her mommy and daddy because I wanted her more than I'd ever wanted anything in my life.
When in doubt, ask the member of the adoption triad to whom you are speaking. "Does it bother you when I use that word? That phrase?" If it does, they'll let you know, and tell you which word or phrase they prefer. Simple as that. As in every other aspect of adoption, it is so important to be open and honest in communication. Which reminds me ...
Oh, and memo to H: referring to a baby as a "bastard child" just makes you look like a bastard.
| Negative Terms | Preferred Terms |
| Gave up her child for adoption | Placed her child for adoption |
| Real parent; natural parent | Birth parent, biological parent |
| Adoptive parent | Parent |
| His adopted child | His child |
| Illegitimate | Born to unmarried parents |
| Adoptee | Child who was adopted |
| To keep | To parent |
| Adoptable child; available child | Waiting child |
| Foreign adoption | International adoption |
| Track down parents | Search |
| Unwanted child | Child placed for adoption |
| Is adopted | Was adopted |
Not every person who has an adoption connection is going to take offense to anything found in the left-hand column. I think with a few of these items it's sort of like how some people to whom the terms apply prefer "black" and some prefer "African-American." And similarly, I find that while many people involved in adoption may use some of the negative terms, they don't like to hear those who aren't involved using them. Sort of the adoption equivalent of the "n" word.
(I'm probably going to get a lot of tripe for that comparison, but I stand by it.)
"Gave up" doesn't bother me as much as what I tend to hear, which is "gave away." I did not give my baby away. That makes it sound like I placed an ad on Craigslist or Freecycle. That said, I neither gave her up nor gave her away. I gave her more. And I use "keep" instead of "parent" on a regular basis.
I also refer often to "adoptive" parents, but not as any slight on them or to imply that they aren't really their child's parents. In the case of my blog, I use it as a means of identifying people who have adopted. Not in any negative sense. But for my part I feel that if I simply mentioned "parents" it would be unclear if I was referring to people who had children the typical way and for some reason really liked my blog anyway.
Part of the reason - well, all, if I'm honest - that I wanted to blather about positive adoption language is because of one phrase that just peels the enamel off my teeth: "unwanted pregnancy."
I want to rip my hair out when I hear that. Just because a pregnancy was unplanned does not mean it was unwanted. I wanted Roo as soon as I found out she was growing in my belly. I wanted her before then, I think. I always wanted her. I did not plan for her to get here the way or time that she did, but never, ever mistake unplanned for unwanted.
I hate "unwanted." It makes it sound like I chose adoption to get rid of my baby - I didn't want her, so I didn't keep her. Please, please, please don't use the word "unwanted." Adoption truly is about love. Make no mistake, no baby could ever be as wanted as my Roo. I grew her and birthed her and cared for her and placed her with her mommy and daddy because I wanted her more than I'd ever wanted anything in my life.
When in doubt, ask the member of the adoption triad to whom you are speaking. "Does it bother you when I use that word? That phrase?" If it does, they'll let you know, and tell you which word or phrase they prefer. Simple as that. As in every other aspect of adoption, it is so important to be open and honest in communication. Which reminds me ...
Oh, and memo to H: referring to a baby as a "bastard child" just makes you look like a bastard.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
April 2009, Part Three
I feel like I’ve picked on my big sister a lot in this blog. But at the same time, it’s not my fault she’s given me so much material, is it? That sounded a bit more mercenary than I intended. I digress. I’m not done picking on her yet. Mostly because of how she picked on me. I got e-mail from her (the day after H’s letter) that made me cry.
I know she meant well. I know she loves me. But my sister is just … I don’t know. I think a tactful way of putting it would be to say that sometimes she says (or types) things without stopping to consider how her words might be taken.
Most of the e-mail was the sort of things I’d expected – have faith in the Lord and His plan, get a priesthood blessing, remember that eternity is a long time, she supported me no matter what … blah blah blah. The kicker was at the end, and I quote:
"Not that you should go back and deal with the LDSSS people, but might there be another couple that you passed over, or just decided to adopt that you might consider? No couple would be perfect, but at least they could give your baby a family to be sealed to."
In other words, it doesn’t matter if you actually like them. Anyone would be better parents than you. I pity my mother; I’m sure I had nothing good to say about my sister after that, and my mom was the only person to whom I could vent.
I had arranged to meet S for dinner. I had a copy of H’s e-mail with me. As she read it, she reacted just as I had hoped, with plenty of eye rolling and a "Who does he think he is?" here and there for good measure.
"And he’s so messed up," I said. "He thinks he’s still got rights after he ignored his paperwork. He doesn’t have any rights!"
S nodded emphatically. "Well," she said between sips of Sierra Mist, "unless you decide to single parent."
I choked on my own beverage.
"What?"
It turns out, S had inadvertently misinformed my mother on the phone. Adoption, H had nothing to do with. But he did indeed have rights if I kept my baby. The thought chilled me to the bone. I cried, I lost my appetite.
"That’s not what you told my mother," I said, upset and confused. "You told her H has no rights anymore."
"I thought she was talking about adoption," S said. "Your mother must have misunderstood."
Now I was cheesed. My mother may have her shortcomings, but I knew she hadn’t misunderstood. I had made my mom go over her conversation with S in detail, and my mother assured me that twice she had made sure that S understood my mom was talking about me single parenting.
I left dinner early and got slightly hysterical on the way home. I told my mom what had happened. She let me cry as I spoke, and remained preternaturally calm. She told me not to worry about things, and to just tell H that I was going with adoption, since he’d been so eager for a response. I did just that. It was a very short e-mail.
I hated knowing that H had rights. I felt like my hand was being forced, like adoption was my only recourse, my only way of keeping my baby safe. And I didn’t want to place my baby for adoption! I wanted more than ever to be her mommy. My own mommy said that no one could force me to do anything, and she’s send me and my baby out of the country if she had to. That she would never let anyone take my baby away. For my part, I just hoped that H would leave me alone now that I’d given him a decision that didn’t involve him.
I know she meant well. I know she loves me. But my sister is just … I don’t know. I think a tactful way of putting it would be to say that sometimes she says (or types) things without stopping to consider how her words might be taken.
Most of the e-mail was the sort of things I’d expected – have faith in the Lord and His plan, get a priesthood blessing, remember that eternity is a long time, she supported me no matter what … blah blah blah. The kicker was at the end, and I quote:
"Not that you should go back and deal with the LDSSS people, but might there be another couple that you passed over, or just decided to adopt that you might consider? No couple would be perfect, but at least they could give your baby a family to be sealed to."
In other words, it doesn’t matter if you actually like them. Anyone would be better parents than you. I pity my mother; I’m sure I had nothing good to say about my sister after that, and my mom was the only person to whom I could vent.
I had arranged to meet S for dinner. I had a copy of H’s e-mail with me. As she read it, she reacted just as I had hoped, with plenty of eye rolling and a "Who does he think he is?" here and there for good measure.
"And he’s so messed up," I said. "He thinks he’s still got rights after he ignored his paperwork. He doesn’t have any rights!"
S nodded emphatically. "Well," she said between sips of Sierra Mist, "unless you decide to single parent."
I choked on my own beverage.
"What?"
It turns out, S had inadvertently misinformed my mother on the phone. Adoption, H had nothing to do with. But he did indeed have rights if I kept my baby. The thought chilled me to the bone. I cried, I lost my appetite.
"That’s not what you told my mother," I said, upset and confused. "You told her H has no rights anymore."
"I thought she was talking about adoption," S said. "Your mother must have misunderstood."
Now I was cheesed. My mother may have her shortcomings, but I knew she hadn’t misunderstood. I had made my mom go over her conversation with S in detail, and my mother assured me that twice she had made sure that S understood my mom was talking about me single parenting.
I left dinner early and got slightly hysterical on the way home. I told my mom what had happened. She let me cry as I spoke, and remained preternaturally calm. She told me not to worry about things, and to just tell H that I was going with adoption, since he’d been so eager for a response. I did just that. It was a very short e-mail.
I hated knowing that H had rights. I felt like my hand was being forced, like adoption was my only recourse, my only way of keeping my baby safe. And I didn’t want to place my baby for adoption! I wanted more than ever to be her mommy. My own mommy said that no one could force me to do anything, and she’s send me and my baby out of the country if she had to. That she would never let anyone take my baby away. For my part, I just hoped that H would leave me alone now that I’d given him a decision that didn’t involve him.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
January 2009 – Depression, Indecision, Adoption
I realized on New Year’s Day that I was going to have a baby this year! A 2009 baby. My due date seemed closer than it had the day before. Previously, I’d think to myself that I was having a baby next year. Now it was next year.
And, overnight, I looked pregnant. I’d gone from being flabby on December 31st to having a little pregnant belly pop out on January 1st. I was loathe to transition to maternity jeans so soon, but I did it, and they were the most comfortable pants I’ve ever worn.
I was a bit nervous about my popped-out belly, though. The only people who knew I was pregnant were my mother, my therapist, and my bishop. I’d decided not to tell anyone else until the risk of miscarriage was past. Suddenly, I was in my second trimester, and I felt woefully unprepared to share the news with anyone. My mother began to ask me more regularly when I planned on telling my brothers and sister. I didn’t want to think about it. I became horribly, cripplingly depressed. I was convinced that I would make an absolutely horrible mother – but I also couldn’t stomach the thought of anyone else raising my precious baby. I didn’t know what to do or when to do it, and I wanted to take back the past year of my life.
I began to consider adoption more strongly. I found three or four couples that I felt pretty good about. I sent them a few questions and liked their responses. I told S about them. We looked at their profiles together one night after group, and a few birth moms hung around and looked at them, too, giving their opinions, which made me really uncomfortable. But adoption seemed a bit more palatable than it had in the past, which terrified me. I wrote this in my journal:
“How can I give up my baby? It goes against nature. How am I supposed to just pick some strangers to raise my baby as their own? I don't know if I can do it.
How can I do this? How can I possibly do this impossible thing I know I have to do?
I don't know. I'm glad I've got time.”
Then, the next day, “Every time I think I've got my mind made up once and for all I change it, or I second-guess myself, or I just get anxious.”
My sister was planning to visit in mid-February and I decided to tell my siblings then exactly how bad I’d screwed up my life. In the meantime, I didn’t hear from H. I figured he’d probably been served, and that was why he’d been silent. But then, I thought, wasn’t he at least angry? Shouldn’t he at least have something angry to say to me? Once more, H’s inaction left me feeling crushed.
I tried to find solace at the birth mom group, but there were a few birth moms who dominated every conversation every week. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise, and my forced silence hurt me more than I can say. I felt unimportant, and I left in tears on more than one occasion, frustrated that no one seemed to notice I didn’t have a chance to say a word.
I still met with S, and we decided that it was time for me to meet with a few of the couples I’d selected from the LDSFS website. I was super nervous and not entirely certain how I felt about adoption, but I didn’t know what else to do. I arranged to meet the first couple towards the end of January.
I loved them right away. I was nervous, but they soon put me at ease, and we had tons in common. They emphasized many times that if I chose them, my health and happiness as a birth mom were as important to them as how the baby was doing. They were charming and intelligent and easy to talk to. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to meet another couple. How could anyone else measure up to these great people? But days later, I was unsure again. My heart and mind were both a mess. As my baby grew, so did my indecision.
The next time I was to meet with S, I went at the usual time and instead of the usual wait in the waiting room, S came and got me rather quickly.
"We've got some baby daddy drama," she said.
We went back into the main reception office area where my file was open and a lady seated at a computer was on the telephone. It turned out that the process server people had tried to serve H on nine separate occasions. Nine! They had even tried at the main office of his company. I explained that he worked at a different office. I found the address and gave them his work schedule. I was more determined than ever to have him served. I felt like he was being intentionally difficult, and it made me angry.
Group that night was two married birthmothers. I was hoping that hearing from women who'd been through it and met decent men would help me, but knowing that four and six years later these women still wept thinking about their experiences made me feel like I couldn't go through with it. One of the women had a 5-month old girl and the other was six or so months pregnant with a girl. She had the cutest little round belly. This one was her third with her husband of four years. I was jealous. I was depressed.
I was still unsure about the couple I’d met, but I had liked them very much. S suggested meeting with another couple, if for no other reason than to cement my choice of the first couple. I agreed.
This strange little part of me hoped that H would file his paperwork and keep me from placing so I could keep my baby. In the back of my mind, I knew that if that happened, it would mean H would still be in my life. I pushed that thought aside and focused on meeting the second couple I’d liked.
And, overnight, I looked pregnant. I’d gone from being flabby on December 31st to having a little pregnant belly pop out on January 1st. I was loathe to transition to maternity jeans so soon, but I did it, and they were the most comfortable pants I’ve ever worn.
I was a bit nervous about my popped-out belly, though. The only people who knew I was pregnant were my mother, my therapist, and my bishop. I’d decided not to tell anyone else until the risk of miscarriage was past. Suddenly, I was in my second trimester, and I felt woefully unprepared to share the news with anyone. My mother began to ask me more regularly when I planned on telling my brothers and sister. I didn’t want to think about it. I became horribly, cripplingly depressed. I was convinced that I would make an absolutely horrible mother – but I also couldn’t stomach the thought of anyone else raising my precious baby. I didn’t know what to do or when to do it, and I wanted to take back the past year of my life.
I began to consider adoption more strongly. I found three or four couples that I felt pretty good about. I sent them a few questions and liked their responses. I told S about them. We looked at their profiles together one night after group, and a few birth moms hung around and looked at them, too, giving their opinions, which made me really uncomfortable. But adoption seemed a bit more palatable than it had in the past, which terrified me. I wrote this in my journal:
“How can I give up my baby? It goes against nature. How am I supposed to just pick some strangers to raise my baby as their own? I don't know if I can do it.
How can I do this? How can I possibly do this impossible thing I know I have to do?
I don't know. I'm glad I've got time.”
Then, the next day, “Every time I think I've got my mind made up once and for all I change it, or I second-guess myself, or I just get anxious.”
My sister was planning to visit in mid-February and I decided to tell my siblings then exactly how bad I’d screwed up my life. In the meantime, I didn’t hear from H. I figured he’d probably been served, and that was why he’d been silent. But then, I thought, wasn’t he at least angry? Shouldn’t he at least have something angry to say to me? Once more, H’s inaction left me feeling crushed.
I tried to find solace at the birth mom group, but there were a few birth moms who dominated every conversation every week. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise, and my forced silence hurt me more than I can say. I felt unimportant, and I left in tears on more than one occasion, frustrated that no one seemed to notice I didn’t have a chance to say a word.
I still met with S, and we decided that it was time for me to meet with a few of the couples I’d selected from the LDSFS website. I was super nervous and not entirely certain how I felt about adoption, but I didn’t know what else to do. I arranged to meet the first couple towards the end of January.
I loved them right away. I was nervous, but they soon put me at ease, and we had tons in common. They emphasized many times that if I chose them, my health and happiness as a birth mom were as important to them as how the baby was doing. They were charming and intelligent and easy to talk to. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to meet another couple. How could anyone else measure up to these great people? But days later, I was unsure again. My heart and mind were both a mess. As my baby grew, so did my indecision.
The next time I was to meet with S, I went at the usual time and instead of the usual wait in the waiting room, S came and got me rather quickly.
"We've got some baby daddy drama," she said.
We went back into the main reception office area where my file was open and a lady seated at a computer was on the telephone. It turned out that the process server people had tried to serve H on nine separate occasions. Nine! They had even tried at the main office of his company. I explained that he worked at a different office. I found the address and gave them his work schedule. I was more determined than ever to have him served. I felt like he was being intentionally difficult, and it made me angry.
Group that night was two married birthmothers. I was hoping that hearing from women who'd been through it and met decent men would help me, but knowing that four and six years later these women still wept thinking about their experiences made me feel like I couldn't go through with it. One of the women had a 5-month old girl and the other was six or so months pregnant with a girl. She had the cutest little round belly. This one was her third with her husband of four years. I was jealous. I was depressed.
I was still unsure about the couple I’d met, but I had liked them very much. S suggested meeting with another couple, if for no other reason than to cement my choice of the first couple. I agreed.
This strange little part of me hoped that H would file his paperwork and keep me from placing so I could keep my baby. In the back of my mind, I knew that if that happened, it would mean H would still be in my life. I pushed that thought aside and focused on meeting the second couple I’d liked.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
December 2008, Part Three
I met with S again. I told her I wanted to have H served. He wanted me to make up my mind? He was going to have to wait. And if he wasn’t going to be kind or supportive in the meantime, to heck with him.
I told S about looking at couple profiles, and about how I hadn’t felt any divine inspiration. At group I heard birth moms talk about the warm fuzzy feelings they had, and how they just knew when they saw their couple’s profile that they’d chosen right, and all sorts of other maudlin and sometimes nauseating clichés and hearts-and-flowers stories. I told S that I hadn’t felt that with any of the couples I’d seen. They seemed nice enough, sure. But there had been no heavenly choirs, no pillars of light.
She said that was normal, and that despite what I might have heard at group, she didn’t know any birth mom who’d had instant warm fuzzies. They all started off picking a few couples they liked, narrowing down the list, and meeting with them. I felt better after that. But I still didn’t feel 100% that adoption was the right decision.
My appetite was spotty, and my temper was all over the place. My brain was a thick swamp of hormones and hunger-crabbiness, and it was hard to think clearly about the right decision for my baby. I went back and forth on adoption like a tennis ball at Wimbledon. I was getting fatter, which depressed me because I lost weight after my dad died and I’d gotten down to a respectable size 12 when I got pregnant. I told myself that at the very least, if I went with adoption, the grief of losing my baby might equal my grief at losing my father, and I’d grieve myself back down to a smaller size.
That seemed like a bad way to decide on my baby’s future – a future I’d begun to wonder about more and more. What sort of person would my little Strawberry be? What would she (I always knew it was a she) do with those tiny fingers she was growing? Play an instrument? Throw a baseball? Write novels? My pregnancy hadn’t seemed completely real to me in the past. My therapist said I was detached. I didn’t feel it. Where once I had hoped to miscarry, with each day that passed I became more and more alarmed at the possibility of a miscarriage. The thought of losing my precious little fetus was unbearable. I took care of myself better than I ever had before.
I got a “Merry Christmas” text from H. I wasn’t sure what to think about that. My head knew, but my heart was confused. The part of me that still loved him wasn’t ready to completely shut him out. That part of me still wanted him around; wanted him to step up and be supportive and mature. I texted him back. He didn’t reply. I wept.
S texted me on New Year’s Eve telling me she’d given H’s information to the process server people. I watched a “Twilight Zone” marathon and brooded. I’d wasted so much of the past year! I wanted to take it all back, never have met H, spent more time with my father. I missed my dad so much! It seemed impossible for me to get through everything without him here. The past four months felt like years. How was I supposed to get through the next year without my daddy?
And how would my precious baby get by without a wonderful daddy like I’d had? The thought pained me. A little girl needs her daddy. But I was also pained at the thought of carrying this baby and then handing her to strangers. I didn’t know what I was going to do. I only hoped that the next few months would provide me with a few answers.
I told S about looking at couple profiles, and about how I hadn’t felt any divine inspiration. At group I heard birth moms talk about the warm fuzzy feelings they had, and how they just knew when they saw their couple’s profile that they’d chosen right, and all sorts of other maudlin and sometimes nauseating clichés and hearts-and-flowers stories. I told S that I hadn’t felt that with any of the couples I’d seen. They seemed nice enough, sure. But there had been no heavenly choirs, no pillars of light.
She said that was normal, and that despite what I might have heard at group, she didn’t know any birth mom who’d had instant warm fuzzies. They all started off picking a few couples they liked, narrowing down the list, and meeting with them. I felt better after that. But I still didn’t feel 100% that adoption was the right decision.
My appetite was spotty, and my temper was all over the place. My brain was a thick swamp of hormones and hunger-crabbiness, and it was hard to think clearly about the right decision for my baby. I went back and forth on adoption like a tennis ball at Wimbledon. I was getting fatter, which depressed me because I lost weight after my dad died and I’d gotten down to a respectable size 12 when I got pregnant. I told myself that at the very least, if I went with adoption, the grief of losing my baby might equal my grief at losing my father, and I’d grieve myself back down to a smaller size.
That seemed like a bad way to decide on my baby’s future – a future I’d begun to wonder about more and more. What sort of person would my little Strawberry be? What would she (I always knew it was a she) do with those tiny fingers she was growing? Play an instrument? Throw a baseball? Write novels? My pregnancy hadn’t seemed completely real to me in the past. My therapist said I was detached. I didn’t feel it. Where once I had hoped to miscarry, with each day that passed I became more and more alarmed at the possibility of a miscarriage. The thought of losing my precious little fetus was unbearable. I took care of myself better than I ever had before.
I got a “Merry Christmas” text from H. I wasn’t sure what to think about that. My head knew, but my heart was confused. The part of me that still loved him wasn’t ready to completely shut him out. That part of me still wanted him around; wanted him to step up and be supportive and mature. I texted him back. He didn’t reply. I wept.
S texted me on New Year’s Eve telling me she’d given H’s information to the process server people. I watched a “Twilight Zone” marathon and brooded. I’d wasted so much of the past year! I wanted to take it all back, never have met H, spent more time with my father. I missed my dad so much! It seemed impossible for me to get through everything without him here. The past four months felt like years. How was I supposed to get through the next year without my daddy?
And how would my precious baby get by without a wonderful daddy like I’d had? The thought pained me. A little girl needs her daddy. But I was also pained at the thought of carrying this baby and then handing her to strangers. I didn’t know what I was going to do. I only hoped that the next few months would provide me with a few answers.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
December 2008, Part One
I told H (read about it here). He wasn’t thrilled, which I can’t say surprised me any. He’d mentioned several months ago that he had no interest in ever having children. I went to LDSFS again to talk to S, and although I enjoyed visiting with her, I wrote in my journal that I definitely felt more pressure to adopt this time, which irked me.
The pregnancy itself was going well enough. I didn’t throw up once, despite severe and persistent nausea. I was ravenous most of the time but not many things were palatable. I could eat probably five or six different things, and I ate so much of them so often that I can’t eat most of them today. I was exhausted all the time and desperately looked forward to the second-trimester energy surge I’d read about.
At S’s suggestion, I agreed to go to the birth mom support group. The first week I went happened to be the week they were going out to eat at Oregano’s, to celebrate a few recent placements. It was awkward, because I hadn’t even decided what I was going to do with, and because I was one of only two pregnant women there – everyone else had placed. The other pregnant woman (I’ll call her G) was due in April. I felt sorely out of place. Everyone else seemed to know each other. I don’t have the most developed social skills in the world. I found myself wanting very much to go home. Finally, one birth mom turned her attention to me. She asked me all sorts of invasive personal questions, and everyone listened in as I answered. I was encouraged by at least four people to go on-line and look at adoptive couple profiles. But the food is good, and I got along well enough with G.
The nice thing, of course, was that for a few hours I’d been surrounded by women who had been through what I was going through, who knew what I’d done and weren’t going to judge me for it because they’d done it too. That was comforting, and although I didn’t feel any sort of kinship with anyone, I didn’t have any friends or confidantes, so I decided I’d attend group the next week as well. I didn’t want to let S down. She’d been so kind to me.
I went to group again. There was supposed to be a speaker, but he canceled, so we all just visited. It was nice on one level – to be once more surrounded by people who weren’t going to judge me, people who knew what I was going through. But at the same time, I looked at the two women who’d placed a month ago. Both of them absolutely lit up when they talked about their babies. They lived for pictures and visits and updates. They talked about them a lot. Would that be me, too, if I chose placement? Living my life waiting for another picture, another letter? All I’d ever wanted was to be a mommy, and this was my chance. Once more I shoved adoption into the back of my mind, and I concentrated on taking care of myself and my strawberry-sized baby.
The pregnancy itself was going well enough. I didn’t throw up once, despite severe and persistent nausea. I was ravenous most of the time but not many things were palatable. I could eat probably five or six different things, and I ate so much of them so often that I can’t eat most of them today. I was exhausted all the time and desperately looked forward to the second-trimester energy surge I’d read about.
At S’s suggestion, I agreed to go to the birth mom support group. The first week I went happened to be the week they were going out to eat at Oregano’s, to celebrate a few recent placements. It was awkward, because I hadn’t even decided what I was going to do with, and because I was one of only two pregnant women there – everyone else had placed. The other pregnant woman (I’ll call her G) was due in April. I felt sorely out of place. Everyone else seemed to know each other. I don’t have the most developed social skills in the world. I found myself wanting very much to go home. Finally, one birth mom turned her attention to me. She asked me all sorts of invasive personal questions, and everyone listened in as I answered. I was encouraged by at least four people to go on-line and look at adoptive couple profiles. But the food is good, and I got along well enough with G.
The nice thing, of course, was that for a few hours I’d been surrounded by women who had been through what I was going through, who knew what I’d done and weren’t going to judge me for it because they’d done it too. That was comforting, and although I didn’t feel any sort of kinship with anyone, I didn’t have any friends or confidantes, so I decided I’d attend group the next week as well. I didn’t want to let S down. She’d been so kind to me.
I went to group again. There was supposed to be a speaker, but he canceled, so we all just visited. It was nice on one level – to be once more surrounded by people who weren’t going to judge me, people who knew what I was going through. But at the same time, I looked at the two women who’d placed a month ago. Both of them absolutely lit up when they talked about their babies. They lived for pictures and visits and updates. They talked about them a lot. Would that be me, too, if I chose placement? Living my life waiting for another picture, another letter? All I’d ever wanted was to be a mommy, and this was my chance. Once more I shoved adoption into the back of my mind, and I concentrated on taking care of myself and my strawberry-sized baby.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Meanwhile, Back on the Farm ...
I have been slacking off majorly in the story department here. I’m pretty sure I left off just before my first visit to LDS Family Services. I’ll start there, I think.
My mother called LDSFS and made an appointment for me. I did not want to go. I did not want to go AT ALL. I went anyway. It was a Wednesday in November. The 12th, if I’m not mistaken.
I have a notoriously poor sense of direction and I had a hard time finding the place. And then someone tailgated me through the parking lot, which is one of my all-time biggest pet peeves. Then they tried to go around me. In a parking lot! I was unimpressed, to say the least.
I went in and checked in with the receptionist. She asked whom my appointment was with, a detail my mother had neglected to write down (if she got it at all). I told the receptionist I didn’t know who I was supposed to see. She gave me a look like I was the stupidest person on earth and she was more than slightly impatient with me. This did not endear me to the receptionist or to LDSFS in general. Nevertheless, I took a seat in the waiting area.
It turned out that the caseworker I was supposed to meet with had to leave the office because one of her kids was sick. So I met with the other caseworker, and I am so glad I did! I met with S that day. We connected right away – we have about a million things in common. In my journal I described her as “fantastically awesome,” which is a phrase I still stand by today.
My mother had told me not to tell H about my pregnancy until I talked to someone at LDSFS, because she was concerned about what rights H’s family might have, specifically his mother. My mom had heard stories from people about custody problems involving grandparents and she wanted to make sure I had answers before I started talking.
S had answers. She explained that while H had rights, no one in his family did. She told me to tell H, and soon. I wasn’t sure how best to do that, since I had told him just two days ago that I wasn’t pregnant. But when I left that office, I felt better than I had in weeks. I felt sure that things would work out. I didn’t feel pressured to go with adoption, although I wrote in my journal that “I’m beginning to see why it’s a good idea.” But then, I thought, how can I handle going through so much and then have nothing to show for it?
The best thing S told me that day was to stop being ashamed of my baby because there was no need for it. What a relief that was! One of the biggest obstacles facing a woman with an unplanned pregnancy is society’s refusal to separate the behavior that leads to pregnancy from the pregnancy itself. A baby is a wonderful thing. S helped me to see that. Regardless of how my baby was conceived, he or she (I knew it was a she, though) was a precious child of God, and nothing to be ashamed of. I never forgot that, and I never will.
My mother and I went out to dinner after that – to celebrate. It was quite a change from my mother’s incredulity at my doctor’s congratulations a few weeks before. It was so nice to not feel like a horrible disappointment to my mother. To feel, for the first time in three weeks, that my baby was a good thing. It seems funny now that I was ever anything less than thrilled at the prospect of mommyhood. Roo is the best thing that ever happened to me. I think I first started to recognize that possibility when I spoke to S.
My mother called LDSFS and made an appointment for me. I did not want to go. I did not want to go AT ALL. I went anyway. It was a Wednesday in November. The 12th, if I’m not mistaken.
I have a notoriously poor sense of direction and I had a hard time finding the place. And then someone tailgated me through the parking lot, which is one of my all-time biggest pet peeves. Then they tried to go around me. In a parking lot! I was unimpressed, to say the least.
I went in and checked in with the receptionist. She asked whom my appointment was with, a detail my mother had neglected to write down (if she got it at all). I told the receptionist I didn’t know who I was supposed to see. She gave me a look like I was the stupidest person on earth and she was more than slightly impatient with me. This did not endear me to the receptionist or to LDSFS in general. Nevertheless, I took a seat in the waiting area.
It turned out that the caseworker I was supposed to meet with had to leave the office because one of her kids was sick. So I met with the other caseworker, and I am so glad I did! I met with S that day. We connected right away – we have about a million things in common. In my journal I described her as “fantastically awesome,” which is a phrase I still stand by today.
My mother had told me not to tell H about my pregnancy until I talked to someone at LDSFS, because she was concerned about what rights H’s family might have, specifically his mother. My mom had heard stories from people about custody problems involving grandparents and she wanted to make sure I had answers before I started talking.
S had answers. She explained that while H had rights, no one in his family did. She told me to tell H, and soon. I wasn’t sure how best to do that, since I had told him just two days ago that I wasn’t pregnant. But when I left that office, I felt better than I had in weeks. I felt sure that things would work out. I didn’t feel pressured to go with adoption, although I wrote in my journal that “I’m beginning to see why it’s a good idea.” But then, I thought, how can I handle going through so much and then have nothing to show for it?
The best thing S told me that day was to stop being ashamed of my baby because there was no need for it. What a relief that was! One of the biggest obstacles facing a woman with an unplanned pregnancy is society’s refusal to separate the behavior that leads to pregnancy from the pregnancy itself. A baby is a wonderful thing. S helped me to see that. Regardless of how my baby was conceived, he or she (I knew it was a she, though) was a precious child of God, and nothing to be ashamed of. I never forgot that, and I never will.
My mother and I went out to dinner after that – to celebrate. It was quite a change from my mother’s incredulity at my doctor’s congratulations a few weeks before. It was so nice to not feel like a horrible disappointment to my mother. To feel, for the first time in three weeks, that my baby was a good thing. It seems funny now that I was ever anything less than thrilled at the prospect of mommyhood. Roo is the best thing that ever happened to me. I think I first started to recognize that possibility when I spoke to S.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Pity Party
WARNING: I am feeling petty and whiny and immature and selfish and crabby, and I need to vent.
I am having one of those days. I hate them. Days like this, I mean.
It's not so much that I miss my Roo (although I do miss her terribly). It's more that people are so imperfect, and don't think, and I end up feeling like some of the people who should care about me don't care at all.
People like my LDSFS caseworker, S; one of her fellow caseworkers, A; my fellow birth mothers at the support group that meets on Wednesdays; and a few other people I know.
If I'm honest, some of what I'm irked about goes back a month. I was scheduled to tell my adoption story at the birth mother group on December 2nd. A few hours beforehand, an e-mail went out to the group saying that group was meeting that night, and that according to the schedule I would be speaking. Then it said to make sure to come for check in at 5. Not for me, but for check-in. I was irked. Especially when only about half as many people as usually come actually came. Four birth moms, an agency rep or two, and maybe three other people. And then S made two announcements - she told us that a birth mom had just placed a few days ago, and then she said that one of the girls who usually comes was in labor, and everyone got excited and talked about going to visit her in the hospital. I know it's stupid and petty and immature, but I wanted to leave then. I wanted to say, "Fine. You all want to go see her? Go see her. Not like anyone cares what I have to say anyway."
But I didn't. And I told my story. I tried to be brutally honest. About how I don't have any kind of social skills, and how people make me nervous because I'm always afraid people are looking at me and judging me and finding me lacking. I had hoped that opening up like that might, if not endear me to people, at least help them to see that I'm not stuck up or standoffish. Just socially awkward. What can I say? I'm an optimist.
The next week, the reminder e-mail that was sent was something like, "[name] is telling her story tonight. Everyone needs to come and support her and show her you care." So apparently it was really important to show support for her but not for me. And when I got there at group that night, the room was packed. Everyone had indeed come to support her. I counted eight birth moms who hadn't bothered to show up the week before.
Now, I know - I KNOW - that it wasn't anything personal. It's not like those birth moms all hate me and didn't want to hear me talk. But it was their absence when I spoke, coupled with the tone of the reminder e-mail, that just made me feel like no one gave a care about me.
And then there's S. How can I explain S? I love her, but she reminds me of ... of a noncustodial parent. A weekend dad. Like, she makes promises and then doesn't keep them. Much the way a weekend dad might promise a trip to the zoo or the carnival and then not show up.
I can't be sure, but I suspect that it's LDSFS policy to have, you know, follow-up meetings with birth moms after placement. I haven't had a single follow-up with S. I have made a few frantic phone calls to S at odd hours, and she's talked me out of a few crises. But when I've tried to make appointments to go in to the office and talk to her, it never happens. Her schedule changes, she has to cancel, or we end up grocery shopping or chatting in the car while she drives from house to house doing her other job.
I needed her - I really, really needed her - when this mess with H's mother came up. I contacted her, frantic. I told her, and I quote, "I am really freaking out here." She said she'd call me as soon as she could. She never called. We ended up hanging out almost 2 weeks later and she seemed not to remember at all that she'd let me down. I really screwed things up with how I handled things with H's mother. I could have used S's help. I never got it. She's too busy for me. I'm not important. It hurts. It bothers me. But, like a child of divorce, I keep forgiving her. I never tell her she's hurt me. I'm just happy when she decides to pay any attention to me.
I got e-mail this morning from A. It was sent to me and three other birth moms. A wanted us to reach out and support this birth mom she knows of - a birth mom I have never personally met. A wrote: "I don't know if she has ever come to group since placement in August but she is trying to get through this emotionally by herself and I think it would really help to have some other birthmothers there for her. Maybe it could help her feel more comfortable coming to group."
This e-mail irritated me more than I can say. First off, as I said, I've never even met this other birth mom. How phony would that be if I wrote to her and acted all supportive and nice? She doesn't know me. And she has a boyfriend, so it's not like she's all alone in this. You know who is? Oh, right. That would be me. Also, why is this one birth mom so special? Is A sending out e-mail about other birth moms? We ALL need support. We ALL need to have other birth moms who are there for us. And I sure as heck don't feel comfortable coming to group. I sit alone there more often than not. Hey, A, read MY blog and see how well I'm doing - or not doing. Send out an e-mail telling other birth moms to talk to me, to sit by me, to make me feel welcome and important and loved.
I'm just feeling like since placement no one cares about me anymore - about how I'm doing or how I'm coping or whether I'm miserable - which, for the record, I am quite a bit since I don't have anything going for me at the moment. I have no job, no friends, no boyfriend, no money, no social life, nothing to look forward to. I live with my mother and I spend most of my time on-line or watching TV or doing housework.
I try - Heaven only knows how I try to be happy, to find peace and joy. But it's so hard! And I feel like no one besides my mother and my oldest brother actually cares about me. And P and M. They're awesome. I know they care.
But what about S? She's paid to care, for crying out loud. A, I suppose, doesn't have to care, which is just as well since I've never gotten the impression that she thinks a whole lot of me. Which is fine, I suppose. I reckon I'm a bit of an acquired taste, and not everyone is going to like me - they don't have to. I'm learning to accept that.
But still, I think ... why am I less important than any other birth mom? Why shouldn't I get encouragement and support as well? Urg. I hate it when I get in these moods. But it's so irritating! It's irritating to feel like, for some unknown reason, I'm less important, worth less time and attention than other people. I've felt that way my entire life and I guess part of me thought that in doing this amazing thing, in being a birth mom, I would finally get someone who knows me to say, "Jill, you are amazing. You did an amazing thing. You are important. I care."
I'm not proud of myself. I'm not proud of feeling so petty and selfish and juvenile. I'm not even sure I'll post this. Part of me feels like this sort of ranting and raving is beneath me, unproductive and brings down the quality and purpose of my blog. And I don't want anyone to think I'm fishing for compliments. I knew a girl in high school who used to put herself down all the time so that people would compliment her, and it was highly irritating. That's not my aim here. I just need to ... to vent. Should I vent on this blog? Maybe I should have a separate blog, just for venting.
But then, I've always striven to be brutally honest about my experience as a birth mom, and this is part of it. It's an ugly part of it, but a part of it nonetheless.
I think I'll just save this as a draft and think about it for a while. I'll probably feel less whiny in the morning.
I am having one of those days. I hate them. Days like this, I mean.
It's not so much that I miss my Roo (although I do miss her terribly). It's more that people are so imperfect, and don't think, and I end up feeling like some of the people who should care about me don't care at all.
People like my LDSFS caseworker, S; one of her fellow caseworkers, A; my fellow birth mothers at the support group that meets on Wednesdays; and a few other people I know.
If I'm honest, some of what I'm irked about goes back a month. I was scheduled to tell my adoption story at the birth mother group on December 2nd. A few hours beforehand, an e-mail went out to the group saying that group was meeting that night, and that according to the schedule I would be speaking. Then it said to make sure to come for check in at 5. Not for me, but for check-in. I was irked. Especially when only about half as many people as usually come actually came. Four birth moms, an agency rep or two, and maybe three other people. And then S made two announcements - she told us that a birth mom had just placed a few days ago, and then she said that one of the girls who usually comes was in labor, and everyone got excited and talked about going to visit her in the hospital. I know it's stupid and petty and immature, but I wanted to leave then. I wanted to say, "Fine. You all want to go see her? Go see her. Not like anyone cares what I have to say anyway."
But I didn't. And I told my story. I tried to be brutally honest. About how I don't have any kind of social skills, and how people make me nervous because I'm always afraid people are looking at me and judging me and finding me lacking. I had hoped that opening up like that might, if not endear me to people, at least help them to see that I'm not stuck up or standoffish. Just socially awkward. What can I say? I'm an optimist.
The next week, the reminder e-mail that was sent was something like, "[name] is telling her story tonight. Everyone needs to come and support her and show her you care." So apparently it was really important to show support for her but not for me. And when I got there at group that night, the room was packed. Everyone had indeed come to support her. I counted eight birth moms who hadn't bothered to show up the week before.
Now, I know - I KNOW - that it wasn't anything personal. It's not like those birth moms all hate me and didn't want to hear me talk. But it was their absence when I spoke, coupled with the tone of the reminder e-mail, that just made me feel like no one gave a care about me.
And then there's S. How can I explain S? I love her, but she reminds me of ... of a noncustodial parent. A weekend dad. Like, she makes promises and then doesn't keep them. Much the way a weekend dad might promise a trip to the zoo or the carnival and then not show up.
I can't be sure, but I suspect that it's LDSFS policy to have, you know, follow-up meetings with birth moms after placement. I haven't had a single follow-up with S. I have made a few frantic phone calls to S at odd hours, and she's talked me out of a few crises. But when I've tried to make appointments to go in to the office and talk to her, it never happens. Her schedule changes, she has to cancel, or we end up grocery shopping or chatting in the car while she drives from house to house doing her other job.
I needed her - I really, really needed her - when this mess with H's mother came up. I contacted her, frantic. I told her, and I quote, "I am really freaking out here." She said she'd call me as soon as she could. She never called. We ended up hanging out almost 2 weeks later and she seemed not to remember at all that she'd let me down. I really screwed things up with how I handled things with H's mother. I could have used S's help. I never got it. She's too busy for me. I'm not important. It hurts. It bothers me. But, like a child of divorce, I keep forgiving her. I never tell her she's hurt me. I'm just happy when she decides to pay any attention to me.
I got e-mail this morning from A. It was sent to me and three other birth moms. A wanted us to reach out and support this birth mom she knows of - a birth mom I have never personally met. A wrote: "I don't know if she has ever come to group since placement in August but she is trying to get through this emotionally by herself and I think it would really help to have some other birthmothers there for her. Maybe it could help her feel more comfortable coming to group."
This e-mail irritated me more than I can say. First off, as I said, I've never even met this other birth mom. How phony would that be if I wrote to her and acted all supportive and nice? She doesn't know me. And she has a boyfriend, so it's not like she's all alone in this. You know who is? Oh, right. That would be me. Also, why is this one birth mom so special? Is A sending out e-mail about other birth moms? We ALL need support. We ALL need to have other birth moms who are there for us. And I sure as heck don't feel comfortable coming to group. I sit alone there more often than not. Hey, A, read MY blog and see how well I'm doing - or not doing. Send out an e-mail telling other birth moms to talk to me, to sit by me, to make me feel welcome and important and loved.
I'm just feeling like since placement no one cares about me anymore - about how I'm doing or how I'm coping or whether I'm miserable - which, for the record, I am quite a bit since I don't have anything going for me at the moment. I have no job, no friends, no boyfriend, no money, no social life, nothing to look forward to. I live with my mother and I spend most of my time on-line or watching TV or doing housework.
I try - Heaven only knows how I try to be happy, to find peace and joy. But it's so hard! And I feel like no one besides my mother and my oldest brother actually cares about me. And P and M. They're awesome. I know they care.
But what about S? She's paid to care, for crying out loud. A, I suppose, doesn't have to care, which is just as well since I've never gotten the impression that she thinks a whole lot of me. Which is fine, I suppose. I reckon I'm a bit of an acquired taste, and not everyone is going to like me - they don't have to. I'm learning to accept that.
But still, I think ... why am I less important than any other birth mom? Why shouldn't I get encouragement and support as well? Urg. I hate it when I get in these moods. But it's so irritating! It's irritating to feel like, for some unknown reason, I'm less important, worth less time and attention than other people. I've felt that way my entire life and I guess part of me thought that in doing this amazing thing, in being a birth mom, I would finally get someone who knows me to say, "Jill, you are amazing. You did an amazing thing. You are important. I care."
I'm not proud of myself. I'm not proud of feeling so petty and selfish and juvenile. I'm not even sure I'll post this. Part of me feels like this sort of ranting and raving is beneath me, unproductive and brings down the quality and purpose of my blog. And I don't want anyone to think I'm fishing for compliments. I knew a girl in high school who used to put herself down all the time so that people would compliment her, and it was highly irritating. That's not my aim here. I just need to ... to vent. Should I vent on this blog? Maybe I should have a separate blog, just for venting.
But then, I've always striven to be brutally honest about my experience as a birth mom, and this is part of it. It's an ugly part of it, but a part of it nonetheless.
I think I'll just save this as a draft and think about it for a while. I'll probably feel less whiny in the morning.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Fifteen Weeks
It has been fifteen weeks since I placed my Roo. She’s 24 weeks old – 5 ½ months. I can still remember with astonishing clarity that surreal afternoon in July that my mother drove us all home from the hospital. Roo looked so tiny in her car seat. I spent the entire drive home squished up next to the car seat, worried that every little bump in the road would jostle my baby’s delicate neck too much. I had a burp cloth rolled up and wedged in between Roo’s head and the seat’s u-shaped head support because it wasn’t snug enough for my peace of mind.
Now Roo sits up confidently in her cart seat, chubby legs and wedge-shaped feet kicking happily as she reaches for the toys dangling from the seat handle. She smiles and laughs and babbles and makes the funniest, sweetest little faces as she looks around.
Equally fresh in my mind is that night fifteen weeks ago – the heartrending moment I passed Roo from my arms to her mommy’s. The clatter of the unfastened car seat buckle. The burning sensation deep in my gut that was the only feeling I was cognizant of – everything else was a clawing, biting chasm – emptiness. Coldness. Despair. I thought I'd never be cheerful again. Some days I still wonder.
This week has been a tough one. I don’t know why. But every little thing has reminded me of my Roo, and I miss her desperately. I’ve cried buckets. My mother used to say that tears cleanse the soul. My soul must be squeaky-clean and shiny by now.
Last year, I thought I couldn’t possibly have a worse Christmas. My dad had just died, I’d just been fired, and I was pregnant. What could be more devastating? Now I know. I long for the nausea and vague disquiet of a year ago. This year’s gentle (and often not-so-gentle) sobbing and complicated grief are infinitely less palatable. I miss her so much! I have little to distract me from the pain, and I'm not sure what to do with the tangle of emotions that come up.
I contacted S after I got that horrible e-mail on Friday and she promised she'd call me as soon as she could. That was five days ago and I've not gotten so much as a text message from her. I wish I had. I don't know who else to turn to for help figuring things out. The birth mothers I know have vastly different situations than I do, different relationships with their adoptive couples, different levels of openness. I'll talk to my therapist when I see him today, but he understands so little of this process that I doubt he'll be much help with things. I really need(ed) S, and she's let me down. Again. I love her dearly, but I confess myself disappointed.
I feel like ... I think it's sort of like I'm a child with divorced parents. And S is the non-custodial parent, making promises and plans and then letting them fall through. I have a good time talking and spending time with her when she can swing it, but I can never count on her when it's important. And so I cry to my mother instead, asking why someone who loves me would continue to let me down.
I miss Roo so much! I have times I want her back - for my sake, not for hers. I wish I could just hold her for a while. I suppose I could ask for a visit, but I just saw Roo a week ago. I don't want to be demanding or obnoxious to P and M. They don't owe me anything. I am acutely aware that openness is a courtesy, not a right. Not that I suspect they'd ever just cut me off. But that irrational part of my brain worries about that sort of stupid thing.
I miss Roo, and I don't know what to do with it. I don't know what to do, period. I feel like I'm waiting for my life to start. I've been praying for months for guidance - should I go back to school? Should I try to find a job? Nothing feels right, nothing fits. If I'm honest I don't want to go back to school. I don't want to get a job. The only job I'm interested in is that of mother. I want to get married and have a family. I wish I had more control over that. I wish I had more hope.
It's hard. But I know that if I have faith, I have to have hope. And so I'm working on it. I have to trust that my mother is right - Heavenly Father wouldn't ask me to do what I've done, to go through so much pain and anguish, and not bless me for it. He wouldn't take so much without having a compensation planned out for me. I just wish I knew when I can expect blessings for my sacrifice and obedience. I am not a patient person, and the longer it takes, the harder it gets to keep waiting.
Now Roo sits up confidently in her cart seat, chubby legs and wedge-shaped feet kicking happily as she reaches for the toys dangling from the seat handle. She smiles and laughs and babbles and makes the funniest, sweetest little faces as she looks around.
Equally fresh in my mind is that night fifteen weeks ago – the heartrending moment I passed Roo from my arms to her mommy’s. The clatter of the unfastened car seat buckle. The burning sensation deep in my gut that was the only feeling I was cognizant of – everything else was a clawing, biting chasm – emptiness. Coldness. Despair. I thought I'd never be cheerful again. Some days I still wonder.
This week has been a tough one. I don’t know why. But every little thing has reminded me of my Roo, and I miss her desperately. I’ve cried buckets. My mother used to say that tears cleanse the soul. My soul must be squeaky-clean and shiny by now.
Last year, I thought I couldn’t possibly have a worse Christmas. My dad had just died, I’d just been fired, and I was pregnant. What could be more devastating? Now I know. I long for the nausea and vague disquiet of a year ago. This year’s gentle (and often not-so-gentle) sobbing and complicated grief are infinitely less palatable. I miss her so much! I have little to distract me from the pain, and I'm not sure what to do with the tangle of emotions that come up.
I contacted S after I got that horrible e-mail on Friday and she promised she'd call me as soon as she could. That was five days ago and I've not gotten so much as a text message from her. I wish I had. I don't know who else to turn to for help figuring things out. The birth mothers I know have vastly different situations than I do, different relationships with their adoptive couples, different levels of openness. I'll talk to my therapist when I see him today, but he understands so little of this process that I doubt he'll be much help with things. I really need(ed) S, and she's let me down. Again. I love her dearly, but I confess myself disappointed.
I feel like ... I think it's sort of like I'm a child with divorced parents. And S is the non-custodial parent, making promises and plans and then letting them fall through. I have a good time talking and spending time with her when she can swing it, but I can never count on her when it's important. And so I cry to my mother instead, asking why someone who loves me would continue to let me down.
I miss Roo so much! I have times I want her back - for my sake, not for hers. I wish I could just hold her for a while. I suppose I could ask for a visit, but I just saw Roo a week ago. I don't want to be demanding or obnoxious to P and M. They don't owe me anything. I am acutely aware that openness is a courtesy, not a right. Not that I suspect they'd ever just cut me off. But that irrational part of my brain worries about that sort of stupid thing.
I miss Roo, and I don't know what to do with it. I don't know what to do, period. I feel like I'm waiting for my life to start. I've been praying for months for guidance - should I go back to school? Should I try to find a job? Nothing feels right, nothing fits. If I'm honest I don't want to go back to school. I don't want to get a job. The only job I'm interested in is that of mother. I want to get married and have a family. I wish I had more control over that. I wish I had more hope.
It's hard. But I know that if I have faith, I have to have hope. And so I'm working on it. I have to trust that my mother is right - Heavenly Father wouldn't ask me to do what I've done, to go through so much pain and anguish, and not bless me for it. He wouldn't take so much without having a compensation planned out for me. I just wish I knew when I can expect blessings for my sacrifice and obedience. I am not a patient person, and the longer it takes, the harder it gets to keep waiting.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Speaking, and Happiness
It feels strange not to be blogging every day. I feel as though I'm forgetting something important.
I spoke at group tonight, as scheduled. Only a few people came, which sort of irritated me. That nasty little insecure part of my brain thinks it's because no one likes me and no one wanted to hear anything I had to say. I sit and listen to everyone else talk every single week and no one could be bothered to come the one week I'm actually going to say something?
On top of that, one woman in group just had her baby and placed her a few days ago, and another gave birth a few hours before group, so the people who were there were excited to talk about those women. There was talk of going to visit one of them in the hospital. Part of me wanted to say, "Fine, y'all go see her, I'll just go home since no one cares about me anyway." No one was very excited when Roo was born. No one jumped to come visit me at the hospital and tell me I was wonderful and brave.
I hate it when I get that way. I hate feeling small and insecure and unimportant and petty and jealous. But I felt that way just the same. I was super nervous. I'm a bit odd when it comes to public speaking. I could comfortably address the entire United Nations, but put me in a room with a handful of people with whom I am acquainted, and I panic. I don't like people staring at me and analyzing my every word. I don't like being the center of attention. I cried a few times. I knew I would. I passed around pictures. Everyone said Roo was beautiful (not really news to me, but always nice to hear). After I spoke, we all sat around and talked for a while. It was nice to talk. I don't get a lot of human interaction. It's easy to forget how nice it is to talk to people about silly little things and to laugh and ... relax. I'm not very good at relaxing. I'm good at being lazy, but that's not the same thing. Even when I'm being lazy, I'm not relaxed.
I always worry when I open up to people like I did tonight. My experience has been that when I open up to people, they decide they don't like me, or they use something I've told them against me. That sort of experience isn't too good for the old self-esteem, and mine was never great to begin with. It was strange to open up, to be myself, and have people tell me they like me, that they think I am clever and funny. My first instinct is to brush them off, assuming they're lying to be kind. I decided I'm going to try something new, though. I think that when I get a compliment, I'm going to repeat it to myself until I start to believe it.
So here goes: I am amazing. I am an amazing person and I have done amazing things and I am a better person for it.
I'm still not sure I believe it. I want to believe it. I want to be happy. I'm not sure I've ever wanted that before. Depression has always been normal for me - not just normal, but comfortable and familiar and consistent, like mental Tupperware. I didn't like being depressed but I was used to it, and it was hard to want to be happy because I didn't think I could be. I think I'm starting to believe that I can be happy - I want to be happy, and I can get there. I do know that I am almost happy now. It's funny, because I've never had less to be happy about in my life, but I've never been happier. It's nice to be happy. I want to keep it up.
I spoke at group tonight, as scheduled. Only a few people came, which sort of irritated me. That nasty little insecure part of my brain thinks it's because no one likes me and no one wanted to hear anything I had to say. I sit and listen to everyone else talk every single week and no one could be bothered to come the one week I'm actually going to say something?
On top of that, one woman in group just had her baby and placed her a few days ago, and another gave birth a few hours before group, so the people who were there were excited to talk about those women. There was talk of going to visit one of them in the hospital. Part of me wanted to say, "Fine, y'all go see her, I'll just go home since no one cares about me anyway." No one was very excited when Roo was born. No one jumped to come visit me at the hospital and tell me I was wonderful and brave.
I hate it when I get that way. I hate feeling small and insecure and unimportant and petty and jealous. But I felt that way just the same. I was super nervous. I'm a bit odd when it comes to public speaking. I could comfortably address the entire United Nations, but put me in a room with a handful of people with whom I am acquainted, and I panic. I don't like people staring at me and analyzing my every word. I don't like being the center of attention. I cried a few times. I knew I would. I passed around pictures. Everyone said Roo was beautiful (not really news to me, but always nice to hear). After I spoke, we all sat around and talked for a while. It was nice to talk. I don't get a lot of human interaction. It's easy to forget how nice it is to talk to people about silly little things and to laugh and ... relax. I'm not very good at relaxing. I'm good at being lazy, but that's not the same thing. Even when I'm being lazy, I'm not relaxed.
I always worry when I open up to people like I did tonight. My experience has been that when I open up to people, they decide they don't like me, or they use something I've told them against me. That sort of experience isn't too good for the old self-esteem, and mine was never great to begin with. It was strange to open up, to be myself, and have people tell me they like me, that they think I am clever and funny. My first instinct is to brush them off, assuming they're lying to be kind. I decided I'm going to try something new, though. I think that when I get a compliment, I'm going to repeat it to myself until I start to believe it.
So here goes: I am amazing. I am an amazing person and I have done amazing things and I am a better person for it.
I'm still not sure I believe it. I want to believe it. I want to be happy. I'm not sure I've ever wanted that before. Depression has always been normal for me - not just normal, but comfortable and familiar and consistent, like mental Tupperware. I didn't like being depressed but I was used to it, and it was hard to want to be happy because I didn't think I could be. I think I'm starting to believe that I can be happy - I want to be happy, and I can get there. I do know that I am almost happy now. It's funny, because I've never had less to be happy about in my life, but I've never been happier. It's nice to be happy. I want to keep it up.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Church Presentation
A few weeks ago I got an e-mail from an LDSFS Agency Representative. She wanted to know if I would be willing to speak about adoption during the third hour of church at her building - it's the fifth Sunday, so it's combined Priesthood and Relief Society. I said of course, I'd love to.
I'm not sure what I was thinking. I think I was thinking that since I've presented in schools a bunch of times, church wouldn't be a problem. Also, the AR was Susan, and I really like Susan. How could I say no? I couldn't. And I wasn't really too concerned about presenting until yesterday. And then I started to panic.
Presenting at schools is one thing. I've got my story down - what parts to play up, what to gloss over, what jokes I'll make, that sort of thing. I've gotten good at keeping religion out of it. And as odd as it sounds (since religion plays such a huge part of my story), I wasn't sure how I'd do. Faced with speaking in a dedicated church building, to church members who would (I hope) actually be listening, I found myself feeling dreadfully unprepared. I panicked. I wasn't sure what to say. With such a different audience than I'm used to, it seemed appropriate to alter the way I tell my story. And I wasn't sure how.
I stayed up until 4:30am, trying to type out my thoughts, editing and re-writing and trying to figure out what to say all over again. I had to downplay things I emphasize in school presentations, figure out what religious aspects to mention and when. And honestly, I think I did a horrible job this afternoon. Then again, I always feel like I do a horrible job of presenting. I feel like I get up there and ramble on and on and overshare and talk too fast and mumble and use too many big words. I must have done okay, though. Several people thanked me for sharing.
The thanks always make me uncomfortable. I don't want people thinking I do presentations for acclaim or attention. I'm sure it sounds odd, considering how openly I blog about things and how much I enjoy public speaking, but I don't necessarily like a lot of attention. Or, I guess what I mean is that I don't like people to think that I seek out attention. I know some birth moms who want to do presentations because they want to talk about themselves and have everyone think they're wonderful and brave and selfless. That's just not me. I talk because I think my story is a good example of ... well, several things, really. One is that it's never too late to make the right decision. The other is that adoption can be an amazing blessing, and that when making the decision, it's what's best for the baby that's most important, not what's going to be easiest for the mom.
I'm rambling again. See, this is what I'm afraid I do when I speak. Blah, blah, blah, me, me, me, no real substance. But Susan said I did great, and told me in no uncertain terms to stop second-guessing myself. See why I like her? She didn't give me a simpering, "Oh, you did amazing! You're wonderful!" Just a straight to the point, "You were great. Don't say you weren't." Susan is awesome (hi, Susan!).
I think it was good for me to shake things up a bit, to talk in a different setting to a different audience. I'm glad I did it. I think people got it. Some of them were crying, anyway, which I try to take as a good thing.
It was sort of a relief to be able to tell the whole story, really. I've always felt that my story lacks something important when I leave religion out. Talking today got me excited (a little, anyway) to speak at the birth mother group on Wednesday. I've never told my story there before, and I wasn't really looking forward to it before, but I'm at least not dreading it now. I think that'll be my toughest audience yet.
National Adoption Month is almost over, which would make me sad except that December is Roo Adoption Month. Her adoption will be finalized, she'll be sealed to her family, and she'll be blessed in church. I am super excited! I can't wait until Roo is theirs officially and for good. It will be such a blessing for all of us. And I'm looking forward to doing a presentation after all that's happened. I feel like it gives my story more of an ending, if you could call it that. More of a conclusion, or a place to stop talking anyway. As it is, I mention visits and openness and sort of trail off. At least in church today I could end with my testimony. Then my mom talked about what it was like for her, especially as an adult adoptee. She did great. My mom is awesome (hi, Mom!). It was nerve-wracking, but I'm glad I did it.
I'm not sure what I was thinking. I think I was thinking that since I've presented in schools a bunch of times, church wouldn't be a problem. Also, the AR was Susan, and I really like Susan. How could I say no? I couldn't. And I wasn't really too concerned about presenting until yesterday. And then I started to panic.
Presenting at schools is one thing. I've got my story down - what parts to play up, what to gloss over, what jokes I'll make, that sort of thing. I've gotten good at keeping religion out of it. And as odd as it sounds (since religion plays such a huge part of my story), I wasn't sure how I'd do. Faced with speaking in a dedicated church building, to church members who would (I hope) actually be listening, I found myself feeling dreadfully unprepared. I panicked. I wasn't sure what to say. With such a different audience than I'm used to, it seemed appropriate to alter the way I tell my story. And I wasn't sure how.
I stayed up until 4:30am, trying to type out my thoughts, editing and re-writing and trying to figure out what to say all over again. I had to downplay things I emphasize in school presentations, figure out what religious aspects to mention and when. And honestly, I think I did a horrible job this afternoon. Then again, I always feel like I do a horrible job of presenting. I feel like I get up there and ramble on and on and overshare and talk too fast and mumble and use too many big words. I must have done okay, though. Several people thanked me for sharing.
The thanks always make me uncomfortable. I don't want people thinking I do presentations for acclaim or attention. I'm sure it sounds odd, considering how openly I blog about things and how much I enjoy public speaking, but I don't necessarily like a lot of attention. Or, I guess what I mean is that I don't like people to think that I seek out attention. I know some birth moms who want to do presentations because they want to talk about themselves and have everyone think they're wonderful and brave and selfless. That's just not me. I talk because I think my story is a good example of ... well, several things, really. One is that it's never too late to make the right decision. The other is that adoption can be an amazing blessing, and that when making the decision, it's what's best for the baby that's most important, not what's going to be easiest for the mom.
I'm rambling again. See, this is what I'm afraid I do when I speak. Blah, blah, blah, me, me, me, no real substance. But Susan said I did great, and told me in no uncertain terms to stop second-guessing myself. See why I like her? She didn't give me a simpering, "Oh, you did amazing! You're wonderful!" Just a straight to the point, "You were great. Don't say you weren't." Susan is awesome (hi, Susan!).
I think it was good for me to shake things up a bit, to talk in a different setting to a different audience. I'm glad I did it. I think people got it. Some of them were crying, anyway, which I try to take as a good thing.
It was sort of a relief to be able to tell the whole story, really. I've always felt that my story lacks something important when I leave religion out. Talking today got me excited (a little, anyway) to speak at the birth mother group on Wednesday. I've never told my story there before, and I wasn't really looking forward to it before, but I'm at least not dreading it now. I think that'll be my toughest audience yet.
National Adoption Month is almost over, which would make me sad except that December is Roo Adoption Month. Her adoption will be finalized, she'll be sealed to her family, and she'll be blessed in church. I am super excited! I can't wait until Roo is theirs officially and for good. It will be such a blessing for all of us. And I'm looking forward to doing a presentation after all that's happened. I feel like it gives my story more of an ending, if you could call it that. More of a conclusion, or a place to stop talking anyway. As it is, I mention visits and openness and sort of trail off. At least in church today I could end with my testimony. Then my mom talked about what it was like for her, especially as an adult adoptee. She did great. My mom is awesome (hi, Mom!). It was nerve-wracking, but I'm glad I did it.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
The End is Near!
It’s the 25th of November! National Adoption Month is nearly at an end. And I have blogged EVERY DAY! Sometimes two or three times a day. I’m proud of myself. I wasn’t sure I had that much to say. I thought I’d blog every day this month and be done with my blog, because I couldn’t possibly have anything more to say than all I’d blog about for thirty days.
But I find I’ve still got a lot left in me. I STILL haven’t gotten any farther along in my story. I left off a year ago, as I recall, just before I went to LDSFS for the first time and met S. So I’ve got plenty more to write about. And the thing about this all is that there will always be more. I will always be a birth mother, and I will always miss my Roo. There will always be more to say, more to feel. Even as I’m going back a year and telling my story up to the point where I started this blog, I will have more thoughts and feelings, more visits, more presentations. More to do, more to say. I’m sort of looking forward to it. I don’t think I’m quite crazy enough to commit to blogging every single day again, but taking Mrs. R’s NAM challenge has been good for me.
It’s going to be strange not going to group tonight. I’ve been going to LDSFS’s birth mother support group every Wednesday since I placed Roo. But tomorrow’s Thanksgiving, so we’re not meeting. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m actually going to miss it. Even though the conversation tends to be dominated by the same two or three people every week and I sometimes feel like no one would notice if I got up and left the room, there’s something about being with people who can relate to you in some way that is comforting.
It’s strange to think that I was pregnant a year ago. Roo was still a tiny speck in my belly. Now she is a beautiful, chubby, happy 4-month-old. I placed her 11 weeks ago today. How time has flown! A year ago, I never could have imagined myself where I am now. It makes me wonder where I’ll be in a year. I’m almost looking forward to it.
But I find I’ve still got a lot left in me. I STILL haven’t gotten any farther along in my story. I left off a year ago, as I recall, just before I went to LDSFS for the first time and met S. So I’ve got plenty more to write about. And the thing about this all is that there will always be more. I will always be a birth mother, and I will always miss my Roo. There will always be more to say, more to feel. Even as I’m going back a year and telling my story up to the point where I started this blog, I will have more thoughts and feelings, more visits, more presentations. More to do, more to say. I’m sort of looking forward to it. I don’t think I’m quite crazy enough to commit to blogging every single day again, but taking Mrs. R’s NAM challenge has been good for me.
It’s going to be strange not going to group tonight. I’ve been going to LDSFS’s birth mother support group every Wednesday since I placed Roo. But tomorrow’s Thanksgiving, so we’re not meeting. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m actually going to miss it. Even though the conversation tends to be dominated by the same two or three people every week and I sometimes feel like no one would notice if I got up and left the room, there’s something about being with people who can relate to you in some way that is comforting.
It’s strange to think that I was pregnant a year ago. Roo was still a tiny speck in my belly. Now she is a beautiful, chubby, happy 4-month-old. I placed her 11 weeks ago today. How time has flown! A year ago, I never could have imagined myself where I am now. It makes me wonder where I’ll be in a year. I’m almost looking forward to it.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Outreach Presentations
Today's post might be a little incoherent, so allow me to apologize in advance. I didn't get enough sleep last night and exhaustion messes with my language skills.
I had to get up early this morning, but it was worth it because I got to do more presentations! I spoke to four classes today at a high school in Tempe. I was a little sick of myself by the fourth class but I think overall it went very well.
I don't know if I've ever really explained presentations before. We (me and S, or S and whoever's speaking) go to classes in child development or social work or whatever it is they're calling home ec these days. Any class where childbirth and infancy is discussed, pretty much. S will briefly explain what LDSFS does and then a birth mother (me, in this case) tells her story, about her pregnancy and how and why she chose adoption. S will briefly discuss how the birth mother's story dispels a lot of adoption myths out there, and then an adoptive couple (or, usually, just an adoptive mom) will talk about how they chose adoption and what led them to it, and how they met their kids' birth moms, and what placement was like. Then there's a bit of time for questions before S points out a few more misconceptions.
I'm never sure how much any of the kids are getting out of it. I'm reasonably certain that most of them at least learn that adoptions these days are open, and that openness is awesome, and that adopted kids aren't scarred for life.
I don't mean to brag, but I think I do a pretty good job of presenting. I can be sort of quiet at times but when I'm speaking to a group, I get rather animated and funny and I don't think anyone gets bored by my story. It helps that the filter between my brain and my mouth shuts down when I'm telling my story, and I blurt out odd things that, if nothing else, put people at ease. My story isn't a fun, happy one at the beginning. I don't want things to get too heavy. I'm not going to lie or gloss over the hell that was the first weeks after placement. But I try to emphasize that I got over the pain, that I'm happy now for the first time in my life. That I love Roo more than anyone else on earth, and that I did this for her.
If I'm honest, I do these presentations for myself as much as for anyone else's benefit. Not for attention or acclaim or admiration. For catharsis, for peace. I find it therapeutic. Every time I tell my story it gets a little easier and a little less painful. Sometimes I'll actually listen to myself talk and I think, yes, someone might learn from my story. This might be helpful. I hope it's helpful. I know that presenting has helped me.
There are certain parts of my story I won't tell in presentations. Some things are too sacred to me, too special to repeat to just anyone. I'm always aware when I'm presenting that it's not just my story I'm telling, it's Roo's. I try to do her justice. I want to make sure she knows how amazing her story is. I want her to be proud of me someday, proud that I am her birth mother, happy that I chose this for her, that I did this for her. I know I'm happy I chose adoption for Roo. I think it's the only good thing I've ever done in my life.
I am just so thankful for the chance I have to speak to people about adoption. It is a wonderful thing, and the world needs to know it!
I had to get up early this morning, but it was worth it because I got to do more presentations! I spoke to four classes today at a high school in Tempe. I was a little sick of myself by the fourth class but I think overall it went very well.
I don't know if I've ever really explained presentations before. We (me and S, or S and whoever's speaking) go to classes in child development or social work or whatever it is they're calling home ec these days. Any class where childbirth and infancy is discussed, pretty much. S will briefly explain what LDSFS does and then a birth mother (me, in this case) tells her story, about her pregnancy and how and why she chose adoption. S will briefly discuss how the birth mother's story dispels a lot of adoption myths out there, and then an adoptive couple (or, usually, just an adoptive mom) will talk about how they chose adoption and what led them to it, and how they met their kids' birth moms, and what placement was like. Then there's a bit of time for questions before S points out a few more misconceptions.
I'm never sure how much any of the kids are getting out of it. I'm reasonably certain that most of them at least learn that adoptions these days are open, and that openness is awesome, and that adopted kids aren't scarred for life.
I don't mean to brag, but I think I do a pretty good job of presenting. I can be sort of quiet at times but when I'm speaking to a group, I get rather animated and funny and I don't think anyone gets bored by my story. It helps that the filter between my brain and my mouth shuts down when I'm telling my story, and I blurt out odd things that, if nothing else, put people at ease. My story isn't a fun, happy one at the beginning. I don't want things to get too heavy. I'm not going to lie or gloss over the hell that was the first weeks after placement. But I try to emphasize that I got over the pain, that I'm happy now for the first time in my life. That I love Roo more than anyone else on earth, and that I did this for her.
If I'm honest, I do these presentations for myself as much as for anyone else's benefit. Not for attention or acclaim or admiration. For catharsis, for peace. I find it therapeutic. Every time I tell my story it gets a little easier and a little less painful. Sometimes I'll actually listen to myself talk and I think, yes, someone might learn from my story. This might be helpful. I hope it's helpful. I know that presenting has helped me.
There are certain parts of my story I won't tell in presentations. Some things are too sacred to me, too special to repeat to just anyone. I'm always aware when I'm presenting that it's not just my story I'm telling, it's Roo's. I try to do her justice. I want to make sure she knows how amazing her story is. I want her to be proud of me someday, proud that I am her birth mother, happy that I chose this for her, that I did this for her. I know I'm happy I chose adoption for Roo. I think it's the only good thing I've ever done in my life.
I am just so thankful for the chance I have to speak to people about adoption. It is a wonderful thing, and the world needs to know it!
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Nine Weeks and Eternity
Today marks nine weeks since placement. It’s sort of a strange day for me, because now P and M have had Roo for as long as I did. From this point on, they’ll have had her for longer. It’s sort of a relief in a way. Before, I felt as though I had some undeserved advantage in having had her for longer. Now the advantage is theirs, and I think I prefer it that way.
I’m still not sure how I did it, how I drove to the LDSFS office with a baby and drove away without one. I took m y baby, my best blessing and my whole world, the baby I’d grown and birthed and cared for, and I handed her to a woman I barely knew. And I walked away. How did I do that? How could I have? It defied instinct and logic and my very heart. I don’t know where I found that strength, that courage. I don’t consider myself to be a particularly strong or resilient person. And yet I did the unthinkable, the unimaginable. I don’t mean to brag, but I’m pretty proud of myself.
Some people think that having a baby makes you grow up, and fast. I won’t deny that; certainly it will do that for some. But I know that in my case, I didn’t feel that having Roo made me grow any. I only felt I’d truly grown, truly become a mother when I put aside what I wanted most in the world for the sake of my baby. That grew me up in a hurry, I’ll tell you that for nothing.
I like to think that my mom is the best mother in the world. I wanted to be for Roo what my mom has been for me. I realized that part of what made my mom a good mother was being married to my dad, who was a great father. No, I’m not Roo’s mommy anymore. But her mommy and daddy love her more than I think they could ever say. I gave them to her. I think that makes me the best mom in the world. And how blessed is little Roo? She’s got not one but two mothers who love her dearly – one who gave her life, and one who will give her the rest of her life. We should all be so lucky.
I think part of the reason I’m so glad that P and M have had her as long as I did is that I personally feel that she’s more theirs every second they have her. In my mind I see it as this sort of 9-week hourglass, where time flowed from my half to theirs. It probably sounds stupid, but I sort of feel like, okay, now she’s really theirs.
I cannot wait for Roo to go to the temple with her family and be theirs for eternity. What joy! What more could I want for her at this point in her life? I can’t think of a thing. Part of me lived in fear that something will happen, some tragedy will befall their family, before Roo can be sealed to them. I worried about that for a week before I mentioned my concerns to my dear mother.
“Jill,” my mother said, “Heavenly Father would not let you go through what you’ve been through only to let something happen to Roo before she’s sealed. Don’t you think He wants her to have an eternal family just as much as you do?”
How awesome is my mom, seriously? I felt better when she said that. I haven’t worried much since. And I’ve been doubly proud of myself for a time as well. My decision will help Roo to live not just the life that I want for her, but the life that her Father in Heaven wants for her as well. Having an eternal family isn’t just a blessing in the sense that it brings togetherness. It will help Roo to return to live with God again someday.
The decisions we make in life have eternal consequences. I’ve often thought that fact was a negative, but I’m beginning to see that it can be a positive too. These particular eternal consequences are the sweetest blessings anyone could hope for, and I’m looking forward to them.
I’m still not sure how I did it, how I drove to the LDSFS office with a baby and drove away without one. I took m y baby, my best blessing and my whole world, the baby I’d grown and birthed and cared for, and I handed her to a woman I barely knew. And I walked away. How did I do that? How could I have? It defied instinct and logic and my very heart. I don’t know where I found that strength, that courage. I don’t consider myself to be a particularly strong or resilient person. And yet I did the unthinkable, the unimaginable. I don’t mean to brag, but I’m pretty proud of myself.
Some people think that having a baby makes you grow up, and fast. I won’t deny that; certainly it will do that for some. But I know that in my case, I didn’t feel that having Roo made me grow any. I only felt I’d truly grown, truly become a mother when I put aside what I wanted most in the world for the sake of my baby. That grew me up in a hurry, I’ll tell you that for nothing.
I like to think that my mom is the best mother in the world. I wanted to be for Roo what my mom has been for me. I realized that part of what made my mom a good mother was being married to my dad, who was a great father. No, I’m not Roo’s mommy anymore. But her mommy and daddy love her more than I think they could ever say. I gave them to her. I think that makes me the best mom in the world. And how blessed is little Roo? She’s got not one but two mothers who love her dearly – one who gave her life, and one who will give her the rest of her life. We should all be so lucky.
I think part of the reason I’m so glad that P and M have had her as long as I did is that I personally feel that she’s more theirs every second they have her. In my mind I see it as this sort of 9-week hourglass, where time flowed from my half to theirs. It probably sounds stupid, but I sort of feel like, okay, now she’s really theirs.
I cannot wait for Roo to go to the temple with her family and be theirs for eternity. What joy! What more could I want for her at this point in her life? I can’t think of a thing. Part of me lived in fear that something will happen, some tragedy will befall their family, before Roo can be sealed to them. I worried about that for a week before I mentioned my concerns to my dear mother.
“Jill,” my mother said, “Heavenly Father would not let you go through what you’ve been through only to let something happen to Roo before she’s sealed. Don’t you think He wants her to have an eternal family just as much as you do?”
How awesome is my mom, seriously? I felt better when she said that. I haven’t worried much since. And I’ve been doubly proud of myself for a time as well. My decision will help Roo to live not just the life that I want for her, but the life that her Father in Heaven wants for her as well. Having an eternal family isn’t just a blessing in the sense that it brings togetherness. It will help Roo to return to live with God again someday.
The decisions we make in life have eternal consequences. I’ve often thought that fact was a negative, but I’m beginning to see that it can be a positive too. These particular eternal consequences are the sweetest blessings anyone could hope for, and I’m looking forward to them.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Happy National Adoption Month!
November, in case you didn't know, is National Adoption Month. If I'm honest I have to tell you that I didn't know there was such a thing until a year ago when I started looking into adoption as one of my options.
In honor of NAM, I am going to follow the example of Mrs R and blog every day this month. I have decided that I am finally going to buckle down and finish writing out my story. As I recall, I've left things hanging just before I went to LDSFS and met with S for the first time. I've been putting off revisiting last year because it was a painful time in my life and I'm not looking forward to reading through my journal from a year ago and reliving it again.
But I feel that I need to - not just for the sake of telling the whole story here, but for therapeutic purposes as well. I will say one thing about last year: I kept a really, really good record of things. As soon as I found out I was pregnant, I started a private blog so I could easily record my thoughts each day on my impending motherhood. And I wrote every single day, sometimes twice. I've read through parts of it in the past few months and I have to say, I'm impressed with myself. I did an amazing job of record keeping. From October 25 2008 to July 5 of 2009 I kept track of every twinge of nausea, every food craving, every ounce I gained, every thought and feeling, and every tiny new thing that Roo was busy growing in my belly - fingers and toes, eyelashes, tooth buds.
It seems strange now to think that my sweet Roo, who can hold her head up like a champ and who is hard at work on sitting herself up, was just a blob of cells a year ago. It's strange to think of those fat little baby feet inside my belly a few short months ago, kicking up a storm, digging into my ribs and making my rounded stomach punch out and roll like an angry sea. It's stranger still to think of how quickly last November's blob of cells became that energetic baby.
November is adoption month, and it holds Thanksgiving, which I think is fitting. If there is one thing for which I am eternally thankful, it's adoption. It has changed my life, and it has changed Roo's, and we are both so much the better for it.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Story Time, Take Two
I realize this isn't exactly news, but I miss my baby. I got to tell her story twice today, and telling it always makes me miss her.
I did another school presentation today with LDSFS. I spoke to two child development classes at Gilbert High School. I don't feel like I did a great job, to be honest. I think I did better last week at MCC. S said she liked today's better. So I'm not sure.
I think part of the problem is that today I was faced with teenagers. At MCC, it was people around my age, some a bit younger, some a bit older, and some more than a bit older. But teenagers make me nervous. They've always made me nervous, even when I was a teenager. Being on a high school campus made me a little insecure, a little anxious. I felt like I was fourteen again, and I should mention here that I would never be fourteen again for anything in the world.
Teenagers are sort of a tough crowd. I don't know that they got my sense of humor, which just ruins things because I am snark personified. I tried to make things interesting (not that I feel Roo's story needs anything added to it to make it interesting) but I'm still not sure that any of the students were particularly interested in anything I had to say. I hope that one or two thought about it at least. I think maybe a couple of girls got something out of it.
I know I did. One thing I've noticed over the past couple of weeks is that the more I talk about adoption, the more comfortable I feel with it. Public speaking has never been a problem for me, and in fact when I was younger the trickier thing was shutting me up. So I was never worried about that aspect of presenting. What concerned me was the content, the emotion, the freshness of it all. I want to make sure I do the thing properly, that I do Roo and her story justice, and that I emphasize the blessings that come from putting your baby's needs first.
I think I've done that. I don't pussyfoot around the pain and heartache because I think that does a disservice to my audience. Adoption is hard and I don't see a need to pretend otherwise. But I've tried to stress that the fact that it's hard doesn't mean it's not worthwhile or right, and that I'd do it all over again in a heartbeat.
Part of the problem for me is taking God out of the picture. I find it difficult to properly explain my decision without talking about eternal families and prayer and fasting and the Holy Ghost. I hate that that's the hardest part to explain because I think it's maybe the most important part of the story. I've struggled with that. How do I describe how and why I chose P and M without mentioning religion? How do I tell people that I knew they were her family without bringing up my faith?
Fortunately (if you'd call it that) I have the H angle to play up. And he was part of it. I didn't want his problems to become Roo's problems. I didn't want her growing up around alcohol. I didn't want her to be torn between two parents who don't like each other, not knowing where her loyalties should lie or where she should call home. What a horrible thing for a child to go through! I couldn't put my sweet Roo through that kind of thing. I wanted her to grow up with a mommy and daddy who were very much in love, who would keep her safe from the bad things in the world while she is small, who would teach her to be gentle and kind and patient and good.
P and M are a bit more difficult to explain, because that was my Father in Heaven guiding me 100%. I say this with all the love in the world, but I'm not sure I'd have chosen them out of all the profiles I looked at. There was nothing extraordinary about them, nothing to jump out at me and say "Here we are! We're Roo's family!" I'm just grateful that I was in a place where I was able to be so guided in my decision. But how do I explain my choice without mentioning God?
I do the best I can, and if it's not enough for my audience, so be it. Strange as it sounds, I am not doing these presentations for the students. I am doing them for myself, and for Roo. They hurt, but they heal, too. Each time I get through Roo's story, I feel just a little bit better.
I'm speaking again tomorrow. Telling Roo's story makes me miss her. But I think a part of me is always going to miss her for as long as I live. I miss her, but it's nothing I can't handle. It's a pain that I can live with. For Roo, I am glad to live with it. She is healthy, she is happy, and she is loved. How could I not be happy too?
I did another school presentation today with LDSFS. I spoke to two child development classes at Gilbert High School. I don't feel like I did a great job, to be honest. I think I did better last week at MCC. S said she liked today's better. So I'm not sure.
I think part of the problem is that today I was faced with teenagers. At MCC, it was people around my age, some a bit younger, some a bit older, and some more than a bit older. But teenagers make me nervous. They've always made me nervous, even when I was a teenager. Being on a high school campus made me a little insecure, a little anxious. I felt like I was fourteen again, and I should mention here that I would never be fourteen again for anything in the world.
Teenagers are sort of a tough crowd. I don't know that they got my sense of humor, which just ruins things because I am snark personified. I tried to make things interesting (not that I feel Roo's story needs anything added to it to make it interesting) but I'm still not sure that any of the students were particularly interested in anything I had to say. I hope that one or two thought about it at least. I think maybe a couple of girls got something out of it.
I know I did. One thing I've noticed over the past couple of weeks is that the more I talk about adoption, the more comfortable I feel with it. Public speaking has never been a problem for me, and in fact when I was younger the trickier thing was shutting me up. So I was never worried about that aspect of presenting. What concerned me was the content, the emotion, the freshness of it all. I want to make sure I do the thing properly, that I do Roo and her story justice, and that I emphasize the blessings that come from putting your baby's needs first.
I think I've done that. I don't pussyfoot around the pain and heartache because I think that does a disservice to my audience. Adoption is hard and I don't see a need to pretend otherwise. But I've tried to stress that the fact that it's hard doesn't mean it's not worthwhile or right, and that I'd do it all over again in a heartbeat.
Part of the problem for me is taking God out of the picture. I find it difficult to properly explain my decision without talking about eternal families and prayer and fasting and the Holy Ghost. I hate that that's the hardest part to explain because I think it's maybe the most important part of the story. I've struggled with that. How do I describe how and why I chose P and M without mentioning religion? How do I tell people that I knew they were her family without bringing up my faith?
Fortunately (if you'd call it that) I have the H angle to play up. And he was part of it. I didn't want his problems to become Roo's problems. I didn't want her growing up around alcohol. I didn't want her to be torn between two parents who don't like each other, not knowing where her loyalties should lie or where she should call home. What a horrible thing for a child to go through! I couldn't put my sweet Roo through that kind of thing. I wanted her to grow up with a mommy and daddy who were very much in love, who would keep her safe from the bad things in the world while she is small, who would teach her to be gentle and kind and patient and good.
P and M are a bit more difficult to explain, because that was my Father in Heaven guiding me 100%. I say this with all the love in the world, but I'm not sure I'd have chosen them out of all the profiles I looked at. There was nothing extraordinary about them, nothing to jump out at me and say "Here we are! We're Roo's family!" I'm just grateful that I was in a place where I was able to be so guided in my decision. But how do I explain my choice without mentioning God?
I do the best I can, and if it's not enough for my audience, so be it. Strange as it sounds, I am not doing these presentations for the students. I am doing them for myself, and for Roo. They hurt, but they heal, too. Each time I get through Roo's story, I feel just a little bit better.
I'm speaking again tomorrow. Telling Roo's story makes me miss her. But I think a part of me is always going to miss her for as long as I live. I miss her, but it's nothing I can't handle. It's a pain that I can live with. For Roo, I am glad to live with it. She is healthy, she is happy, and she is loved. How could I not be happy too?
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