Respecting Boundaries

Sometimes I feel like being in a semi-open adoption is just more complicated than it needs to be. Since I moved once my birth son was born, I live halfway across the country from him. The agreement since birth has been that I can send letters and gifts whenever I want and I see pictures of him and keep in touch with his parents. However, they want to wait until he's older to do visits. While I don't really like this arrangement, I appreciate what I do have, I respect it, and would never do anything to cross any boundaries, something that I work very hard at.

But sometimes that gets tricky. In a few weeks, I will be traveling back to where I grew up and to near where my son now lives. I'm so excited to go back and I'm so excited to see my family and eat foods I haven't been able to since I left (I can taste the bagels and the pizza now...), but I also have an overwhelming sense of anxiety about it. What if I get triggered by things I'm not expecting to, or worry the whole time that I'll accidentally run into them? I doubt I will, but still. 

Respecting the boundaries that his parents have set is something that I always take to heart and always something that I try to do. While it is something I want more than absolutely anything in the world, I will not ask to see my birth son while I'm there, and I will do my best to avoid accidentally running into them.

But something that I don't understand is why I can't see his parents? I don't know why the 3 of us can't just catch up and grab lunch together or something. I've brought it up with them before and they told me that they don't know if they'd be comfortable with that. I respected and accepted their decision, but it still hurts. Maybe they thought I was asking to see my birth son, I don't know. It's so important for me to try to still feel connected to them. I hate feeling a sense of disconnect or distance. We'll see what happens, but I won't push and I won't ask again. 

Adoption is something that will never be easy, and it will never be fun. But it is doable, and it is a blessing. This has been a difficult season for me, but I know it will change and I know it will get easier to deal with soon. I'm so grateful for his parents, they are truly great people and I do have so much respect for them. I guess I just wish I didn't miss them all so much.

My Name Is...

     

 The definition of the word identity is "the fact of being who or what a person or thing is".  Usually, the first identity that we learn about each other is our name. But, we are so much more than just our names, aren't we?  What I have learned in my short, yet very long, 21 years of life, is that usually, people aren't ashamed of their first identity, their name. When we introduce ourselves, we lead with something along the lines of "Hi, I'm ______. Nice to meet you!" We take ownership of it. So, why then, are we ashamed of our other identities? We all have that one identity that we just keep locked up in the closet, or hidden under the bed. We feel a certain sense of shame about it. But we don’t have to. Everyone has got a past. Everyone has got a story. Yes, some identities may hurt, and some you may wish that you didn’t have. But you have to own it. Each and every single thing that you identify as, whether you are proud of it or try to hide it, has helped to shape you into the beautiful and incredible person you are. So, here is who I am.

I am a birth mom. I am a new wife. I am a step mom. I am a daughter and a sister. I am a student studying physical therapy. I am a little crazy and a little broken sometimes, but that’s okay because I think most of us are. I have made mistakes, but I am not defined by my mistakes.

The best “mistake” I ever made was getting pregnant 2 years ago, when I had just turned 19 days before. The birth father made it clear that parenting was not an option, but other than that, the decision was mine to make. I still laugh about that. I felt very alone in my pregnancy. Even though I was in a relationship with the birth dad, lets call him Paul, I still felt incredibly alone during my pregnancy. Paul and I had just moved to the very center of Philadelphia so that he could go to school. I basically gave up everything and followed him there so he could be my support system. I guess the idea was better in my head than it ended up being in real life.

By early October of 2013, when I was just a few weeks pregnant, I was feeling really alone and desperate for answers. I hadn’t told anybody but Paul at this point, not even my parents. I was in a dark place and just had no idea what to do. I didn’t have insurance, I didn’t have a doctor, and I really couldn’t afford to be pregnant without those things. Since day 1, I wanted the very best for my baby. I hoped that the best could be me, but without the support from Paul, which he refused to give me, I knew I wasn’t enough. That night, I just felt so stuck. I needed something to click, to make sense. I just laid in bed thinking for hours. I needed some kind of sign for what to do next.

I got my sign. Weeks before this day, I was scrolling through Facebook and remembered seeing something that my cousin had posted. She posted a link to a website and said that one of her coworkers was looking to adopt, and she was helping him get the word out. I didn’t think anything of it when I saw it at a quick first glance, I don’t even think I comprehended it. I really never considered adoption until that exact moment, on October 1^st, 2013, when I remembered what I had seen. I immediately called my cousin and said “don’t worry, this isn’t about me, but I was wondering if you knew who these people personally who are looking to adopt”. She told me she did, and told me a little bit about their family and how great they are. So I spent a long time looking through their website. It was now pretty late in the evening, but I sent them an email telling then who I was and about my situation. I prayed that they would contact me back somehow that evening, because honestly, that was our last hope.

They did. Days later, they drove to Philly from their home in Manhattan and sat with Paul and me in a local park for hours. It was the most uncomfortable “first date” in the world at first, but it quickly became very natural and I think we all fell in love with each other. After that day, I felt relieved. I knew my child would be okay. I honestly had the thought of “wow, I wish these guys were MY parents."

I think we all have moments in our life when we can pinpoint a change. The moment I met the future adoptive parents, everything changed. I didn’t feel so alone anymore. I was still terrified, but now of different things, things that I could handle. That day, I stopped being an “I”. Now it was a “we”.

My adoption story is far from perfect, and I feel sad about it very often. But as often as I’m sad and hurt by it, I’m so incredibly grateful for it. Before my son, I was lost. I let my mistakes and my pain define who I was. I have learned so much from striving to be great for him. He is my motivation, my courage, and the reason I’m a fighter now. One day, I’m going to meet this beautiful boy that I created through more than just pictures. I will be able to stand up before him, and tell him all that I am now because of him.

Now, I am strong. I have determination and drive. I am his birth mom. I am a wife to the best husband I could have dreamed of, and a step mom to a crazy but beautiful little girl. I am someone who has big dreams and never gives up hope, even when it’s hard to find. These are my identities. The good ones and the bad ones. This is who I am, and I’m proud of it.

My name is Jackie and I'm a new blogger here at BirthMom Buds. 

On the Outside Looking In

I believe all birth mothers feel like they are on the outside of their child's lives at one point or another. As my son has grown older I have come to accept this constant feeling that envelopes me. I'm not exactly sure how we go through different phases on our journey or what makes us move into these phases, but I have noticed very clearly a change in these kind of feelings within the past year. 

When my son was a baby our connection was undeniable. It is still very much a special connection, but he had lost someof the innocence that comes with being a baby. He didn't have to deal with titles or what other people (including his adoptive parents) felt about our relationship. He wasn't confused by anything, nor did he worry about anything other than what he felt. It was clear he felt a comfort in my arms that he did not feel so fully anywhere else. He spent countless hours sleeping in my arms, or just looking into my eyes. It was as if nothing else mattered and he felt safe, and at home close to me. While I still believe this is true, things have become a little more complicated with age. 

Now my son considers the feelings of others. He wonders about the different names people call me, my daughters, my parents, and other family. He worries about how his feelings will change things. While he is still too young to fully communicate all of this, as his birth mother I have no doubt these things are going on. I see it in his eyes. I can feel it in his heart. He wants to be everything I know he feels for me, but he is hesitant at times because of these things. I have had to reflect a great deal on this to understand what is going on, but for me, this explains why at times I feel like I am on the outside looking in. 

There are other obvious reasons, given that I do not live in the city where we visit him. It is not my home that we spend our time in. I am not the parent who makes daily decisions for him, and I do not take part in each and every aspect of his life. However, I feel that as the years go by the fact that this is the way adoption is, should not change the fact that I gave everything so that he could have this life. I gave my heart. It is painful to feel as if I am simply an onlooker into the world of a family I have nothing to do with, when the reality is that without my love, they would not be a family. 

As holidays and milestones approach, I think of the pictures I receive each year and the stories I hear. I await these again this year and the bittersweet feeling that follows. I am beyond blessed to have these stories and see these pictures, but they are real reminders that I am on the outside looking in. I will not experience these things with him, and my daughters will miss another special event with their big brother. What hurts even more is knowing that if we were to spend a special holiday together, we would still be there on the outside looking in. 

We have so much love in our relationship and my son is an amazing gift. Him and I share a special bond. I see it also with my daughters. The pain I feel is never by anything he has done, but rather the circumstances that surround our relationship, most of which is entirely outside of my control. So I will carry on! I enjoy all the moments we share and choose to not let the painful ones hurt me too much. While there is often sadness within my joy, I would not trade it for a world without the love of my little boy. 

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Choosing a Family

When people learn that I am a birth mom, I typically receive several questions. One of those questions is usually in regards to how I found (and chose) my daughter's fantastic parents. The first question is an easy one to answer; we both were working with the same adoption agency. The second question is a little more interesting to answer. I am quite honest. So honest that I typically just tell them that baseball (more specifically the Detroit Tigers) brought us together.

I have been a baseball enthusiast for as long as I can remember. I played fastpitch softball all through my youth, and still play slow pitch a few nights a week during the summer. I remember every Tigers game that I have ever been to, even the one that took place at Tiger Stadium (which I think is pretty impressive, given that I'm only 25). I'm currently researching statistics and getting ready for my fantasy baseball draft in a few weeks, and I am excited because it is almost time to upgrade my cable TV package to include Fox Sports. So, when I say “baseball enthusiast,” I'm really not kidding.

Regardless of the scientific evidence for or against God, I pretty firmly believe that he exists. I also believe that he had hand in this. There really is no other explanation for the picture that I found on the cover of my daughters' parent's profile book. As I lifted up their book there they were, wearing Detroit Tiger's t-shirts, standing at Comerica Park, and taking in a baseball game. The rest of the book was interesting, but in all honesty, the rest of the book didn't matter. It could have been blank, and I still would have chosen to meet with them.

     

My daughter has her family because of the Detroit Tigers. What led you to choose the family that you decided on?

Where Do I Fit In?

I recently had my fourth visit with my daughter E.  She is now 19 months old and is becoming a little person with her own personality.  It's an amazing privilege to see and watch her grow up and I will be forever grateful for that.  I know how truly lucky I am to be able to visit her at all.  I was able to take my niece and little sister along, as well as her birth father.  We all had a blast at the zoo together and it was an amazing day.  The adoptive parents and I were extremely close throughout my pregnancy and post placement, but time goes on and life gets busy.  We still communicate monthly and have our visits twice a year, but I cant help but think where I fit in in this picture of E's life.

She is the most amazing girl I have ever seen, and even though I am not sure I truly believe it myself, I feel like deep down she knows who I am.  I know her adoptive parents have told her that she grew in my tummy, but how much of that does a 19 month old really understand.  But when I held her against me and when I chased her around the zoo, I felt like there was an unspeakable connection.  She knew who I was, or at least felt that I was familiar.

So what does that all mean?  I am not her mom.  I will never really be her mother.  I am her birth mom.  I gave her life and I held her so tight in that hospital, but then I had to let her go.  I have moved on with my life in so many ways.  I am going to school with hopes of graduating in the spring, I have made countless new friends and have a new job.  I am supporting myself without help from my parents, something I would have never done had I parented.  I think about her daily and I know I will continue to do so forever.

When I was watching her with her mom and dad I couldn't help but feel like an outsider looking in.  I saw the little family that I helped create.  I saw her look for her mom when she was out of sight.  I saw her grab onto her dad and I felt that love between them.  They are her parents.  It is hard to fully come to terms with something like that.  Knowing that no matter how close I am with them, with E, I will never be her mother.  She will never call me mom.  She wont come cry to me with her boo-boos.  I'm not going to hold her when that first boy breaks her heart.

At our visit I had a really important moment with her adoptive mom.  A moment that is going to stick with me forever, that helped me discover my place in this ever so complicated relationship of adoption.  We were discussing all of the rude comments we get as birth parents and adoptive parents and sharing stories.  She told me about how someone asked her how she was going to deal with the dreaded "You're not my real mom" that was bound to happen one day.  I cringed at that.  I cant stand the thought of E saying that to her mother one day, but we all know eventually it will come.  Her mother told me that when she does have those moments when she feels like she doesn't fit in and questions everything, that she is so glad that I was there to hold her hand.  She was thrilled that when E gets older and she is having her own crisis that I will be there to help her.  She said she was happy that she would have someone there that is an amazing a trustworthy person.

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My Ongoing War

For me, coming to the decision to place my son for adoption was like a battle.  And dealing with the aftermath and the passage of time has been another kind of battle entirely.  I wanted to put my feelings into words, so I wrote a poem about it.  I actually read this poem aloud in front of my son's adoptive father.  He thought it was fantastic.  He knew it was something I had to say.  So, here is the poem that I wrote:

"My Ongoing War"

I have a son

He’s a few months over 3 years old now

I am not his mom

I am not his mother

I am his birthmother

I’ve gotten better at talking about this

Except for the sticky stinking horrible parts of it

I have an army of friends

Who try to convince me

Of my status

You are a mother

No, I’m not

You are a mother

No, seriously, I’m not

You are a mother

Ok if you say that one more time, really just don’t say it again

I’m not

And I think it’s partly because

No one knows

I think

No one wants to know

Even I don’t really want to know

The mental struggle that I went through

The mental and emotional war that I waged

With and against myself

And it was a bloody and fantastic war

Between the mother in me

And the birthmother in me

The mother in me wanted to keep him

Wanted against all good sense and reason in the world

To keep him

Tried to believe so hard

That there had to be a way

To keep him

The birthmother in me wanted what was best

Wanted to make sure that he was loved, cared for, knew where he came from

And be raised

By someone else

Knew the realities

Looked for possibilities

But found none worth the risk

And slowly began to convince me

He should be raised

By someone else

By the end of May I said to the father of my child,

I am 75% certain that adoption is the best option

And because he was and is still good at finishing my sentences he said,

It’s just the 25% gets loud?

It gets so very loud

I found a wonderful and loving couple

From the first time I saw them on the site

I knew that they would be the ones

They were the ones to have my son

And keep him

I met them at the beginning of June

And after an hour long talk

I was 95% certain that this was the right idea

I had won the war, damn it

I had won the war

The birthmother had won

But oh, at what a price

While I am still certain of what I did

Where he is

How he is doing

That if he had stayed with his birthfather and I

Life would have been far different

And something much more horrible

Than I could ever wish on my worst enemy’s child

There were still skirmishes left to fight

Two that I won

Three of them are still on going

After leaving the hospital

With my son travelling in the opposite direction

I got home

The first skirmish, was panic

What did you just do?

What the hell did you just do?

Do you have any concept?

Do you have any idea?

What were you thinking?

What did you just do?

Where is he?

How is he?

What will this even be like?

Will we ever see him again?

I know promises were made

But what if?

What if?

What if?

Pictures came a couple days later

And with that more pictures

More conversations

Visits

And slowly but surely,

The panic was appeased

And faded

I won

I was now 96% certain I was right

The second skirmish is an ongoing one

It was missing

I was told when he first smiled

I was told when he first rolled over

I was told when he started to crawl

I was told when he started to talk

I was told when he started to walk and very soon after to run

I was told

I never saw these things start

And I started adding up all the things that I missed

And would never get back again

That one I lost

I was still at 96% certain

The third skirmish that attacked my resolve

Was an internal one

Was guilt

I felt terrible for giving my child a complicated life

I felt terrible for the fact that he had three last names by the time he was a week old

I felt terrible that I had to give him to someone else to make sure he would be safe

I felt terrible that my decision affected people in both our families in ways I hadn’t foreseen

I felt terrible and I felt horrible and I felt ashamed

And I felt like I was a damned creature

That I had gone against the name of mother

And done something that people found abhorrent

And some people do find it abhorrent

I’ve met them

I’ve been extremely lucky

In that I have yet to be yelled at in public

But I have met them

I have met many more

And I watch the shift in their eyes

As they try to reconcile their stereotype of a birthmother

With this girl they see standing before them

And as they calmly ask questions

And talk to me about it

They begin to understand

And they begin to accept

And I came to terms with certain things

I did give him a complicated life

I did give him three last names

But it’s better than the life I would have given him

I won, and I am at 97% certain

The fourth and fifth skirmishes

Are ongoing

They’re names and arms

They make up the last two percent of my uncertainty

The three percent that are still the mother in me

They usually only happen when

I see him again

I see how tall he’s gotten

I see how much more he looks like me

And I hear him call me

Elizabeth

I am not mom

I am not his mother

I am Elizabeth

His birthmother

And I wish that I could hold him

But he is a squirming whirlwind these days

And I’m not mom

And the arms that ache to hold him

Can’t contain him

And can’t hold him back

And deep inside my heart the creature that wanted to be a mother

Rakes her sharpened claws through me

And whispers,

I should have been mom

And that 97% of myself

Aching and bleeding and trembling and bruised turns back and says

No, you wanted to be but you couldn’t

You are not mom

You are not a mother

You are a birthmother

Because that is the best that we could be for him

~fin~

Any other poets in the house?  Any one else used writing to finally put down what they feel into words?  Let me know in the comments.  Or just let me know what you thought of this.  Hope you're having a great weekend!

Christmas Shopping

It's that time of year again.  Time to trim the trees, eat some good food, see your family, and exchange presents.  As the time to arrange my Christmas visit with my son approaches, I ask myself the awkward question, what does my son want for Christmas?  I say awkward because, well, shouldn't I know what my son wants for Christmas?  I have lucked out a bit with J.  Trucks and Legos.  He cannot get enough.  Granted, I think this is true of most boys.  I felt bad at one point that I'd gotten him one of something that he already had.  But his parents and other parents who were there assured me, "There can never be enough Legos, doesn't matter if they're the same thing."

This year, I'm going to try to find a Lego set, maybe even something musical for him since he seems to be interested in music.  He's four years old, so it will have to be something that is durable.  A drum might drive his parents crazy.  But I'll see what else I can find.

This year I also hope to give his parents Christmas presents.  Nothing really large or fancy.  Just something to show my appreciation not only for the immaculate care of my son and the fact that they continue to prove that I was right in choosing them as my son's parents, but also for their continued openness and willingness to include me and my parents in my son's life.  It's a gift that I cannot even begin to pay them back for.  I am grateful every single day for the care and love they lavish on J.  And I know this Christmas, while it has been a rough one for their family, will be a happy one.  They are family.  And family always comes together in the rough times and does their best to make the best of it.

I hope that all of you have a wonderful holiday season, whichever way you choose to celebrate it.  I hope for peace and harmony this December as the year comes to a close.  And I hope you all get to spend time with those you love and who love you.

Nature vs. Nurture

Today I thought I'd post a little something I've noticed about my son lately.

My son looks like me.  Now, that's easy to explain.  That's genetics.  I have two male cousins and one female cousin who all look like me.  We all look like our grandmother.  So as he's gotten older, we've compared to pictures of me and my cousins at the same age.  The funny part is that he often looks nearly exactly like the pictures of us from long ago.

But my son also acts like me in some ways.  And it's kind of spooky.  When he was two, he would insist on doing things over and over and over again.  My father said to them on a visit, "We had a rule, if you didn't want to do it a hundred times, don't do it the first time."

Now, many kids like to do the same thing over and over.  It's true.  But then it keeps going.

He makes up stories.  He likes to make up stories and tell them to his parents to see what they think.  I tell stories.  I write stories.  I wrote stories when I was little as well.  Not great ones, as you can imagine.  But I was writing then too.

He hates it when his things get messed up or you rearrange the words in a song.  Absolutely hates it.  Will get very upset about it even.  And yeah, you guessed it, I did that.  Still hate it when someone gets into my things.  I don't cry or scream anymore as you can imagine, but I still have to control myself when people start messing with my things.

He's musical.  He and his adoptive dad have been banging on the fridge and the cabinets and making music all their own.  I picked well in his adoptive parents.  I'm a musician.  And his adoptive father is too.  I can see the delight in his adoptive father's eyes when he talks about making music with Joseph and recording it.

If I added up the time that I've spent with my son, it would probably amount to about two and a half weeks all together.  But there are things I passed down to him without even knowing it.  There is one thing that puzzles me.

He's a practical joker.  I fail at practical jokes.  His biological father never did pull any on me or anyone else I know.  I don't know where it came from.  Maybe some distant relative.  Maybe he learned it from someone in his adoptive family.  I have no idea.  But we all delight in it.

As the years go by, I expect other traits of mine and his birth father will come out.  And traits he picks up from his adoptive family will come out as well.  And I can't wait to see what he makes of all of this.  Hope you and yours are doing well and let me know if you've seen bits of yourself in your own children.

Thankful For Being Lucky

It's Thanksgiving week.  I've been with family all week like many of you probably have.  This year my mother was still in a cast due to a broken arm she got at the end of September.  So I was enlisted to make Thanksgiving dinner.  Fear not, I've done this two times before due to her having a very bad knee and by now I'm much more confident and I am able to nearly recite the recipes and get my mother out of my cooking if need be.  Third time through, I did well yet again.  And now I have a post to write.

I'm no fool.  I know that I got extremely lucky with my adoption agency, the family I placed with, the willingness of everyone in my family and my boyfriend's family to step out of our way and make the right decision for our child, and that my child was born healthy and well.

I am thankful that at a time when I needed it most, my luck turned for the good in a serious way.  I am thankful that my son's parents continue to involve me in his life and keep me updated on his life.  I am thankful that my son is growing up tall and handsome.  I am thankful that he has a very creative mind and soul.  I am thankful that he has loving, wonderful, and capable parents who can raise him the way that I wish I could have.  I am thankful that they have become my friends and people that I can talk to not just about my son, but about many other subjects as well.  And I am thankful that I got so very very lucky when I needed it the most.

I wish you all the luck that I've found.  I hope you all have had a wonderful Thanksgiving with your families.  Know that while I am thankful for all of these things and am grateful that my son will get the life he deserves, it is a fact that I have to live with every day and it is a fact that pains me every day.  But I always knew I would live with this better than raising my son in a home that would have been unstable at best and hostile and unbearable at worst.  May you all find peace with your decisions as I finally have.

A Part of the Family

My post today is going to be part story, part thank you note, and part wish for all who place their child for adoption.

When I was invited to my son's 2nd birthday party, I was nervous, as you can imagine.  One of the first people I was introduced to at the party was my son J's grandmother, who for the purposes of this story I will call Mary.  J was her very first grandchild and I could tell by the way she doted on him that she had been looking forward to having a grandchild to spoil for a very long time.  When we were officially introduced, she was very warm and friendly to me and my parents.  We spent a good portion of the party sitting together and chatting.  When a few were surprised by my presence,  she gave what can only be described as a "don't you mess with my family" look.  She folded me in with all the others she held dear because I was the one who gave them J.

I saw Mary again at J's 3rd birthday which was held at her house.  She greeted me with a hug and together we marveled at how much J had grown.  Again, we chatted for a long time.  She asked about my parents and how my ex-boyfriend, J's father, was doing.  Again I felt like I had been folded into a family I had never dreamed I would be so welcome in.  And I highly respected and admired her for that.

Wednesday night, at poetry night, J's adoptive father informed me that Mary had passed away just the day before.  It had been over a year since I had seen her last, but still I remembered the woman's warmth and love towards me.  I wish that I had thanked her for that when I still had the time.  So I'm writing this to thank you, dear Mary, for making me feel like family and accepting me with grace and love and joy.  I hope by sending this out into the universe, it will reach you somehow so that you will know how much I appreciated and respected you.

To those of you considering placing for adoption, or those in the first raw months of it, I hope that you are welcomed and accepted by those you never thought would.  I hope you find love and grace  and respect from those you meet and those who will be a part of your child's life.  And last of all, I hope you all have a wonderful day.

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Picking a Family

Deciding on a family is one of the hardest parts of the adoption process. I know for some birthmoms before adoptions became more open there wasn't even a choice in who your child went to. I am thankful because we now have a choice in who our children are raised by.

I absolutely love the family I chose. They are amazing people who had been on a long road of loss and infertility. They lost two little girls both at 21 weeks. They had been trying for years and when I met them I knew they were the ones. We had met another family but I just had a feeling about them. We were so similar on so many aspects. They reminded me of the kind of people I want to grow up to be.  

 We had two meetings with both families before coming to a decision.  On our second meeting  we spent hours talking. We all just got a long so well so fast, A and J were just the right people for us. A mentioned that she had a dream the other night and they decided that if they were to adopt she really liked the name E because it was the same name of a little girl in a dream she had. It was a jaw dropping moment for me because the only name I had liked when I was pregnant was the same name! We had come up with the same name without even knowing it. I knew then that it was just meant to be. 

My best advice for interviewing families and meeting them is to just breathe. It can be extremely nerve-wracking but just imagine how nervous they are! I also suggest coming to the meeting with a list of questions you want to ask. It might seem kind of awkward to have a physical list but it really helped me ask all of the questions I wanted to ask.. Another suggestion that made it a lot easier for me was to bring my adoption agent with me for the first meetings. It was nice to have someone there to help keep the conversation flowing if there was ever an awkward moment. It is also an opportunity to help ask questions that I might have felt uncomfortable about asking. It also might help to meet over a meal or coffee if possible, its a conversation starter and I think that everyone out there loves to eat! Take your time meeting the families, it is a very important decision that only you can make!

What concerns did you have when deciding on a family? What helped you make a decision? What advice would you give to someone trying to decide on a family?

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On Birthdays

 

My son, J, was born on July 14^th.  And right now it’s ten days until his birthday.  My emotions always run high around this time of the year.  And as you can imagine, the Georgia heat does not help.  I’ve been fortunate in that my son’s adoptive parents are always happy to include me in the birthday plans.  This year we are going out to a park.  He’s turning 4.  I’m still amazed every year at how much older he’s getting.  Still seems like it was only yesterday that he was a tiny baby in my arms at the hospital.  But that was a long time ago now.  Much has happened.

He’s learned how to roll over.  He’s learned how to smile.  He’s learned how to crawl.  He’s learned how to talk.  He’s learned how to walk.  He’s learned how to run.  He’s figured out how to work both of his parents’ smart phones.  He’s learned how to work YouTube.  He figures out how things work at a blistering pace.  He’s started making up stories and telling them to his parents.  He’s started playing practical jokes on his parents that are hilarious and wonderful.   This list is not necessarily in order or really complete.  But they are the things I typically think of when his birthday rolls around.

Every year at his birthday I start counting up how long it’s been.  And I also start counting up just how much that I’ve missed.  I try not to think about this at a constant rate, as you can imagine.  But when his birthday hits, I often can’t help myself.

His birthday is also an emotional journey that I take myself on once a year.  His first birthday was handled in a rather low key way.  I was moving from one city to another and it was actually taking me closer to him.  They were delighted about that since it meant that visits would be easier.  They were going out to a cabin for their summer vacation and would be there for his actual birthday.  So we met a week earlier.  We got together at a restaurant and had a lovely couple of hours together.

On his second birthday, I was invited out to their house.  This would be the first time I would meet my son’s grandparents.  It was also the first time I met his aunt and a few assorted friends of theirs.  I was introduced as J’s birthmother to everyone.  My identity was not something they felt needed to be hidden.  And all the extended family and friends were welcoming and happy to see me there.  I laughed as he played with his new birthday toys.  And I got to see the house and environment that he’s growing up in.  I have to say, it’s a great one.

On his third birthday, I was now invited out to his maternal grandparent’s house in the country near the cities where we live.  Once again, my identity was shielded from no one.  I met more friends and some kids his age that he plays with on a regular basis.  I laughed with everyone at all the funny things he did.  I delighted in his enthusiasm over books.  And we all had a great time.

His birthday has become a yearly sojourn back in time for me.  Every year when I leave, it feels like watching him go away from the hospital once again.  Every year I find I am amazed at how big he’s gotten and how old he is.  Don’t worry; I do see him more than once a year.  But it’s still a shocker every time I see him, especially when it’s his birthday.  I guess I expect to see him back to the tiny nearly 8 pound baby that I gave birth to on July 14^th of 2010.  But that’s been nearly four years ago now.

As birthmothers, I often think we live in a weird kind of dichotomy.  We are a part of our children’s lives, and yet not.  We are part of the family, and yet we aren’t.  We get to watch our children grow up, but we miss so many things in between the visits that we have.  It is better than never knowing, but knowing is its own kind of pain.  We only get to see our children at certain points in time.  And, at least for me, on his birthday, I’m always counting back through time to all the times that I’ve seen him right back to the very first time I saw him when he was born.  I live in a virtual time warp when I see my son.  And maybe one day that won’t happen anymore.  But this is what happens now.

How do you all handle your child’s birthday?  Do you see them?  If you don’t, do you have a yearly ritual?  I know this time is worse for me than Christmas.  So I know how many of you feel.  I hope all of you who are going through this right now, very soon from now, or even several months from now, get through it with friends and family and laughter and tears and all the support that you need.