New Year, New What?

As the new year begins, we once again look at our lives and our new year and try to make it better than the year that came before.  Often that means looking at our lives and deciding what needs to be changed.  For me, that's going to include attempting to come to terms with certain parts of myself.

If you're wondering why this launch into self-discovery, it's because I've found out that my son has inherited some of my qualities and conditions I'd rather he hadn't.  Thus far, he has shown signs of anxiety and problems with sensory overload.  My father had these problems as did I.  My son's adoptive parents are getting him an occupational therapist and getting him the help and care that my father and I never got.  For that, I am glad.

I wasn't sure why the school suggested they get him a therapist at first.  After all, my father and I had gotten along just fine without one.  But looking back I realize that both I and my father could have benefitted from help like that.  This past year has proven to me unequivocally that I am not done learning how to handle my problems.  And I think that finally addressing them now will help me help my son's adoptive parents and my son as well.

I've already formed a plan and will be putting that into action soon.  I won't lie and say I'm looking forward to this.  Examining one's self is often a painful and frightening expedition.  But I have been down this road before.  And as this will help my son, I'm determined to go through with this.

I hope you are all having a good day and stay safe!

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The Birth of a Baby

My son, Aidan and I after 32 hours
of labor. 

Since my son's birth and the creation of an adoption plan, my life has continued to grow. I have two beautiful little girls and I am expecting another one in the next few weeks. While it is so joyful to experience the birth of more children and the growth of my family, I can't help but feel moments of great sadness as I await the arrival of a new baby. 

This pregnancy has brought back so many memories of the moments that lead up to my sons birth. With all my pregnancies I have had health complications, but this one has felt the most like that of my son. My health has become a real concern and I have spent time in the hospital. As I have sat in the hospital waiting for tests results and praying I could go home and keep this baby growing inside a little longer, my mind quickly drifts back to six years ago and the month I spent in that same hospital feeling those same things. Despite the differences I can only see the similarities and feel it all over again. I often find myself with irrational fears of my daughters birth. They come in hazy feelings like a memory that is happening all over again. I worry I will not be allowed to be her mother, I worry about feeling those same things I felt when my son was born and my heart was taken away from me. 

I am excited to be having another baby and for the most part my rational thinking is able to prevail, but at times I feel as though I am 17 again, scared and about to face one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. So as I await the birth of my newest precious baby, I pray for strength to face the hospital and the familiar feelings that come with having a baby. I know that this time it is different, yet as a birth mother a part of me will stay in those moments. It is all part of the journey. 

 

 

 

To Be Brave

This week I finally did something I had been intending on doing since getting home from the hospital after giving birth to my son.

Those who have known me a while and know my adoption story know it all started with one thing: the bravery and honesty of a woman I already held in high esteem.  She was a former boss of mine, and it was just chance that we ran into each other in a parking lot and began talking.  At this point, I looked like I was hiding a beach ball under my t-shirt, and my boss was no fool.  So when she asked me how I was doing I was honest and said,

“Well, obviously, I’m pregnant.  Didn’t intend to get like this, but that’s what happened.  And right now I’m trying to decide whether to keep the kid and raise it or to place it for adoption.  But right now I just have no idea what to do.”

To my surprise she replied, “Well, I don’t wave it around like a flag, but I placed a child for adoption when I was about your age.”

She went on to tell me that she had gone to a home for unwed mothers, as many did in the 60s.  She gave birth, gave up her child, then a year later got married, and had a child of her own.  Her son would later track her down in his adult life and they have a fantastic relationship to this day.  And it may sound weird, but at that moment the first thought that went through my head was, “So, this is actually survivable.”

Don’t ask me why.  I don’t know to this day.  But before that moment, whenever I thought about placing my child for adoption, I just imagined my life stopping there.  I couldn’t fathom living past that day.  I couldn’t fathom what my life would be like without this child I had been carrying.  I wasn’t sure that I even deserved to keep going after doing that.  Obviously, I don’t believe that anymore.  But at the time, all manner of thoughts were going through my head and I wasn’t sure how to sort it all out.

Most of all, I was looking at doing something that none of my friends had ever done.  All of them, if they got unexpectedly pregnant, dealt with it in other ways.  I even know a few of their kids by name.  If any of them ever thought about adoption, none of them ever said it or just never said it to me.  But when my old boss told me that she had done the same thing and had in fact lived on, I was finally able to break the constant loop in my head that had been driving me crazy.  It was only two days later that my boyfriend and I would have the discussion in which we decided placing our son for adoption was the best idea.

As you know, my son just turned 4.  And Wednesday was his first day of school.  Tuesday, I finally sat myself down and wrote the message I had been intending to write for four years.  My old boss and I are friends on Facebook and have been so for a long while now.  But I never did tell her what had happened after seeing her in the parking lot.  Tuesday I finally pulled together all my thoughts and wrote her a message thanking her for sharing her story with me.  I also told her that she was the reason I finally pulled together the bravery and courage to do what needed to be done for my child.  I even sent her a picture of him from his recent birthday party.  Unsurprisingly, she wrote me back a very positive message and was glad that I had told her and had likewise shared my story with her.  She agreed that at times, we each have to do what we think is best.  She also sent me a link to her son’s blog that details his search and finding of not only her, but also his birth father.

For the next half hour, I was glued to the screen, reading this man’s account of his happy life, always knowing that he was adopted and always knowing that if he went looking for his birth family, his adoptive family would be, and was, completely supportive.  Then he found them and reconnected with them.  The happiness and the joy and the connections that connected them without even realizing it were amazing.

The most amazing thing to me was the unshakable bravery I found in his words.  In their story, I just found mountains and mountains of incredible bravery.  They had both been searching and found each other.  Then they finally met each other and got know each other.  There were questions and finally answers for the both of them.  And to this day they keep in touch.

I’m extremely lucky in that my son’s adoptive family is so willing to have me around for parties and visits and going out to dinner.  I’m also extremely lucky that this happened to me in a time when open adoption is an option.  And yet, there is still a distance between my son and I.  That’s really what this made me realize.  While I won’t have nearly as large of a gap to travel to get to know my son and for him to get to know me over the years, I know there are going to be times that will be difficult and awkward.  I know that sooner or later there will be a reckoning for me.  There will be things I will have to explain to my son as he gets older that will be a little bit difficult.  And there will be questions for me that I will have to answer.  And they are answers that he has a right to.  I’m only hoping that I have half the bravery that my boss and her son did when it comes time.

Unexpected Visits

For my first official post, I wanted to tell you about something that happened a few months ago that I had worried about happening and perhaps some of you worry about it too.  My son and his adoptive parents live about twenty minutes away from me.  As such, there was the potential to run into each other accidentally, but this had only happened once at the local farmer’s market.  The encounter was slightly awkward, but we parted ways after about thirty minutes and I was able to go home and recover the rest of the weekend.

In October, I was invited to come to an open mic poetry reading at a bar and restaurant in the downtown area.  I had a new poem that I had written and I thought, what was the worst that could happen?  Well, one should never ask that question.  I was standing outside the restaurant when my son’s adoptive father and mother waved at me from inside the restaurant.  My son, J, was also with them.  I went in thinking, “It could just be a fluke.  They could just be here for a nice dinner.”  Yeah.  Right.

“Are you here for the poetry reading tonight?” were the first words out of my son's father's mouth after greeting me.  As it turned out, HE is the leader of the open mic poetry reading group.  J actually walked me up the steps to sign up for a place in the poetry reading that night.  Coming back down, he met one of my friends and it was the first time any of my friends had met my son.  It was an interesting night to say the least.  He stayed for a few poems, but then was taken home by his mother after a few poets read their work.  After all it was past 8 pm and he was only a couple months past three years old.  Sitting still for poetry is not a skill three-year-olds are known for.  He gave me a hug and a kiss for the first time when he left.  I and my friends stayed much later and I got a chance to talk to his father about several things about their life with my son and some details about their side of the adoption process that I’ll post about at a later date.  The last thing that he said to me was that he hoped I kept coming to the readings and bringing more of my work.  I went home that night a bit shaken and it took me a few days to get over that.  I just wasn’t emotionally prepared to see them.

When I spoke to my parents about it that weekend, their reactions were positive.  But my father could still see that I was cautious.  Later that week, I found a hand written letter from him in the mail.  Let me just emphasize how important that is: the man is a computer programmer.  He is by no means afraid of an email.  He’s on Facebook and Twitter.  He’s about the most technologically adept 60 year old I know.  But he had decided to send me a hand written letter.  I knew that whatever he needed to say it was important.

His first words were that we never had to discuss this again, but he had something he wanted to say to me and make sure that I heard him.  He suggested that I keep going to the poetry readings.  His reasoning was that over time I would get to know J’s parents better and by proxy J better.  Eventually it would be easier for me to see them and it wouldn’t be as much of a shock to the system.  The words that made me cry were when he said, “I say this knowing that I could not do this myself.  But in this, I believe you are stronger than I am.”  I was bawling in my car for about ten minutes after reading that.  But after some calmer thought and a few more tears, I realized that he was right.

My father and I have never discussed the letter.  But he does know that I have been going to the poetry readings once a month ever since.   I have, over time, learned more about my son’s parents and their lives.  Sometimes it’s actually easier than sending an email about a visit.  Sometimes I just talk to his father at the monthly readings and then send an email a day later so everyone is on the same page about everything.  J has turned up a couple more times and I have handled it better than the first time.  Next month he will be turning four years old.  Sometimes I just think time moves too fast.

Have any of you happened to run into your child and their parents unexpectedly?  Or have you ever feared it happening?  If you have, I understand.  And if you ever do, I can report that it is survivable.  It was difficult.  But I was lucky that night in that I had a couple of friends with me who were more than happy to hold me together.

I hope all of you are having a wonderful day and I will see you all again next week!

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Acknowledging our Birth Children

Upon having a discussion with some other birth moms I've met online over the past year or so, I started to wonder about all of the different ways we can honor our birth children (or just plain ol' "children," as I prefer to call them). Of course each adoption story is different, as is every birth parent - child relationship. While we are all proud of our children, whether we are raising them or not parenting them, some are much more open than others. Birth parents, how open are you about your story? Your child's story? Personally, I am very open but only once I am comfortable with a person or people. I don't walk down the sidewalk holding a sign, but I also don't hide it from anyone, either. My closest friends know almost every detail - of course some information is kept sacred as it is between myself and her adoptive mom or it is more my daughter's "story" than mine, but I proudly will tell my story to anyone who asks. Some acquaintances at work know that I had a child (her photo is in a frame on my desk) and will comment on how cute she is, but we don't start a discussion, so I leave it at a simple 'thank you,' rather than diving head-first into a conversation that could prove awkward for both of us. Others have asked questions about her that I am able to answer, but don't feel right doing so. Sure, I can tell you her first word, her favorite food, what her favorite toy is and when she got her first tooth, but I feel as if I am lying if I answer these questions as if I have witnessed them first-hand.

The point I am trying to make here is: whether or not we honor or acknowledge our children publicly or privately, we can still be proud of them just the same. My post tonight may seem all over the place - which it very well may be! These gears started spinning in my head last week when someone asked me what my tattoo on my foot said. If a passerby happens to ask me while I'm, say, out shopping or something, I will just tell them it's my daughter's birthday (which is true). They usually say "oh," and leave it at that. (It is a tattoo of my daughter's birthday - however it also has the words "always in my heart" scrolled above it). Last week, a coworker was looking (and looking, and looking, and looking) at it, until she finally asked me what it said. She asked in a tone that also implied that she wanted to not only know what it said, but what it meant. I replied that it was my daughter's birth date, and told her what it said. She looked at me with a very shocked look in her eyes and asked me what happened, and if she was okay. I told her yes with a smile on my face and told her that her birth father and I chose to place her for adoption. I then waited for the shocked expression to continue, but instead, she softened up completely and started asking me all sorts of questions - not out of nosiness, but out of genuine interest. She told me she had a cousin who was adopted at birth and she always wondered what it would be like to get a birth mom's perspective on adoption. We ended up having a great conversation, and I felt as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders - finally I was being myself around co-workers.

So, I may have veered off topic a little, but my point was this: whether we have tattoos publicly displaying our children or we haven't told anyone in our families that we got pregnant, carried a child, and then placed that child for adoption, we all still love our children with all our hearts. (Well, I think I can speak for the majority of birth moms, and hopefully ALL). I have heard and read many birth moms, who also parent children, wonder how many children they should say they have if asked. Do they say one, as they are parenting one? Or do they say two, as they have placed one and parented another? I believe you should do whatever you feel is right in your heart, and whatever the time and circumstance allows.

Birth moms and birth dads: how do you handle situations like this? How do you answer when you are asked if you have children?, how many?, how old?, etc.?