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.

Hard Words to Say

Trigger warning: This post deals with post placement pregnancy.....

For the past few months, I find myself to be in familiar territory. Yet at the same time, very new territory. Instead of being cryptic about it like I have been with everyone lately, I’ll just say it – I’m pregnant. These past 12 weeks have been an emotional roller coaster for me.

                Despite the fact that this pregnancy was “planned”, and that I am now married, because of the situation I was in just 2 years ago when my son was born, it feels somehow like I’m doing the wrong thing by being pregnant. It has been so confusing for me dealing with all of these emotions. I feel like I’m betraying my son, I feel like I don’t really deserve to parent this baby, and I’m terrified that something is going to happen to take this baby away from me. Some days I feel so scared to connect with this baby because my connection with my birth son was so immediate and so fierce and that has led me to become vulnerable to a lot of hurt and pain. This baby is no more or less wanted than my birth son was, and will be no more or less loved. But I’m not going to lie, it’s almost scarier this time.

                Going to doctor appointments is scarier. Now I have to answer questions like “is this your first child?” or “and how is your other child, is he healthy?” Well, I’d assume so, haven’t heard otherwise! Telling my family was horrifying in a different way this time too. When I first told my parents, I had to say it all very quickly in one sentence so they wouldn’t ask questions that I didn’t want to hear. It came out something like “we’re pregnant but it was planned so don’t worry and this needs to be a good thing so I need you to be happy about it”. I think I was more nervous telling them this time than I was last time (granted, last time I did tell them in an email). Facing the public is scarier. People constantly assume that this is my first pregnancy. They like to give me advice on what to expect, and tell me things like that my baby probably won’t be too big because I’m very small. Oh really? Because my son was 8lbs 12oz, so I’d say that’s pretty big! But I don’t say that. I don’t correct them. It hurts too badly to go down that road. I hate the fact that I'm terrified of telling people because I'm afraid of their reaction.

                Around week 6 or so, the baby is the size of a lentil. During that week, I sent my husband a picture of some lentil soup and told him how I really wanted to eat it, but told him I couldn’t do it because it felt like cannibalism. I was half kidding, but waited to eat the soup. Ever since then, we call the baby The Lentil. I hope that loving the Lentil won’t make my birth son feel betrayed in the future. I know how very much and how very strongly I loved my birth son from the very beginning. I’m almost scared that I won’t be able to love the Lentil enough. I have missed my birth son more in these last 12 weeks than I expected to, and there have been a lot of emotions come up for me that I didn’t anticipate.

                I hate the fact that whether a pregnancy is planned or not matters, but it does seem to matter to other people. Yes, my husband and I planned to have this Lentil (although we did think it would take us a little bit longer than…immediately), and no, my birth son was not planned. But you know what? Both of my babies were wanted. And both of my babies are loved. Mom, birth mom, step mom, all of my titles aside. I will always love all of my children more than they can possibly understand, something my own mom used to tell me, and now I do understand. I hope they know that. I hope I will always be a positive person in their lives, someone they can look up to. I may not have it all together, nobody really does. But what I do have is an endless supply of love. And hugs to give. Just ask my husband. I’m sure it drives him crazy sometimes.

Photo Credit

Love From His Far Away Family

                

Throughout my journey through adoption, I try to incorporate my birth son into everything I do. I guess it’s my way of keeping him with me and in my heart, even if he isn’t here physically. I never want him to feel like he wasn’t loved, or that we forgot about him, and I want him to always feel as if he has a place in his far away family.

                I have pictures of him in my house, and whenever my step daughter sees one, she gets excited and says his name and says “cute baby!”. I tell her that I think so too. I keep a picture of him in my binder for school, too. That way, every time I get frustrated or overwhelmed, I can remember my motivation and my strength for why I try so hard every day to be the best person I can be. Every day, I wear a bracelet that I made and put on the last day I got to see him and spend time with him. During my wedding, I pinned that bracelet to my bouquet of flowers and kept him with me that way. I also had a few pictures of him in the bridal room. I also have a necklace with his footprints engraved into it that I wear whenever I’m missing him just a little extra.

                I will never be his Mom in the way that I wish I could be, and that’s just a part of my life now. But just because I can’t be there with him every day, that doesn’t mean that I can’t love him and think about him every day. We are all entitled to love and miss our children. Wherever they are, whenever the last time was that we saw them, we are entitled to how we feel about it. Whenever I’m feeling down about it, it always makes me feel better knowing that I’m doing everything I can to make sure that he will one day know how loved he always was. I always remind him in letters, that I hope he’ll read when he’s older, how lucky he is to have two families who love him so much. Adoption will never be easy, but it has taught me how to love in ways I never thought I could have before. And for that, I am grateful.

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Adoption is like the Weather

Adoption is like the weather. It's a constantly changing adventure, and you can always count on it to not be stagnant. Perhaps that's the best and worst thing about it. For some of us, we pray for a change. We beg for things to be different, or better in some way. For others, we're terrified for things to be different because we're so comfortable with how things are now. 

For me, I think it’s both. I have wished for things to be better for as long as my son has been alive, but now I guess I’ve just become so used to the way things are that I’m scared of what a change would mean. I know I want more, I’ll always want more. But right now I don’t think that’s possible. And I’m learning to accept that that’s okay, because nothing is stagnant about this crazy life we live in.

If there’s one guarantee in life, well, I guess it’s that there are no guarantees. Always hang in there and never give up. Don’t give up on your children, don’t give up on your family and friends, and don’t give up on hope. But most importantly, don’t give up on yourself. Things can always get better, just like the weather will always change. It might rain for a week, but the sun always comes out again. The stars are always behind the clouds, even if we can’t see them. I really believe that’s the best thing about life. We can always count on things to get better, and if we hold onto hope long enough, they will.

I’m so grateful for every single picture or small update I get. Those little things give me my motivation to keep going. I may not be able to visit him yet, but one day I will. Even if it takes me 16 more years, I know that reunion will come. That is what I wake up each day and fight for.

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. 

Entering the World of Semi-Open Adoption

Hey guys! Much like when I started my own blog, I don’t even know where to begin, so I will go ahead and introduce myself. My name is Kami; I’m a 19 year old daycare teacher who is also a birth mom to the most amazing, beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes on. Her name for blogging purposes is Mini M and she was born January 2^nd of this year, so this is all new, but I've learned a lot. We don’t have an open adoption like most stories you hear, we have semi-open. I get updates and lord knows I appreciate them, but there are now problems arising in our adoption story that nobody anticipated. So how’d I get into this whirlwind of a semi-open adoption? I’ll start from the moment I met the guy I call a monster and end with moment I told the one thing that makes my life complete goodbye.

Working late in the sports bar, that I was at more than I was at my own house, I saw a flash of pearly whites my way and these eyes I could stare at all day. He was a bigger guy-just my type-and lord his personality captured my heart like no other. We talked for hours as my friend, that he was there to meet went and ran an errand for me. I, honestly, don’t know how I got any work done that night, but somehow I did just in time to get out and spend the rest of the night chatting and getting to know this guy, who had already made a lasting impression. Our relationship was the kind that burned hot fast. We were talking about apartments and our life together. We would spend time with my sister and he would put effort into the relationship that no other guy has ever shown. He talked like he meant every word and his actions followed those through. He would tell me how he wanted to be with me forever and how he was so in love me, and the day we looked at the gorgeous, first-floor apartment I knew it would be where we spent the next couple of years starting our life together. I saw the wood floors and knew we would never keep them clean enough, but I knew that his camouflage rocking chair would be perfect in the corner and that his Xbox was definitely going in the bedroom, not the living room.  I saw that beautiful kitchen and pictured me attempting those chicken enchiladas that we loved of my mom’s…then boom; it was gone the moment he told me he was sleeping with someone else. It was not a feeling I thought I would get rid of, nor did I think my heart would ever be so broken again. I was wrong. As he continued to play with my heart and my stupid, young self, let him, I began to have stomach pains that turned into vomiting and then turned into a bump. That’s right I was pregnant and those two pink lines that were burned in the back on my mind proved it.

I will never forget the conversation I had with BM, the father, late one night. He must have been drunk-no surprise because when he was sober, he normally would react differently. I told him I was pregnant and he immediately told me it wasn't his. He wanted to know why I thought he actually cared about me or why he would care about my baby…and followed through with telling me exactly where to go…Hell. What was a girl, who just became a stereotype, to do? I was a teenager, pregnant, no baby daddy, no college education, and a dead end job still living with my parents. So I spent a night contemplating abortion, I did research and looked at clinics. The thought of termination to a child who was innocent, hasn't even take their first breath, was wrong. However, my mother instinct hadn't kicked in yet and I continued to deny the pregnancy, not only to others, but to myself. That is until the moment I felt a kick…this is not something I was going to dream away; there was no 11:11 wish that was going to change this. I began to tell my boss and coworkers, along with my friends, and then my little sister was next. They all painted this fantasy. They made it look like a picture perfect scenario. There would be a group of supportive people surrounding me, helping me, loving a child who was amazing and who called me mommy and who would love me unconditionally. But, then the time came to tell my parents. Oh, if you only knew the thoughts running through my mind. I sat down on those brown couches I had times before, but this was different. I suddenly became aware of the paintings above the two side recliners and how hideous they are. I noticed the little things that I hadn’t before. I tried to notice everything, but their face meeting mine. They were so infuriated. At that moment, I had no idea what to say or do…I just sat there. As my dad yelled, I took it with tears streaming down my face. Then words began to fly around that stuck with me. Adoption was one. The other was that I lacked the strength for adoption. So that idea was passed and I went to bed that night, without a resolution to the situation. As I cried into the pillow with the pink sheets enveloping me, I started to talk about adoption as a choice…to myself, to friends. Friends would quickly pass it off and say “No, you’re going to be a great mother, you can do this, and I will help.” However, is that what I wanted my child’s life to be? All of my friends helping, me being gone and working all the time, my child would have nobody to tell them the wrongs and rights of life or show them that you can become something, if you want. I stumbled through the Internet during the next day, looking at adoption. I didn’t want to go into something without having the information I needed. Well, I then found Gladney Adoption Agency, and I began to look. Nothing stood out about them at first, but as the day went on I kept going back to them for no known reason. When I began to look at families, I saw a few I thought were great, but as the days passed and I was at the point of not knowing what family I was going to choose and even if this was the right choice, I saw M & B’s video. They were it.

I fell in love, I watched their video over and over as I imagined my child playing in their house and with their dog, Abby, who by the way adores Mini M! I knew instantly that if I couldn’t have them that adoption wasn’t right. I met with my caseworker, A, for the first time, who has been a god send, and told her they were what I wanted. They only wanted a semi-open adoption, and to me, at the time, that is what I wanted, also. Semi-open, for those who don’t know, is the adoption that I get updates/pictures once a year, no visits guaranteed, and that’s pretty much it. Going through the steps, I never imagined that it would have been as hard.

As I rushed to the hospital with my dad and made it in a room, they were going to start an epidural finally, then here comes Mini M, a week late, and M is sliding around the door as I was going to start pushing. I remember asking why she was blue and that was about it, other than the fact that I had just give birth to this beautiful, perfect baby girl. I saw her and my heart instantly grew. She was it. She was what my life had been missing all these years. God had it planned that I would see her and have no empty spaces anymore. I thought I loved BM, I was wrong. My true love is and always will be her. Even now, as I sit here and type this, I choke back the tears, at the thought of how much love that girl is capable of having already. She changed everyone’s world. And she wasn’t even an hour old. As time passed in the hospital and I got her alone the first night, I held her tight, I stared at her with that pink bow on her head, and I began to feel tears fall. I rocked her back and forth and through the sobs, I apologized. I told her all my hopes and dreams for her; I promised her that when she was old enough to know who I am I would be a person worth knowing. I would be the person she could be proud of. I remember falling asleep early the next morning because I had her in a position where I felt her skin touching mine in a chair. Then we both transitioned to our beds, which were right next to each other. The next day passed and all of the people, who for the rest of her life will love her and think of her, got to meet her. Then, M & B got some time with her as I was in the room next to them. I was supposed to be resting, but to know I didn’t have Mini M next to me, I couldn’t. I couldn’t even be apart from her for more than an hour, because I missed her so much, how was I going to survive a lifetime?  M & B were amazing, but that’s for a different post. However, the night before signing the papers, M & I spent the night up, talking, sharing our feelings and stories. It was a night I will cherish. I woke up the next morning to M & B having news of a six month visit! Never did I think it would happen. I sat straight up and I cried into their hugs. They may think it’s just a six month visit, but they will never know what it meant to me that day to leave knowing I would see her again…no matter how great that was, though, it didn’t make it easier.

3:34 pm hit on the 4^th of January and they were ready to sign the papers. M & B went down and as I sat in the room with Mini M and my parents, along with A and my best friend K. I didn't know what to expect. I had known it was coming, but I never really played this moment out in my head. I sat with my back turned to my parents and faced A. She began with the papers and as she handed me them, I went through them. Every word I read felt like a dagger was bouncing off the page and into my heart. I cried. I sobbed. I was a mess. I knew I wasn't doing a good job hiding it from my family, but I tried. Looking at this precious girl, in a bassinet, all wrapped in pink with a bow on top of her head, I felt my heart truly shatter. She was my heart and she wasn't giving any of it back. I grabbed my bags and as M & B walked in the room and said their goodbyes, I cried more. Feeling the hug and embrace of M, was like pushing more tears out. She told me our promises we made and reminded me “big picture” and to always listen to “Love is An Open Door” (yes, the Frozen song). B, cried with me as he told me things I will forever cherish. These two were the perfect parents, but that was my baby. I left, and in the truck, watching the hospital get further and further, my heart got torn more and more. The month following was full of pictures and some texts, I even got two phone calls from M & B. I remember the last one. I remember hearing their voices for the last time…I would give anything to hear them again and hear Mini M cry. I will never be the one she cries for. I will never be who she calls mommy. I will never be the one who tucks her in or holds her tight. But I will always be the one who carries her in my heart, forever. I will always be her birth mom.

So that’s my how I got here story, but there’s more than you could ever imagine that has been happening and plenty of lessons learned just in the few months, so stay tuned!