I’m addicted. To Deal or No Deal (NBC). I’ve actually learned a lot about myself and J both as unique individuals and as a couple. He’s more willing to gamble while I am far more cautious. (Though we both agree that we prefer brunette models.)
I wish there was an adoption version of Deal or No Deal that all expectant Mothers considering adoption had to play before placement. No, hear me out. It’s a great idea. Same basic, core idea. You have twenty-six cases filled with twenty-six possible outcomes/consequences of placement. For arguement’s sake, we’ll have thirteen cases with positive outcomes and thirteen cases with negative outcomes/consequences.
Let’s start with thirteen negative things: an open adoption suddenly closed without warning or reason, the cost of therapy, loneliness (emotional or physical), the empty hole in your heart, judgement from people based on your decision to place, sadness, the “walking-on-eggshells” problem that many birthparents encounter, anger, death or divorce of adoptive parents, secondary infertility, continuous “open wound” syndrom of grief (especially in open adoptions), and regret.
Okay, now for thirteen positive things. This will be harder: a great relationship with the adoptive family, the ability to persue your dreams without being “tied down” by a child, the lack of social stigma caused by single parenting, a two parent family, more “things” for your child, financial stability for your child, not bringing “shame” to your family, peace with your decision, pictures, attendance at birthday celebrations, the ability to watch your child grow (open adoptions), fun visits and, the equivalent of the ONE MILLION DOLLAR PRIZE, a happy, well-rounded child.
(Disclaimer: I do not endorse the positives or the negatives. Every adoption is different. None of these are guarantees. See below on my thoughts on guarantees.)
You pick one of the twenty-six cases. One. It’s now your case. Your decision, in essence. And then you start opening. Positives and negatives, one by one, fall by the way-side. It’s random. It’s a crap shoot, at best. You have no control, even though, since you’re picking the cases, you think you do. You’re encouraged by family members on the sidelines. You’re offered lucrative deals by “the banker” (aka an agency). You pick these cases, one by one, which is the equivalent of searching for the proper agency and then family. Eventually, finally, it’s down to two cases: the one you have chosen and the one lone model holding the last possible case.
And then Howie asks you, “Do you want to switch cases?” This is the same as having to re-make your decision after the labor and delivery of your child. You start to sweat. What if the case that the model is holding actually holds the happy, well-rounded child? What if your case holds a life full of regret? You flip, flop, back and forth, trying to decide whether or not to switch cases. I mean, you chose your case. You wouldn’t have chosen your case if it wasn’t meant to be. Destiny, right? Plus, you’ve gone through so much to arrive at this point with this case. You’ve thrown out a bunch of other stuff, good and bad, and arrived here. With this case. You’ve invested a lot of time. And, oh, the adoptive family invested a lot of money, right? So, will you place (your case) or parent (switch cases)?
You decide to keep your case. You place your child into the arms of another. And this is where the similarity between placement and the gameshow end. After you sign the Termination of Parental Rights, no magic suitcase opens and tells you what your outcome will be. You continue on, your whole life, carrying your suitcase and wondering, always wondering, what the final outcome will be. Will your child come to you and say, “It’s okay. I understand.” Or will you watch that child walk away for good? The unknown is often times overwhelming in nature. Sometimes you wish you could set that suitcase down, walk away and pretend you never played the game. But you can’t. It’s now your baggage and you will carry it with your for a lifetime. The agency didn’t tell you that, did they?
Had I played the game, seen the good and the bad fall, at random, maybe I would have realized that placement is not a guarantee to a child’s happiness and, looking at odds, looks pretty crappy for the birthparent. Maybe I would have seen that, even though the agency was promising me the world, the were absolutely no guarantees other than… there are no guarantees. Maybe I would have switched cases. Even then, there was no guarantee that Munchkin would have been a happy, well-rounded child. That’s the thing with parenting choices in general: no guarantees. But I could have eliminated a lot of the bad by switching. Now, we’ll never know. I have to wait for Munchkin to come to me someday with her questions. I’ll give her my answers. And, together, we’ll open the suitcase. I can only hope against hope that I have made a very good deal.
Ladies, please.
