01

Adoption Carnival III: Pictures of Adoption

Adoption Carnival III asks for my favorite picture of adoption. Heck if I know. Do you know who I am? I’m a photographer (!), for Pete’s sake. I take pictures out the wazoo. The camera is permanently stuck to my face. Even though we started this open adoption journey in a time before either family owned a digital camera, we have a billion and one photos. Seriously. In fact, I have a full TUB from her FIRST YEAR ALONE. (Thanks, D! You’re the best.)

I can think of a few off the top of my head.

• The picture of me first holding the Munchkin.
• There’s a shot of Munchkin and my husband (then fiance) at our first visit that sits in a special place in my heart.
• A group picture of me with my friends, including D, at my baby shower (for my oldest son) in which we are both pregnant.
• A picture of the Munchkin with her hands on my pregnant belly.
• Munchkin and my oldest son meeting for the first time. They’re both SCREAMING their heads off. Kids.
• A picture of Munchkin and I sitting in the grass playing one visit near Easter.
• The Easter Bunny  picture. Oh, that’s a funny one.
• An early morning picture take in the Poconos.
• Speaking of the Poconos, the picture of the Munchkin pulling my son on a sled is way up on the list.
• Probably all of the pictures I took of us at D & M’s wedding.

Those are (mostly) in chronological order.

I don’t know. It’s hard to pick a favorite. Maybe I’ll just go with the sled picture.

Why? I mean, I can’t even see the Munchkin’s face. It’s not a particularly amazing composition. It’s just a random action shot in a series of shots. Right?

Do you see my oldest son’s face? Other than those munchable cheeks, do you see that smile? Do you see his eyes, lit up with the glee of a little brother adoring his older sister? Do you see my only daughter bonding with one of her many brothers? Do you realize that is something that, according to the rest of the world including the agency through whom I placed, thinks shouldn’t have happened or, perhaps, couldn’t have ever happened?

This picture epitomizes why I work so hard in this open adoption. It’s as much for the Munchkin as it is for my sons. My sons have a right to know and love and be known by and be loved by their older, only sister. The Munchkin has a right to know and love and be known by and be loved by two more of her brothers. They have a right to bicker, pick on each other and generally not get along as siblings do. They have a right to hug, love on, cuddle and laugh together. I will do anything and everything with my ethical, boundary-respecting power to make sure that smiles like my older son’s in the above shown picture keep happening, to make sure that my daughter has moments like these to store up.

And, of course, I benefit in the fact that my heart swells to three times it size every time my children are all in the same room. Or, in cases like this one, general space.

01

Ask and Tell

In case you don’t know, I got a new job. To get that job, I had to interview. During that interview, I had to talk about what I’ve been doing regarding my freelancing career. That talk involves discussion of AdoptionBlogs among other things.

That’s right. I had to mention adoption during an interview for a job.

How is this my life? How has adoption woven itself into absolutely every aspect of my life? Where is my breathing room? My space? My right to privacy? Of course, I say this all slightly tongue in cheek. For various reasons all of these questions come back to me and the choices I have made.

Adoption has woven itself into absolutely every aspect of my life because the act of relinquishing a child changes everything about a birth parent’s life, present tense and future. In fact, one could argue that the act of relinquishing also shades the past, not necessarily changing it but changing the view of it. My future was permanently changed by placing the Munchkin for adoption. In some ways that’s an obvious statement. I’m not parenting my daughter. In some ways, the changes were hidden and are only discovered with each step I take forward in this life. (Such as having to talk about adoption in a job interview. What?) I can’t get away from adoption. Nor do I want to exactly. My daughter is a huge part of me, of my heart. Her story, our story together, has shaped me in so many ways. From my journey toward peace (which was necessary even before placement, some might argue) to the decisions I have made post-placement. Adoption has shaped me, for better and worse.

As far as my privacy, most bloggers understand. I chose to share my story. I chose to write about it. I chose to put myself out there, even when the trolls came knocking. Even when people got jealous and lashed out even though they were just angry about their own circumstances. Even when I wanted to hole up within myself and ignore everything going on in my life. I’ve lived this journey in a very public manner. I don’t always talk about every aspect as some parts of the story are not mine, specifically, to tell. (You don’t need to know why Munchkin’s parents adopted. You just need to know how that made me feel (which I promise to address eventually), that my daughter is well loved and that D is happier than I’ve ever seen her.) But I talk about many things. I enjoy it. It is a form of therapy for me. And the continuous feedback that I’m helping people realize that while open adoption can be great, it’s not an easy road. It’s not always the answer. It has some ethical concerns. And it needs reformed just like every other aspect of the adoption industry. I like being part of that even if my own privacy is compromised at times.

And so, of course, I’m sure the managing editor at the newspaper was thinking, “What the heck is she writing for AdoptionBlogs for,” as he wrote down the URL. I’m sure he went to the site later, read it and thought, … well, who knows what he thought. Perhaps he has no connection to adoption. Maybe he believed a stereotype or two about the type of mother who “gives away” her baby and maybe I shattered some of that just by being who I am. Maybe he’s an adoptee. Maybe he’s an adoptive parents. Maybe he’s a birth parent. I don’t know. All I know is that when I took the job at the news station in 2004, I didn’t tell anyone about my daughter until after I left the station.

Not this time.

I’ve worked through my guilt, my shame. Sure, those things still hang around and pop up from time to time but I don’t feel dirty telling new people that I have a daughter whom I love dearly who is being raised by adoptive parents that I chose for her. I don’t launch into divorce issues or my journey or any drama… unless prompted. But the truth is that she’s a part of my life. If this job sticks around, someone from work will meet my daughter. Someone from work will see her picture on my desk or in my house. Someone from work will ask. And I will tell.

And life will go on.

3

I Ordered Christmas Pajamas Today

I’m on the ball this year. I’m very close (thisclose!) to being done with Christmas shopping for my two sons. I know what I’m purchasing for my husband. I need to find something very small that can be taken in a suitcase for the Munchkin’s birthday. I have just been on top of things this year. I greatly prefer this to the overwhelmed, postpartum depression laden self that I was last year which equated to a whole bunch of procrastination and general apathy for anything other than sitting on the couch and nursing my youngest son.

I mention the Christmas pajamas because I found a fabulous deal (though it’s still more than I like to pay for pajamas at $13.99) at JC Penney. Button up pajamas have a soft spot in my heart. They look like little old men in their button up jammies even if those same jammies have Santa Claus and reindeer. (Or, like my favorite pair of my oldest son’s button up jammies, bull frogs and bulldogs. Too fun!) I bought the boys their two pair of green Christmas jammies.

But they also had a pink pair that matched.

I really hate moments like this particular one. I was just shopping for Christmas jammies. In fact, it was on my mind because my husband works on Christmas Eve this year. We decided yesterday that he would take their Christmas Eve presents (jammies and a book) to the Fire Department with him that morning. We will stop after Christmas Eve service so that they boys can open their Christmas Eve presents with both of us. So, I was feeling all happy-snappy with our intelligent forethought and ordering the jammies this morning.

And bam! Adoption issues! In my face!

I’d really like to go shopping, online or in store, and not be reminded that I placed my only living daughter for adoption. I’d like to buy things like Christmas jammies or Halloween costumes without being reminded that there’s always something missing. Of course, I think that wish is all for naught as, really, I don’t ever stop thinking of her so why would I when doing something as simple as shopping. Right? Right.

I think all of this is in the front of my brain as of late due to the time of year. And the fact that I just turned down a potential visit. D invited us out to celebrate Halloween and JD’s birthday. Unfortunately, my husband is out of vacation days (and actually starts a new class that week). While I recently made the trip out there by myself for D’s wedding, I don’t feel particularly “up” to taking both boys by myself on the turnpike. (I loathe the Pennsylvania turnpike. I also owe them $28.00 for screwing up an EZ Pass on the previously mentioned trip.) I have no problem driving 80 by myself but the turnpike hates me as much as I hate it. Alone with two boys makes it three times as worse. Did I mention that my night vision has been deteriorating horribly? I’m a mess.

Thankfully, D understood and, as it happened, their plans changed anyway. But still, I had to send the initial, “I’m sorry, we can’t do it,” email without knowing that their plans had changed. Turning down a visit is a strange thing. I was so insanely glad to have been invited. I remember lamenting that we never had a Halloween together. I felt it keenly again this year when a catalog arrived in the mail with a little girl dressed as Dorothy on the front pulling a wagon with a Scarecrow and a Lion smiling at me on the front cover. This year, while initially intending to have them dress as firefighters, the boys are going as Buzz Lightyear and Woody. So, of course, we’re missing a Jessie. (Whereas last year they were Sebastian and Flounder and we were missing an Ariel.) It felt weird to admit my personal limitations and say no to this visit, one I have dreamed about before. It’s hard at times to find the balance of being a present birth mother and being the mother in this immediate family unit. When do I put her above my needs or my parented kids’ needs? When do I put my parented kids’ needs above her? Above my own? Where is this balance and how do I find it? These are rhetorical questions as I think I do an okay job. I’ve made mistakes over the years as have my daughter’s adoptive parents in trying to find this particular balance. I think we’re in an okay place right now, being honest about our own immediate family needs with finding a way to incorporate the need(s) for our children to interact and to be present in one another’s lives.

It’s just difficult at times to say no when you really, really want to say yes.

And so, you see, even an event as simple as finding Christmas pajamas on sale turns out to be a big trip down the self-inspection highway. I just needed two pair of matching Christmas pajamas. Suddenly I found myself doubting my decisions and so deeply missing my daughter.

And it’s not even Christmas morning yet.