Jenna

Open Adoption Roundtable 34: Answering Questions

Jan 312012

Oh, people. They sure do ask interesting questions when it comes to adoption. That’s the theme behind the latest Open Adoption Roundtable prompt:

How do you handle such questions when they are asked of you? How would you want the other parties in your open adoption to handle those questions when they are about you?

– __ — __ –

People rarely ask me how Dee and the Squatch feel about adoption. Maybe it’s assumed that all adoptive parents feel freaking fantastic about it and therefore there’s nothing to ask. I don’t know why I’m not asked how they feel. That, in itself, is an interesting question. People do ask me why Dee adopted the Munchkin, as in what is wrong with her insides. I usually default to, “She wanted to be a parent.” Isn’t that why we all turn to whatever path we take to achieve that goal?

I do need to share a story though, where another birth mother recently passed judgment on Dee and the Squatch and I managed not to punch her in the face. I was pretty proud of myself.

For those who aren’t in my very small circle of adoption news trust, my daughter’s mom and her husband are in the process of adopting. That’s all I’ll tell you about that as you don’t need to know the details. It’s not your business. However, I was recently trying to share a story about something entirely unrelated and their process to adopt got inserted into the conversation. Someone who doesn’t know me, who doesn’t know my story, who doesn’t know how Dee and I both feel about ethics in adoption, who doesn’t know a lick about the hard work that Dee and I have done to create an amazing relationship, acted like it was horrifying that Dee was adopting a(nother) child. I couldn’t tell if she was calling her greedy for wanting a third child (hello! I’d like a third child!) or if I cut her off before she finished her statement about the children being from, in essence, three different families. But I did cut her off. And here’s why:

People have made horrifying comments about me, my decision to relinquish the Munchkin and what that must mean about my character. They have then crossed over the line and made comments about how it’s “odd” that “they” let me have other children, whoever “they” is anyway. Let’s get something straight: Commenting on another woman’s reproductive and associated family-building decisions is completely out of line. I don’t care what your excuses are, what your reasoning is: you are in the wrong. That time that you made the comment about the girl who had four babies by a very young age? Wrong. That time you commented on a mother of an advanced age having a baby and/or adopting? Wrong. That time you told someone that they had too many kids? Wrong. That time you poked fun at your friend with only one child? Wrong. That time you told a friend that she was abnormal for not wanting children? Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. It’s simply not your business.

– __ — __ –

As far as how Dee handles the question “why did Munchkin’s birth mom give her up,” I hope she handles it in whatever way feels comfortable with her at any given time. If she feels comfortable enough to launch into information about my kidney disorder and the subsequent path I chose, so be it. If she just wants to give a pat answer of, “It was what she felt was best at the time,” that’s fine too. If she wants to say, “I don’t know, why don’t you call her!” Well, I’d love to talk to someone who was being too nosy and making Dee uncomfortable. If she wants to give some sarcastic, off-the-cuff answer, I’d give her a high five later. If she wants to say, “I don’t know,” I wouldn’t be mad that she “lied.” I’ve given answers in the past to get out of an uncomfortable situation and I wouldn’t fault her for doing whatever she needed to in order to “get out” of a conversation.

Point: I trust Dee with sharing that part of our shared story, because I know that she loves the Munchkin and wouldn’t do wrong by her with her words. She also loves me and respects me as her daughter’s birth mother, as a friend, as a woman, as a mother and as a human being. If she wants to explain, she’s free to do so. If she isn’t up to it on any given day, the one asking the question needs to back off and give her room.

She could, of course, cut them off and tell them, “Asking this question is inappropriate. It’s wrong.” Because it is. Maybe she could send them to Burgh Baby’s post. Or here. I don’t care. You don’t need to know my reasons unless you know me and you want to understand my journey better. (Or, uh, she could point them to my blog, sharing the knowledge with them that I don’t and won’t share everything.) I feel that asking an adoptive parent why the birth parent “gave up” the child in question is even more inappropriate than asking me why they adopted — mainly because I hear that the adopted child will be in ear shot when the question is asked. (I’ve seen it happen, people. What is wrong with you?)

– __ — __ –

I do want to know, however, what’s the worst/most inappropriate comment/question you’ve received about the opposite party in your adoption relationship? I have this feeling that adoptive parents may have the worst stories. Sadly, I don’t want to be proven wrong.

Helpless

Open Adoption 22 Responses »

Jan 192012

I cannot leave my cell phone unattended during the day when my oldest son is at school. I panic that if I go to the bathroom or dare to attend a workout class without the thing glued to me that the school will call, that my son will have been in some sort of accident or is horribly sick and needs me — and I’m unavailable while I’m sweating to the oldies.

In fact, one day after a meeting, I forgot to turn my ringer back on and, wouldn’t you know it, BigBrother had been pushed on the playground, had a scrape and bump on his head and I missed the damn phone call. They eventually called my husband who tracked me down, and I rushed to the school full of guilt and worry. He was fine and went back to class.

But the worry is always there: Will something happen when I’m unable to be right there? Will I make it there in time? Will I be caught unaware? Will it be a day I’m having a temper tantrum about work or motherhood or snow or the house in which we live or my waistline, causing me to leave the house and take a long walk to clear my head without my phone? Will I ever be enough?

– __ — __ —

Yesterday, in the midst of a stressful work day and working out what we were going to offer on a house, I received a text message. So very few people text me because I so rarely respond. iMessaging on the new iOS 4 has caused me to text a little bit more, but still really only with the people whom I would have texted in the first place. But now it’s free. I digress. The text message was from Dee.

She wished us the best of luck with our house offer… and then told me that Munchkin was in the Emergency Room.

There’s really nothing worse than hearing your child is in the Emergency Room. Whether you’re actively parenting that child or not, it’s a horrible, gut-wrenching, almost paralyzing kind of pain that slices from your head and turns the knife right into the deepest part of your gut. It physically hurts.

I won’t go into details about what is wrong, other than she’s seeing a pediatric cardiologist tomorrow.

But I will tell you that feeling helpless… sucks.

The truth is that Dee also feels helpless. When you don’t know what is wrong with your child, there’s this aspect of helplessness and anger and even a bit of motherly guilt and failure mixed in for good measure. Add in the element of being so far away, of not being able to be there if something went wrong, of not … being enough, and it’s just difficult to handle, to understand, to process.

And, even more so, it’s amazingly difficult to swallow the fact that something is wrong with your daughter and you don’t know what and you can’t do anything — at all — to help and go about your every day life as if nothing is wrong at all.

I am thankful for coworkers who understand when I send a message that I may disappear. I am thankful for friends who respond on twitter fast as lightning. But it’s a weird realization that if she was here, if this was happening in real time in my home, I wouldn’t have put in an offer on a house yesterday. I wouldn’t have worked at all, without warning. I wouldn’t have gone on a play date this morning and pretended like everything was hunky dory in my world. I wouldn’t have been expected to make dinner and smile and do laundry and live the everyday of life. I would be with her. And I’m not.

I feel as if I’m floating outside of myself right now, watching as all of this is happening. Maybe I’ve purposefully disconnected from myself, afraid to feel or move or breathe or blink, because I don’t even know how to process some of this.

I can’t do anything.

Nothing.

I don’t deal well with that. … obviously.

I am thankful, beyond measure, that Dee communicates with me. That she can text me and ask me medical history questions. That she can keep me updated and we can lament together in the helplessness, in the worry, in the anxiety, in the hope. I am thankful for knowing so much, so instantaneously.

But it strikes deep into that helpless feeling I felt eight-and-a-half years ago.

– __ — __ —

I went to pick up BigBrother from school today in the cold beginnings of snowfall. A mom with a worried look on her face escorted out her son who was crying, holding an ice pack to a bump on his head. My heart softened and I said a prayer for his poor little noggin. And then I felt jealous that she was able to be there, to take him to the car, to care for his bump.

I smiled at her and she gave me that look that moms give when they are overwhelmed. I nodded. At that moment, BigBrother slammed into my legs, engulfing me in his after school hug. I wrapped my arms around his head and closed my eyes for just a second.

Safe for another day.