Adoption, in General » The Chronicles of Munchkin Land

Early Morning Vacation Thoughts

Aug 242010

I sit and listen to the sound of the waves crashing on the shore. I sip my coffee silently, the aroma and warm liquid working together to wake me up. Light is breaking across the sky, slowly and carefully chasing the long night away in exchange for morning.

I wait, quietly. I sit, quietly. I enjoy the peace, the quiet a rarity even on a vacation. Soon the boys will be awake, asking for oatmeal and the television and a game and a book and sunblock and, “Can we go to the beach right now?” I breathe in the coffee and push back the thought, but it snakes its way forward, weaving its way into my soul.

She is not here. Again. Ever. She will not wake early with the boys or sleep in as she does. She will not climb the stairs and walk around the corner with a mess of dark curls hiding her big, brown sleepy eyes. She will not walk over and give me a kiss. She will not tell me her dreams. She is not here.

She is actually on vacation with parts of her own family. She is making her own memories while I sit missing the memory of her. I am mostly okay with that fact, the knowing that she is busy living a life that I gave her. I am logically okay with it; my heart feels heavy and rebellious. I wish she was here, with me. With us.

I walked the rows of souvenir shirts. Visibly, I passed the pinks and purples and gender-specifically-girl shirts without a passing glance. Inwardly, I ached. I think that I will buy her a shirt. But I might not mail it. I don’t know her size again; she grows so quickly. I won’t see her in the shirt; that is hard. A few gender-specifically-boy shirts are not ugly and I plan to come back by the end of vacation to make a purchase. I don’t know if I’ll buy one for her when it comes down to it.

I allow these thoughts to pass through me like the stiff breeze coming in off the ocean. I sit and let them wash over me like the tide rushing inland. I allow this to happen in the still small moments of morning on vacation. Soon I will have to push them down and ignore their presence while I tend to the busy work of making a family vacation work… all the while knowing my family vacation is missing a person.

Loaded Questions

Adoption, in General, Fathers in Adoption 7 Responses »

Aug 162010

He asked me if I thought he’d be a good father.

I have been asked loaded questions in my day, but none quite so heavy.

It is not that I think he should avoid parenthood because he is a birth father. I am not dooming him to a life of childlessness because of everything that happened. I was just as big a part in the decision to relinquish as he was… or, if I’m honest, I was a bigger part of that decision. He signed the papers, yes, but I was the driving force. And I am an amazing mom to my two boys. I would have fought — tooth and nail — anyone who tried to tell me that the relinquishment of my firstborn made it impossible for me to be a good mother to any subsequent children. I’d still fight tooth and nail.

But still, the question hit me hard.

He never asked me that question when I was pregnant with the Munchkin. Granted, I started in with the adoption plan shortly after my 18th week of pregnancy once I had been placed on bed rest after my kidney surgery. Perhaps he never had a chance to get to that question. Maybe I switched gears to adoption speak before he even had a chance to grasp that he had helped create a life and was, in some way, responsible for the outcome. I don’t know why he never asked me that question.

I don’t know why he has chosen to ask me now, even before he and his wife have conceived a child.

But it hurt me in a place that I didn’t know still bore scars. My immediate reaction was deep and visceral and full of anger and fury and rage. If I was a throwing person, I would have thrown something, breaking it simply for the release. To see the shards of glass as a visual representation of how I once felt and how I suddenly felt all over again. Thankfully, I chose not to say anything for a few days. I recognized my anger as something deeper within myself, tied to my guilt and shame and sense of utter failure. I quieted up for most of the week, unable and unwilling to discuss what I was feeling with anyone.

He has apologized for everything that happened back then. I have forgiven him. But I tiptoe around real discussion with him during our infrequent bouts of contact. I discuss my career, what the boys are doing, the constant desire for a vacation and a nap and other such simplistic bits of conversation. When I was pregnant with my first son, I couldn’t have imagined asking him, “Do you think I’ll make a good mother?” Then again, I hadn’t forgiven him at that point, so maybe that makes all the difference. I suppose I am most taken aback by how easily he asked me such a loaded question, as if he didn’t even recognize how it might pierce the deepest, darkest parts of my soul that I keep hidden from almost everyone at all times.

The truth is that most people who ask the question — will I be a good parent — are usually those who will be fine. Questioning one’s ability and gauging readiness is important. It’s not a guarantee, but it’s a sign that good things are happening in the head and the heart. I have no reason to believe that he wouldn’t be a good father.

I just wish he would have asked that question seven years and one month ago.