I went to a local MOPS group this morning as a friend has been begging me to come for the past two years. Truth is that I’ve been a Mother of a Preschooler for three years now and I will be for another two. While groups always given a crazy amount of anxiety, I decided to go.

Ah, groups.

I hate them because of my anxiety. But I love them as well. If I can get past that sickening sinking feeling in my stomach and breathe slowly enough that my vision stops shaking, I usually have a good time.

I had a good time today.

Except for the survey. After we filled out our name, number, address type stuff, there was a “getting to know you” type survey to fill out as well. One question stumped me. “When did you first find out you were pregnant and how did you feel?”

Hmm.

I didn’t really want to write, “Well, it was a cold April afternoon and I stood in a run down bathroom in a house I shred with three other post-collegians and stared at the positive pregnancy stick. I felt sick to my stomach — partly because of the pregnancy and partly because this wasn’t exactly timely and partly because the biological father standing outside the bathroom wasn’t going to be overly pleased.” Yeah, I just didn’t feel like going there. And I didn’t feel like leading the people on who would read it that BigBrother was my firstborn.

So I left that sucker blank.

I did tell my friend, who just so happened to be collecting the paperwork, that I left it blank. She said not to worry; she left some blank last year for her own personal reasons as well. I breathed a little more easily. Turns out we all have our own issues.

And most of the time I can remember that. But I’ve gotten burned at playgroup type settings before and haven’t really put myself in a position where another burning could happen for a few years. But LittleBrother is in desperate want/need of some other kids to play with when BigBrother is at school (and he only has preschool 3 days a week starting in 2 weeks). So I put myself out there for him. And for me, I suppose. A little bit.

But mostly him.

We All Have Our Own Issues is a post from The Chronicles of Munchkin Land. Want more Chronicles? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, please contact me or @ me on twitter.

Everything kind of fell into place this year for me.

Last week was hell. I mean, it was really a personal hell for me. I think I drank my weight in Rescue Remedy, but I probably just cried it right out. It was a hard week and I haven’t even really had time to deal with some of what I’m feeling because life tends to get in the way of emotional healing.

But I just had the most wonderful Mother’s Day ever.

Sometime shortly after seven-zero-zero, my oldest son was thisclose to my face. “Happy Mother’s Day, Mommy.” I smiled and told him thank you and that his daddy was in charge. My husband left the room with him shortly thereafter and I hung out in bed, not really sleeping, but definitely enjoying the cool quiet of the room. Then my husband made me breakfast. And later, lunch.

I watched cheesy chick flicks. I read. And I napped.

I played Hungry, Hungry Hippos. I played cars. I read a few books. I chased my kids down the hall. We took photos in the yard. I talked to my mom, my dad and my mother-in-law. I wasted time on Facebook (and didn’t do any work online… well, until the kids were in bed). I left a message for my daughter’s mom. I opened cards (and laughed). I enjoyed my beautiful new plants and newly placed bird feeder (in a perfect spot for photography). I sent messages back and forth with some of my favorite moms.

And then my husband announced, “Appetizers!” And he put crab legs that he had been grilling (which I didn’t even know you could DO) on the table. NO FREAKING LIE. And then he served steak wrapped in bacon, mashed potatoes and zucchini for supper. And then butterscotch pudding (a fav) for dessert.

And the whole day, I felt light and airy. My sons repeatedly wished me a Happy Mother’s Day and told me that they loved me. Without prompting. I got kisses and hugs. And lots of food. And even more laughs. And it felt good.

I felt joy.

I said a special prayer with the boys before bed, thanking God for all of my children and went into the different ways that I am their mother. I thanked God for my mom, for my mother-in-law and for grandmothers. I got long-winded, but my kids were patient. I got more kisses after that.

Tomorrow will be a new week and I still have stuff to deal with. But today was about joy. I don’t know if it’s about the separation of issues. Or if it was my husband’s over-the-top awesomeness (because he knows how I struggle) (and, really, he’s just that awesome). Or if it was just the year that I was finally able to grow into who I am and be at peace on this day. I don’t know.

But I sure I hope I feel this good on Mother’s Day next year.

Mother’s Day Is Finally Mother’s Day is a post from The Chronicles of Munchkin Land. Want more Chronicles? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, please contact me or @ me on twitter.

Four years ago today, I was a mother but I wasn’t a mom. I knew what motherly instinct felt like, that deep-seated need to protect at any cost even if it meant my own personal misery. I had felt the unconditional love that a mother felt. I thought I knew everything there was to know about being a mother. I had watched D parent the Munchkin. I had read some books. I was ready for it all.

I wasn’t ready for anything.

On this day before my oldest son’s fourth birthday, my oldest parented child, I am feeling nostalgic and introspective. I am feeling overwhelmed with emotion. I’m also somewhat amused at my past self. I think of how I felt and the things that I thought on this day, four years ago. I didn’t know that my kidney was shutting down and that I’d be induced the next day. I was just a 38-week pregnant woman who was uncomfortable, more so due to my kidney disorder. (My uterus at this point had totally pinched off the ureter out of my right kidney.) I was excited to finally be a mom after having been a mother for two years. It was a weird place to be and I felt alone in that thought process.

The things I didn’t know are the meat and potatoes of actual, everyday parenting. I didn’t know that my me time would be hard fought after my oldest parented child’s arrival. I didn’t know that you could love a child so very deeply and still be aggravated and frustrated. I didn’t know that everything you thought you knew about parenting was usually made null and void at some point. I didn’t know that the issues I thought I had overcome regarding the placement of my firstborn would rear their ugly heads and make it impossible for me to move forward as a mom until I got professional help.

It’s that last “didn’t know” that leave me feeling sad at times. I know that every mom claims that the first few months of her child’s life are mostly blurry, a series of sleepless nights erasing some of the memories. I worry sometimes that the blur was brought on by an inability to focus on the task at hand, caring for my son, due to a preoccupation with missing his older sister. I was so overwhelmed by the memories and flashbacks and guilt and feeling of loss regarding his sister that I found it difficult to truly enjoy our time together. I hesitate to take it so far as to say that I didn’t bond with him; I think we are truly bonded, deeply, on levels I didn’t know that I could be bonded with someone else. But I do feel that I cheated him out of some special time during his early days, weeks and months. I wasn’t as present as I could have been. I was lost in a world that the adoption industry doesn’t discuss with mothers who are considering placement. As I took care of that tiny infant who is now a smart, funny little boy, I kept wondering if I would have done the same things with my firstborn. I kept wondering if it would have felt the same. I kept wondering if I could have done it had I parented her.

I still wonder at times. Not as often as I don’t play the what if game (as much) after all of my years in therapy. But I wonder. Who doesn’t wonder?

I am so thankful that our small infants don’t remember their first days, weeks and months. I would feel eternally guilty if my oldest son asked me, “Mommy, why did you cry so much when I was a little baby?” (Of course, as I battled some pretty heavy postpartum depression with my youngest son, he could ask the same.) I love both of these boys with the fire of a thousand suns, just as I love their sister. As I reflect on this particular day in my history, I wonder how I would have changed my parenting had I known everything that I know now.

Would I have spent more time just cuddling in bed with my oldest son? Would I have allowed myself some more room to feel instead of ignoring the emotions for (approximately) three months? Would I have asked for more help? Would I have been more honest with myself, with those who loved me, when they asked me what was wrong? Would I have been easier on myself? Would I have laughed more at some of the things that I flubbed up? Or would I still have been tense and anxious, demanding perfection of myself since I felt, in my core, that I had failed my firstborn? I don’t know. I do know that I have managed to get one child to four (tomorrow) and another to almost two (next Tuesday) and they seem to be generally well-rounded. Despite my issues, they seem to love me. Despite my issues, I know that I love them.

So is it even worth asking all of these questions? In another four years will I look back on this post and laugh at everything I didn’t know about what was just around the next bend? I assume so. Life is like that most of the time. I’ve learned so much in the past four years, both about being an everyday mom and a birth mother. I assume that the next four years will bring about more things that I never knew I didn’t know… and hopefully a lot of wonderful memories.

I Knew Everything. I Knew Nothing. is a post from The Chronicles of Munchkin Land. Want more Chronicles? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, please contact me or @ me on twitter.

I had played it off like it doesn’t matter. I stated a disinterest. I talked about how I wasn’t participating and, darn it, it is just a stupid Hallmark holiday anyway. And then I read a poorly written poem and my walls came crashing down.

I still hate it. Mother’s Day, that is.

The day makes me so angry. It should be a day of celebrating but it never really will be. You see, since my three living children don’t share a birthday, I can grieve on the Munchkin’s birthday and not feel guilt. Well, that’s not 100% true because when I am in attendance at her parties, I feel guilt that I’m grieving because I should be rejoicing that I am one of the lucky, blessed few to get to be in the same room with my relinquished daughter as she grows a year older. But when I’m feeling that grief, I’m not short-changing my parented sons.

On Mother’s Day, when I’m left with grief for the daughter I placed for adoption or the daughter that we lost to miscarriage, I am short-changing the two boys that crawl all over me. The older one who puts on a super hero cape, firefighter boots and runs around the living room. The one who told me the other day that he does not, in fact, have a uterus in his belly. He just has food. The younger one who stands up and sits down and stands up and sits down on my lap and yells, “SIT!” over and over… which sounds funny as it is toddler speak and makes me giggle. The one who gives open mouth kisses any time he walks past me. The two boys who hug each other after they fight over a toy. The two boys who call each other friend. The two boys who smile at each other each morning like the sun sets on the other’s heads.

I should be rejoicing on Mother’s Day to be their everyday, awesome Mama.

But I do that every other day of the year. I love being their Mom and anyone who spends more than five minutes with me knows that fact. And that, in essence, is what I hate about Mother’s Day. The whole concept of only honoring mothers, in all of their many forms, one day per year. What about the other night when I stood by my youngest’s cribside and just rubbed his back as he was whimpering in his sleep due to teething pain? What about a few days ago when I held my oldest son in my arms and told him that it was okay to miss his daddy and yes, it was okay to cry? What about when I scattered roses on our local lake for the daughter I would never see, never hold, never hear? What about that first time I placed my oldest child into the arms of another mother… and what about every time I let her go again after a visit? And every single second in between?

I have been a mother since I saw the line on that pregnancy test in that badly tiled bathroom in 2003. I went into Mama Bear mode quite quickly and did everything in my power to protect that child. I was of failing health and I still made decisions with her best interest in mind, not even my own. And people want to tell me that doesn’t count? That was just a trial run? It was nothing?

In the end, I know that I am in charge of the definition of my own motherhood. And I am okay with that 364 days per year. Mother’s Day, however, trips me up. I can’t get around the fact that they don’t make a card for me and my strange motherhood. I can’t figure out how to celebrate and grieve and honor every part of my motherhood at the same time. I can’t figure out how to properly channel these emotions and put them to their best use. I can’t enjoy a day that refuses to acknowledge so many of my sisters… not just birth mothers but every single one of these mothers that is in a situation in which society doesn’t want to honor their mothering, their motherhood.

And so, the tears fall even though I swore that I would ignore the hoopla this year. I’ve been ignoring tweets on Mother’s Day. I’ve been ignoring gift guides. I’ve been ignoring it all. And it’s all smacked me in the face and reminded me that some people in this world view me as “less than” because I get pregnant easily and because I made choices along the way. And to that I say: my children, all of them, have something amazing in me. I may not be perfect. I may not have all the answers. But I have a heart so full of love and compassion. I have an amazing gift in my children and I’ll be damned if someone tells me that I’m not good enough simply because of x, y or z.

And maybe that’s the attitude I need to work on this year…

I Held it Together… Until Now is a post from The Chronicles of Munchkin Land. Want more Chronicles? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, please contact me or @ me on twitter.

My oldest son love the song “How Far We’ve Come” by Matchbox 20. It’s got that driving beat that lets him dance quickly, spin in circles and generally be busy. It also has easy to remember lyrics which he sings into his thumb-microphone. But, he doesn’t sing it as the lyrics are written.

He does not sing:

Let’s see how far we’ve come.

He sings:

Let’s see how far we go.

My husband and I fall all over ourselves with the absolute cuteness of that mis-sung lyric. In fact, we’ve started singing it his way rather than the right way. One day last week, we all (including my youngest son) were bebopping around the kitchen with the song blaring in the background, dancing and singing, at the top of our lungs, “Let’s see how far we GO!” Memories like these, of course, are what make being a parent so awesome. Someday he will deny ever having liked us enough to act like a fool in the kitchen. But then one day maybe he will be blessed with children equally as awesome and will get to bebop around his own kitchen singing the wrong lyrics. And maybe he’ll say a silent thank you.

Memories, however adorable, aren’t really the point of this post.

I’ve been thinking a lot about 2008 the past few days (like the rest of the world). It was a difficult year in many respects. Speaking specifically of our open adoption, it was a year of adjustment, a year of difficult communication and a year sorely lacking in visits. This falls at the feet of the lot of us and not just one person or “side” of the triad. We were all dealing with our own very complicated issues that needed a lot of attention. By the end of the year, however, I think we found ourselves in a place that was similar to the comfortable relationship of past years.

In fact, for me, I’m cherishing moments and the “little things” a bit more. Knowing how busy life can be with two children, I am fully aware of the effort that Munchkin’s Mom puts in when she makes any time to include me. I mean, have you seen my laundry pile lately? Good grief. Furthermore, having been through some rather silent months (for lack of a better term), I now fully recognize how any contact is better than no contact.

All the same, referencing the original song lyric, I think I prefer my son’s lyrics better.

Looking at how far we come, I can appreciate the hard work we have put in to overcome some difficulties. I recognize the times that we have faltered in our relationship and respect the work that was done to fix those issues. But, at the same time, I want to have the outlook that my son has…

I want to see how far we can go!

What will 2009 bring for us? With a visit planned for later this month, I can tell you that it will bring smiles and laughter and likely fights amongst children. But other than that, I don’t know what 2009 holds for us as an open adoption family.

But I’m so excited to see how far we go. So excited.

Let’s See How Far We Go! is a post from The Chronicles of Munchkin Land. Want more Chronicles? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, please contact me or @ me on twitter.

I wrote this last night as I reflected about motherhood on the evening of my oldest son’s third birthday.

At this time, 9:35 on the third year of his birth, we were relaxing into our huge suite. My Husband was showering and I was spending some time alone with the little baby that was my newborn son. His eyes were mine. His face was mine. He was mine. I remember being overwhelmed with that concept, the concept of mine. I had gazed in eyes that were mine before but the child, herself, had not been mine in the end. And to look at him and know, without a doubt, that he was coming home with me was so amazing… and so scary… that my breath caught in my throat and my heart stopped and time stood still.

That feeling of “mine” still strikes me from time to time. I’ll be doing something very grown up and motherly and I’ll stop and think, “Wait? This is my life? These are my children? When did this happen?” In those moments, I realize that these two little boys are, in fact, mine. I am their mother, their mom, their mommy. I make the decisions. I soothe the boo-boos and hurt feelings. I plan the birthday parties and pay for the overly expensive cake. They rely on me for everything. At night I tuck them into their beds. And in the morning they wake me long before I’m ready.

It took me some time to grow into that after my oldest son was born. Perhaps it takes all parents some time to adjust to that reality even if they have never relinquished a child for adoption. I’ll never be able to personally attest to the differences because I can only live the one reality. I do believe, however, that I had more panic over someone taking him, especially while we were in the hospital. When he was taken in the morning for tests, I kept staring at the clock. I asked my nurse when he was coming back. My heart was tight in my chest. When they brought him back, I could finally breathe again. I didn’t want others to hold him (except for my Husband whom I trusted to give him back). I believe some of that fear attributed to that bout of postpartum depression. I was so fearful and anxious that something would happen to take my child away.

All the same, here I am, three years later. Another boy later. Another mine later. And I’m still caught off guard by all of it at times. I’ve been entrusted to raise these two boys. To help them learn to be great men. And the whole idea of it is so big and large that sometimes I feel just as overwhelmed as I did when I was making my decision to relinquish. What makes me think I’m a good enough parent to do any and/or all of this? I get into this cycle of self-doubt, pointing out any time I’ve lost my patience or forgotten to brush their teeth in the morning or generally dropped the ball as a parent.

And then I remember that all parents are human. We’ll raise these kids up just fine.

Somehow.

Expanded From My Journal: The Concept of Mine is a post from The Chronicles of Munchkin Land. Want more Chronicles? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, please contact me or @ me on twitter.

As many of you know, we’re done having children. I’m mostly okay with this until, of course, I hold small babies. Or Sundays. There’s something about Sundays that make both my me and my Husband want to conceive more children. It’s very strange. All the same, we’re done.

And so, on the storage side of our basement, we have this pile. It keeps growing. A stroller-infant-car-seat travel system complete with Land’s End fleece warmer. An extra infant car seat. An exersaucer. A bouncy seat. A Bumbo. A playmat. Some other little things like bottles we never used.

For a little while, I was considering donating the whole lot to our church. I now work in the nursery and am well aware that we’re missing some “small infant” stuff. Though very few parents bring their small infants down during church or to Bible Study, a few are brought in on occasion and it would be nice to have things for them. But just this morning I got to thinking…

I want to give this stuff, all of it, to one young mother in need. Not a few different ones. One. I want her to go from having just about nothing to having almost enough. And, true, newborns don’t need “stuff.” They don’t. They need their mothers’ milk and they need a safe place to sleep. But I remember being in that position, with absolutely nothing. Not even a car seat to take my child home in should I have changed my mind. (Granted, I learned afterwards that the hospital can provide a seat but that was an after the fact knowledge-bit that I like to pass on to expectant mothers now that I know!) I digress.

I didn’t have anything. And I felt that lack of “stuff” was evidence of my inability to parent. Granted, I was sick, stuck in bed and unable to work. It wasn’t as if I was able to magically make things appear. But I also lacked the ability to ask people for help. I didn’t want to seem as if I was “sponging” off of society as so many people accuse those who do seek help. And while I learned by actively parenting two little boys that “stuff” does not a good parent make, I do know how good it felt to be able to purchase and have that stuff in house before they were born. It was an assurance that things were different this time around, that I would provide come hell or high water and that, darn it, things would be okay.

I want to pass that feeling on to another local mother. I have decided to go totally local and not branch out into other cities surrounding our area. There’s a high-rate of teen pregnancy here. You can blame the cycle of young pregnancy in families, our city’s apathy towards educating these young folks on options and consequence, or whatever you wish to blame it on but the “problem” remains. Certain groups in town all but demand that these young mothers “choose” life (though they tell them that there is no choice) but refuse to offer any help. Those same people are the ones that I have heard casting judgment on one young mother who has had three pregnancies at a young age. Those are the same people who scoff at anyone who is receiving public assistance and make nasty comments about anyone who has ever received said assistance not knowing (or, perhaps, caring) that individuals at the table they are sharing once received said assistance. (I received Medicaid benefits while pregnant with the Munchkin.)

No one wants to help these mothers. But I do.

I just put an ad on MySpace for a “Huge Lot of Baby Gear for a YOUNG MOTHER IN NEED.” I set our ages at 16-22. The younger age because knowing the people that I know, I know a young mother of that age can and will survive. (Why not 14? I don’t know. I’d make an exception, I suppose if a 14 year old mother-to-be contacted me.) The upper age range because that’s how old I was when everyone told me that I couldn’t do it on my own.

Do I expect some scammers? Sure. But I’m requiring all potential recipients to meet with us. Why? I want to encourage them ALL, to let them know they can do it. (And requiring that will weed out those who are just trying to score free stuff.)

Why am I not going through a local organization? Our town doesn’t even have one. If I can’t find anyone through direct contact, I will consider contacting our local foster care office but I don’t think they can give me any information on individuals so, really, this is my only route. The next city over has a pregnancy center but, as I said, I want to serve our city. I’m feeling that it is necessary right now.

This won’t solve their problems. The road to parenting and through parenting is hard, even in the best of circumstances. But perhaps the contact(s) that I make will help provide some young mothers with that small bit of encouragement that makes the difference. Perhaps these young parents (because I hope! some Dads are involved) just need someone to say, “You can do it.” Because how many times have you read the words of a birth mother say that she just wanted someone to say those words.

I want to be that person to someone.

And, so, as I do have some local readers: if you know of anyone in need in our city, please use the contact form to let me know. This is heavy on my heart as we enter this birthday and holiday season in our family. We have SO MUCH. And so much of it isn’t even necessary. And I just need to pass it on.

I Want to Help Someone is a post from The Chronicles of Munchkin Land. Want more Chronicles? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, please contact me or @ me on twitter.

Can someone tell me how my oldest son is somehow almost three years old? As November lurks just around the corner, I am awash with memories. I can’t believe it. I’m sure I’ll have posts of dedication to his awesomeness over on the family blog throughout the month along with posts of awesomeness about my youngest son who will be (OMG!) one just a week later. But right now, I need to talk about some things.

Anyway, I’ve mentioned it before that we do a normal everyone-knows-it kind of prayer every night after we read books. Then he does a series of “thank yous” for whatever he happened to be thankful for that day. We used to prompt him on what to say (mommy, daddy) but rarely do we have to give him anything to say anymore. In fact, he would go on for hours if we let him. He names everyone in the family. He names everything he did that day. He names all of his friends. He sometimes starts naming all of his trains. Seriously. It’s adorable until his younger brother decides that, OMG! It’s bedtime! Right! Now! And then I have to push the “Amen” out a littl more quickly than the older would really like.

All the same, sometimes he forgets people. Or things. And after he says Amen, he remembers! And he says “OH OH OH!” Sometimes this is a reason to stall. Sometimes he legitimately forgot someone because he is beyond exhausted and is running on fumes. All the same, it makes me smile.

The other night it was his sister. “OH OH OH! Thank you for my sister. Amen.”

OH OH OH. Thank you for my family.

He Doesn’t Forget Her is a post from The Chronicles of Munchkin Land. Want more Chronicles? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, please contact me or @ me on twitter.

I finally purchased Choice: True Stories of Birth, Contraception, Infertility, Adoption, Single Parenthood, & Abortion for myself. I had a $20.00 Amazon Gift Card and thought I would spend some of it on myself instead of all on the boys. You know, like I usually do. It arrived. And I’m just overwhelmed with the awesomeness of it already. Even though I’ve found two typos and I’m only on page 29. (Oh, the editor in me.)

A quote from the introduction regarding the hard look the book takes at the different choices women have to make regarding unplanned pregnancy (and how those stories aren’t always happy-go-lucky):

When an issue is as polarized as abortion, people on both sides see the world in black and white. In order to preserve these extremes, stories that reveal gray areas are kept secret. The woman who regrets placing he child for adoption suffers in silence, lest someone think she would have been better off aborting. The woman who undergoes a painful abortion keeps quiet, lest the complexities of her situation be construed as an argument against reproductive freedom. But when these stories are suppressed, so is our empathy. Instead of listening to each other’s stories and drawing lessons from each other’s lives, we are turning a deaf ear to human experience.

Oof, that hit home. Especially lately.

I received a series of forwards from Dawn in which she had an exchange with two other women. About me. (Don’t I feel famous now?) One woman was peeved about my Redbook piece and how it was too negative. (Which, by the way, I also received word from an anti-adoption follower that it was too positive in the end. Guess I can’t please anyone.) This particular woman took it so far as to contact Redbook and let them know that publishing a story so negative about adoption was doing the world a great disservice. Nevermind the fact that the article was part of a larger piece about the hardships of motherhood. They weren’t looking for a happy piece to add to that story; they wanted other mothers who felt ostracized by the celebration of Mother’s Day to know that they aren’t alone. Nevermind the fact that my piece wasn’t overly negative. Nevermind the fact that I admitted in the piece that I must keep continuing to move forward and heal for the sake of my daughter. Nevermind any of that. She just wanted me to shut my yapper. Or, stop my fingers from moving so swiftly across the keyboard as it were.

The other woman who wasn’t Dawn involved in the series of emails reminded the one who wanted me to shut up that we all have varying experiences. Apparently this woman who doesn’t like me or my story or my writings is a woman who wants to help those touched by adoption. So, the second woman reminded her that if someone like me came to this other woman with such a story, what good would turning someone like me away do? Just because my story isn’t butterflies and rainbows, I should be turned away from any help? Isn’t that kind of, or, rather, totally backward from what people should want to be doing? Shouldn’t we be reaching out to those who have stories with shadows and rainclouds? Shouldn’t we be listening to their stories and learning what we could do differently? Shouldn’t we be fighting against unethical agencies, greedy attorneys and ignorance in general? Or should we just put on our rose-tinted glasses, sip some lemonade and smile at one another without ever hearing, learning or truly feeling the depth of emotion involved in this topic?

You know my answer.

I wish I could speed read through this book. All the same, it will take me awhile. Our lives have gotten so busy with living life that reading (and writing, at this point) have taken a side seat. Not a backseat because I still value the presence of books and words in my daily life. But, oh, I’m just up to the tip of my nose in life right now. And it’s fall! Must go outside.

But I’ll take the book with me.

Reading Choice is a post from The Chronicles of Munchkin Land. Want more Chronicles? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, please contact me or @ me on twitter.

I understand when Ultra-Right-Wing Conservatives don’t give a rip about the horror stories that birth mothers are living through on a day-to-day basis. I understand when they don’t want to hear about our plight, our hardship and our push for reform. I understand that they have a skewed view of what opening adoptees records will do to adoption. I understand that their one-sided view of the abortion topic totally renders their ability to look at adoption without rose-colored glasses impossible.

But I hate when so-called liberals tout adoption as the “easy answer.”

I was reading an extremely well-written post over at Momocrats. It’s a place that I’ve been feeling that I “belong” and “fit in” because my views have been expressed not only by posts but by comments from like-minded individuals. And then today happened. And I feel, once again, like no one on Earth is ever going to care about reforming adoption. I am frustrated. I am angry. And I am tired of being alone.

The very first comment on the thread made my head explode and my heart cry:

I also wonder why the immediate kneejerk solution is marriage to the father. I would think for those who are pro life and find themselves pregnant, an open adoption is an excellent option.

But that probably isn’t an option for someone who is in the public spotlight like this – not with the whole family values thing.

There are so many families all over the world who desperately want a baby but are unable to have one. In the US a lot of these families end up going overseas to adopt.

In my opinion, it is a great shame that adoption is not promoted more as an option for teenagers who find themselves to be pregnant.

First and foremost, “open” adoption is not a bandaid for the grief and loss experienced by birth mothers. It’s just not. You can dress it up all pretty with nice words. You can try to make it sound like a great solution. I’m sure that commenter doesn’t even know that open adoptions are not legally binding in all states, only causing a huge crisis in our country of birth mothers who have lived through the immediate horror of relinquishment and then forced to live through another severing of their lives with their child. It’s an epidemic as of late! But, hi, the NY Times hit on the reason that attitude bothered me just today in an article about Virtual Twinning and adoption:

“Adoption should be about finding families for children, not about finding children for families,” she said. “In many cases parents are doing this without understanding what the ramifications are. I think it’s fine to do it if people are well aware that doing it may be very difficult.”

But even my own like-minded people don’t view adoption in that way. It’s about giving babies to families who want them. Bristol’s child is not unwanted, folks. Unexpected? Totally. Unplanned? Yes. Scaring Mom and Grandma out of their minds? 100% sure that’s the case. But I’m pretty darn sure that baby is very much wanted at this point. How am I pretty darn sure? Seek out blogs by other birth mothers and find me one who says, “Nah, I didn’t want my kid so I gave him up.” You’ll be hard pressed to find one. (For reference: I’m not talking of children who were removed from abusive homes.)

I don’t even want to talk about “promoting” adoption to teens. The ethical implications of “birth parent” “marketing” really make me ill. Until you have been solicited by an agency on a Social Media site, don’t talk to me about “birth parent” “marketing” and promoting adoption to our “teens.”

The comment above made me cry, folks. Sometimes I feel like all the work I do is in vain. Is no one hearing me? Is no one listening? Or do they simply just not care? Will adoption always be touted as the “answer” to the “abortion problem” or is anyone going to stand up and do something? Am I always going to be ostracized by political candidates who don’t understand or even know about the issues that I face? Neither Obama nor McCain care about adoptees rights or ethical counseling for expectant parents considering relinqiushment or how adoptive parents can close an open adoption without reason or recourse for the birth family. No one cares!

And it’s getting really tiring to realize, over and over, that no one in power gives a flying Fig Newton about the experience you have lived or the changes you wish to make. It’s getting really, really hard to continue to have faith in hope and change at all, no matter who is elected. I want my daughter to have access to her birth certificate. I want future birt mothers and birth fathers to be treated with respect. I want future adoptive parents to be counseled on the true trials in open adoptions. I want unethical adoption agencies to be held accountable. I want someone to stand up and say, “SOMETHING NEEDS TO BE DONE ABOUT THIS!”

But no one cares. Not even people I identify with. Ostracized for another election. When will it end?

(Of note: I do not vote single issue for candidates. If I did, I wouldn’t ever have anyone to vote for. I will still be voting for who I believe is the lesser of the two evils when it comes to this topic and many, many others. But I’m just tired of being ignored.)

No One Cares is a post from The Chronicles of Munchkin Land. Want more Chronicles? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, please contact me or @ me on twitter.