The Chronicles of Munchkin Land

We got our Census form today. I sat down to fill it out immediately because it’s all big and scary on the front with its warning of Doom and Official Gloom if you don’t return it. I am horrible at returning things. I just am. I can email you. But I can’t go to the Post Office. I figure if I sat down, filled it out and immediately put it in the envelope, maybe my loving husband will see it and do it for me. Right?

I filled out the first person information about my husband as it’s his name on the mortgage. Then I filled out my information and checked the box next to husband or wife of the first individual without reading down the rest of the list. Then I filled out the info about our oldest son.

I was about to check next to Biological Son or Daughter when I flipped my lid.

I’m sorry. What? Separate check boxes for biological and adopted children? Really?

As a birth mother, I am offended not only for myself and my daughter’s mom but for my daughter. I’m offended for us all, everyone living within the world of adoption. I understand that the world, adoption included, has changed a lot since the last Census was conducted. But for pity’s sake, you’d think that the language and attitudes toward adoption back then would have made this differentiation even more deplorable.

Why are adoptive parents forced to differentiate between their children? Foster children who are not permanently adopted would be something I could understand due to the fact that they may not live there in the near future due to court dates and other factors. But legally, forever adopted children? We redo their birth certificates. We make it look as if the birth family never legally existed, despite any attempts at openness which isn’t even legally binding in all states. We tell these (adoptive) families that this is their forever child, to love this child “as if” he/she was their “own.” And then we make them check a separate box?

Really?

It upsets me, as a birth mother, because I have come to accept my role. I am not the everyday mom. I have no legal right. She may be my biological daughter but she doesn’t live here and she doesn’t go on my Census form. Had I parented, I’d be checking the biological box. I was told that she had a forever family, that she wouldn’t be loved or treated differently than any other children in their family. And now she has a separate box?

Really?

This makes me angry for all of the adoptees. Ever. And yet to come. Not only do we deny them their birth certificates but now they’re not the “same” as biological children. Really? Do we need to keep adding insult to injury? Do we need to keep reminding adoptees that we view them as different, as not quite the same, as less than? Do we need an official form that states, oh yes, adoptees are different?

I am just so saddened by this; more than is probably necessary. I know both in my heart and with the brain that processes everything told to me and seen by me that my daughter is loved, fully and wholly, no different than her brother. I know this and I have no doubts. It just angers me that the government which allows unethical adoption agencies to continue to exist and refuses adoptees their Original Birth Certificates continues to demean adoptees in Official ways.

I don’t even know to whom to properly complain. Not that they’d listen to a lowly birth mother, anyway, right? I signed papers so I don’t get to have an opinion as to how my daughter and her family are treated and/or portrayed, right?

Edit: If you don’t enter a real email address, your comment will automatically be marked as spam.

Second Edit which is REALLY annoying: If you’re going to spam my blog with comments to other people, berating them for their comments and generally act very nasty toward those who have been sharing here, your comments will not be approved. They will be trashed. I will NEVER understand the need to troll, throw about nasty words or generally be so inhumane to other human beings. You can be nasty to me as this is my space. You may NOT troll my commenters. Ridiculous.