But my blood pressure sky-rocketed today when I read the following:

As a foster and adoptive parent I saw and heard way too many stories where these ” birth men and women” (we do not say birth parent or birth mom. Parent and mom are titles earned) are given chance after chance to better themselves and they fail.

Oh. Okay.

By that logic, the title of human being should also be earned. Hers? Revoked.

Okay, okay. That’s taking it too far. But it serves my point: You just can’t make generalizations like that.

(As an aside, no mention of dad. Is it because dad is an automatic or dad doesn’t register at all? I don’t know. But I can guess.)

I understand that she is speaking from a place of anger regarding her experiences with the foster care system. There’s a lot of anger there as the system is borked at best and fatally flawed at worst. The discussion actually came about by a pretty darn good piece over at BlogHer written by a social worker. In it she admits that, most of the time, she does more harm than good. I found it to be a wonderful piece, as the author acknowledges the flaws, the times when things don’t work properly, the trauma involved in separating children from their families. (I also wanted to do a little leap for joy when she acknowledged both the adoptive and birth families who were able to maintain contact and a relationship in some way.)

The comments over there, including mine, are mostly a “thank you for sharing this” variety. Some personal stories intermixed, but no family bashing going on. Enter Facebook. Oh, Facebook. You would think that because Facebook is attached to your actual name and identity, people would be less willing to be totally cruel. But no. That comment above, and others like it, came from a woman just ranting into the night in several comments on the post on Facebook.

I almost responded:

I am a birth parent. And I did earn the title. Thank you very much.

But I didn’t. I walked away. And came here instead.

Logically, I understand that she wasn’t speaking about me. And maybe the parents (because they are parents) of the children within her care, whether already adopted or still under foster status, are really not the type of people who need to be influencing the shaping minds of children. I’m never going to argue that everyone should go through the act of parenting. And maybe this (angry!) woman thinks that by removing their title, she’s proving something or asserting herself or God knows what. But removing the title, demeaning them to nothing more than a passing person, is less about the child and more about the person doing the title-removing.

I would have no problem if an adoptee said, “I call my mom my birth woman.” As long as she came to that conclusion on her own, without any nasty talk/brainwashing from another party and she didn’t tell other people what to call their birth parents. I understand how, for some adoptees who came from abusive situations, might prefer to view/speak it that way. It makes total sense in my head. But this whole deciding things for the child makes me batty.

Let’s flip it. The truth is that some foster and adoptive parents have abused and neglected their children too. As such, we shall now refer to them as Adoptive People. Kinda stings, doesn’t it? It does when we make sweeping generalizations about people. And, as a note before I’m attacked, I’m not recommending that as a course of action. It disgusts me as much as the other way around.

I get that it is likely this woman might have been talking specifically about the parents she has dealt with. But she didn’t say that specifically. And you’d think that in 2011 we would know enough about Internet-based communications to re-read our words and own them.

Whatever the case, the term “birth woman” was not one I particularly liked reading when accompanied by generalizations. It’s been a long time since I’ve read something online and had a knee-jerk, gut-punch reaction to the words someone else chose. I’ve grown and learned to accept that not everyone will view things — or me — in a different light, despite what I have taken the time to share for years.

But I’m more than just a birth woman. Let it be known. Much more.

I chuckled again. Just now.

I was not offended. I even understood the confusion — kind of. Truth is that even as a birth mother, I could — theoretically — have pictures of my (relinquished) daughter on my sidebar. As my flickr widget shows the four most recent pictures that are public on my photostream, any number of things could be over there. Right now? It’s birds. And a photo of my boys from last night that made it into my Project 365 Favorites set. After a visit with the Munchkin and family, I usually make one or two photos public. So, yes, she could have been over there on the sidebar, smiling at you.

The exchange, polite and not at all offensive to me, got me to thinking about blogging as a birth parent.

First and foremost, I have always asked Dee what I can and cannot share. Back before the days of Super Serious Blogging, I obtained permission to share her photos online with my friends and family. This was pre-Facebook era, so I was sharing on Photobucket and LiveJournal. Eventually I moved onto sharing via Flickr and my public blogs. Now I throw up some photos from visits on Facebook as well.

When it comes to the actual sharing of words, the meat and potatoes of our relationship, I make sure to ask now. I made a mistake a time or two in over-sharing, though never with malice or in outright anger. The one time I was dealing with some heavy stuff on my end and forgot to share my story, not hers. We talked about it and life went on, not unlike when bloggers share too much about their mother-in-law and realize, the hard way, that she is actually reading.

But I do write about our relationship, the cute things the Munchkin says and, yes, I do share pictures. There are certain subjects on which I no longer write for various reasons. What I feel comfortable sharing changes from time to time; the ebb and flow of open adoption changes the tides of my comfort level here and there. I try to make sure the focus of whatever I’m sharing about our relationship is on me, my interaction with Dee or the Munchkin and my take away from the exchange. I don’t want to put words into Dee’s mouth — or the Munchkin’s for that matter. I’m careful, but I’m also honest.

This whole thing made me remember how I was not welcome in the Mommy Blogging niche when I first started this particular blog. Part of it was because I made people uncomfortable; I still do. Part of it was because people are so darn defensive with the title of mother. I’ve watched groups gang up on stepmom bloggers as well, treating them in much the same way I was treated when this blog started to gain recognition back in 2006. I’ve watched other alternative types of families be hassled and heckled for sharing things in their own ways, and I just don’t understand. Or, I do understand, but it seems quite ridiculous that certain groups of people can’t allow for the open sharing of information, emotions and experiences.

Over the years, I’ve come to be okay with being shunned by the traditional mommy blogging circuit when it comes to this particular blog. I know that I push envelopes and many people don’t want to be forced to reconsider long-held beliefs while they’re sipping their coffee and rushing through early morning blog reading. Some of my posts — especially some written just last month — are difficult reads. Honestly, they’re difficult to write as well. As open and honest as I am, it’s not always easy — or fun — to put myself out on the line. When I take into consideration the verbal bashing I get from time to time from people who don’t, can’t or won’t attempt to understand (open) adoption from a birth mother’s point of view, there are days when I simply can’t open up here — in my own safe space.

But I do it because it’s part of me, part of my family’s day-to-day life. We may not discuss adoption to death on a daily basis, but it is always a shadow lurker in our life. She is, by and large, not here in the physical sense, but she is always with us: in our prayers at night, in a discussion about what girls like to play with, at the missing table setting when we sit down to eat. Some people understand it, want to know more. Other people don’t. And who can blame them?

I’ve never been one who fits in with the popular crowd. I wasn’t disliked in high school; I got along with most everyone except for two very different (from one another) girls who chose to bully me for reasons I still don’t quite understand. I had friends, but wasn’t often included in the things The Cool Kids did. Maybe that’s why it doesn’t bother me too much that The Cool Kids don’t really accept me now. They don’t heckle me, but they sure don’t get involved in what I’m doing, saying or sharing. Perhaps I’ve always been a trailblazer, content to do what I’m doing whether or not it is Socially Acceptable or not. It’s not that I don’t long for people to recognize that, hey, birth parents aren’t the scary people society has painted them to be. Or that my presence in my daughter’s life is real, valid and important. Or that adoptees deserve access to their Original Birth Certificates. Or that the state of adoption within our country is in desperate need of ethical reform. I do; I want people to know those things as much as they know that two parents who give birth to a child are parents and two people who adopt a child are parents and that children — all children — deserve safe, loving, permanent homes.

But I’m okay with mostly being an outsider.

I know I’m less possessive of terminology and titles as I once was; I have settled into a confidence in the Who I Am To My Daughter discussion. I don’t know society to acknowledge my mothering; I know what I have done, what I do. I now know that the hatred and anger spewed at me when I discuss certain topics — especially related to titles in adoption — is not about me and what I share; it’s about the responder and what they’re dealing with. I take it in stride.

Blogging adoption as a birth mother has not always been easy, but I keep at it because it helps me process. When I write out my thoughts and feelings and see them on the screen, I understand where I’m coming from; the type making it real in my eyes and in my mind.

And so, no, new readers, I’m not an adoptive mom. I know many of those who write their own blogs who happen to be fantastic, and if you need some suggestions, please let me know. I’m a birth mother (who sometimes uses the term first mother). And a mom. And a wife. And a writer. And an editor. And a photographer. And so many things. I don’t have just one title. I don’t quite fit in anywhere.

And, really, it’s okay.

My husband cannot attend the wedding with me. The wedding falls on his shift day and thanks to how our vacation falls this year, he is out of vacation days, minus one to be used for the boys’ birthdays, until the end of the year. (Everything will be much easier next year when he hits his five year anniversary with the fire department and is given three weeks of vacation instead of two.) To boot, due to the size of the wedding, the boys will not be attending with me either. We’ve known that for a long time. My parents are excited to have them for yet another weekend. (Grandparents and their grandkids, I swear.)

So it’s just me.

I don’t like when it’s just me with my daughter’s family and their friends and acquaintances. Will some people be thinking, “Where is her husband? Where are her kids? Is she still dysfunctional? She can’t even keep a man?” I know it’s far-fetched. I know people will likely be thinking about their own issues or, you know, focusing on the bride (as they should be!). But while I am normally a rather confident individual, if you strip me of my husband and my children and throw me into this particular adoption relationship scenario, I don’t feel so confident. I feel like the same scared and unsure twenty-two year old trying to hide from the judgmental views of society.

But why should I? I am a great wife (most of the time). I am a fabulous mother (most of the time). I am a successful writer and editor. I own my own home. I am pretty awesome! Why should I let old fears ruin what should be a good time for me?

It’s hard, though, when I’m thrown into a situation where my biggest role/title is “birth mother.” Yes, I am a birth mother. But that’s not what I focus on, it’s not who I am. I am so many more things. And to walk into a room and have people think, first and foremost, “That’s the birth mother,” makes me want to scream, “I AM MORE! I AM SO MUCH MORE!” But I don’t really like to make scenes at weddings. It’s really not my style.

I write this here not to lament D’s wedding or to whine about her relatives or friends. I write this here because I’m scared to do this on my own even though I know that I have to, that I will. I am so very happy for D and I want to be there to support both her and M on their big day. And who wouldn’t want to see the Munchkin all dressed up?

I just hope that I’ll be okay, whether someone makes me wear the Scarlet B or not.

For a very long time I was defined by the title of Birth Mother. Or First Mother. Or however you want to spell it, space it or say it. I was defined by it and I couldn’t get out of the box that definition provided. More over, I needed to be defined by that title for a time. However, I couldn’t see when I no longer needed that definition to rule my life.

When I was considering placement, I didn’t know to be ashamed of my decision. It wasn’t until the immediate aftermath in the hospital and the way our Pastor treated both me and my family that I realized that birth mothers are not applauded like the pro-life camp would have you believe. I was shunned. I was cursed at, told that I was a horrible human being for “giving my baby away.” As such, I found a need to reinvent the title and role of birth mother. I needed to be seen as a remarkable human being who endured a tough choice and came out on top. I needed people to see that I wasn’t a crackwhore, that I wasn’t a slut. I needed people to validate my decision and I needed to validate the title of birth mother all at the same time.

As the walls began to crumble around my denial, the realities of my decision settling like dust into every corner of my life, I found that I couldn’t get away from the title. I began to feel this intensely after my firstborn son was home and hungry for my parenting knowledge. Here I was, mothering this tiny (though, he wasn’t ever tiny, was he?) little baby boy and I was still being ruled by the title of birth mother. But I was a mother! And I wanted to be recognized as one! And most people did. I, instead, was unable to accept my new role as mother as a separate title. I was unable to separate parts of my life. While they are twined together in some fashion, they are also remarkably different roles. My grief was affecting my parenting and, looking back, I am able to admit that fact. I don’t like it, like that it is part of my history, but it did.

Once in therapy, I was able to begin separating from the title of birth mother. As I learned the many facets of who I was, I didn’t need to be The Best Birth Mother In The History of All Birth Mothers. I spent less time online arguing with people who felt threatened by my presence in the adoption world. I spent less time being angry with an unethical agency that will never change. I spent less time comparing myself to other mothers, finding validation my son’s smile, in his love. I spent more time listening to my husband and less time listening to those who needed to cut me down to validate their own life story. I needed professional help to get to that point, to let go of things, to move forward and enjoy my life as a whole, not just as a part.

I am not just a birth mother. In fact, I am not just a mother. Not just a wife. A daughter. A friend. A writer. A singer. I am so many things in so many ways. I am proud of how all of those things come together to make me… me. No one has lived this life that I’m living. They may have made similar decisions. We may have strikingly similar stories even. But this is me. This is my life, my decisions, my unique journey.

I am not just a birth mother though I always will be. I am not just a mother though I always will be. I have learned to merge roles, to set them aside when I need to be someone else for a moment. I have learned to accept how my roles have formed me but still know that they don’t define me.

I may be a birth mother but I’m so much more. So much more.