Talking about Adoption - a basic primer

I had an interesting experience recently, answering a child's questions about adoption.

It occurred to me that your child (or you yourself) might also have questions about adoption. Questions are good! But sometimes children are not equipped to give the answers, or are not ready to discuss their own adoption. Some adults are not comfortable discussing their experiences with adoption either. And that is okay. So the first most important thing I want to say is:

Pay Attention when Discussing Adoption. It is important to say from the start: it's okay to talk about adoption. Adoption is a wonderful amazing thing. BUT some people don't want to discuss it. And that is okay too. If you are getting signals that the subject is off limits - even subtle ones like avoiding eye contact or seeming nervous or attempts to change the subject... you need to drop it. There are lots of reasons why people might not want to talk about adoption. And there are just as many reasons why they want to tell you all about it. So looking for the cues is key.

Let's break it down:

Every Adoption is Different
There is no blanket statement or answer that actually covers every adoption scenario. And every adoptive parent has explained their child's adoption to them in their own way. Asking one person about their adoption will probably not answer questions about another person's adoption. Which means that every time you learn someone is adopted, you might have a lot of questions. And that is okay - but that does not mean you should ask them. Not everyone wants to discuss their adoption. Especially kids. Proceed with caution, and perhaps start by asking an adult rather than a child if you have questions.

Every Person who has had a Personal Experience with Adoption Feels Differently About It
It's true. Just as every person has their own special unique take on everything, the same goes for adoption. Some people are thrilled that they were adopted, some people are not. Some people are in touch with biological relatives, some are not. Some people feel comfortable discussing it, others don't. Some people know the story behind their adoption but a lot of people have no idea. Some people are in therapy to deal with issues surrounding their adoption, and for other people even bringing it up is a trigger.

Adoption is Private
The fact that someone is adopted, or that someone has given birth to a child who was then adopted, is none of anyone else's business until they make it your business. So asking prying or persistent questions is really inappropriate. I want to be clear: asking questions is not inappropriate - I am always down for a good talk about adoption - but if your questions are not being answered chances are that is intentional, and you should drop the subject altogether.

The Concept of Adoption can be Scary
For children, adoption can be a scary subject. The idea that anyone other than your parents could be your parents? Scary. The thought that you could be living in a totally different house with a completely different family in another country speaking a foreign language? Terrifying. So for children in particular, it might be best to keep the subject of adoption light and brief. Their imaginations can run wild and take them to a whole different place you never even considered. And if you leave them with unanswered questions, chances are good they will ask them at a totally inappropriate time. So remember to focus on love. Adoption is all about love.

You May Not Realize You Are Being Offensive
A year ago, I said something so totally insensitive and offensive that it still keeps me up at night and makes me feel terribly about myself. I assumed that someone's child was adopted, and I asked a question that was worded so badly that as soon as it was out of my mouth I wanted to reach over and grab it and shove it back inside me. I cannot even remember exactly what I said word for word, but I remember two things distinctly: what I asked was none of my business, and I - for some reason - thought that because I was an adoptive parent myself, I had the right to ask personal questions about their situation. I did not. It doesn't matter who you are - you could be the grandparent or the sibling or an aunt or uncle - adoptive or biological - but that does not mean you have any right to ask questions, or get answers.
Another time, I referred to someone's biological father as her "dad" and she corrected me - gently but firmly. Her dad was the man who had parented her for many years.

As I have said, every situation is different - so making assumptions, even one you think is totally politically correct and evolved - is wildly inappropriate.

Adoption is NOT SAD
It is not sad to be adopted. Adopting a child is like getting every single gift you will ever receive, all in one package. There can be sad circumstances surrounding the facts of the adoption (which is why it is private and some people may not want to discuss it) but being adopted is not sad. Being adopted is being loved just for being YOU. Being adopted means someone loved you so much that they wanted to take care of you forever. They didn't have to - they wanted to. That is a really big deal.

The best and most basic advice I can give you about adoption is this:
Adoption is all about love.
A parent does not become a parent because of anything they do with their reproductive system.
A mommy isn't a mommy with her tummy. A mommy is a mommy with her heart.
A daddy is not a daddy because of anything he did before the baby was born - a daddy is a daddy once that baby is in his arms.

Mommies and Daddies become Mommies and Daddies because of what they do for their child, with their child, and because of their child. And it takes all three of those, by the way. You can't just choose one of the above actions and label yourself a parent (or grandparent either.)
Family is not about genetics. Family is about love, and support and encouragement and acceptance and above all presence. Not presents. PRESENCE.

You have to be there, in the trenches, to be a mommy or a daddy.
And adoptive parents are ABSOLUTELY the child's "real parents" - they are the people loving and caring for and feeding and educating and otherwise PARENTING. Being a "real parent" has nothing to do with sperm and egg. Period.

And just because you have a personal connection to adoption does not give you any special permission to make blanket statements or ask personal questions. You do not speak for every adoptive parent, adopted child, or biological relative. And neither do I.

Please understand that all I have shared here is my personal take on adoption, and is merely written down to give you something to consider. I am simply adding my voice to what is, admittedly, a very crowded conversation.

If you have any questions that I have not addressed regarding adoption, or explaining adoption to your kids, please comment below or feel free to shoot me an email. I can try to find you an answer. :)

Lucy turns ten

You all know the story by now.

But the story behind the story, is how we came to terms with adoption.

When we got the very first phone call, when Lucy was still in utero, I was jacked up on fertility drugs. Sam was lining up syringes along the kitchen sink every morning, and watching me cry myself to sleep most nights.

Our responses to the question "are you interested in adopting" were different.

Mine was an immediate yes.
Sam was more "I don't know about this."

My answer was based solely on my desire to have a second child.
His answer was more about the reality of having an adopted child and a biological child, and raising them together, and whether it would feel different or forced in some way.

It took him about 5 seconds of holding Lucy the morning she was born to realize that was not going to be an issue.
It took me 10 years to come to terms with my immediate "yes".

The bottom line is that, in saying yes to adopting, I was acknowledging in some deep down part of myself that I would never have another biological child. It was something I knew. It was not a choice (there were plenty of reasons why I was not able to conceive a second time). It was, rather, accepting that I no longer had a choice.

No matter how badly I wanted it, no matter how far down I reached within myself for the strength to keep trying, I knew it. If I wanted to have another child, I had to look elsewhere. And it has taken me ten years to accept the truth.

Ten years to stop hating myself for giving up.

Ten years to stop discretely scanning the faces in the grocery store, wondering if one of them was Lucy's biological parent.

Ten years of secretly resenting the person who was able to grow this precious beautiful person that is so obviously my child.

Ten years of avoiding the questions about her ancestry for school projects.

Ten years of leaving her family medical history blank at the pediatrician's office.

Ten years of feeling guilty for saying she and Max get their blonde hair and blue eyes from their grandparents. I mean, maybe they both do. But I only know for certain that Max does.

Ten years of tiptoeing around the details in front of Lucy, and wishing them away.
Wishing I had been there to prevent them from putting erythromycin ointment on her eyes at birth, since she had an immediate reaction to it.
Wishing I had been there right from the beginning so that she hadn't spent any time alone in the nursery.

Wishing I could have looked her biological parents in the eye and thanked them.

Today, ten years later, the fact of her adoption is - in fact - not that important. She is so much our child that it is impossible to mistake her for anyone else's.

People talk about the miracle of birth, and the gift of adoption.
But in my reality, birth was a gift, and adoption was a miracle. And I am so glad I can finally see that.

The gift of Lucy. AKA someone gave us a baby.

It's Lucy's birthday today.

Every year, I reach into my bureau, and dig out a yellow t-shirt that I can't bear to part with.

I was wearing it the day that she arrived.

To this day, I am hard-pressed to explain the gift of Lucy. I don't understand how she found us. But I know this:

When you are having doubts about whether there is something out there that is bigger than all of us, and is running this show we call life, you need to remember this story. Because it gives me what little faith I have. It is a story as old as time. A woman unexpectedly expecting. A couple who cannot have a child. It didn't used to involve money and lawyers and red tape. It was a woman, and a baby, and a family being formed.

It happens throughout the animal kingdom: caring for a new life you are not biologically responsible for creating is not uniquely human, but trust humans to attach a dollar figure and a bunch of hassle to something so priceless and simple.

The greatest part of the gift of Lucy is the simplicity. We got a phone call asking if we were interested in adoption, and we said yes. We got a phone call a few months later with a few questions about our life and we answered them honestly. We got one last phone call on the morning of April 11th that said "Congratulations, you have a daughter. She is waiting for you in the nursery."

And that, as they say, was that.
No money. No agency. No profile. No interviews. No negotiations. No passports. Just a baby girl. And a mother finding someone to raise her, someone who would love and treasure her and keep her safe. We never met this woman, never spoke with her, never laid eyes on her. She gave birth, said goodbye, and left the hospital.

I know, you think I am leaving something out. I assure you I am not. I filled out the birth certificate, social security application and insurance paperwork at the hospital with the registrar the day Lucy was born, listing our names as her parents -  we received all of the documents in the mail a few weeks later. She had a passport within a month.

We hired a lawyer to file the paperwork, so that everything was done correctly. We didn't need to - but we're human, after all.

Lucy, you are amazing. You are a gift and a treasure. You remind me every day that generosity has no limits, that anything is possible, that there is good in this world - more so now that you are in it.

Memories of an adoption

"Hi Lucy." He bent over, looked at her small upturned face, and placed his hand gently on the top of her head. "My goodness, you have gotten big. I knew you when you were still in your mommy's belly!"

I froze. She stared up at him for a moment, just that extra beat that only a parent would notice, and then dropped her chin and stared at the plate of food in her lap, chewing slowly. She stole a glance at me from under her eyelashes. Questioning. I couldn't tell if the question was "Who is this moron and what is he talking about?" or if the question was "Is it true? Did it happen like that?"

Because I know she wants it to have happened like that. She wants to have grown in my belly. She spends more and more time exhaustively scanning her baby album, and Max's album, looking for photos of my pregnancy. As if all she needs to do is just find some evidence, and everything will be right in the world.

But just as everything will never be right in this crazy mixed up world, she will never find a photo of me, pregnant with her.

It never happened.

You wouldn't know it from looking at us. "Nature versus nurture!" her teachers grin. She is a little tiny version of me. Fiery and sweet, strong-willed and eager to please. She has started to roll her eyes at her older brother's antics, and scold him for even the minor transgressions. It is clear to everyone - even people who know the story, even people who mean well - that she is my daughter. It is so clear, in fact, so obvious, so apparent that I am her mother, that everyone forgets the details.

The details don't matter, of course - but her adoption was such a startling event for all of us, I find it hard to believe anyone could have forgotten. There was no real lead up to her arrival - we had no baby, no sign of a baby, no baby stuff, no baby shower. And then suddenly one day, there she was strapped to my chest or sleeping in my arms or sitting in the carseat. We had a baby!? How did that happen!? And everyone from the cashier at the grocery to the mailman wanted to know where that baby came from. It was a subject of much conversation and endless celebration and frequent congratulations and a lot of tears and laughter and wonder at the incredible good fortune of everyone involved. Which is why it still surprises me when people forget.

Our friends, our family....hell, even Sam forgets sometimes. But not Lucy. She doesn't forget. And I don't either. If I were to forget, I would miss the opportunity I take every day to be grateful. I would miss the opportunity to appreciate the gift that is my daughter, and the gift I was given to be her mother.

So to the people who forget. To the people who remember only that she is mine and I am hers? That is my gift to you. You forget because it is no longer important. It is only a very small piece of the puzzle - the first sentence in a long story. Nature, nurture, and otherwise, we will always be mother and daughter.

And for the brief time in the early morning hours following her birth, while they were waiting for the sun to rise before calling with the news?

That was all the time we needed, she and I, to find each other in this great big universe.
And that, more than anything, is a testament to our bond. I am hers. She is mine.
Which is, in the end, all you need to remember.

Are You Glad You Chose Me? Talking about adoption.

"Are you glad you chose me?"

Did you hear that?
That little gasp of air? It was the sound of my heart. Breaking.

Lucy is six. She's in first grade. She knows that she is adopted - we have never hidden the fact. When she started asking questions, we answered them. At first, she was a little confused, and was somehow under the impression that we had gotten her at the mall. But we cleared that up, and we had - I thought - a solid story. The party line we were going to stick with. Everything she needed to know all rolled up into one simple sentence.

"Mommy's belly is broken, so another lady grew you for me - isn't that wonderful?"

Over-simplified? Sure. SHE'S A KID. My belly is broken. Another woman did grow her. And she is mine. Anyone who has ever met her will tell you - she is ALL mine. A clone if every there was one. Her teachers sit back and watch the results of nature v.s. nurture. Mannerisms, sass, enthusiasm, and a serious flare for the dramatic all point to me as her parent.

Case in point: Last week she climbed into bed with me at 7am and said "Mama, I just can't decide. Should I use an accent in the play today, or not. Because I *do* have an accent you know."

Oh honey, I'll just bet you do. You got those from ME.

However, last week Sam veered off the party line in response to some of Lucy's questions. Because let's be honest: the man seriously cannot handle the hot seat when it comes to our kids.

Now, to his credit, he was getting a bunch of ground-breaking questions last week. On Friday he admitted to Max that there was no Santa Claus. This was a significant departure from our standard response to the question "Is there really a Santa Claus?" Our agreed upon answer was supposed to be "Do you like what Santa Claus brings you? Then don't ruin a good thing by asking a bunch of questions. If there is no Santa, Santa can't bring presents. You dig?" But Sam was tired of the lies and half-truths. And frankly, he didn't want to buy the gift Max was going to ask Santa for this year. So he caved.

The next day, when Lucy started to ask some pointed questions about where - exactly - she came from, Sam was already worn down from the Santa Claus fiasco - he was basically a broken man by the time his sweet little pumpkin started digging around for her genealogy. He totally fell apart under pressure.

Under the pressure of a six year old asking a simple question.

He is not witness-stand material, and would never tolerate cross-examination, as evidenced by the following conversation:

"Daddy, where did you get me?"

"We got you at the hospital."

"Who gave me to you?"

"The nurse."

"But where did I come from?"

"Well, this nice lady grew you in her belly, but she couldn't take care of you so she asked us to be your parents and-"

"LUCY I NEED YOU IN HERE RIGHT NOW SO I CAN BRAID YOUR HAIR." I had to interrupt. Sorry, but I had to. I am not her mother because someone couldn't take care of her, or wasn't ready to be a parent right now. I am her mother because I am her MOTHER. But she is a smart cookie, and she was not so easily distracted. I really couldn't blame her when she tried to continue to the conversation in my room while I braided her hair.

"Mommy, are you glad you chose me?"

"I didn't choose you, sweetheart. No one chooses their children. Children are a gift. You are my daughter. Can you imagine it any other way?"

She was quiet for a minute. Then she broke into a gap-toothed grin. Because she also has my teeth. (Sorry about that, sweetheart.) "That would be ridiculous. OF COURSE you're my mama."

"Yup, I'm your mama and you're my girl. My amazing beautiful girl. And you are just like me in every way."

"Well......" she paused. I raised an eyebrow. "Well, mama, I am almost like you in every way."

"How are you not like me?"

"DUH. I don't have gray hair."

Such a smart ass. That's my girl.

April. It giveth, and it taketh away

It's ironic that my daughter was born in April.

After years of trying to have children, we had finally started to give up hope. The fertility drugs weren't working. The operations weren't helping. The endometriosis had ruined me, really. It had worked it's way into every part of my life, had taken it over. And I was devastated by the results. I could barely eat. I rarely slept. I was on autopilot. Bloated with fertility drugs. The pain was mind-numbing. Or maybe it was the narcotics they gave me to dull the pain that left me feeling so numb.

In retrospect, it was probably better that I was numb.

April is Endometriosis awareness month. And in April 2005, I was all too aware of endometriosis and the many ways it could affect a woman.
Affect a marriage.
Affect a family.

I was 30 years old, and I wanted a second child. We wanted a second child. I knew it wasn't going to be easy. The first one certainly hadn't been. I expected to work for it. Appointment after appointment. Monthly exams. Disappointing ultrasounds. My paycheck went towards vials of precious drugs that we couldn't really afford, and that didn't appear to be doing a whole lot of good anyway. I was injected every day without flinching, and the bruises on my legs spread and blackened and the edges blurred and turned green. People would stare (this is Hawaii, after all - you can only get away with wearing jeans for so long before you just have to go for a swim) and I would meet their eyes, and glare at them.

They had no idea how much those bruises meant.

An acquaintance called, and asked if we were interested in adopting. She knew of a couple who were expecting a baby and looking for an adoptive family. I said yes of course we would be interested. My body was unreliable. Unpredictable.

It would be foolish to say no.

I called Sami, excited. Sami said no.

He didn't want to give up yet. There were things we hadn't tried.
We hadn't tried adoption, I reminded him.

What if you got pregnant? He fretted.
Then we have two babies. I was calm. But I was not changing my mind.

He reluctantly agreed that there was no harm in saying we were open to the idea of adoption.
After all, I reminded him gently. Think of the odds. People wait years, pay tens of thousands of dollars to adopt an infant. What are the odds that someone on our little island would give us a baby?

It turns out, our odds were pretty good.

One day, right in the middle of April, my phone rang. I was walking across the street to work, when a voice said "Congratulations, you have a daughter. She is waiting for you at the hospital."

And she was.

Endometriosis took away my ability to get pregnant, but it did not take away my ability to have children. And anyone who is reading this, who is waiting and hoping and trying to have a child, please remember that even in the month dedicated to awareness of this ugly disease, beautiful things can happen.

Happy Birthday, beautiful. I could never come up with a better gift then the one I was given the day you were born.

Like a punch to the gut

I am not exactly sure how much I have shared here about our adventures in infertility.

The process of becoming parents was not an easy one.

And the challenges continue, apparently.

Today, while I was squatting on my kitchen floor scrubbing the burner grills in a bucket (which was, granted, a vulnerable position) Lucy came into the kitchen and asked me a few questions. When she left the kitchen 5 minutes later, I was sitting on the floor taking deep breaths and trying to hold it together.

It is amazing to me that a 5 year old could slay me so thoroughly. Could leave me spinning and grasping for straws, trying to piece together an explaination that was honest and would stand the test of time - but was simple enough for her to understand.

I thought I had already covered this with her. I thought it was all clear and understood and accepted.

But when my daughter asked if I had bought her from somewhere........well........I hadn't expected that.

The fact is, no money was exchanged. So it was simple enough - once I had stopped choking - to answer that. No, I did not buy you somewhere. You know that.

Max didn't grow in your belly, did he? The question was asked with a searching look. Eyes locked on mine. Waiting for an answer that I was afraid would break. her. heart.

Yes, yes he did. It was very hard, and it took a lot of medicine, and a lot of doctors, and I had big black bruises on my tummy, and daddy had to give me shots every day, and I had to be in the hospital part of the time and I was very very sick before and after he grew there. But yes, I did grow him in my belly.

So why, then, why did I not grow in your belly? It was a simple question. And the answer is not so simple. The answer is I. don't. know. I did all the same things, used the same needles and the same medicine and went to the hospital and tried so hard SO FUCKING HARD and you could not grow there. And my heart was as broken as my belly, baby, when you couldn't. Broken. I was broken all over, bruises bigger then those massive black ones on my belly and my legs and my arms.

So you just picked me up somewhere? No sweetie, we didn't, we got the most wonderful phone call a mommy and a daddy could ever get, and we went to the hospital and held you and looked at all of your little fingers and toes and admired your beautiful blue eyes and your not-so-beautiful rashy skin and we sat there and stared and shook our heads in amazement that it could be so simple and so easy and so right, and right then and there you made all of the broken parts of me better.

Adoption as an option

The first and most important thing I want to say is: This is not a pro-life v.s. pro-choice conversation. For the record. OK. 'Nuff said.


There has been a lot of debate and discussion about abortion with the passage of the health care bill - and I am not going to touch on it except to acknowledge that it has been part of the narrative. At the same time, there has been a lot of debate and discussion about adoption, based on the story that exploded last week wherein a woman sent her adopted son back to Russia with a one-way ticket and a note of "explaination". I am not going to share my opinion about that, either (but it will be much more difficult, because BOY do I have something to say).

I will say this: while these two seemingly unrelated issues are being debated and discussed and dragged through news cycle after news cycle, I thought to myself "we are focusing on the wrong things here."

I want to talk about domestic adoption - something that shouldn't be so difficult, and hopefully isn't too much of a hot-button issue, because the last thing I want to do is offend anyone. I just want to tentatively raise my hand and ask "Why can't we have more of this ?" I am not against international adoption in the least, I just want to promote domestic adoption as something that is also wonderful and (I think) should be more prevalent, and easier to accomplish.

I am an adoptive parent. It was a domestic adoption - I adopted a child that was born in my local hospital. And I am going to have to be honest here: I am ANGRY about the treatment domestic adoption gets in the public forum. Or rather, the lack of treatment. It so rarely gets floated as an option - as a viable alternative to abortion, as a choice that seems to benefit everyone involved. And that is because enough Americans are not considering adoption as a solution to unplanned (but otherwise uncomplicated) pregnancies. While American families are flying around the world trying to adopt a child, I am frustrated that they are not focusing on children available for adoption right here in the United States. Why adopt a 7 year old from Russia, when the foster care system here in the US is overwhelmed with children looking for a home? I don't want to over-simplify, I know that this has been discussed before, and I also know that people adopt for many reasons, and choose to adopt internationally for many reasons. And there is quite an uproar these days over the threat that Russia is making, to stop allowing Americans to adopt their children. But maybe we DO need to pause, finish up the adoptions that are in process (this is important - there have already been connections made and bonds formed) and hold off on processing new applications for international adoptions.

Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing.
Maybe it would allow us to look more closely within our own country for a child to love and care for - without the expense of cutting through red tape and traveling halfway around the world. Maybe it would encourage more American birth parents who find themselves unexpectedly pregnant to consider adoption, and look within their own community for an adoptive family to raise their child.

Adoption does not - and frankly, it SHOULD NOT  - need to cost a lot of money. Our adoption cost about $1300. Total. I didn't drop a zero, there. Thirteen Hundred Dollars. We didn't use an agency. We heard about a couple looking for an adoptive family, we hired a lawyer, and we adopted our newborn daughter. And yes, we WERE lucky. And yes, it DOESN'T usually happen that way.

But it can. And it should.

Adoption allows the birth parents an exceptional amount of control to make a choice that is right for them and their child. And not just the right decision right now - this is about their future, about the child's future, and about the future of another family, out there somewhere, waiting for the amazing gift of adoption to be bestowed upon them (and there are MANY OF US). Recently, adoption has been discussed more often, and is featured in the "16 and Pregnant" series on MTV, which followed a young couple through the successful adoption of their infant by a family that they chose. And that was wonderful to see.

But.

That MTV show notwithstanding, adoption is not raised as an option often enough. When I was a teenager, and going to Planned Parenthood for birth control, adoption was not a featured choice. It may have been mentioned briefly, but it was not discussed in depth when a pregnancy test came back positive. There were no posters of adoptive families, or listings on a bulletin board of families hoping to adopt. And trust me when I tell you, adoption is pretty much the MOST planned kind of parenthood there is.

So while we debate and discuss abortion, and international adoption law, could we also please shine some of the spotlight on domestic adoption? On making it easier? Less intimidating? Less expensive? Rather then worrying about whether the public option would cover abortion, why not have it cover adoption? There are many MANY parents-to-be out there waiting for a child to call their own through adoption - they are already parents in spirit, parents in their dreams - but without a child.
They have purchased the family car, and saved for a college education, and bought a house with a room that would be perfect for a nursery.

They have been fingerprinted and photographed, their homes have been inspected, they have met with counselors and had blood tests and proved they are citizens and provided references and shown steady employment and reliable income and a savings account.

They have had their driving history checked, their finances analyzed, their eductional history scrutinized and verified.

They have trained their pets and cleaned their carpets and childproofed their homes.

They have gone through far more then any birth parent needs to when bringing a child home. And all they need is a child to love and care for.

Instead of declaring yourself pro choice, or pro life, and plastering your car with all manner of incendiary stickers, and waving signs with a passion and zeal but without offering a solution, consider declaring yourself Pro Adoption, which is conveniently both Pro Life AND Pro Choice - choose adoption. It is, in essence, a compromise.

No one should be forced to parent. And there is an alternative to terminating an unplanned but otherwise (and once again, I want to stress these parameters) uncomplicated pregnancy.

There is a middle ground here - and I am planting my feet and waving my signs and waiting for someone to join me.

Five Years On

It's the anniversary of the day that I was given the greatest, most selfless, generous gift.

5 years ago tonight, I was almost catatonic with Xanax, waiting for the phone to ring. The due date was the 9th, I believe, and we were so full of hope, wondering if the phone would ACTUALLY ring, or if this whole situation was some sort of weird, cruel tease. It seemed so unlikely.

I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. I could barely talk. I cleaned a friend's bathroom, I was led to a restaurant for dinner, I sat on the couch and at the table and in the car and stared blankly into space. I had my cellphone clutched in one hand with a sweaty, trembling, white-knuckled grip. I had a warm bottle of water in the other hand, and occasionally I would take a swig and try to keep it down.

5 years ago, my daughter was born to another woman, one I had never met, and someone who still, to this day, remains a stranger. 5 years ago I was buzzed into a maternity ward and handed a baby, and I still can't believe it.

I can't fucking believe it.

So the next time you give me a gift, and my reaction is muted, you have to understand - the gift giving bar is VERY HIGH around here. I mean, someone gave me a BABY.
TO KEEP.
FOREVER.
So that bathrobe I got for my birthday? Um.....thanks. It's really nice. It's not as nice as the time I GOT THAT BABY, though.

She's starting to ask questions, about WHY I can't grow babies in my tummy. WHY someone else had to grow her for me. WHO that person is and WHERE she is and WHAT is her name and even though I answer each question honestly, the truth is I don't have a lot of answers. And my patented "Mommy's belly is broken so someone else grew you for me" is just not going to fly much longer. This was not a surrogate. This was a gift. We're going to have to figure something out. A better version of a story that is pretty unbelievable.

My big issue, of course, is that I don't want her to ever feel that someone gave her away, or gave her up, or chose not to keep her, or anything along those lines. I far prefer the sweeter tone of someone growing her specifically for our family. That she was meant for us, that she is ours, that it was supposed to be this way and there was never any chance she wasn't our child.

The truth is, just like in any adoption, we could barely bring ourselves to hope that we might be able to adopt a newborn baby, never mind a healthy girl born at the local hospital who looked so startlingly like her brother that when people learn she is adopted, they immediately respond with "But she looks just like you !" When the adoption was completed (and it all happened so easily) it seemed like it was the natural order of things. We couldn't have a baby, ergo someone else had a baby for us.

There was no technology involved. Medical or otherwise. No background checks, no emails, no photos. We sent one letter to the birthparents letting them know who we were, and how we would love and care for a child. We spoke on the phone to an intermediary, briefly.

There was no agreement or agency or lawyer involved (until the adoption decree - this is a completely legal, finalized, permanent adoption). We were connected through friends of friends that we met through our state's foster care training program.

No names or other pieces of information were exchanged.

We never met or spoke to or even caught a glimpse of the birthparents. We know who they are, and we know where they live, and we have mutual friends - but they wanted this to be a closed adoption and we are honoring that (and in truth, we prefer it that way as well).

No money changed hands (except, again, during the actual filing of the adoption paperwork, to cover court costs).

If you believe in karma, I have one thing to say. Sami and I must have been SAINTS in another life, to be blessed with these two children - one through some seriously advanced reproductive medicine, and one through what can only be described as a miracle.

I filled out that STUPID census form....but I was bitter and resentful about it.

The dogs set up a howl on the back deck. I went to investigate, and there was a woman standing on the steps. She was from the census bureau. I took the form, brought it inside, and filled it out right away. At least, I filled out half of it.

Then I got to the kids information.

And the form asked if Max was my biological child....or adopted. So I checked biological, with a growing dread in my heart. Because next, next would be Lucy. And I would have to check a different box for her.

It's not an issue with her being adopted. It's not a secret. I could not be more thrilled that I am her mother. But I do not want her to ever EVER be singled out. Ever. Not ever. Never ever. I think you get the picture.

I do not understand why it matters ONE BIT how my child came to be my child. My legal child. I understand why you have to differentiate between foster children and biological children.....but not between biological and adopted. Because in my heart, there is no difference. It's not denial, it's fact.

These are both my children. In fact, we forget on a regular basis that there is any difference at all in how they came to be our children. Except that THANK GOD I wasn't miserably pregnant. We remember that. Oh boy, do we remember that.

But the simple fact is that no one should ever get all Sophie's Choice about my kids. I cannot discern, I cannot choose, I cannot differentiate. They are both my babies, my beloved adored babies.

So suck it US Census. I answered your questions, but I didn't like them.

Flashback Friday. Four Years Ago, I was given the best gift ever.

I am sure that "flashback friday" should involve memories from more then four years ago. And in a way this does.

My infertility can be traced back to my diagnosis of endometriosis. I was 19, and newly married, and sitting in a doctor's office in San Juan, Puerto Rico. In broken english, the doctor explained that I had this disease, and gave me a brochure, and encouraged me to try to have a baby. Soon. I had just had a large ovarian cyst rupture, and I was in a lot of pain, and I would be having surgery. There. In San Juan. And I was very, very frightened.

That was the beginning. 15 years ago now. And it has been a long and very sad road. The end of my first marriage, the loss of several pregnancies, 13 surgeries, and the joy of a pregnancy brought to term (with only 2 hospitalizations for pre-term labor). And with the birth of my son, complete and utter joy. Yes, there has been joy - and lots of it. But there has been a great deal of disappointment and fear and medical complications, which has at times threatened to overshadow the joy.

And so, we hoped quietly for a second child, but really, didn't dare to try. The audacity of hope (there just isn't another phrase that better describes hoping for a second child after overcoming infertility once) was too much for us to take on. We needed to stay focused on the beautiful gift we had been given with our son, and not take a single moment from his childhood to focus on the medical interventions required to give him a sibling.

And then, a series of almost anonymous phone calls led to the final call.
4 years ago.
"You have a daughter. She is waiting for you in the hospital nursery."

It really was as easy as that, in the end. And we do not forget that. It makes the gift of HER even more miraculous and magical. We cried, we raced to the hospital and down the halls, up the elevator, no idea where to go.....and then we rang the bell of the maternity ward and the nurse who answered said "We have been waiting for you !"

They wheeled out the bassinet.
We peered inside.
And this tiny little girl peered back - she was 6 hours old and she looked like a fairy, with pointy ears and dimples and a cheshire grin.

We clapped our hands, and laughed, hugged each other and the nurse, and then, reached down for our baby. Because there was just no question that she was ours, and honestly if they had run a blood test I wouldn't have been surprised if our genes had matched - it was just that simple and clear.

Remarkably, adopting our daughter - the one thing that should have been the most time consuming and expensive effort, the one fraught with drama and angst and heartache....it had been the easiest, simplest, most natural thing in the world.

The greatest gift, 4 years ago:


Happy Birthday my beautiful darling girl. You are the perfect compliment to your brother, you complete our family in a way we will never be able to explain, and we are the luckiest parents in the world.

And a special thank you to your birth parents. They will be in our hearts forever.

Gush Gush Gush

First, my husband. Now that he's 40 (ha ha ha !!!!!!!!! Dude !)
He is teaching me what it is to be a rock star's wife.

Girls screaming out of car windows in darkened parking lots (he never looked up), guitar pics in the dryer, black clothes everywhere, late nights and loud practices on Sunday afternoons.

It's quite a life.

Second my trip back to the mainland. I am in a frenzy of excitement. Reservations, travel plans, events, gatherings, parties...all exciting. But the most exciting ? The arrival of my niece. Oh. My. God. I seriously am about to jump out of my skin.

I was so impatient for my own pregnancy to be over, so I could meet Max, that I forgot to sit back and enjoy it. There is not a belly photo to be found, and we did make some video, but Sami taped over it (and yes, he still gets grief about it all the time.) Of course, there was not a lot of pampering going on, and the extended prodromal labor really sucked the big one. And I had gained 80 pounds, so there's that.... Then when we were waiting for Lucy's arrival, and I wasn't sure when she would be born, where she would be born, if she was a she or a he, and there was a good chance the adoption would fall through anyway...well, let's just say I was popping Xanax like M&Ms that last weekend. I was at a birthday party, and I sat at their kitchen counter, clutching my cellphone, practically catatonic. Then I cleaned their bathroom. I am not even kidding. I have witnesses.

I was completely out of my mind.

So while this is not exactly like those previous experiences (no Xanax required) I am still pretty damn excited. I love babies, and I love my brother and his wife, and I know they are going to be great parents, which makes the whole thing so damn cool I can barely stand it. I have to physically restrain myself from buying things for the baby at this point. Hopefully she will arrive before I have to leave New England and fly home, because I think I would be crushed to not get to meet her and snuggle her up before I left.

So that's what's in my head today - rock stars and babies.