The Thing About Waiting....

“Of all the hardships a person had to face, none was more punishing than the simple act of waiting.”  This is a favorite quote from the book “A Thousand Splendid Suns” that sums up our entire fertility treatment and adoption process.  My friend, Genie, pointed it out to me one time in reference to our long, tiring quest to have a child.  Not to compare my challenges with those of Miriam’s in the book, but it is such a beautiful, concise statement that is so eternally true. It has been almost nine months since we have been back on the list to adopt again through San Diego County Adoptions.  It has been almost two years since we finalized D’s adoption, and we started pretty soon after jumping through the hoops to get back on the list.  It took six months to get everything finished, and seven more months before we could get our final interviews and home visits.  Two months later, those were finally processed and we were back on the list in January of this year.  I suspect it will be about another year before we get a call.  I hope and pray that it is sooner, but mostly I hope and pray for the right child (or children) for us at the right time.  

(As always, all my poems and artwork are copyrighted!
Please don't use without permission.)

Why is waiting so hard?  I’ve decided that I can handle just about anything if I know there is an end to it.  If someone told me the exact date I would be given a child, then I could have handled the years of waiting more easily.  You would know how much time you had to pursue something else, or to tie up loose ends, or that you could save all that money you spent on pregnancy tests, and you would know exactly when to start getting excited.  It would still be hard to wait, but it would be much, much easier.  The worst thing about not knowing is not knowing.  Five minutes before your trial is over feels just like five years before because you don’t know the difference.  We’ve all waited for something--maybe a job offer, or a wedding proposal, or a raise, or acceptance to graduate school, or a call from the doctor to say you are in remission.  It’s the fear of the unknown that gets us.  We want to know—it is human nature.  We want to know what we are dealing with so we can plan and prepare and have some control.  And we know whenever that thing we are waiting for decides to finally arrive, that we will be so relieved or happy or excited and we will be able to move forward instead of feeling like we are in limbo.  I’ve learned, though, that strangely, the greatest lessons are taught during those times of waiting, much more so than at the moment we are granted that thing we so desire.  And so, we wait.  But, it’s different now.  Instead of crying and stressing over each childless day ticking by, I have decided that this time around, I will enjoy walking the path, and I will pay attention to everything along the way, and I will be grateful that I’m walking this path with the sweet hand of a vibrant, little black-haired tank of a three-year-old boy holding my hand.  I wrote and illustrated this poem about him.  It captures so much the way I see him.  His name actually means “son of the sea”.  It was one of the things that sold me on his name, and I have found that it is very fitting.  He is difficult to tame and a little unruly at times, but magnificent and strong, and I am in awe when I stand with him, as I am with the ocean.  We are enjoying every minute together.  And as much as I want another child, and want him to have a sibling (or two) with whom he can share his life, I know that if that doesn’t happen, we have been blessed beyond measure to at least have him.  That said, we still stand on the shore and wait…

Obviously, We All Feel Differently About Adoption--Another Person's Thoughts on My Thoughts

I was wondering what to write about next, when I was "blessed" with a fairly scathing e-mail today sent to my Etsy account, which is where I have my adoption artwork up for sale (www.etsy.com/shop/studioscumble).  (I am including the e-mail below for your thoughts (of course I will keep her name confidential)).  I have been contemplating how to respond to her, but I think I have decided to be short and sweet for a few reasons.  First, an heated exchange via e-mail is not what I think is most beneficial.  Second, I feel if the wording had been a little less aggressive--a little less of a personal attack, then I would feel much more comfortable explaining my reasonings behind each of her concerns.  But as written, I have decided that there is no need to justify any of these things to her.  I am very open about our adoption process (and most things in my life) and I rarely, if ever, get offended by any comments that come from a sincere desire to know what I was thinking or why I made a choice, even if you whole-heartedly disagree with me. I understand that everyone's experiences are different, and everyone's feelings are different.  I wish she understood that, too.  Here are her words in italics. 

Hi there, I joined Etsy just so I could write to you. I really like your illustrations and your heartfelt desire to write a book and create illustrations expressing all the complexity of your feelings, but I feel a real urgency to plead with you not to share these with your child (or any adopted child for that matter). The child does not need to feel that "pain" and "grief" are a part of his or her coming into the world. They do not need to know that you "suffered" (presumably with fertility issues, making him or her a "second" choice), He or she does not need to think that you are "saving" him or her or that he or she is "saving" them! Gosh, that whole "saving" thing is a huge burden for a child! Even the term "gave me up" for adoption is a phrase no social worker or any worker in the field of adoption would encourage you to use. ("made an adoption plan" is much more positive). The one that really got to me, and the one I came across on Pinterest and actually gasped out loud was the one about "choices both good and BAD" brought us here! Why would you tell your child that? Your child does not need the burden of "bad" things brought them into the world. They certainly don't need to hear their birthmother disparaged (presumably she's the one who made "bad" choices!). Sheesh, this is all adoption 101. Have you not had your adoption education/home study yet? You need to talk to an adoption specialist about the appropriate language to use, and the ideas that you plant in your child's mind and heart by the way you talk about the way your family was formed. Save your fertility grief to discuss with your partner, a counsellor or other adults in your life. Your child does not need to carry the burden of your grief, nor does she need to think that he or she was a second choice. Your child does not need to know that you "mourned great loss" before he or she came along. This i! s all ut terly inappropriate for a child. Any child. (Incidentally, why do you refer to the child as "he"?) Your feelings are all perfectly legitimate, but they are totally inappropriate, even deeply harmful, for your child. Where is the joy? Where is the happiness? Where is the celebration of your forming a family? THIS is what your child needs to hear. They do not need to carry the burden of your griefs.

Now, I don't agree with everything I read about adoption, but then there are so many types of adoptions--so many combinations of kids and new parents and levels of pain and joy that no one poem or thought is going to encompass them all.  The one thing I will refute here that I felt was an over-riding theme in her words, was the idea that we should not share the negative things about our children's adoption stories with them.  I think kids, age-appropriately, need to know the good, the bad and the ugly.  I believe by the time they are in their late teens (again, appropriate to their age and personal development) that there should be no secrets, and they should know their whole story.  Anyone that has had secrets kept from them or been lied to, knows that dealing with the facts is much easier than dealing with lies or half-truths.  It may be hard at first, but if handled with love and compassion, it allows that child to understand, cope with it, and move forward much more easily than if they ever feel betrayed by us, the parents who are supposed to love them the most.  As always, I welcome any comments, either publicly here on this blog, or through a private message.

DNA is the Least of Which Makes Us a Family.



Our Sweet Son.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what makes a family.  In some ways explaining how babies are made is a little easier than explaining how families are made these days.  The basic principle of how to make a baby is the same.  Somewhere along the line, a sperm and an egg have to meet up and do their thing.  Babymaking 101.  But families....well, that’s a different story.  

DNA is the least of which makes us a family.   It took a long time for me to understand that.  Truth be told, I was worried that I didn’t have the capacity for the kind of love that I thought should accompany motherhood, and I was afraid that if there wasn’t a blood connection, that I might not be capable of developing that level of love for a child.  That's a story for another time.  Of course, I was wrong.  Sometimes you think you should feel great love for someone or something that doesn’t exist yet, and that should precede it.  But, I’ve learned that sometimes (and probably more often than not) being thrown into the fire is what brings on those feelings.  If we waited to feel love, or to feel adequate, before we did something, we would never do anything.



An original poem/print of mine expressing this very thought.

So what makes a family?  It’s a question adoptive families are really forced to conscientiously analyze and draw their own conclusions.  As I was reviewing the definition of “family”, I was interested to see that the word originated from the Latin “famulus”, which means “servant”.  At first I thought that was a little odd, but think about it.  Don’t we love the things most which required the most effort on our part?  Don’t we value a degree for which we worked our tail off more than anything that was just handed to us?  I think we love our kids so much because we put so much into them, because we serve them so often.  By the time a child is born, so many sacrifices have already been made.  They literally feed off their biological mother’s body for nine months before arriving into mortality through a most difficult birthing process that takes so much out of that mother.  And if you adopt, you know that lots of work and sweat and tears and waiting went into the process long before you take that beautiful child home.  It might not have been as physically painful, but trust me when I say it was long and tedious and taxing in its own way.  And as these children grow, we serve them every day in so many ways.  Sometimes we see “service” as a negative.  It did, after all, derive from the word for “slavery”.  But I think service brings us greater joy than we give it credit for.

So, is it servitude that makes a family?  In some ways, I think it is.  But, not in a bad way.  What I really think, though, is that it is the commitment that we willingly pledge to a relationship that creates those bonds.  Covenants make us family.  Ultimately, I say that the ones who treat you like family are your family.  There are many people to which we have blood ties that don’t treat us like family.  And there are many people to which we have no familial DNA connection that love and serve us unconditionally as family should.  They become our family through an adoption of sorts, and we love them as much as we have the capacity to love anyone.  My husband and I are the ones who made the commitment to D in front of God and country, signing the paper saying that we will take him as our own.  We are the ones who carried him home and fed and bathed him and took him to the doctor when he was sick.  We are the ones who cuddled and nurtured him when he was so incredibly small and helpless.  We are the ones who wake up with him in the middle of the night when he’s upset and dry the tears and pat him back to sleep.  We are the ones who taught him how to ride his little bike and fly a kite and how to make pancakes.   We are the ones who teach him words and laugh at the funny things he does and take him to the library and the zoo and the park and to the airport just to sit and watch the planes come and go.  We are the ones who lie awake at night praying for his safety, and praying to know how we can be better parents and guide him down a path that will bring him the most joy.  I am his mother.  John is his father.  He is our son.  We are family.  We serve each other like family.  We treat each other like family, and therefore, we are a family.

The Five Children We Didn't Take Home

It occurred to me that maybe I should explain the subtitle of this blog, “Inspired by the process, the children and the lessons learned.”  I think it’s mostly self-explanatory, but I wanted to share with you why I used "children" as a plural form, and not just "child", beings we only have one child.  If you read my post about our first adoption that failed, then you might think it’s just referring to these two special children.  But there are more children that have been a part of this process, and that I often think about and wonder how they are doing.

 If you haven’t been through the adoption process (and especially through social services) you may think that the process goes something like this:  You finish your application and then one day, you get a call telling you to come get your baby.  You go get your baby and go home to your new life.  I’m sure that does happen with some adoptions, but through social services, it can be quite different.  You might be surprised to know that we actually turned down five different children before we accepted D.  Often, I think people assume that we are so desperate for a child, that when the call comes in, we jump.  And maybe losing our little Isaac affected that spontaneity a little bit, as he was the first placement call we ever had, and we did jump at the chance to take him home.  But after being burned, the next calls that came in required a lot more thought and reasoning as to what would be right for us.  It is hard to jump in when you know the reality is that you might not get to keep this child.  But to keep a long story a little shorter, I want to tell you about the five sweet children that came before D.  (I have left out their names here for privacy—you never know who might know them!).

 1. Almost a year to the day of losing little Isaac, we got a call about a baby boy who had been removed from his home and was being put into a concurrent planning adoption.  I wanted him so much.  I had really wanted a baby boy to fill the void of losing Isaac.  But, something the social worker said scared us.  His mother had almost lost his older sister to adoption because of her drug use and her unwillingness to comply with what the county was requiring.  And then, at the last possible time, she pulled it together and got her girl back.  And even though that girl was no longer in her mother’s care (her grandmother had guardianship) the county judged each case individually, and she would have the same opportunity with this little boy.  Our social worker said something like “I just want to warn you that we think this adoption will go through, but this mother might be slow out of the gate and then pull it together at the last minute.”  “Slow out of the gate.”  That has stuck with me to this day.  There wasn’t even a question.  John and I said no, knowing we could just not handle another rollercoaster ride like we had before.

 2.  Just a couple of weeks later, we got a call about an 18 month old little girl.  It was the morning of Christmas Eve 2008 when we went in for the telling (the telling is where you meet with the social workers and they tell you everything they know about the child, and then you decide if you want to move forward).  On paper, this looked like a perfect match, and I still can’t tell you why we didn’t take her.  The parents’ rights had been terminated.  It was zero risk.  But, it didn’t feel right.  John and I looked at each other and just both knew it wasn’t the child for us.  It was a shock for me, as I had so desperately wanted a child, and had hoped one would have already come in the year after we lost Isaac.  But, she wasn’t ours.  We knew she belonged in to someone else.

 3.  In March, I was in L.A. working on a project, when right in the middle of it, with the worst timing possible, came the call for a safe surrender baby girl.  She had been dropped off at the hospital and we could pick her up the next day from the hospital.  I wanted her so badly!  I called John and we had several conversations over the course of the next few hours.  We had to make a decision fast, as she was an emergency placement.  Ann gave us until the next morning.  I tried my hardest to talk John into it, but he wouldn’t have it.  In hindsight, I can understand and sympathize, but I was so upset at the time.  And I was a few hours away, so we couldn’t discuss it face to face (which might have been a blessing!).  He just felt it was too risky.  In California, safe surrender moms get a bracelet with their baby’s information on it, and they have a window of time to come back and change their minds.  And even if the paperwork gets filed to terminate the rights, I’ve been told that until it’s all final, that they have a good chance of being able to get that baby back.  And with an unknown father, who might become aware of his baby being born in the near future, there were just too many risks for John.  I made him call Ann and tell her we weren’t taking her.  I was too heartbroken to make the call.  We worked through it, but it was one of the bigger arguments we’d had in a while.

 4. & 5.  The last two kids were a sibling group we were offered the same month D was born, unbeknownst to us.  It was May, and we got the call about a 1 ½ year old little girl and her 2 ½ year old brother.  I was really excited at the opportunity for two!  I mean, let’s just get on with building our family already!  Oddly enough, even with the risks, John and I were both immediately on board and excited.  They had been in the system for a year after being removed from their home because of domestic issues, and their accessibility to drugs.  The father was in prison, and I don’t remember what was going on with the mother.  We did the telling and saw their sweet little pictures.  We were given the weekend to decide, and one of the things you are required to do before deciding to move forward is talk to the child’s (or childrens’) foster mom so you are fully aware of their current state and any difficulties they may be having.  Well, to condense the story, the foster mom told us she didn’t think the children’s grandparents were aware they would be going up for adoption and that there might be a problem there.  So, we addressed this issue with the social worker, who in turn did some research and found out that there was some planning in place by family members to place these kids with a friend, should they ever be placed for adoption.  It was a big mess, so we pulled out until it was all sorted out.  They told us that if they came back up for adoption after everything was sorted out, that we would be the first couple they called, but for now, we were back on the list again.  We were pretty sad about it.  I was really excited to welcome two kids home, even though I knew it would be a challenge, to say the least.  But it wasn’t meant to be.

About six weeks later, at the beginning of July, we got THE call—the one that would ultimately give us our sweet little boy.  Seven children later (including our little Isaac) we finally got to keep one—the one meant for us.  I do believe that everything happens for a reason, and even though we didn’t take these five kids, I know even having the chance to think about them and their circumstances blessed our lives in some way.  I still think about all six of those sweet, innocent children, all caught in some kind of craziness that never was their fault.  I wonder what their lives are like today, and wish the best for them.  I hope we don’t have to wait through six more children before we get the next one, but if we do, I know we’ll learn great lessons from them, too.

****ADDENDUM***  This addition to this post was inspired by Kristina's comment below.  One of the things that comes with being open about adopting is the regular "offers" to take a baby.  Sometimes it's a birthmother's well-meaning friend or family member, or someone that just hears about a situation, but I'm not sure I can even remember how many times someone contacted us about taking a baby and it fell through every time.  I know it's a difficult decision for birthmothers, but it is also difficult being on the other end thinking you are going to get a baby, and then suddenly the rug is ripped out from under you at the last minute.  I learned quickly to be cautiously optimistic.  I always expressed interest, but knowing how many of these never come to fruition, I learned to not even get excited.  I would just say, "let me know when the baby arrives and they are signing the papers."  We had a sister of a coworker, friends of friends, a phone call with a birthmother the day she gave birth swearing we were the ones and less than 24 hours later a family member had taken her and we never heard from anyone again.  We had one that wanted us to come to the doctor's visits and be a part of everything, but we had just lost our first baby and I had reason to suspect she wasn't all that sure about this decision, so a few months after saying we would wait until later in the process, we never heard anything else again (I'm pretty sure she kept that baby).  We had friends with more distant connections to a birthmother....oh, if I had a dollar for every time someone was absolutely sure we were getting that baby....well, I'd have a little extra spending cash.  So, I suppose it's not just the baby we lost and the five we didn't get to take home for different reasons--there are more babies out there who taught us lessons and were a part of this process.  At least a dozen, and if I stopped and really thought about it, probably more.  Patience is a virtue, right?  I still try to be optimistic, but sometimes it's hard to not get annoyed when someone is so sure that a baby is coming to us and just can't understand why we aren't thrilled.  They will continue to insist it will happen and want us to get excited.  Believe me, when it happens, no body will be more excited than I will be, but I can't live on the edge of those emotions 24/7, so I hope you will understand if I temper my excitement until the baby is in my arms and the papers are signed.  And then I can afford to break down and cry with happiness.

Would you design your child if you could?



I would never have thought to pick out his
specific looks and personality....so I'm
glad you get what you get.

There has been some controversy in the last several years over medical technology that could allow for “designer babies”—babies whose parents may at some point have the ability to choose all aspects of their physical bodies.  If this ever comes to full fruition, and is available to the masses, I wonder how many people will actually take advantage of it.  On one hand, I can understand a woman who has had four girls and desperately wants to have a son using that technology.  I can understand parents who want to avoid having a child with a physical defect or debilitating disease or a genetic disorder.  I understand the desire to have some control in different aspects of our lives.  But on the other hand, I wonder if we have fully considered the ramifications of a Bruce Almighty-esque power in which we, with our short-sighted mortal eyes, forget to consider the long-term effects, dare I say blessings, of coping with, and learning from experiences we might not have chosen.  I know girls that grew up going to church with a down syndrome girl, and I wonder if they would now, as adults, be as caring and compassionate towards those with disabilities (or anyone for that matter) if they had not grown up with her.

Front of the San Diego County Adoptions
application form.

The last thing we had to do before we got back on the list to adopt was to fill out a form, stating what we would and would not accept in a child.  It is an overwhelming task to sit down and check off boxes and fill in blanks making choices about a child that you would not have to, or get to make if you were birthing a child yourself.  I’ve included the front and back of these forms here.  (I've erased our answers, as I feel our choices are personal.)



Back of the San Diego County Adoptions
application form.

On one hand, you want to be open to all children who need parents.  On the other hand, you have a current life to consider.  What is your lifestyle?  Are you physically active?  Do you like to travel a lot?  Do you have the financial security to aid in dealing with a special needs child?  Even though there is a lot of assistance from the county, it won’t cover all the expenses.  Do you have the needs of other children in the home to consider?  After you sort through your own life, then there is the list of medical/behavioral/developmental issues to face.  You answer yes or no, and then are allowed to make notes in the comment section—“mild” or “functioning well” or some other disclaimer to your yes or no answer.  And then there are the list of substances to which this child might have been exposed.  What substance is acceptable?  And what degree of exposure?  And background issues, like if a birth parent had a mental illness or if there had been abuse of any kind.  And how open are you to continuing contact with the birth parents?  Birth grand-parents? Siblings?  And finally, your social worker makes a little note about you, assessing your needs, desires and any other information that will help them to make a good match.  Whew!  

One thing to note is that the county is required to note every little possibility about that child.  For example, if that newborn experiences one seizure, which could have been brought on by a premature delivery or drug exposure, they are required to make a check in the Epilepsy box in their file, noting that they could possibly be epileptic.  Or if they were drooling more than normal, a possible Cerebral Palsy note might be made.  Any little thing has to be recorded in the interest of full disclosure, which I totally understand.  But you can see how that might cause that child, who might actually be perfectly healthy, to be delayed in being placed because there are too many red flags.  Unfortunately, people do return kids during the adoption process, and sometimes, after it’s over, so full disclosure must be made to try to minimize these occurances.

The interesting dichotomy is this.  After we went over all of this in a class once, and we all pondered on what our choices might be and how a birthparent’s mental health might affect our child down the road, the teacher asked this question.  “If I was to tell you a newborn baby had just been safely surrendered at the hospital, how many of you would take him/her?”  Every hand in the room went up.  And yet, with that child, we knew absolutely nothing about their medical or family or drug exposure history.  At least with a child that comes with a large file of information, we have a large file of information.  With that safe surrender child, we don’t even have a name.  And yet, after picking through all the possibilities and being very particular about each aspect of what we would and wouldn't take, we all jumped at the chance to take a newborn without one shred of information.  Maybe it's not fear of the unknown.  Maybe fear of the known is worse.

A common sight--D getting air!
He's teaching me to be fearless.
(A recent photo of him at Sea World)

When I look at my sweet little boy, with his jet black hair, and beautiful skin, and his strong, stocky little body that never seems to wear out, and his funny sense of humor, and his obsession with all things transportation, I know that I’m looking at the tip of the iceberg.  Ninety percent of his life is not showing yet.  I don’t know if he will die tomorrow.   I don’t know if he will get childhood cancer, or have gross motor delays or sustain brain damage when he is twelve and never speak again, or become paralyzed in a bike accident at eight and never walk again.  I don’t know if he will become addicted to drugs as a teenager, or be diagnosed with bipolar disorder or wind up homeless or wind up in prison.  I’m hoping for the best.  I’m doing all I can to protect him and teach him right from wrong and leave no doubt in his mind that I love him, but there are no guarantees.  But, if any of those things happens, will I regret it?  Or will I send him back?  Would you ask that of a biological mother?  Of course not.  I say if you are faced with those choices, make the best, most educated ones you can, and then never look back.  Never, ever look back.

(As always, I love feedback/thoughts!  If you want to read more, check out the list to the right of the most popular posts, including ethnicity in adoption and things not to say to someone who is in the process of adopting.)

It ain't over til it's over: The harsh reality of waiting to finalize

I once made a comment about how I might not have to go through nine months of pregnancy and the delivery and all that, but that I had my own frustrations with the adoption process.  A sympathetic friend of mine said something like, “yes, but at least when you birth a baby you know it’s yours.”  And let me just say, that is one of the wonderful benefits of physically birthing a child.  The image in this post is a document we had to sign the day we took D home (Sorry it’s a bad copy—I’ve transcribed it at the bottom of this post if you can’t read it—D’s birth name is blotted out for privacy purposes).  We sat across the table from our wonderful social worker, Ann, filled with excitement at the prospect of picking up our little baby from the transition center that day.  I have to say, signing this document put a slight damper on the event!  First, let me explain a little about D’s placement.  He was what is called “concurrent planning”.  That means that when a child is removed from his parent(s), and there is significant reason to believe he won’t be able to be reunified, then he is placed via concurrent planning into an adoptive home, bypassing traditional foster care.  Now, in California, a child has to be in your home for a minimum of six months before finalization can occur, no matter what the situation, so everyone who adopts is also licensed for foster care, because technically you are foster parents during that time.  However, there is a difference between people who go into it as foster parents, and those of us who are strictly in it to adopt.  I don’t take foster kids right now.  The only placement I will get is one we intend to adopt.  But, as a concurrent planning placement, it is a little riskier because you go into it knowing the parents haven’t relinquished rights, but because of past experiences (either they have lost other children to adoption because they wouldn’t complete the requirements to reunify, or they have a bad drug problem, or have not shown signs of complying, etc.).  I was told more than 80% of concurrent planning adoptions are adopted.  It is a little riskier, but it is also about the best chance of winding up with an infant.  My point is that we knew the risk, but we also went into this absolutely as an adoption—he was ours in my mind the moment I got the phone call.  The county saw us as his prospective adoptive parents.  However, when we had to sit down at the table and sign this document, my heart started pounding and a little of that fear I felt in losing our first placement, Isaac, began to inch up my throat.  John and I were required to read this out loud to Ann, like a couple of school children being disciplined for some crime we’d committed.  I know that it is just the state policy, but that’s how it felt.  If you want a little exercise in how it feels to not know what’s going to happen, read this document out loud and put your name and your child’s name(s) in the spaces and think about what that would mean—to know there is a chance (a one in five chance) you would have to give them back.  After we finished, we just sat there for a minute in the quiet, reminded that this process was far from over.  It would be 14 months before we could breathe a sigh of relief.  Raising kids is hard enough, no matter how much you want it.  Sometimes it’s hard to set aside the anxiety of not knowing what’s going to happen, and focus 100% on bonding with your child.  But when you pick that baby up and take him home, it becomes impossible to not throw caution to the wind and just go for it.  

(Click here to read about our previous failed adoption)

Concurrent Planning Agreement

I/We Martin John Scharpf and Susan Scharpf understand that (D—not his birth name) a dependent child of the Juvenile Court, has not been freed for adoption and is being placed in my/our home as a foster child.

At this time, I understand that I am a foster parent first and foremost.  I/we will cooperate fully and foremost with the reunification process.  Including facilitating visits with the birth parent(s).  Failure to facilitate reunification may result in removal of the child from my/our home.

If the Juvenile Court orders the child to be returned to the birth parents, I/we will assist in transitioning the child to the birth parent(s).

Based on the available information provided to me/us regarding this child’s health/social history, it is my/our intent to adopt this child if the child is freed for adoption through relinquishment by the birth parent(s) or termination of parental rights through the Juvenile Court,

Concurrent planning has been explained to me by San Diego Health and Human Services Agency and I/we accept the conditions listed above.

A child lives here (finally)

I went in to my little boy's bedroom today to try to wake him up from his extra-long nap, and this was the scene.  Most people would probably think about how messy his room is.  But, I teared up, and went for the camera.  Trains and tracks, a ball, an Elmo, his tricycle that is supposed to be outside, and several other random things were strewn about, and in the middle of the room sat his little bed, with a fast-growing sturdy little boy sprawled across it sideways, one leg hanging off, sawing logs.  I had to snap a picture.  Maybe in someone else’s eyes this is a messy room, but in my eyes, a room cluttered with toys says "a child lives here." 

One wonderful thing about spending seventeen years of your life trying to have a child is that when it finally happens, you find joy in some of the things that others find annoying or repetitive or mundane.  I'm sure if I'd spent that seventeen years cleaning up after kids, I would probably feel the same way.  But I didn't, and I don't.  There was a time when I really wondered if a child would ever live in my home and splash in my bathtub and run through my house with all the gusto of a charging elephant.  And, when our first adoption failed, and our sweet baby boy was returned to his birthfather, whatever glimmer of hope I had left faded even more.  I knew it was in God’s hands, and that I had done everything I could do, and that if it was going to happen, it would happen, and if not, then it wouldn’t.  Sometimes it’s hard knowing you can’t do anything else about it, and sometimes it’s a relief that you’ve done all you can and it’s out of your hands.  Either way, it is a long and difficult lesson in patience.  But it’s oh so worth it.  It’s been two and half years since our little guy rode home with us for the first time.  I still often leave his toys spread across the yard as if documenting the fun we had that day.  In my mind I can see the dotted lines connecting his random path from bike to sandbox to balls to the bushes, over the rocks, up to the deck and back to the bike like an old Family Circle comic, and I smile at the crazy randomness of little kids.  And instead of cleaning everything up and getting back to the grown-up yard it was before, I leave everything untouched, and listen to those toys reassuring me that “yes, a child finally lives here.  You’re long-awaited child lives here.”

 (If you want to read about our failed adoption mentioned here, check out my post "Giving my baby back.  The Worst Day of my Life.")

Am I racist for wanting a white baby?

One of the many things I don’t think people are prepared for when they dream of adopting a baby, is the day they have to sit down and fill out a form full of little boxes and make decisions as to what you will or won’t accept in a child.  You choose everything from age, gender, medical history (not just of the child but of both birth parents), developmental status, and race.  It is an overwhelming task.  When you birth a child, you get what you get.  And though maybe you might want the option of choosing some of these things, the upside is that you don’t have to make those choices.  You feel like you are picking out a new car—I want red, with under 5,000 miles, a V-8 engine, DVD player and it must do 0-60 in 4 seconds.  Check.  Check.  Check.   

But this is a child.  You feel incredibly selfish saying you will not accept a child whose mother’s family had a history of schizophrenia because the risk of the child inheriting it are so great, even though the baby shows no signs.  I will talk about those choices another day, but right now, I want to talk about race.  Such a hot topic, but one you have to face.

I’m sure many of you feel as I did when we first went into the process.  “Love conquers all!”  “I’m not racist…I don’t mind having a child of another race in my family.”  But let’s get real.  Let me back up to one of the first classes we were required to take during the process to acquire our home study so we could even get on the list to adopt (we adopted through San Diego County Adoptions).  It was about transracial adoptions, and it stopped me dead in my tracks.  Two things in that class had a huge impact on me, especially as an all white woman.  John is actually one-fourth Native American, however, he looks very white.  So basically, we’re white.  White, white, white.  And I think it’s important to accept that and be okay with it.  Everyone wants to have a little something else in them these days--I guess it makes us feel a little more exotic!  But frankly, I don’t have anything but whiteness in my family line (at least beyond the yet to be proved, possibly Native American great-grandfather rumor). 

So for the two things in the class that had a huge impact us.  First, we did this experiment.  Here’s how it goes.  We were given a plate of M&M’s and a plate of white mini-marshmallows, and each of us was given a cup.  Each color of M&M corresponded to a race.  I know it’s very general, but for the sake of this experiment, it worked.  Then, our instructor read of a list of relationships.  For each race represented in that relationship, you put one M&M of the corresponding color in your cup.  So, referring to my photograph of the chart, here is an example.  They started with yourself.  Enter one white marshmallow.  Next was your family (your parents and siblings).  Even though there are six people in my family, I only put in one representative candy.  Enter another white marshmallow.  Extended family.  I have one cousin who married a man from Trinidad who is black.  The rest of my extended family is white.  So, I drop in one representative blue M&M and one white, white, white marshmallow.  Coworkers.  White marshmallow, a brown, yellow and red M&M, to represent the races of the people I worked with.  Your boss.  Your church.  Your best friend.  Your circle of closest friends.  Your neighborhood.  The school you went to.  Etc. Etc. Etc.  Marshmallow, marshmallow, an occasional M&M and more marshmallows.  You get the point.  In the end, my cup looked something like this.  Nothing wrong with it, I'm just being honest.

I want to explain the second thing in the class that had a huge impact before I explain the moral to the experiment and to the story.  The second thing was a video we watched of grown adoptee adults.  All all of them were at least part African-American.  They all had been adopted by white parents.  The thing that was so apparent was the struggle and the bitterness most of them felt at not being raised by, or around other African-Americans.  I was really taken aback.  You could feel their pain at having been “the poor black kid saved by the generous white people”.  Some were more bitter than others, but they all struggled with it.  And these were kids who loved and cared about these white parents, but still felt great pain at being raised in a white life—white family, friends, schools, etc. 

Now, I will say this, the video is a little older, and I do think inter-racial families are not only much more common, but much more accepted than they used to be.  However, the point brought up in class after the experiment and the video was this.  Don’t think for a second that “love conquers all”.  It was never said that you should not consider adopting a child of another race.  The point was that you need to be aware that it does matter.  Race matters.  As much as we want to push that we all should love each other no matter what, it’s not just about love....at least not solely about love.  Race is a big part of our identity.  It’s what we see physically when we look in the mirror.  And if you are going to adopt a child not of your race, then perhaps that race should at the very least be represented in your cup of candy.  Even if a child doesn’t see any resemblance when he looks at you, because maybe he is brown and you are white, maybe he should at least be able to see some brown when you go outside in the neighborhood, or to church, or to the grocery store, or to a family reunion.  Kids need to see other people that look like them in some way.  That's what these adult adoptees had missed growing up. They need to know that they are normal--that people that look like them are normal and a part of your circle.  It was  real eye-opener.

But, let’s look at the facts now, and try to see why this is so difficult.  The majority of couples waiting to adopt are Caucasian.  The majority of kids being adopted are not.  The largest percentage of non-white kids up for adoption are African-American.  (These are the statistics for San Diego County, so this may vary a little from state to state, but in my research so far, I’ve found it’s pretty similar everywhere in the U.S.).  The most requested child in San Diego County Adoptions is a newborn white girl, which does not come available very often.  So, you do the math.  Then I ask, is it worse for an African-American child to be placed with all white parents, than to sit in foster care for the rest of her life?  There is an African-American girl up for adoption right now who is fourteen.  She was removed from her home as an infant and has had more than thirty placements.  She has been up for adoption since she was about six, and has still not been placed.  I don’t know all the reasons, but it breaks my heart.  Would it be better for her to now go with an all white family or graduate out of the system with no family? 

We have, on more than one occasion, had white friends say to us “I would love to adopt a little black child….they are the cutest kids!  I think it would be so fun to have a little black child.”  I am not lying.  We have heard this comment numerous times!  Frankly, they are cute.  But these are children, not puppies!  That is not why we should adopt a child. 

Where do we stand?  I don’t know.  We were more open before we got D.  If you look at my post about our failed adoption “The One That Got Away: Memories of a Failed Adoption”, you will see that we took a bi-racial child the first time, mostly because I thought we would have one or two more, and as long as we all looked a little different, then it would be okay—no one child would be singled out.  I never expected to wind up with a child that, aside from the black hair, looks like he could be our biological child.  Now, we are looking to adopt a second child, and we are presented with a dilemma.  If D looked more ethnic in some way, I could see being more open.  We are most likely only going to adopt one more time.  I’m hoping it’s a sibling group, so we can have three children.  But frankly, we aren’t getting any younger, and as long as the process takes, this is our last time through either way.  So, now we have three family members who look very white, and I don’t want one child to feel like odd man out.  I don’t want that one child to be the only one everyone points out and asks if he/she is adopted.  If D had looked different, it wouldn’t be such a big deal, but now it’s more complicated.  I’m not saying we won’t adopt a child who doesn’t look white.  I’m just saying we need to be realistic about the needs of the child.  It’s hard to talk this way when you feel it’s just not politically correct.  But it is honest.  And I think it’s better to be honest about what a child will face, then to make him your social experiment.  Am I racist?  Absolutely not.  But, I don’t want to put a child in a position to always be singled out and talked about differently.  I don’t think our children should pay the price for us trying to change people’s perceptions.  That’s just me.  I want to raise a family that changes the world in positive ways.  But, I just don’t want that to be at the expense of one particular child.  Don't let the title of the post fool you--we are still open to a transracial adoption, but he/she has to be the right fit for our family, and we need to be the right fit for that child.  What that is, I don’t know.  But when it happens, we will know, and we will be educated in our choices, and we won't care if someone thinks we are racist for thinking that skin color matters, because in my opinion, it is more racist to assume a child should not care about, or need to identify with his or her race.  To ignore a part of who you are does just as much damage as to make that one thing seem more important than anything else.  There has to be a balance.  I hope we can find that it if the situation arises. I still think about that fourteen year old African-American girl in foster care, and know I could be a good mother to her.  Frankly, the age gap between her and D is the bigger issue, and that's a post for another time. 

P.S.  Maybe this brings up something else I should add to my list of things not to say to people waiting to adopt....I'll have to think about that...  Check out that post.  Open letter to friends and family of someone dealing with infertility, and perhaps looking at adoption as the next step: 7 THINGS NOT TO SAY, in no particular order:

The One That Got Away: Memories of a failed adoption.

  My little Isaac has been on my mind a lot lately.  I don’t know why.  It’s been just over four years since we lost him.  It’s not the anniversary of anything—not his birthday, or the day we took him home, or the day we lost him back to his biological father.  Maybe it’s because we have finally gotten back on the list to adopt our second child in the last couple of weeks.  Whatever it is, I’ve been thinking about him a lot more than normal.  Sometimes when people hear about our failed adoption, they make comments about how it’s good that we’d only had him five months or else it would have been even more difficult.  But the thing is, I always saw him as my child.  I bonded with him the first moment I heard about him over the phone, and by the time I held him for the first time at the foster mom’s house, I was done.  He was mine.  He was a low risk adoption—99% guaranteed to go through.  His mother relinquished rights and hand-picked us out of the pool of waiting couples.  She told us she didn’t know who the father was, and that she’d hidden her pregnancy from everyone, so nobody knew about this precious baby boy except herself and the social workers, and of course, us.  After years of failed fertility treatments, including two very difficult and unsuccessful runs at invitro, and then more than a year and a half getting through the process to get on the list for adoption, this amazing boy was ours.  I was elated.  I finally got to be the one at the baby shower on the receiving end, holding the cute little baby and telling my story.  It was a most wonderful time.  And then, the hammer fell.  To keep the story short, the birth mother had lied about everything, and after placing him with us, called the birth father to tell him he had a son, but that he couldn't have him because he’d been placed for adoption.  She looked us in the eye and told us she didn’t know who the father was and that she hadn’t told him, but she had.  It took a while for him to get the paternity test, and a few weeks before Christmas, he came to take his son.  That is all a story for another blog entry, but I just wanted to say that it didn’t matter that it was “only five months” (and it is still very painful to hear that comment from people).  We were devastated.  We had lost our long-awaited child.  We had a deep bond with him, and he had become a precious part of our lives.  I still have a hard time talking about it, and this is the first time I’ve written about it since just after it happened.  We still miss him.  I think about him every day, and I still shed tears every now and then when I look at photos and think of that difficult day when I put him in the car seat and kissed him good-bye, so afraid that he would feel I had abandoned him.  He is doing well now.  These pictures were taken two days before his father took him home.  I had been crying all week, and praying for strength.  I asked my friend to take some pictures of us so I could have some final shots of us together.  And in an answer to that prayer (although not the answer I REALLY wanted!) I woke up that Friday morning calm, and more prepared to face the impending weekend events.  
The strange thing was that I could not get him to smile, and that was very unusual.  I tried playing with him, as you can see in the photos, but no smile.  It was as if he knew a traumatic change was coming and he just wasn’t his normal self.  But, I’m happy with the way they turned out, and glad we were able to capture a sweet moment with him before he went away.I still consider him my first son, even though when people ask, I say that D is the first.  In my mind, D is our second, but I keep Isaac tucked in a special spot deep in my heart that I can only pull out in private.  D will never take his place, although he did fill a deep void when he came to us a year and a half later.  If you know someone who had a failed adoption, I hope you never say "well at least he was only ____ months old", and I hope you never assume the next child will ever take his place.  You would never think that if you lost a biological child.  It is such a painful experience, and it doesn't ever go away.  I know he is with his father who wanted him so deeply, and I know that’s where he needs to be, but my sweet little Isaac will always be the one that got away.