1000%

I've had job interviews and started new jobs.  I've had countless "first days of school" in my life.  I've been to hoity-toity professional conferences and political fundraisers with fancy pantses and big wigs. Hell, I've even had social workers probe the deepest depth of my brain, and the darkest corner of our house (which also functions handily as a tornado shelter when needed, fyi) for this adoption process.

I have had many occasions to fret over making a good first impression, and many opportunities to work my shy-old-self into a big ball of stress about whether I'd be able to let that "inner me" out to shine, or whether I'd end up sitting in the corner, staring at the floor, unable to come up with any of that elusive "small talk" stuff that seems to come so easily to other people.

I've never in my life been as nervous for something as I was for our match meeting.  Amber is the type of person who relishes human interaction.  (Weird, right?! I know!!)  She loves meeting people, is great in social settings, and will usually get your entire life story out of you in the first five minutes of meeting, before you even realize what has happened.  Truth be told though: Amber was just as nervous as I was.

I've been thinking hard ever since the meeting, trying to come up with a good parallel event that would allow me to explain to all of you who haven't been to a match meeting, or aren't on this adoption journey, exactly what the anticipation felt like.  I can't.  It's a thing unto itself.

The closest thing I could come up with was going away to college for the first time.  I moved across the country to go to college.  I had picked an amazing college that I was sure was going to change my life (it did), and I was so so excited to be finally grown up, and on this journey to becoming who I am.  But I was also pretty terrified.  I knew in the back of my head that this move from childhood to college was momentous.  I knew that for the rest of my life, things would be marked as "before" and "after" this particular point.  I tend to overthink and overanalyze (Shocking, no?) and get caught up in "moments" and "milestones" and what it all means.  So, I was hopeful for this new vision of my adult life, excited about this awesome future that I was foreseeing, but also anxious and scared of the off-chance that things wouldn't work out the way I had envisioned, or that I would somehow screw it up.

That's pretty much how I felt going into the match meeting.  Well, like that, and also kinda like I had the flu.

We flew in the afternoon before the meeting.  We were nervous that our "travel jinx" would rear her ugly head, and screw us mightily in some unforeseen way.  So, we planned for plenty of extra time in getting to the meeting.  If all else failed, we actually had enough time to drive and still get there in time.  But, despite all odds, everything went smoothly, we got there on time, and had almost 24 hours to spare before the meeting.

Twenty-four gut wrenchingly stressful hours, that is.

We had nothing to do but try not to think about it.  Which of course, just makes you think about it more.  We sat in the room and watched the Food Network until we couldn't take it anymore (Who knew so much programming could revolve around bacon?).  Then we decided we needed to actually try to eat, rather than just living vicariously through the people on TV.  We also decided, begrudgingly, that we should try again to look at the handout on match meeting questions we'd received months ago in a support group meeting.  We'd already looked at it once before, but we spun out with panic after being unable to come to any sort of definite answers on anything.

So, we headed to Longhorn for bloody steak (me), piles of veggies (Amber), and a much needed drink (both of us).  And we once again failed miserably at answering the questions.  Like broken records, all we could come up with was "Gah....I don't know....whatever she wants!"  The questions were really specific regarding things that will or won't occur at the hospital, and what role Amber and I will play during that time.  Then there were equally specific questions about what will happen, you know, for the rest of the child's life.  No biggie.    The kid is the size of an eggplant right now, mind you.  But yeah, let's totally sit down and map out exactly how many pictures, letters, visits, and phone calls will occur, and when they'll happen.  In fact, why don't I just get my Blackberry out, and we can go ahead and get some dates on the calendar.  Eye. Roll.

Now, I get it.  It's very important for us all to sit down together, and get an idea of what each other is picturing for the future.  It's equally important to check in, and make sure nobody has expectations that are much different than what the other was planning or hoping for.  And, it's nice to just have a general idea of what will probably happen next.

I guess it's because Amber and I are so flexible and so open to whatever in this process, that the details became overwhelming.  Sure, we could come up with answers to these questions, if we were the only ones involved.  X number of pictures, Y number of letters, to be sent every Z days/weeks/months.  But, what matters most to us is truly what Kelsey is comfortable with.  We are strongly committed to giving her all the contact and support she wants and needs.  But we are equally committed to not giving her more than she desires or can handle.  This isn't an easy process for birth parents, and we are ever mindful of that.  So, pouring over those questions, we tried to put ourselves in her shoes, tried to imagine what she might want or need, and tried to think about the best ways we could give that to her.  But coming up with hard and fast numbers was still impossible.

After dinner we killed time with a movie (Bridesmaids...the bridal shop scene is NOT for the weak-stomached, btw), and then went back to the hotel, languished pathetically on the king sized bed, and watched  "COPS" and "Inside American Jail" (two of my favorite guilty pleasure shows) on truTV until we passed out.

The next morning, we pretended to eat breakfast, actually drank coffee, and watched the minutes tick by slowly on the clock.

Finally around noon, we realized we had to start getting ready, and needed to make some sort of effort to put nutrients other than caffeine (shut up, caffeine IS a nutrient, I'm nearly sure of it) in our bodies.  Like zombies, we showered, dressed, and did our hair.  Then we walked around SuperTarget for a half hour, trying to find something we could swallow without vomiting.  We spent most of that time wandering around the bakery, looking for some sort of cookies or cupcakes to bring to share.  Then we realized neither of us were planning on eating them, so it was going to be awkward-bordering-on-rude to force pastry eating upon others who were likely just as nervous as we were.  So we got my belly-comforting staple, bananas, and a pack of six Luna bars.  I ended up eating one banana.  Amber ate nothing.  Lunch FAIL.

The drive to the meeting was surreal.  We walked in, and were greeted by the social worker.  I stood there silently, staring in disbelief at Amber, who was somehow already halfway into a ten minute conversation with the social worker about the weather, where she was from, how she liked the office, the nice hospital across the street, and how we were liking our hotel accommodations.  My girl has mad chit-chat skillz.  It's kind of a superpower, really.

Then the social worker said "Well, they're here already, in the conference room.  I'll take you back and introduce you".  My heart skipped a beat.

We walked into a glass-walled conference room, and there they were, sitting at a small table.  Kelsey turned around and looked at us with giant deep brown eyes, and smiled.  It was a smile of nervousness, a smile of excitement, and a smile of "omg this is really happening".  It's a smile I'll never forget.  She looked exactly how I felt.

I also had this weird bit of being what I can only describe as starstruck.  I am easily starstruck, not necessarily by super famous people, but by people who are somewhat famous, but who I totally admire and respect from afar, and have on occasion been in close quarters with.  Amy Ray.  Jane Goodall.  Congressman John Lewis.

That's how I felt when we first met Kelsey and Aaron.  I had this overwhelming feeling of "OMG, it's THEM!!"  We've gotten to know Kelsey a good deal online.  We didn't really know Aaron, besides what Kelsey had told us.  We've seen so many pictures of both of them though, that it was entirely bizarre to finally be standing in the same room.

Amber totally and immediately set to work on the ice breaking. [If Amber ever for some reason becomes a professional wrestler and/or minor super hero and/or rap star, I hereby propose the name "The Ice Pick" as a moniker].  And then we got into the nitty-gritty of question answering.

In the end--shocking I'm sure to nobody but me--it wasn't nearly as bad as I had anticipated.  In fact, it was great, really.  Turns out, Kelsey felt pretty much the same way about the questions as we did.  She already knew that she didn't yet know exactly what she wanted at the hospital and beyond.  We got the chance to tell her we were open to whatever she wanted, and that we'd work with whatever she was comfortable with.  I felt good about getting that out there, and I think she felt good about hearing it.  We got a chance to get to know Aaron a little more, which was awesome.  We even got a chance to just laugh and talk a little like regular people, as opposed to "birth parents" and "adoptive parents".  It was really nice.

Kelsey and Aaron are both such wonderful people, and sitting down and getting to know them just felt so right.  For all the nerves, the worrying, and the panic ahead of time, once we got going it felt quite comfortable, natural, and normal.  The agency tells prospective adoptive couples time and time again, "When you find 'your match', it just feels right."  This truth is further echoed by the many couples who have already adopted and say over and over that they can't explain it, but when they finally met their child's birth parents, they just "knew".  Sitting here days later, I can't explain it either, but I can tell you that it feels like we just "fit together" in a good way.

We have been excited about becoming parents for so long now.  Ever since February, when the agency called to tell us Kelsey wanted to match with us, that excitement has become all the more real. And now, after having met Kelsey and Aaron in person, the excitement has shifted again.  We are no longer just excited to have "a baby", we are now even more excited, thrilled, and honored to hopefully become parents to this baby.  If his or her birth parents are any sign--and I suspect they are--this baby will undoubtedly be one amazing kid.

x's&o's,

Michelle

On the plane, heading to our match meeting.  

Happy (Birth) Mother's Day

Sunday May 8th is Mother's Day.  Saturday May 7th is recognized in the adoption world as "Birthmother's Day".  (The day before Mother's Day...get it?  So clever, those adoption folks.)

Some feel it is proper and thoughtful to honor birth moms on a separate day, a day all their own, because they may feel left out or a special sense of loss on Mother's Day itself.  Others feel that not simply honoring their motherhood on Mother's Day is demeaning and reeks of  that whole distasteful "separate but equal" thing.

I'm too new to this whole adoption world to have a thoughtful opinion yet, honestly.  And theoretical and academic arguments aside, I think I'll probably just honor our child's birth mother on whichever day she feels most comfortable.  Or heck, why not on both, if she's game?

But for right now, I'll just say that I love that quote up there, and I wanted to share (I picked the pretty background myself...).  So, read it on Saturday, or read it on Sunday, whichever feels right to you, and think about the birthmother(s) in your life (or the one you hope will be in your life soon...).

x's & o's,

Michelle

On Raising "Adopted Bobby".

A few months ago, the topic at our agency's monthly support group for adopting parents was "Talking to Your Children About Adoption".  In open adoption, the fact that a child is adopted is no secret.  It's not something that is ignored or swept under the rug.  It is just a fact of life.  If you do open adoption "right", there should never come a point where you have to sit your child down and "break the news" that he or she is adopted.  Adoption should just be an underlying theme in the child's life, something that they know about themselves, the way they might know they are Irish, or Jewish, or have two moms, even.  It doesn't make them better.  It doesn't make them worse.  It is just a part of who they are.

Identity--how you define the core of "who you are"--is important.  Who you think you are and the groups to which you count yourself a member define not only how you see the world, but also how the world sees you.
Throughout my life, I've identified--to varying degrees--in a number of different ways.  Hippie.  Femme.  Lesbian.  Nurse.  Nerd.  Cheerleader. Only Child.  To this day, all of those labels still represent pieces of who I am.  (Well, maybe not so much the cheerleader, anymore.  But I can still do some mean "spirit fingers", watch out!)

Part of our child's identity will be "Adopted Child" or "Adoptee" or "Child Who Is Adopted", depending upon how technical and/or political you want to get with semantics (I'm still learning...).  To us, of course, he or she will just be "our child" (not "our adopted child").  The extent to which adoption plays a role in our child's identity formation will be, for the most part, up to our child.  We have a few friends who are adopted, and adoption doesn't seem to play a big role in their personal identities. However, I've read enough on the blogosphere to know that for some people, adoption is the central core of their identity and the very fiber of their being.  For many others, adoption is probably something that ebbs and flows in importance on the "identity meter" over time.  Sometimes being adopted will be very important, and at others, it will probably take a backseat to some other aspect of self.  Our role as parents comes, I believe, in ensuring that whatever part adoption ultimately plays in our child's sense of self, it is a positive one.

I think one of the biggest concerns that adoptive parents and birth parents alike have is that the child will feel abandoned, given up, or thrown away.  People outside and on the periphery of open adoptions tend to worry that children will feel "confused".  They worry that awareness of the birth family will make a child question who his or her "real" parents are.  But those of us who understand open adoption, who are in the middle of it, and aren't confused by it ourselves, tend to have faith that the child will understand.  We just worry that they won't understand it on a deep enough level.

As parents, one of the most important things we can do is help our child to understand, develop, respect, and love who he or she is.  A healthy sense of self-esteem is the gift that keeps on giving!  Believing in yourself--all the various aspects of yourself--will carry you far in life, and we hope, more than anything, that we can foster in our child a sense of comfort and pride in him or herself.  Two AM feedings?  Diaper changes? Potty training?  Teaching them to try new foods and tie their shoes? Those are no small tasks, of course, but they pale in comparison to the life-long effort that goes into raising a happy, self-confident child.

So, Amber and I are planning to do things right from the start to help our child's concept of adoption and his or her life story to be accurate, positive, and realistic.  We are reserving a special place on the nursery wall for a framed picture of our child's birth parents.  I can already see myself holding our child on my hip, pointing to the picture of them standing with Mickey and Minnie Mouse, and saying "That's Kelsey, your birth mom.  You grew in her tummy.  And she picked Mommy and I to be your parents, because she loves you very much."  We'll look forward to reading bedtime stories like "Tell Me Again About the Night I Was Born" and "The Best for You" that tell positive adoption stories in terms young children can understand.  We plan to keep in touch with our "adoption friends" and are excited to attend IAC events like holiday parties and picnics where our child will get to play with other kids and see other families who were formed just like ours.

But, we'll also look forward to pointing out Grandma, Grandpa, and Nonna in pictures of our own extended families, to reading "Good Night Moon" and "Pat the Bunny,"  and to having play dates with the many many non-adoptive families that we count among our closest friends.  It's not going to be "all adoption, all the time" in our house.

We want our child to understand adoption, to view his or her life story positively, and to know that Kelsey's difficult decision was made out of love.  We think this is best for our child, and we know Kelsey agrees.  But, we also know that it is our responsibility to make sure sure our child truly understands.  She is giving us the gift of parenthood.  It's a gift we accept with great gratitude, and it's a responsibility that we take very seriously.

We want to be mindful parents.  Parents who think before they act, and consider the message that small ears and young brains take in when grown up issues are discussed.  But, we don't want our child to be so steeped in the politics, philosophy and theory of adoption that they pickle in it.  Our child may love baseball or ballet.  He may yearn to be a veterinarian or a writer.  She may have a knack for music or a passion for history.  Whatever it is that makes our child who he or she is, we want to celebrate it.  We don't want our child--or our family--to be defined only by adoption.

We want to be thinking parents, not overthinking parents.  We want to remember that all children experience separation anxiety, and that if our kid cries being dropped off for the first day of kindergarten, it's not because of some deep seated adoption-related abandonment issues.  It's because kindergarten is scary, period.  We want to remember that if (okay...when) our thirteen-year-old someday screams "You"ll never understand me!!!", it's not because of some non-biological disconnect in our family.  It's because thirteen-year-olds are sometimes aliens from another planet who speak a different language than adults.

Adoption will always be part of who our child is.  But we don't want to raise our child to feel like "Adopted Bobby*", to feel like adoption is all of who he or she is, or all of who we are as a family.  I'd much rather we raise "Jock-Dancer-Musical-Adopted-History Buff-Author-Animal Lover Bobby."  Or better yet, just raise "Bobby", and let Bobby decide the rest for him or herself.

x's&o's,

Michelle

With a few of our favorite "Non-Adopted Bobbies"

*Not his/her real name.  Not even close.  We just haven't settled on a name.  And when we do, we probably aren't telling the whole internet anyhow.  Sry.

Adopting Mom, RN

I'm a nurse.

If you know me, chances are you already know this about me.

In fact, it's safe to say if you know me at all you know three things about me:

1. Amber is my most favorite person in the world.
2. We are adopting.
3. I'm a nurse.

In that order.  And if you only sorta know me, that may be all you really know about me.  I'm constantly amused and amazed by the number of people who tell me they like reading this blog.  Amber says it's because I hardly ever talk to people, so they have no idea I have all this in me. She makes a good point.  But, it is was it is, and here we are.

But, I digress.  (If you know four things about me, the fourth may be that I digress.  A lot.)

So anyway, yes, I am a nurse.  Specifically a mother-baby nurse, or maternal-newborn nurse, if you wanna get all technical about it.

I don't deliver babies.  That's the job of midwives and obstetricians.  I don't work with laboring women or help them through delivery.  That's the job of labor and delivery nurses.

I don't breastfeed other people's babies.  That's the job of old-timey "wet nurses" (and boy howdy, did that ever make for one confusing and awkward conversation when an acquaintance thought that's what I did at work all day...).

I don't live in other people's houses and take care of their newborn in the middle of the night.  That's the job of a "baby nurse", who, for the record, is usually not an actual nurse, and should really be called a nanny or something (don't get me started on that one...).

I also don't "sit around and hold babies all day," as many people tell me they'd love to do when they first hear my job title.  That's the job of the sweet old ladies who volunteer in the nursery and neonatal intensive care units at the hospital.  Note the word "volunteer".  Nobody gets paid to "sit around and hold babies all day."

So, what do I do?  I take care of new families in the postpartum ("after birth") period.  I care for women  and babies in those 24 to 72 hours between giving birth and going home.  I do the initial assessment of the infant, draw blood, give medications, and monitor their transition from being inside mom to outside in this great big world.  I take care of women who have had vaginal deliveries and those who are recovering from cesarean sections.  I monitor their bleeding, their peeing, their vital signs, and their lab results.  I help them when they are puking, when they can't feel their legs yet, and when they are in pain.  I am always on the look out for the very rare, but potentially serious, complications that can arise after childbirth.

That's the science of what I do.  But, my favorite thing about nursing is the blend between science and caring.  I'm a girl who loves cold, hard facts.  I'm very analytical and logic is the lens through which I try to see the world.  But, attached to my very black-and-white brain is a mushy, bleeding, liberal heart.  I feel a lot for people.  I care.  I want to help people, and make a difference.  In my work and in my life, I always strive to be the boy on the beach throwing back the starfish, one by one.

So the mushy emotional part of what I do is helping new families to connect to this new little wriggly, screaming, pooping, hungry, adorable little being that just got pushed or cut out into this crazy world.  I spend days encouraging moms that haven't slept all night that they can breastfeed, and the baby will get it...eventually.  I show fumbling dads how to swaddle a baby so he'll actually sleep.  I help 2-year-old big brothers climb up in mom's bed to see their new little sister for the very first time.

It's not all sunshine and lollypops where I work, though.  Most of my patients don't have a lot of money.  Many of them come from other countries, and quite a few are here as refugees.  Some of my patients are excited about their new baby, some, though, are mostly put out and stressed out by this new addition and new complication to their already difficult lives.  A few of my patients are on drugs.  A number of my patients have some major baby daddy drama.  People often wonder if working in a hospital is like what they see on Grey's Anatomy. (It's not.) On my unit, at least, some days it's more like what you see on Jerry Springer and/or Maury Povich.

But of all the patients and all the situations I see on a daily basis, right now I have to say I feel most privileged to have the opportunity to take care of those patients who are placing their infants for adoption.  As a nurse, I feel rewarded to have the chance to help strong and brave women through a difficult time.  And as an adopting mom-to-be, I feel honored to have the opportunity to witness this process from the other side, first-hand.

Most of the women in my hospital who have made adoption plans are doing open or semi-open adoptions.  Some have made plans long before they came to the hospital, others decide in the hospital and our social worker helps them to contact an agency.  In some cases the adoptive families come to the hospital.  Some attend the birth, visit in the birth mom's room afterwards, and care for or share in the caring for their new baby. Other times the birth mother and adoptive family never meet. Either the adoption counselor picks up the baby, and takes him or her to the adoptive family, or the adoptive family comes to the hospital and visits with the baby in a special "family room" away from the birth mom's room.  Some birth moms like to keep the baby in their rooms, and want to take that special time to--as they say in adoption circles--"say hello before they say goodbye" (or, "see you later," at least).  Others want little contact, and prefer for the nurses to keep the baby in the nursery.

There are no right answers.  Just answers that feel right for individual people.  Of course I have my preferences and ideas about what feels right in our own situation.  But, as a nurse, it's my job to respect and support whatever my patient--the birth mom--wants.  And I do. Strongly, loudly, and without apology.  Yes, this is an exciting time for adoptive parents.  A time to meet their new baby, to be joyful, and to form their family.  But, ultimately, this hospital experience is the birthmother's.  It's her delivery, her body, and her recovery time.  And, if she ends up deciding to sign the relinquishment papers, the adoptive family will have the rest of their lives with this precious baby.  With that in mind, honoring her wishes and respecting what she needs--no matter what it is--in those first few days is the only right thing to do.  She's giving you the gift of a lifetime.  Give her the gift of your respect, your confidence, and your admiration.

Not all nurses (or doctors, or people in general) feel the way I do about adoption.  Most have the good sense and professionalism to keep their personal opinions out of patient care.  Some, unfortunately, do not. People can be judging, and in the arena of reproduction and childbirth, this is especially so.  Had children at a young age? Irresponsible and you should have waited.  Had children after your 35th birthday?  Selfish and you shouldn't have waited so long.  Had more than 3 or 4 kids? Irresponsible and you shouldn't have had so many.  Had an abortion? Selfish and you should have had that baby.  Placing a child for adoption? Either irresponsible for getting pregnant and/or selfish for choosing not to parent. (double whammy) Patients just can't win with some nurses, unfortunately.  And adoptive families don't fare much better.  Desperate and crazy are the monikers they are most often saddled with.

I'm a fairly quiet, laid back person.  But when something pushes me to be not quiet, oh boy, watch out.  I will speak with more vigor and bluntness than you could ever expect from such a wallflower.  It takes people aback sometimes, and I can see the surprise in their faces.  But when something matters to me, it matters a lot, and I will let you know it. That's how I feel about adoption and taking care of birth mothers at work.

I'm on a committee at work that develops policies, processes and projects to improve the quality of care on our unit.  My project last year was to develop materials and protocols for caring for patients who are placing their infants for adoption.  It's a work in progress, but so far I've collected some articles and information on appropriate adoption terminology and birthmother rights to help the nurses speak and think positively about adoption, developed a door sign to identify which patients are planning adoptions so staff entering the room will know the situation and not say anything inappropriate, and developed a "memory box" kit for birth moms to take home if they want (including the baby's hat, a crib card, and a satin pouch to keep the things in).  I'm also on a personal mission to eradicate the use of the word BUFA in my hospital. It means "baby up for adoption", and it gets stamped on charts and paperwork and crib cards.  BUFA, for godsakes.  It sounds like the noise a cat makes when it hacks up a hairball.  So, in lieu of that, we've started putting the symbol from the door sign I made in the crib and on the chart.  It's a step in the right direction, I believe.

The days and weeks are rolling by, and before we know it, Kelsey's delivery day will be here.  I think about it all the time.  Some days at work, when I'm changing a diaper or feeding a bottle to a baby whose mom is resting or in the shower, I stop and think, "Wow. Soon I'll be doing this for our child".  I look at all the babies a little differently now that we are matched.  I wonder if our baby will be have hair like this one, eyes like that one, or be the same size as that one over there.  I check out carseats and swaddling blankets a little bit closer now when I'm sending patients home, doing my own sort of on-the-job window shopping.

When Kelsey's day comes, I'll do my best to take off my nurse's cap (metaphorically speaking), and just be there as a hopeful adoptive mom. We'll give her the space she needs, the support she desires, and always allow for the fact that what she wants and needs at the hospital can change at any given moment.  We're still so thrilled that she chose us, and we're honored to be given the opportunity to play any role whatsoever in her hospital experience.

Now.  Let me catch wind that anyone in that hospital is giving her an ounce of lip or attitude or anything less than excellent care?  Well, she's a strong and independent young woman, and I'm sure she can handle it. But....just in case....I've got her back.  With my nurse's cap on.

x's & o's,

Michelle, RN

On The Same Page

Having officially moved into the next stage of our adoption journey--the match phase--we are once again faced with what we've been faced with so many times before in this process.

Paperwork.  More paperwork.

When all is said and done, I think I will have to make some sort of charitable contribution to the Sierra Club.  Or maybe the Arbor Day Foundation.  Some sort of secular liberal penance is definitely in order to offset the number of trees that had to die so that Amber and I could welcome a child into our family.

First, we're re-upping on all of our home study paperwork.

We picked up the new packet last week at our monthly agency meeting.  It feels much less daunting than the last time around.  First of all, it's exciting, because it feels much more real this time.  Before, we were filling out forms and jumping through hoops for some theoretical baby in a hypothetical situation.  Now, we're doing these things for a real baby who will be here before we know it.  It lights a little fire under your hiney, really.

Plus, already having had the pleasure of being fingerprinted and drug screened once, we are now more prepared for the experience.  (Lessons learned...1.) Bring a book to the fingerprinting office and don't look anyone in the eye.  2.) Do the $69.95 Any-Lab-Test Clinic in the strip mall.  The doctor's office seems classier, but you will pay mightily when your insurance company denies the claim.)  After that, it's just forms for the doctor, forms for the vet, forms for the po-po, and forms for the state of Georgia.  We sign, we initial, we date, we notarize.  And then I think we sign again, just for good measure.

Last week we also filled out and turned in our "Relationship Profile."  You'd think we'd be done with profiles, being matched and all.  But, apparently not.  What it seems to be though--rather than a profile--is pre-match meeting paperwork.  Paperwork to fill out before we get to fill out the paperwork for the match.

If you're confused, I don't blame you.  I was a little too.

We are "matched" now, because we've made a verbal agreement to move forward on this adoption plan with Alice* Kelsey [See UPDATE below].  But we have not yet had our official "match meeting", which is the time where we will all sit down together with the counselor and discuss what we each hope for and expect from this open adoption.

In the match meeting we'll talk about contact during the pregnancy, surrounding the birth, and throughout our child's life. We'll discuss letters, emails, photos, visits, and birthday and holiday plans.  And--as this process goes--we will  (of course) fill out ANOTHER form that covers all of those things.

The form we filled out last week is the precursor to this next form.  It's the form that helps Amber and I be sure that we agree on what we want (Spoiler Alert!!....we do.), before we sit down to discuss it with Alice Kelsey in the match meeting. Because, wouldn't that be awkward, if we didn't...

The form we filled out last week was full of questions about what Amber and I envision for the future, and for ours and our child's relationship with his or her birth family.  We came into this process knowing that we wanted openness in our adoption.  We knew it was best for kids, best for birth parents, and ultimately, best for us as people who always want to do what's "best".  We've always known we want our child to have visits with his or her birth parents.  We've always known that we plan to take lots of pictures of our child, and that we'll share those frequently with his or her birth family.  We've always known that we'd welcome our child's birth grandparents, birth aunts, birth uncles, and birth cousins to be a part of our child's life.  And we've especially always hoped that if our child one day has birth siblings, they'd be able to form a special bond with one another as well.

But the logistics of all that?  It's not something we'd spent a lot of time pondering.  When we were talking about a theoretical baby in a hypothetical situation, there aren't really any specifics to discuss.  But now that everything is for real, we can start talking details.

So, last week, Amber and I took a long walk around the neighborhood with the dogs, and talked our way through the pre-match meeting form.  For some reason, we always do our best thinking that way.  Here's a little sampling of how it went:

Rank the following in order of importance, from most important (1) to least important (5)...Letters, Pictures, Emails, Visits, Phone Calls.


Ok easy enough.  But wait, when they say "important" what does that mean?  I mean, visits are probably really important, because you get to spend time together, and we want that. But that won't happen as often, as say emails and pictures.  So, which is more "important"?  Can we just rank them all a 1?  Is that allowed?  Well, except for letters.  Who writes letters anymore?  And where is Facebook?  Why isn't Facebook on this list? They should really put Facebook on this list. I want to start a private Facebook page for our families and the birth parents and their families.  Why isn't that on this list?  Maybe we should call the counselor and find out if Facebook is considered a part of "email" for the purposes of this question.....make a note in the margin, and we'll come back to that one.

If you and the birth parents can agree on visits, how will visits be planned? (i.e., how far in advance, who will take the initiative in planning)


Ummm...ok, we can do that.  We can plan visits.  Oh wait, I don't want to sound like only we can plan visits. Oh god, don't write that down.  They can plan visits too!  I don't really care who plans the visits, as long as there are some visits.  Let's put that anybody can plan visits!  Maybe we can plan visits together!  That seems even better.  Write that down.  How far in advance?  I don't know....like a month?  A couple of weeks?  We'll have to account for plane tickets and work schedules.  That seems reasonable, right?  But wait, that doesn't mean we can only plan things a month ahead.  I mean, birthdays, visits around the holidays....you know those things are coming all year long.  We could commit to those ahead of time.  I don't want to sound unwilling to commit!  This is getting kinda stressful....

Are you willing to send pictures and updates to the birth grandparents?  Will the birth grandparents be called by their first names or by some special term?


Who would be unwilling to send pictures and updates?  That's a ridiculous question.  Why are they even asking us this?  Like someone's going to be like, 'No, you get one picture.  Photocopy it for your families, or just pass it around over the Thanksgiving turkey'.  That's insane.  So fine, yes, agree to that.  That was easy.  Ok, what's the kid going to call them?  Why are they asking us this?  Don't you think they should be asking them this?  It's their names after all.  Why should we care?  I'm fine with their first names.  I'm fine with some nickname they make up.  Shoot, I'm even fine with Bonzi  & Sneaky O'Malley and  if that's what they really, really want.

What will visits with the birth parents look like? __Two to four hours __All day __Overnight __Weekend


Wait...are we ranking things?  No, I think we're just picking.  So, do we have to pick just one of those?  Because it seems to me like different visits would look different.  If they happen to just be passing through town, we might only have a few hours.  But if we fly there or something, we'd obviously be there longer.   Well, it doesn't say we have to pick just one.  I know...let's put a check by all of them!!  And then we'll write in the margin that we are open to all of the above in any combination, depending on individual circumstances of each visit, etc.  Ha! Perfect!  The counselor just said that we couldn't leave anything blank.  She didn't say that we couldn't check all the boxes.  What's she gonna do, mark it wrong?!  

In the end, we finished all 16 questions on the two page form.  We made one very big lap around the neighborhood and we had two very tired dogs in the end.  But, we finished it.  And, we discovered--as we had expected--that we were on the same page about everything anyhow.  But, we also discovered that what we want the most is to be able to work out all of the specifics not just with the two of us, but with Alice Kelsey as well.  Despite all the panic and overthinking we exhibited in filling out our own form, we are actually pretty laid back, pretty relaxed, and pretty easy going about working out the parameters and boundaries of this open adoption.  We don't have hard and fast yes's or no's.  We feel like this is a journey we are all on together, and  we'll all be involved in planning the trip.

So, even though we've done a lot of paperwork already, I'm actually looking forward to filling out this next form. We've had a lot of "officials" and a lot of "beginnings" in this journey already.  But I think this next step is when it will finally all feel real.

x's & o's,

Dame Mirabelle the Bold

*Alice is totally not her real name.  Not even close.  We just haven't talked to her yet about how anonymous or non-anonymous she'd like to be on this here blog.  [UPDATE: Kelsey gave the go ahead for me to use her real name....which is Kelsey, duh.] (Frankly, I'm surprised our agency doesn't have a form for us to fill out about blog identities..."How will you refer to the birth mother on your blog? a) by her name, b) by her first initial, c) by a made-up pseudonym of your choosing, d) by a made-up pseudonym of her choosing, or e) by her official internet-generated drag queen name (Fifi LaRue)." )

The One We've Been Waiting For

Ok, this time the silence means something, my dear reader(s).

Something big.  I've been holding it in.  Rolling it around in my brain, trying to find the words to fully describe the amazing things that have happened in the last few weeks.

They say a picture's worth a thousand words, so here it is:

Yes, seeing is believing!  We've MATCHED!!  

I know...I can hardly believe it either.  Just when we'd settled into convincing ourselves that this might take awhile.  Just after we'd decided to put on a brave face and say ten times a day that it was ok that nobody was calling us.  Just about the time we'd started to face the reality that we may have to buck up and focus on other things, and perhaps our dream of becoming moms would have to go on the back burner for who knows how long.

We got the call.  THE call.  This time it came not from a tentative young woman whispering nervously into her phone, but rather straight from our agency.  The intake coordinator called and let us know she had spoken that afternoon with a young woman who wanted us to be the parents of the child she was carrying.

You could have knocked me over with a feather.  

"Do you want us to show her your profile?", the coordinator asked.  

Is the Pope Catholic?  Do bears poo in the woods?  OF COURSE WE DO.  

To be fair, it wasn't a completely ridiculous question.  This woman lives in a nearby state, where our agency does not have an office.  So, the adoption will involve a little more paperwork and red tape, and some extra fees.  I guess some people have more rigid ideas about what they will or won't deal with in an adoption.  Amber and I aren't those people.  So--in about 2.5 seconds--we agreed that we wanted to move forward and have our profile shown to her.

I am SO GLAD we did.  We could not have asked to be matched with a more amazing person.  We couldn't have imagined a better situation. She is in a relationship with a great guy and they clearly love each other to pieces.  Her family is so supportive of her, of the two of them, and of their adoption plan.  She's smart, she's funny, she's sensitive and she is unimaginably wise beyond her years.  She reminds me a lot of me, actually. (Ha! "She's awesome...just like me!" Modesty has clearly never been my strong suit.)

So, we are excitedly moving forward on this match.  She's due in August, so we have a long time to get to know one another and to plan for the future.  At some point soon we'll have an official match meeting, where we can sit down and really hash out the details of what we each want and expect from this open adoption.  From the little we've discussed it so far though, it seems like we are already on the same page about openness, and I'm thrilled about that.  

Open adoption is the way we chose to build our family because we strongly believe that openness is the best thing for our child.  We want him or her to always know his or her birth parents, how amazing they are, and why they chose us to be parents.  

But, we also chose open adoption because we strongly believe that openness is the best thing for the birth parents, as well.  I'm under no delusion that this process will be easy for them.  It's hard to reconcile the fact that something that will make Amber and I so SO very happy will also be sad and difficult for the very person who is choosing to give us this amazing gift, and making us so happy in the first place.  I want our adoption to be open--to include letters, pictures, and visits--because I want our child and his or her birth parents to get to experience all the wonderful things about one another.  

But, I also want it to be open for a slightly more selfish reason.  I want to experience those things as well.  Amber and I are lucky to have many wonderful people in our lives...our family, our friends, and so many great individuals with whom we've crossed paths over the years.  But, a person who can make this difficult decision at a relatively young age, who has enough maturity and forethought to realize she's not ready to be a parent yet, and who has the bravery and loving heart to put this child's needs and best interest first, and to give us the gift of parenthood, for which we will never stop being grateful.....that's a person I want in MY life forever, too.

x's&o's,

Michelle

First Comes Love.

Tomorrow is our thirteenth anniversary.  Our relationship is a TEENager now.  I can hardly believe it.  It seems like only yesterday we were college kids holding hands in the backseat of a car, on our way to a 5am post-partying greasy breakfast.

Tapestry on the wall, bootleg cassettes? Must be a hippie dorm room.

And now here we are, in our mid-thirties, excitedly awaiting parenthood.

So much has happened between then and now.  We've had so many firsts, shared so many milestones, and grown so much into the couple we are today.  So, in honor of our "Lucky 13th," here's a look back at 13 important moments in our relationship.

1. Our first official date was on Valentine's Day, 1998.  We went to a great Italian restaurant in St Petersburg. Amber's mom, her sisters, and her sisters' cheerleading friends (who were all in town for a competition) were there too.  Now that I think of it, that doesn't sound like much of a first date.  Especially because we hadn't yet told her family that we were dating.  And, actually, it was mostly just nerve wracking and awkward. But, later that evening, back in Amber's dorm, we shared our first kiss.  Awwwwwww.

2. Our senior year in college we got two single rooms in the dorm lottery. They were in neighboring buildings in the same dorm complex.  We dragged the bed from one room into the other, pushed them together, threw a queen sized mattress on top, and called that the "bedroom."  We put two desks, a couch, and a dresser in the other room, and called that the "living room."  Every morning I padded across the dorm courtyard in my pajamas and flip flops to the "living room" where my closet was, to get ready for class.  Thankfully the Florida weather permitted such foolishness.

In our "living room"

3. Amber came home with me to Ohio for the first time over Thanksgiving of our senior year.  We went to see a very amateur local production of The Wizard of Oz.  I picked her out a hideous grey shimmery skirt and a shiny maroon blouse to wear for the occasion. It was the late 90's, ok? At the time, I thought it looked nice. She still hasn't forgiven me for it.

4. The first time I went to visit Amber's family, I horrified everyone by almost stomping barefoot on a roach.  I would have done it, too, if they hadn't all startled me by shrieking.  After living in Borneo for a summer, I wasn't afraid of giant tropical bugs.  When the need arises, I'm still the bug killer in the family.

5.  The first road trip we ever went on together was a 30 hour trip from Tampa to Toledo.  We had just graduated, and Amber was driving back home with me.  We got not one, but two, flat tires.  The first of which took four hours to get fixed, because we stupidly left the rim on the side of the highway, not understanding we were supposed to keep that part for the new tire.  Once we finally made it to my parents' house, Amber fell down the steps carrying the luggage in, and we ended up sitting in the ER all night so she could get her arm X-rayed.  It was the first of many of our ill-fated attempts at travel together.



At college graduation.  Unaware we are about to be stuck in a car for 30 hours.


 6.  Our first apartment together was in Centereach, NY, while we were in graduate school.  The year before, Amber had been in Binghamton, NY, studying archaeology, while I was in Stony Brook, NY studying primatology.  Needless to say, we spent a lot of hours in the car that year, driving the five hours back and forth to visit one another.  So, when her coursework was complete, Amber moved into the one bedroom apartment I had rented in an old house.  It had fabulous indoor/outdoor faux brick carpeting in the kitchen, hideous southwestern styled sponge painting in the bathroom, and the living room was so small that our golden retriever Aurora couldn't even turn around in it.  But, it was ours, and we were together again, at last.

Jerry thought the apartment was roomy.

7.  After we completed our master's degrees and decided PhD's weren't what we wanted out of life anymore, we made our first official move together to Atlanta.  It was 2002, we'd been together 3 1/2 years, and I look back now and realize that this was when we really, officially, without a doubt knew that we were going to be together forever.  Up until that point, we'd been fumbling around a bit, growing up, growing into ourselves, and learning, together, what it takes to be in a relationship.  But, when we packed up our things, rented a house sight unseen over the internet, and headed off to Atlanta without jobs or knowing a single other soul, I knew we were decidedly in this together for the long haul now.

8.  After renting for a year, we bought our first house together.  We picked the quiet, diverse, and friendly city of Pine Lake, in the metro-Atlanta area.  We had met friends who lived there already, and we were instantly intrigued by the quirky cabin homes, beachside community house, and close-knit neighborhood atmosphere.  We've put a lot of time, effort, and old fashioned elbow grease into making this house the home sweet home that it now is.

Enjoying the snow outside our new house!

9.  Once upon a time, shortly after we bought our house, we decided we should have a "ceremony".  Not a "wedding", because those aren't legal for us in Georgia, but a "ceremony" at least; a celebration of our love and commitment in front of family and friends.  We talked about bridesmaids, wedding cakes, reception halls, and honeymoons.  We bought bridal magazines...ok, I bought bridal magazines.  I looked at gorgeous dresses, and imagined what they would look like on me.  But in the end, it all seemed very complicated, very expensive and somewhat unnecessary, really.  We didn't need a party to prove to our family and friends we were in love.  We just wanted a symbol of our commitment to one another, for one another.  So, in the end, we decided to forgo the ceremony and bought rings for one another instead.  We've worn them every day since. I still have the card that Amber gave me that day, standing in our living room, that reads: "Will you be my Mrs. forever?"

10. In 2006, we attended a seminar called "Maybe Baby" that was organized by a local group for gay families.  It was our first foray into the world of possible parenthood.  We like to plan ahead.  Like, way ahead.  Back then, we had yet to decide how we were going to build a family, but we had made the decision that family-building was in our future.  I was still in nursing school, Amber was working her way up at Georgia State, and we knew we weren't yet in a place to raise a child.  But, we were starting to look forward to the day we would be.

11.  I had to have back surgery for a herniated disk in 2007.  It was supposed to be a relatively simple procedure, but I ended up having a complication called an ileus.  Basically, my intestines didn't wake up after the surgery as quickly as they should have, so my belly swelled up like I was 7 months pregnant, and I was literally puking my guts out.  Horrid, right?  You have no idea.  I was in the hospital for almost a week until things righted themselves.  Poor Amber and my mom rotated sleeping crunched up in a chair next to my hospital bed.  After the first two days in the hospital, Amber had to drive home and get more clothes and things.  She was so worried about me (and also probably sleep deprived), that she rushed out of the house and left the door standing wide open.  Not just unlocked.  Wide open.  Five days later, when I was finally released from the hospital, we came home and discovered it.  It's a testament to our neighborhood that not a single thing was gone.

12. We celebrated our 10th anniversary together in beautiful Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.  We are the queens of weekend road trips.  We love visiting funky Asheville, NC, spending a weekend in a cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains, relaxing on the beaches near Savannah, GA, or  taking a quick trip to Orlando or Ohio to visit family.  But, we had never taken a full-on week long international vacation together before.  We lived it up...shopping, beaching, fiesta-ing, eating, swimming in our resort's infinity pool.  It was a vacation for the ages.   The first half, at least.  Then Amber got food poisoning and ended up in a Mexican hospital.  Good times.  She survived though (obviously), and at least we have a great story to tell.  Or something....

!Feliz Aniversario!

13. [Any guesses what this one is gonna be? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?]  Last year, we joined the Independent Adoption Center, and officially began our journey to parenthood togther.  [You guessed it, didn't you?!  So smart, my reader(s)...]  I know that this is exactly the right time in our relationship for us to be parents.  Looking back, it's easy to see that we've been in love forever, and we've been committed to each other and our relationship for a very long time. But would we have been ready to be parents at 20 years old, when we first met?  No way.  At 26, when we were settling down and growing up?  Probably not.  But here and now?  Definitely.

I'm proud of our relationship.  I'm proud of the commitment we've made to each other, the effort we put into making our relationship work, and the love, laughter, and fun that fills our daily life together.  Most of all, I feel proud and lucky to be able to honestly say that after thirteen years together, we are still in love, and we are still each other's best friend.

Happy Anniversary Mrs.  I love you.

x's&o's,

Michelle