The Anthropologists' Daughter

My dad is an anthropologist.  His profession now is college dean, but he'll always be an anthropologist.  I'm a nurse and Amber is a director of a university office, but we'll always be anthropologists too, deep down. My mom is a retired speech pathologist, but after being with my dad for over 40 years (they started dating when they were sixteen...awwww!), she's pretty much an anthropologist too.  She's certainly logged enough hours on archaeological sites, organizing artifacts in the labs, and attending my dad's talks (both the formal and the impromptu ones that occur when he reads something interesting and just has to share...), to have some sort of honorary degree conferred.  Oddly enough, we have also discovered that some of our closest friends in adulthood were once anthropology majors way back when, too.

Playing in the dirt at one of my dad's archaeological sites.

Anthropology is more than a career, a college major, or a degree. It's a paradigm that has affected the way we see the world.  It's about recognizing humanity's connection to other living things, and how close we are to our evolutionary kin.  It's about recognizing people's connections to one another, celebrating our differences, but highlighting the many more ways in which we are all the same.  It's about accepting the fact that what your society, your religion, or even your parents tell you isn't any more "true" or "right" than what the society, religion, or parents of some child on the other side of the globe is telling him.

Some people are raised Baptist, or Jewish, or Italian, or even UGA Dawgs fan.  We all have something that underlies the core of our family identity. I don't know whether they planned it or not, but my parents raised me "anthropologist."  They taught me that religion helps people feel safe and comfortable in an unpredictable and sometimes scary world.  They taught me that people who do things or see things differently than we do aren't better or worse, they are just simply different.  They taught me that our culture shapes the way we see the world, whether we realize it or not.

Some of my favorite days of the year when I was a kid were the ones I spent tagging along to work with my dad.  Even at 9 years old, I was convinced given the right outfit and a stylishly carried purse, I could blend right in with his college students.  I'd sit in the front of the classroom and color in my notebook while my dad lectured.  I'd nod along as he told stories I'd heard before at the dinner table, and know the answers even before some of his students did.  We'd get Pepsi's and Hershey's with Almonds from the snack machines, and I'd marvel at the dusty books and artifacts lining his office walls during his office hours. We'd walk across campus, hand in hand, to the dining hall where we'd eat lunch with the other faculty members.  At the end of the day we'd drive the hour back home together in the blue Mustang, listening to Billy Joel or the soundtrack to Top Gun.  From a very young age, I was sold on being a lifelong learner, and these day trips to college life only cemented my plan to become an egghead.

My dad is dressed in traditional Balinese clothing for a lecture.
I have no excuse, this is just what I looked like in the late 1980's.

But life as an anthropologist's daughter came not only with day trips to college campuses, it came also with summer-long trips to the other side of the world.  I spent the summers after my 7th and 8th grade years in Tianjin, China.  My parents were teaching English to Chinese college professors who would soon be coming to the United States on foreign scholar exchanges, and I was along for the experience.  And what an experience it was.

Some of the officials from Tianjin Normal University, visiting  us in Ohio

Junior high can be a rough time for puny, smart girls with a penchant for glasses way too big for her face.  (Or, you know, so I've heard...) Elementary school is warm and safe, with only thirty kids per class and always at least one teacher looking for a pet.  Things in junior high get complicated.  Social orders are thrown into upheaval as the various elementary school cliques break apart and form anew.  A new super order of coolness is created.  Suddenly, everyone is whispering about which girls are wearing bras, and who's allowed to wear make-up.  Your gym clothes absolutely have to be carried in a blue plastic Gap bag. Status is measured by the number of tattered ski lift tickets on your J. Crew jacket zipper.  And if you don't know how to make those little knotted coils at the end of your Eastland's shoelaces, well, you might as well just go barefoot (Where the eff was THIS when I was in junior high?!  The internet solves everything.)

I'm not a big one for 'counting blessings', per se.  But among the fortuitous things that have shaped the very core of who I am, I rank spending my most angst-y, gangly, awkward pre-pubescent summers in China up there at the top.

My parents and I lived together in a dingy two-room dormitory suite.  I slept on a cot, all of our water had to be boiled, and the pillows were actually sacks of rice.  We rode borrowed one-speed bicycles everywhere.   I spent afternoons playing on old gymnastic parallel bars in a dusty field, and we ate in the dormitory dining room most nights.  It was not glamorous, but I loved every last minute of it  (Ok, the first night I cried.  But after that....every. last. minute.)

I also attended my parents' English classes, and served as an example of American youth.  Everyone was fascinated by me, and I was fascinated by them.  We visited their homes, shopped in their stores and markets, and enjoyed evening visits together to beautiful gardens and amusement parks.  I even tutored one of the college officials' son during the day, teaching him the English words for numbers and colors using my home made flashcards and lesson plans.  Although we did visit all of China's great historical sites and tourist attractions, this was not your typical tourist sightseeing trip.  This was cultural immersion at its best.  This was my chance to finally experience what my parents had been telling me all along.  At the core, we're all just people.  Our differences make us interesting, not weird or wrong.  Things are just things, and money certainly doesn't buy happiness.

With my sassy friend, Chen.
(note recurrent theme of my interesting outfit choices)

Neither Amber's job nor mine is likely to require us (and pay for us...) to head off to far flung corners of the globe anytime soon.  And, neither one of us is tasked with teaching college courses.  Although, I can't promise that yakking endlessly about things I'm passionate about ( e.g., nursing, women's health, health policy, public health) to a captive audience of young, malleable minds won't someday be a part of my career trajectory.  But, if we have any say in the matter (and, um, I'm pretty sure we do) education and travel will definitely be two of the cornerstones of our daughter's childhood.

Amber works on a large university campus, and we take full advantage of all the benefits that come with that.  From the university swim club, to the free cinema showings, to cultural and political events and lectures, and even the occasional college football game, we use that coveted staff ID of hers every chance we get.  We can't wait for our child to get to experience all those great things along with us.  Our daughter will also go to pre-school right on the campus where Amber works.  Amber will be able to visit whenever she wants throughout the day, and can also steal her away for some "Take Your Daughter to Work" time now and then.  I can't wait for our little one to marvel at the excitement of a college campus the way I once did (ok, let's be honest, "still do").

Travel is another thing that we can't wait to share with our child. Seeing the other side of the world changes you (for the better).  Amber's been to Italy, France, Switzerland, Costa Rica and Nicaragua.  Besides China, I've also been to Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Spain, and Borneo.  But lately, we haven't had a chance to travel much.  Life, and home ownership, and jobs tend to get in the way.  But when our child is old enough to enjoy it, we can't wait to get back on the travel horse.  We'd love to take her to Italy to see where Amber's family is from, and to meet some of her relatives who still live in Sicily.  I also can't wait to show her the rainforests of Central America, to teach her a few words of Spanish, and to introduce her to the haunting mystery of the little monkeys I used to chase through the forest.

Even though anthropology isn't a part of our careers anymore, it will always be a part of who we both are.  So yes, we too will raise our daughter "anthropologist".  College campuses and trips to far off lands are a part of that.  But, the most important part is the most basic part. It's the everyday things we'll do in little ways to teach her to appreciate (not judge) people, to acknowledge (not fear) difference, and to celebrate (not denigrate) uniqueness.  Because in the end, as my favorite childhood book about anthropologist Margaret Mead proclaimed, there is no greater value than simply understanding.

x's & o's,

Michelle

Having a Moment

A few weeks ago, we got the opportunity to see some pictures from Kelsey's ultrasound.  She shared three wonderful pictures with us, and it was absolutely amazing to see.  Amazing and overwhelming in a way that makes you catch your breath and whisper "ohmygod...that looks just like a baby."

It was an awesome day.  A life-changing day.  One of those days where you realize, this is one of those days I will remember forever.  It was an exciting day, to be sure.  But if we were doing that free association therapy thing, where you blurt out whatever comes to your mind (my general technique for blogging, as well), my string of words would have been something like this:

Woah. Baby. Real. OMG. Not an Eggplant. Yikes. Kelsey. Soon. Wow. Gonna be Parents. Dandelion. Lake. Tree.

Ok, those last three are because we were doing what we always do when we are thinking deep thoughts--walking the dogs--and when my brain gets too full, sometimes I short circuit and get distracted by my surroundings.

What I actually said out loud, I'm pretty sure was something awesomely eloquent like this:

"Wow. This is, um, like, for real.  Like, FOR REAL, for real."

I mean, surely we knew that.  Surely, after over a year of signing papers, taking pictures, making websites and blogs, attending support groups, hiring graphic designers, and fielding emails and calls from a number of women considering adoption, we knew there would someday be a baby at the end of the tunnel.  And if not then, then definitely when Kelsey found us, when she chose us, when she and Aaron met us in the agency office for the match meeting and she was, you know, pregnant, certainly then we realized where this was all headed.

And of course, in part, we did.  We've been planning a nursery, preparing a registry, and scouring baby name lists for months now.  But somehow, seeing the ultrasound really drove home the reality of it all.  And, from the intensive surveying we've been doing of all of our friends who have ever had babies, we've found out that pretty much everyone has that "ultrasound moment" at one point or another. Everyone has a moment where the fact that there is, in fact, a baby growing in there becomes abundantly clear.

And this was our moment.

Am I right?!  JUST. LIKE. A. BABY. 

x's & o's,

Michelle

Sugar & Puppy Dog Tails

When we first told people we were starting the adoption process, the most common question we heard was "Can you pick whether it's a boy or girl?".  (Close second and third...."Wow...how much does that cost?" and "Oh...from China?")  Now that we are matched, the first question we get is "Do you know whether she's having a boy or girl?," and the second is "Well, when will you find out?".

Well, dear readers, dear questioners one and all....the answers are now "Yes." and "Today."  Oh you are all atwitter, aren't you?  It's a g....reat, strong heartbeat!  It's a b....eautiful, healthy baby!

Relax, I'm going to tell you. But first you have to read my thoughts on gender and children.  And no skipping ahead to the end.  I'm watching you...

There's actually been a lot of talk lately in pop culture news about gender and babies.  In case you missed it, some parents in Toronto have decided not to reveal the sex of their newborn, and plan to raise the child essentially without gender.  There has been all sorts of media firestorm over it, much of which includes bad puns about the baby's (bad) name, "Storm."

Now, I can understand the desire to try to protect your child from gender stereotypes.  Put a pink hat on a baby in the nursery at work, and it's all "Look at that princess!", "What beautiful eyelashes!", and "Oh Daddy, watch out when she's sixteen, the boys are gonna come a-knocking!".  Blue hat on the same kid, and suddenly it becomes "Who's a handsome boy?", "Oh, aren't you a strong little guy, grabbing my finger like that!", and "Oh hush now, don't cry, that shot didn't hurt you".  It's not right, it's not accurate, but it's so ingrained, hardly anyone bats an eye at the underlying messages that are being sent.

But the truth of the matter is, for the vast majority of us, gender is a part of who we are.  Some people's gender may not match their sex.  Other people are comfortable in their gender, but not comfortable in the very strict parameters society tries to place upon that gender.  And yes, many people are quite comfortable in their gender, their expression of that gender sits solidly within what society dictates, and they probably never give it a second thought.  But forcing a baby into a genderless box seems no better than forcing the same baby into a  strictly gendered box.

I was a very gendered child.  I loved ballet, and twirled around the living room in my nightgown to the sounds of my music box, performing mini-recitals for my parents each night before bed.  They wisened up and put me in ballet class soon after.  My favorite toys were my beloved Barbie dolls, and I built an entire world for them throughout my room.  My mom's one requirement was that I clear a path from the door to my bed at night, so she wouldn't break her neck tripping over Barbies if she had to come in in the dark to console me after a nightmare.  When she tried to encourage me to go outside, get dirty, and play in the summer sun, I brought my Barbies with me, and pretended they were on lush tropical vacation in the front yard.  I was terrible at riding my bike.  I hated anything involving throwing, catching, or a competitive edge.  I cried when my mom told me I'd have to wear pants to school one day a week in first grade, because we were going to start having this horrible thing called "gym class".  I loved playing dress up, both as a game and in my daily clothing choices.

Still today, I take pride in matching my purse to my shirt to my shoes, and am bemused by my friends who comment on it, thinking it was a sheer coincidence.  I gave up my Barbie collection decades ago, but I still love decorating the house, and would like planting flowers (aka decorating the yard) a whole lot more if there weren't so much physical exertion involved.

And yet, on the regular, Amber says to me "You are such a dude."

And she's right.  In so much as my outer persona is very feminine, my internal workings skew a little more typically masculine.  I not only leave my dirty dishes in the sink, I don't even see that they are there.  I have learned to make frantic runs around the house on my days off, fifteen minutes before Amber comes home, to reverse the damage of Hurricane Michelle....underwear and towel on the bathroom floor; three pairs of shoes in the middle of the living room; dishes from lunch AND breakfast still on the table next to the computer.  And I promise, if I pee'd standing up, I would most definitely leave the seat up when I was done.  But, I'm not just a slob.  I'm also very pragmatic, prefer logic over emotion, and don't spend much time worrying about what other people think of me.  I've never thought I was bad at math, or that science was off limits to me as a career.  In fact, I was in college before I found out that some people thought women couldn't do anything and everything that men could do, and even then, I wasn't entirely convinced.

In respect to genderedness, Amber is--as with most things--my exact opposite.  I often think this is why we make such a perfect couple.  For every action we are each other's equal and opposite reaction, each other's yin and yang, each other's "split apart", so to speak.

Amber's worst childhood memory was being forced to dance to "I Heard it Through the Grapevine" in a ballet recital (an opportunity I would have relished!).  Instead she loved team sports, from soccer to basketball, to her beloved softball.  She's broken 13 bones in her life, in part because she's clumsy, but also because she was just an active child.  We both had skateboards as a child.  Amber actually skated on hers, and broke a wrist in the process.  I laid on mine on my belly, and rolled around the basement practicing various ice dancing poses, no real safety risk there.  Amber loved video games and Micro Machines.  Sure, she treated her Micro Machines like baby dolls, named them, and made them into families (Now that I think of it, I'm pretty sure Disney owes her some royalties on that whole "Cars" phenomenon), but they were among her favorite toys, nonetheless.

But for as much as I'm a "dude", Amber is the quintessential "girl" on the inside.  She is more sensitive, more emotional, and more in tune with other people's feelings than I am.  She is a domestic goddess, far surpassing me in skills of cooking, cleaning, and general homemaking.  She is friendly, and chatty, and warm with most everyone she meets.  She may wear cargo shorts all summer long, but her legs are always slathered in some scented lotion, and she's been known to jump up in the middle of the night to go shave her legs because she can't stand the feel of stubble.  Her hair is always perfectly coiffed, and she runs through more hairspray in a single day than I do in an entire month.

We have been so looking forward to finding out whether this child is a boy or a girl.  Not because we were hoping for one or the other.  Not because it would change much of anything about the way we parent.  But, simply because we are excited for the next step in this process, for one more thing to know about this child.

Either way, between the two of us, I think we have this child and all the various expressions of gender covered.  For us, video games aren't just for boys.  Gymnastics isn't just for girls.  Yellow is a great favorite color for any child, and so is purple.  Reading is for every child.  Play kitchens, art tables, and mini basketball hoops fit in well in any nursery.  And above all else, whatever our child's interests, talents, and desires are, those are the things we will celebrate and encourage.

Not only can you grow up to be whatever you want, you can be whatever you want while you're growing up, too.

For our daughter, those will be words to live by.

x's and o's,

Michelle

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