When Adoption isn't Wonderful

Growing up, I wanted to be a mother. I did not desire to do anything else but be a wife and mom. I got married at age 21 and one year later my husband and I were told children would not be a part of our future unless we tried some expensive things, and even then it was not a guarantee. I grieved that. I grieved the loss of my fertility, the loss of my childhood dream, the loss of all the children I wanted and would not have. People asked us, "Why don't you just adopt?" Don't say that, by the way, to someone who is infertile. It is rude, unkind, and only demonstrates a lack of knowledge and empathy for their heartache.

Why did we not "just adopt". It sounded so simple, find a kid who needs a home, fill out a few forms, and voila! Instant family. There are so many children available and waiting for a family. Sure they may have some issues, but all kids have issues. With enough love and stability and consistency, everything will work out and be fine. You will all be grateful for one another.

After my husband and I were married 7 years, we decided to pursue foster parenting. We were placed with over 23 children in the 4 years we were foster parents. It was an amazing time that really taught me a lot. Two of those children we would eventually adopt. They were 5 and 10 months when we got them. You would think, well I thought, that if you got a child young like they were, then everything would be okay and eventually adjustments would be made and everything would be awesome.

You know that lady in the news that sent her kid back to Russia with a note pinned to him? I am not saying that was the right thing to do, but I know how she got to that point.

I know how it is to raise a child that refuses to do a thing that she is told, unless she can clearly see how it will benefit her, and even then it is questionable.

I know how it is to have a child yell at you because you expect them to do something as silly as their homework or clean up after themselves.

I know how it is to be slightly afraid to go to sleep at night because you really don't know what is going to happen when you are sleeping.

I know how it is to wake up mad before the day even starts. It is an anger that pervades your entire being and you can't talk yourself out of it and it doesn't wear off and fade away with time.

I know how it is to be tired. I am not talking about physical tiredness, although that is a part of it, I am talking about a mental and emotional tiredness that rivals the tiredness of someone who hasn't slept in three days. There is an exhaustion that can not be contained and it bleeds into every part of your life.

I know how it is to live with someone who makes you question your sanity.

I know how it is to live with a child that doesn't just lie, but is incapable of telling the truth.

I know how it is question and wonder at motives behind every good deed because you know you are being manipulated in some way or are being set up to be manipulated.

I know how it is to have more therapy appointments than you know how to juggle and then be told that those therapy appointments are going to happen *daily*.

I know how it is to question how you can give another dollar, another second of your time, another ounce of energy and more of your heart towards a cause that seems to be lost.

I know how it is to know that no matter how desperately you want to fix someone, that there is nothing you can do, because that child doesn't see the problem in themselves, only their circumstances, and therefore they only choose to try to control their circumstances rather than themselves.

I know how it is to have guilt nearly eat you up because, somehow or another, this has got to be your fault. I am the mom, the fixer of dinner, boo boos and life in general. I should be able to fix this. Why can I not fix this?

I wish I knew what to say to those parents that are engaged in this same struggle. I only know to say that I am praying for myself, my family and my fellow adoptive parents. I am regularly crying out to God on our behalfs for mercy and for peace.

I am praying for healing for my child, who has been hurt with severe hurts by the birth family that was supposed to love her and protect her.

When adoption is good, it is very good. When it is hard, it is very hard. For some people, it is always hard and everyday is a trial. It is hard to be reminded *everyday* that you are not enough. For some people it is a reminder that no matter how much you want to love and help and show God's mercy and grace, that you are not God.

Thankfully, I know who God is. I know that He is capable of healing my broken, hurting child. I know that He is the restorer of relationships and righteousness and the healer of all hurts. I know that He authors forgiveness and He alone digs up roots of bitterness. Even though I want Him to do all this now, I know He will do this in His time for willing souls. I pray for that willingness for me and my child.

Perfect Parenting

No one prepared me for children.  I did think that after a full 10 years of infertility, praying and essentially begging God for them, that I was ready.  I read every manual, handbook, and website I came across that concerned child rearing.  I spoke with other mothers as if I had real knowledge about all things children and childhood.  I pitied them in both their successful and futile efforts of parenting their kids.  Pitied their success because surely, it was dumb luck that got the results, as they did not do what I would have done according to the all knowing book writers and of course common sense.  Pitied their failures because their first mistake was to *not* ask me for advice.  They just did not know the expert that I was, and could not be, because of our misfortune to be unable to reproduce our own offspring.
 
HA!

Then I picked up my first baby.  A 10 month old bouncing baby boy, whose birthmother, in a moment of wisdom mingled with desperation, grief, and despair, placed him for adoption.  As I took this child in my arms, I imagined I could feel her loss and felt so sorry that I was gaining from her pain.  But, this was the baby I dreamed of and I was going to do this parenting thing perfectly.

Yes, Game On!

We took our baby home, put together his “Nursery in a Box”, while he watched on from a high chair, and began our foray into the world of parenting.  At this point in time, my only “real life” experience with parenting consisted of the afore mentioned books, and my year and a half of being a foster parent.  The foster parenting experience did lend itself to increasing my knowledge of parenting, but I was parenting the way that the State of Tennessee told me to.  There is a remarkable difference.  I did not feel the weight of responsibility, the burden that knowing that, yes, yes you can screw you child up for the rest of their life, and that only after years of therapy and multiple Oprah appearances can they ever be “normal” or “happy.”  I just did what I felt was right in my heart. For me this consisted of me constantly carrying the 1 year old girl, that I currently had courtesy of the state, around on my hip.  I did not worry that I was going to spoil her, did not worry that she was going to expect to be treated like a princess at 12, and did not worry about anything I had read in a book.  I just did what felt “natural”, within the boundaries the state of Tennessee set for me as her foster mother.  (I probably would have even tried to lactate and feed her breastmilk, but the state would have certainly frowned on that.)

Yay! This living life thing is fun! Now, servant mommy, pick me up!

My son did not receive that luxury.  He was loved and deeply cherished. But I felt the responsibility for him to “turn out right” to not “spoil” him and to “do it right.”  I did not do what came naturally for me, which looks more like attachment parenting.  I let him “cry it out”, put him to sleep and fed him at the appointed times.  I did not hold him all the time, even though I was desperate to do so.  I refused to let him whine or fuss about things.  I confess, I was hard on him.

Then, I got pregnant.  This is where some may think, “That always happens when someone adopts.”  Let me assure you, it doesn’t always happen, and as a matter of fact, rarely happens.  When you say this, it also cheapens adoption and it insinuates that adoption is a means to an end, suggesting that we only adopted to achieve pregnancy.  That is certainly not the case.  Anyway, I was fully aware during my pregnancy, that this was probably the only time that I would ever be pregnant, the only other baby I would ever have, and I threw the idea of perfection out the window.  I was going to enjoy it, darn it.  I chose to live every moment of my pregnancy (save the 40th week) in joy and satisfaction.  I knew that there were no guarantees that I would actually bring a baby home (my sister says I was jaded). So, I had pregnancy pictures taken, I took pictures of my pregnant self every week, talked about being pregnant to the point, I may have run off a few friends, and just generally lived in a constant state of gratitude.

This was a couple days before I delivered, I briefly considered putting was I was actually thinking while this picture was being taken, but you go running from the blog saying, "My eyes!" So, dear reader, I will not traumatize you with the reality that was this picture... *snicker*

I delighted in every ultrasound, cried every time we got to hear the heartbeat, and reveled in the attention and glory that pregnancy bestows on otherwise boring and plain women.  I bought an entire wardrobe of maternity clothes, started wearing them almost immediately and perfected the pregnancy waddle very early on.  Even though pregnancy was extraodinarily hard on my 30+ year old body, I relished the experience. 
Then, I brought home the baby.


I know!  So stinking cute!

 I knew from seeing the differences in the my son and my foster daughter, in terms of confidence, security, our bond, and general disposition, that I had indeed failed my son miserably.  I had already been moving to rectify the errors my perfectionist ways had caused, and was working on bonding more with my son.  I know enough not to continue repeating bad ideas, and knew that the way I parented my daughter was a far better “fit” for me.  Besides, I could not have put this new baby down, even if I wanted to, which I didn’t.  I did not worry about spoiling her, I was just so GRATEFUL that she was here, that I determined to live every day in the gratefulness that I had.  I put aside the desire to do everything “right” and decided to do what I felt my God & my heart told me to do.

Kids have this habit about them.  They all grow and change, and you as a parent have to grow and change.  That first little girl I mentioned, has an older sister.  She is now 11.  She is one of the girliest girls you will ever meet. 

I am so girlie! I love all things frou frou and fluffy and princess...

The other day I walked by the bathroom and smelled singed hair and sweat, I glanced in and my beautiful preteen was trying to flat iron her very kinky curly hair into straightened submission.  I tried to give her instruction on the “proper way” but she is determined that her way is best.  She popped out of the bathroom for a quick break from torturing fixing her hair, and asked, “Hey Mom? Can I get my eyebrows waxed?” I think her eyebrows are beautiful.  My first response was to laugh hysterically and say no, I can’t even get my OWN brows waxed, but I did not.  I took a deep breath, reminded myself that she was getting bigger and told her that I would pluck them for her.  After answering her questions about the procedure and assuring her that ripping your eyebrow hairs out by their roots did, in fact, hurt like.. Well, that, she declined.  She then asked about having a new face.  She is obviously beautiful, so why in the world does she want a new face?  She said that she wanted to look like the model on the front of the make up book.  The model has the perfect, botoxed to frozeness, look of serene happiness on her face.  So, I see in my daughter the desire to be what she considers perfect, and I want to hold on to her as tightly as I can and keep her from a quest that will be never ending.  I want her to know that she is perfect the way she is, and when she accepts that, she will find a level of peace that not many others can say they have.
 
I ended up adopting the little baby girl and her older sister.  Now I am the proud parent of four of the most beautiful children you have ever laid eyes on.   I want to live in peace about the way I parent. I don’t want to feel resentful of my kids or their demands on me because I am their mother and I am defined by that and that is okay.  I will never achieve an award from Parents magazine for being the perfect parent, for coming up with the newest discipline technique that “really works”, or have kids that always behave and make the right choices. Above all, I have to do what I feel is best for my children and live in peace with that.

This is my life - And I am thankful....