adoption

I don’t want you to be grateful: a letter from your (adoptive) mother

People are going to tell you you’re lucky. They already have. They look at you and look at me and know I’m your adoptive mother. And they tell you you’re lucky. Don’t listen to them.

You never have to feel grateful for your adoption. We don’t have to have special gratitude for something that is inherently ours. And my love? That’s yours. It was yours before we met. It will be yours when time is gone. It was, and is, your right to have. My love for you is something I want to be so part of your being that it doesn’t cross your mind to even contemplate its existence. Take it for granted. Assume it will always be there. Because it will.

how to kill a blog, part one (or guilt about becoming part of the noise that drowns out the voices we should be listening to)

I abandoned this blog to wither for several reasons. The first has to do with guilt. Last summer I had a post that went a little “viral” in some adoptive parent communities. It was about waiting moms. I should have put “parents” because I got so much grief for leaving the dads out. For the record I wrote it about myself and a few moms I’ve become close too. It wasn’t meant to be the end all be all of explaining things. It was []

the story that didn’t start with me (birth & adoption and honoring their story)

It’s so easy, too easy really to slip into thinking I’m telling them their stories when really I’m telling them mine. Because their stories don’t begin with the moment I heard about them, the moment that first picture made my heart go pitter patter, or the moment I met them. Their story begins with them. With their mother and father and the moment they were created. Their next nine months wrapped inside their mother. As close as two humans can be. Then []

dear friends of waiting adoptive moms: some things to know (also, we’re sorry)

1. Your friend is not crazy. (She is adopting.) There is, I will admit, a fine line between those two but still it’s good to remember. The international adoption of a child requires enough paperwork to kill a small forest. And more governmental red tape than you can believe. Imagine your longest, most frustrating trip to the DMV. Now quadruple that, add in twelve more governmental agencies in two countries, and remember it’s not a driver’s license you’re waiting for but the []

two years ago – the email that made us a family

It was just an email. Just one silly email. Ninety five words. And without it we wouldn’t be a family. Sometimes I think of that and I can’t bear it. Can’t bear the thought that ninety-five words were the difference between him being my son and us never meeting. When you build your family through adoption you are infinitely aware of the fragility of life and love, and yes, even family. Family –  that thing that should be a physically eternal presence []

one month together

He’s really here. I have remind myself of that a few times a day. I’ll have him on my lap, cuddling his little body in my arms and it will hit me: this is real, we’re together. It happened. During the process of waiting I held a duel reality in my head and in my heart: he’s mine, he might never be mine. Loving without knowing is a different kind of love. It’s a deep, pounding, fight-to-the-end kind of love that doesn’t []