As I scrambled to grab Baby X, keys, lunch and coffee to get out the door and go to work, S called from the road: "We aren't going to work today." I brought Baby X to day care, called work to tell my supervisor I wasn't coming in, rushed home, changed into comfortable clothes and packed an overnight bag. S called his supervisor, turned the truck around, and called his parents to know that they needed to pick up Baby X from daycare. We met at home, excited, nervous and frantically making sure that we had all the logistics worked out.
At about 9:30am we met our caseworker at the hospital and went up to D's room to visit. She looked exhausted (Axton was born very early in the morning) and we were extremely nervous. We asked if we could hold him, and she nodded. He was pretty darn cute in that just-born kind of way. She asked what we were planning on naming him and we told her. She said she liked it. We met the social worker at the hospital briefly and our caseworker helped us get settled as it were, saying that if we needed anything we should let her know. We thought we had it. We would let Axton stay with D as much as she wanted to and mostly spend time with them together. Little did we know that we were embarking on a difficult hospital stay (our caseworker's words as we have no experience other than this one).
I felt too weird the first night to ask if we could have him in our room, and then the second night, D and her family kept us out of her room except to say goodnight. That's when we started freaking out. The nurse on duty assured us that her grieving process was typical and that it was a good sign that she had started to recognize what was happening rather than being shut down and not dealing with the feelings as she had the first day.
We should have freaked out. We should have called our caseworker that night and told her to get cradle care (temporary foster care) set up. We should have told our caseworker the next day that we were too uncomfortable to bring Axton home. But D insisted that she knew that this was the best thing to do given her rocky situation and what she had been through trying to raise her daughter by herself. She knew she was going to be sad, but also knew that we were going to see her soon (yes, she had to trust us on that, but we don't renege on our agreements).
Should've, should've, should've. You know when you have a gut feeling and you ignore it? I ignored my gut. How do I know I ignored my gut? Because one year later, I can clearly remember and still feel like I was there...the moment in the hospital cafeteria working through paperwork that I felt like something was wrong. That he wasn't our baby. But I pushed it away, trusting that D's caseworker, and our caseworker could read the situation better given their detachment. We were an emotional mess - excited, scared, sad, who knew if what I was feeling was really something or just me being kind of a wreck in a situation that was unfamiliar?
And so, I continue to beat myself up for not speaking up. For not taking the stand that something just didn't feel right about taking him home. For not realizing that the interactions I had with D showed me much more than she was revealing to her caseworker. It's a struggle to convince myself that I didn't know that we would be bringing Axton back to the agency 3 days after taking him home from the hospital.
One year ago today. I embarked on a week long journey that ended horribly. That changed my perspective on adoption. I still grieve today for that little baby I held and showed to Baby X, my parents, S's parents, the picture I emailed to a coworker. I grieve that our family-building journey was almost over and then it was yanked away with a phone call. I grieve for me and S in that we have been broken by both the infertility and adoption processes. Any call about a match now will only result in anxiety and fear until we know for sure that the baby will be ours. There's no room for joy when we know how fast it can be pulled away, again.
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Thursday, May 29, 2014
Thursday, May 22, 2014
Radio Silence
I don't often go two weeks or more without posting, but at this time I don't have much to say. On Mother's Day I turned 40. There were no placements in April so we're stalled out on the adoption front. My workload is light (partly in anticipation of me going on leave) and that has been hellish as I arrive every day, sit down and wonder what the hell I'm going to do today. Then, because I'm so light, and can't even seem to concentrate on the few tasks I have to do. It's a weird conundrum I find myself in when this happens. Any time I don't have enough to do, I lose it productivity-wise, and when I'm drowning in work I'm frustrated that I can't put enough time in to do as thorough a job as I want. blah.
As far as turning 40. Well, what the hell ever.
We've now reached our one year anniversary of our failed placement with Baby A. Oh screw it, we named him Axton. I loved that name and now we can't use it. At this time last year we had met D and were waiting for him to arrive. Enduring another failed placement in March and no movement in the pool in April has made me completely shut down. More than once I've brought up dropping out and giving up on having another baby. S isn't ready to do that, so we wait and dread the next phone call. I'm currently existing in this really weird place of cursing the end of the day when we haven't gotten a phone call and fatalistically thinking it's never going to happen. We are supposed to be nesting and getting everything ready for the day that the magical phone call comes, but I can't bring myself to bother. The attic I said I was going to organize is just as bad or worse as it was in February. Sure, we have all the stuff for baby, but all that stuff needs to be washed and organized after being stored in bins for so long. Nope. Not doing it. Don't care.
As far as turning 40. Well, what the hell ever.
We've now reached our one year anniversary of our failed placement with Baby A. Oh screw it, we named him Axton. I loved that name and now we can't use it. At this time last year we had met D and were waiting for him to arrive. Enduring another failed placement in March and no movement in the pool in April has made me completely shut down. More than once I've brought up dropping out and giving up on having another baby. S isn't ready to do that, so we wait and dread the next phone call. I'm currently existing in this really weird place of cursing the end of the day when we haven't gotten a phone call and fatalistically thinking it's never going to happen. We are supposed to be nesting and getting everything ready for the day that the magical phone call comes, but I can't bring myself to bother. The attic I said I was going to organize is just as bad or worse as it was in February. Sure, we have all the stuff for baby, but all that stuff needs to be washed and organized after being stored in bins for so long. Nope. Not doing it. Don't care.
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
Closure = Triggers
I feel like triggers is something negative to say, but then again, sometimes, it might be an opportunity for release and reflection.
That's what the documentary "Closure" was for me.
S and I hosted a local transracial adoptive family gathering to see this film, and as luck (irony, the universe????) would have it, I ended up going alone. For the first time, we asked X's first-mom to babysit while we went out, and she had some issues that came up that precluded her from being able to come over.
Starving, because of a raw-food experiment isn't going as awesomely as I had hoped, and running late, I ran into the independent theater, said hi to a couple people then hit the popcorn counter and the bar. Hellooo dinner.
Anyway, it didn't matter that we sat in a group or not, as I (and many others I gather) had a profound and personal experience in watching this film. It tells the story of Angela Tucker, a transracial adoptee raised in a white town in Washington. The focus of the documentary is on her search for her birth family as her adoption was closed. Many of her adoptive family participated closely in the search, as well as her husband Bryan, who filmed and edited the documentary. However, in watching the film and then later listening to her answer questions, I felt this overwhelming realization, that no matter how much support she got from her family, this was a private and intensely personal journey that only she understands.
Her parents were decidedly supportive and literally journeyed with her throughout the process of searching, locating and ultimately meeting her birthfather and birthmother and their families. Her siblings were with her, and some traveled with her to meet her families. Her husband was with her every step of the way, filming, and ultimately turning editorial discretion over to her as they finished editing the film. (as a side note, she mentioned an instance that she vetoed being in the final cut, and I kind of wish she had let that raw emotion show through, because much of the film shows her in a tightly constrained and keyed up frame of mind. The emotion was there bubbling under the surface but it appeared as if she was fighting letting it show.)
Along the way, she discovered some truths that were disconcerting. Her birthfather, while welcoming and gregarious, had his own issues. Her birthmother stated that she "would take the hurt to the grave". I may be paraphrasing a bit, but I want to point out that was the point in the film that I started to lose it. To hear a mother who knew that in the situation she was in, found it necessary to place her child for adoption talk about how much she hurt over that decision was heart wrenching. Interestingly, while the reunion between Angela and her birthfather and family seemed rather jovial, the reunion between Angela and her birthmother and family was far more emotional. It made me wonder about the connection between my 3-year old and C. I had talked about her coming over from the time he got up in the morning to when I picked him up from daycare. When it was clear she wouldn't make it, and we decided I would be the one to go to the movie with S staying home, X lost it. He started crying when I hugged him goodbye, and according to S he cried for a while after I left. This is a kid who hardly notices when we drop him off at daycare and usually isn't up for leaving the playground when we come to pick him up. I have to wonder if there is something to the situation that happened tonight.
Angela's adoptive parents were supportive of her search and that comes forth in the film. While her mom admits to being uneasy at first, she is there every step of the way to support her daughter in her journey. And, presumably to catch her if she should stumble upon unwelcome news. It reminded me of what we are supposed to do as adoptive parents. I am not X's only mom. S is not X's only dad. We have an inherent obligation to take ourselves out of the equation and let him explore those other connections.
My takeaways from the film began with the statement by her birthmother that the pain will always be there. No matter what the situation is, even if a mom is seemingly detached, I strongly believe that there is always grief associated with a placement. It's not the surficial grief that you sometimes read about on blogs or in the media, it is deep and visceral, as if a piece is missing. I am willing to say that most women talking bout placing children for adoption are trying to convince themselves and society-at-large that they did the right thing, when in their heart, it really wasn't. Circumstances dictate whether a mother can parent. Circumstances are fluid, and what was a crisis at the time of placement, often is not a crisis several years post placement. So, circumstantially, it may be the best decision at the moment, but regret and loss follow. Another thing that maybe I'm just sensitive to because of the blogs I've been reading of late, is that the agency didn't do what they should have done post-placement. There was one particular scene that made me cringe. A social worker was talking to Angela's birthmother about how it must feel good that she made the right decision now that she was meeting Angela. To credit her birthmother, she was forthright and candid. She expressed that she was in pain over the decision and had been since the day she placed Angela for adoption. In watching the scene I felt indignation growing on the part of Angela and her birthmother. Instead of keeping letters at the agency, the agency could have found Angela's birthmother and forwarded them. As Angela stated in the Q&A session afterward, the agency and her mother were in the same city all those years. By keeping the correspondence from Angela's family at the agency, they are putting up a roadblock to reunion.
It's taken me a long time to decompress from the documentary, and I imagine it's going to stick with me for a long time. I fought back tears through much of the movie, but eventually let them flow because I couldn't fight them back anymore. I managed to pull myself together enough to ask a coherent question (I think), and I managed to chat with other adoptive families afterwards. When I got home, I walked straight to S and dissolved into the chest heaving sobs that come from deep within. Two and a half hours later, a big thunderstorm has rolled through, I tried to lose myself in mindless tv, and have attempted to numb myself with a couple more drinks. My mind is still reeling, but it's 12:51am. I. Need. To. Go. To. Sleep...
...and so I go.
check it out. This is definitely worth a watch: Closure
If you live in the Denver area and have time to see it on Thursday, May 8th, I encourage you to buy tickets! Tickets can be bought here: http://www.tugg.com/events/8108 Also, the Q&A panel will feature Angela, Bryan, and Lori Holden There will be one more panel member, I think, but I don't know who it is.
That's what the documentary "Closure" was for me.
S and I hosted a local transracial adoptive family gathering to see this film, and as luck (irony, the universe????) would have it, I ended up going alone. For the first time, we asked X's first-mom to babysit while we went out, and she had some issues that came up that precluded her from being able to come over.
Starving, because of a raw-food experiment isn't going as awesomely as I had hoped, and running late, I ran into the independent theater, said hi to a couple people then hit the popcorn counter and the bar. Hellooo dinner.
Anyway, it didn't matter that we sat in a group or not, as I (and many others I gather) had a profound and personal experience in watching this film. It tells the story of Angela Tucker, a transracial adoptee raised in a white town in Washington. The focus of the documentary is on her search for her birth family as her adoption was closed. Many of her adoptive family participated closely in the search, as well as her husband Bryan, who filmed and edited the documentary. However, in watching the film and then later listening to her answer questions, I felt this overwhelming realization, that no matter how much support she got from her family, this was a private and intensely personal journey that only she understands.
Her parents were decidedly supportive and literally journeyed with her throughout the process of searching, locating and ultimately meeting her birthfather and birthmother and their families. Her siblings were with her, and some traveled with her to meet her families. Her husband was with her every step of the way, filming, and ultimately turning editorial discretion over to her as they finished editing the film. (as a side note, she mentioned an instance that she vetoed being in the final cut, and I kind of wish she had let that raw emotion show through, because much of the film shows her in a tightly constrained and keyed up frame of mind. The emotion was there bubbling under the surface but it appeared as if she was fighting letting it show.)
Along the way, she discovered some truths that were disconcerting. Her birthfather, while welcoming and gregarious, had his own issues. Her birthmother stated that she "would take the hurt to the grave". I may be paraphrasing a bit, but I want to point out that was the point in the film that I started to lose it. To hear a mother who knew that in the situation she was in, found it necessary to place her child for adoption talk about how much she hurt over that decision was heart wrenching. Interestingly, while the reunion between Angela and her birthfather and family seemed rather jovial, the reunion between Angela and her birthmother and family was far more emotional. It made me wonder about the connection between my 3-year old and C. I had talked about her coming over from the time he got up in the morning to when I picked him up from daycare. When it was clear she wouldn't make it, and we decided I would be the one to go to the movie with S staying home, X lost it. He started crying when I hugged him goodbye, and according to S he cried for a while after I left. This is a kid who hardly notices when we drop him off at daycare and usually isn't up for leaving the playground when we come to pick him up. I have to wonder if there is something to the situation that happened tonight.
Angela's adoptive parents were supportive of her search and that comes forth in the film. While her mom admits to being uneasy at first, she is there every step of the way to support her daughter in her journey. And, presumably to catch her if she should stumble upon unwelcome news. It reminded me of what we are supposed to do as adoptive parents. I am not X's only mom. S is not X's only dad. We have an inherent obligation to take ourselves out of the equation and let him explore those other connections.
My takeaways from the film began with the statement by her birthmother that the pain will always be there. No matter what the situation is, even if a mom is seemingly detached, I strongly believe that there is always grief associated with a placement. It's not the surficial grief that you sometimes read about on blogs or in the media, it is deep and visceral, as if a piece is missing. I am willing to say that most women talking bout placing children for adoption are trying to convince themselves and society-at-large that they did the right thing, when in their heart, it really wasn't. Circumstances dictate whether a mother can parent. Circumstances are fluid, and what was a crisis at the time of placement, often is not a crisis several years post placement. So, circumstantially, it may be the best decision at the moment, but regret and loss follow. Another thing that maybe I'm just sensitive to because of the blogs I've been reading of late, is that the agency didn't do what they should have done post-placement. There was one particular scene that made me cringe. A social worker was talking to Angela's birthmother about how it must feel good that she made the right decision now that she was meeting Angela. To credit her birthmother, she was forthright and candid. She expressed that she was in pain over the decision and had been since the day she placed Angela for adoption. In watching the scene I felt indignation growing on the part of Angela and her birthmother. Instead of keeping letters at the agency, the agency could have found Angela's birthmother and forwarded them. As Angela stated in the Q&A session afterward, the agency and her mother were in the same city all those years. By keeping the correspondence from Angela's family at the agency, they are putting up a roadblock to reunion.
It's taken me a long time to decompress from the documentary, and I imagine it's going to stick with me for a long time. I fought back tears through much of the movie, but eventually let them flow because I couldn't fight them back anymore. I managed to pull myself together enough to ask a coherent question (I think), and I managed to chat with other adoptive families afterwards. When I got home, I walked straight to S and dissolved into the chest heaving sobs that come from deep within. Two and a half hours later, a big thunderstorm has rolled through, I tried to lose myself in mindless tv, and have attempted to numb myself with a couple more drinks. My mind is still reeling, but it's 12:51am. I. Need. To. Go. To. Sleep...
...and so I go.
check it out. This is definitely worth a watch: Closure
If you live in the Denver area and have time to see it on Thursday, May 8th, I encourage you to buy tickets! Tickets can be bought here: http://www.tugg.com/events/8108 Also, the Q&A panel will feature Angela, Bryan, and Lori Holden There will be one more panel member, I think, but I don't know who it is.
Thursday, May 1, 2014
Turning it Around
Over the past couple of months weight has crept on fueled by eating and drinking my way through anxiety and grief over another failed match and the inevitable march towards 40.
My biggest fear when I put on a few pounds is that people will think I'm pregnant since I tend to gain in the stomach area, and my pelvis is slightly tipped making a protruding belly all that much more obvious. (I keep hoping that yoga will help with the pelvis tip, but given that I've had that posture since I started walking, I may not be able to reverse it). Along with the pregnancy twitch I've got going on, I have my share of body issues due to the way my role models approach food (read: not healthy) and a lot of my self esteem is wrapped up in how I perceive I look. (vs. how others may perceive me). Thankfully, I have enough self esteem that I never went all the way into eating disorder territory, but food still rules my mind in a way that I don't think it rules some of my friends. I eat when I'm bored or sad: I love all the carbs, beer and wine.
It's funny how the weight creeps on slowly, while I find myself in deep denial (oh, I'm bloated, that pound and half will come off tomorrow) until the scale hits a number that I haven't seen in almost 10 years. It's good that I maintain my weight within a few pounds for the most part and I don't often have to take a hard look at what I'm eating and why to keep myself in a relatively good state. My relatively "good" state, however, is one where I'm constantly trying to lose 5 pounds. I'm not ever content with what I look like and I have a feeling that when I look in the mirror, what I see is probably heavier than what everyone around me sees. In a crowd of people, I fixate on the thin, in shape women and wonder what they do to maintain whatever size they are and I compare myself to them in my head. "Do others see me like I see that woman or do they see me and think, yeah, she's ok, but she's a little thick". Ok, well, not that commentary exactly, but you get my drift. I have friends who seem to effortlessly maintain their thinness and who tend to be a size smaller than I am. I have friends who stop eating when they get stressed instead of consuming sweet carby things and I'm kind of jealous even thought that way isn't healthy either. It's hard to accept that I don't have an easily maintainable weight, and that I constantly have to stay on top of it or it comes back lickety-split. I try to exercise regularly, although some weeks, the only exercise I get are the two Jazze.rcise classes I teach and maybe one yoga class. It's not enough to offset how I want to eat versus how I need to eat if I don't exercise. I use online tracking and a heart rate monitor, but I'm really great at "accidentally" missing a day when I eat like crap. And, if I may, just bitch for half a second on how 1200 calories a day is fucking impossible? Apparently, that's what I'm supposed to eat if I don't exercise. I can eat that by 2pm. I know, I know, choosing low calorie, nutrient-dense foods is the way to feel satisfied without going over calories, blah blah blah.
Anyway, enough of the bitching already. My clothes are tight, I hate my belly, I feel gross. Time to do the things I know I have to do to turn it around. So, I signed up for a 32-mile bike ride at the beginning of June. S signed up for the 100-mile at the same festival (hahahahaha crazy person). I'm on my road bike twice a week in addition to teaching and trying to get to yoga, and.....I wish I could say I feel great.
Which brings me to the amount of stress in my life. At this moment in time I have more stress than ever, and every single day is anxiety-ridden with wondering if we will get a phone call and how I'll react to the news of another match. Sure, I can breathe, I can go to yoga and try to find a place of stillness, I can get on my bike and push myself and I can teach a class in which I push it all aside and play happy-aerobics-instructor (it does make me happy to teach). At some point, it's not enough and the body takes over. Until this journey is resolved one way or another, I have a feeling that various health professionals are going to be busy trying to keep my body maintained in some kind of functional shape.
My biggest fear when I put on a few pounds is that people will think I'm pregnant since I tend to gain in the stomach area, and my pelvis is slightly tipped making a protruding belly all that much more obvious. (I keep hoping that yoga will help with the pelvis tip, but given that I've had that posture since I started walking, I may not be able to reverse it). Along with the pregnancy twitch I've got going on, I have my share of body issues due to the way my role models approach food (read: not healthy) and a lot of my self esteem is wrapped up in how I perceive I look. (vs. how others may perceive me). Thankfully, I have enough self esteem that I never went all the way into eating disorder territory, but food still rules my mind in a way that I don't think it rules some of my friends. I eat when I'm bored or sad: I love all the carbs, beer and wine.
It's funny how the weight creeps on slowly, while I find myself in deep denial (oh, I'm bloated, that pound and half will come off tomorrow) until the scale hits a number that I haven't seen in almost 10 years. It's good that I maintain my weight within a few pounds for the most part and I don't often have to take a hard look at what I'm eating and why to keep myself in a relatively good state. My relatively "good" state, however, is one where I'm constantly trying to lose 5 pounds. I'm not ever content with what I look like and I have a feeling that when I look in the mirror, what I see is probably heavier than what everyone around me sees. In a crowd of people, I fixate on the thin, in shape women and wonder what they do to maintain whatever size they are and I compare myself to them in my head. "Do others see me like I see that woman or do they see me and think, yeah, she's ok, but she's a little thick". Ok, well, not that commentary exactly, but you get my drift. I have friends who seem to effortlessly maintain their thinness and who tend to be a size smaller than I am. I have friends who stop eating when they get stressed instead of consuming sweet carby things and I'm kind of jealous even thought that way isn't healthy either. It's hard to accept that I don't have an easily maintainable weight, and that I constantly have to stay on top of it or it comes back lickety-split. I try to exercise regularly, although some weeks, the only exercise I get are the two Jazze.rcise classes I teach and maybe one yoga class. It's not enough to offset how I want to eat versus how I need to eat if I don't exercise. I use online tracking and a heart rate monitor, but I'm really great at "accidentally" missing a day when I eat like crap. And, if I may, just bitch for half a second on how 1200 calories a day is fucking impossible? Apparently, that's what I'm supposed to eat if I don't exercise. I can eat that by 2pm. I know, I know, choosing low calorie, nutrient-dense foods is the way to feel satisfied without going over calories, blah blah blah.
Anyway, enough of the bitching already. My clothes are tight, I hate my belly, I feel gross. Time to do the things I know I have to do to turn it around. So, I signed up for a 32-mile bike ride at the beginning of June. S signed up for the 100-mile at the same festival (hahahahaha crazy person). I'm on my road bike twice a week in addition to teaching and trying to get to yoga, and.....I wish I could say I feel great.
Which brings me to the amount of stress in my life. At this moment in time I have more stress than ever, and every single day is anxiety-ridden with wondering if we will get a phone call and how I'll react to the news of another match. Sure, I can breathe, I can go to yoga and try to find a place of stillness, I can get on my bike and push myself and I can teach a class in which I push it all aside and play happy-aerobics-instructor (it does make me happy to teach). At some point, it's not enough and the body takes over. Until this journey is resolved one way or another, I have a feeling that various health professionals are going to be busy trying to keep my body maintained in some kind of functional shape.
Thursday, April 24, 2014
The Places You'll Go (Oh Boy)
I'm not sure I've read the entire book "Oh the Places You'll Go" by Dr. Seuss more than twice. The first time may have been when I was on maternity leave with Baby X. I have a vague recollection of reading the book and getting a little emotional, but not being in a particularly trigger-able state.
Tonight, X decided that he wanted to read that book. It hasn't been a good day for me emotionally, but I was happy to be reading a different book for once, since he tends to make us read the same books over and over again. I know this as a popular graduation gift, something to give a young adult striking out to make their mark in the world. Because of that, my perception of the book is one of encouragement and success. It is both of those things, but not before some shit hits the fan.
I got to this part and was ok:
You can get all hung up
in a prickle-ly perch.
And your gang will fly on.
You'll be left in a Lurch.
You'll come down from the Lurch
with an unpleasant bump.
And the chances are, then,
that you'll be in a Slump.
And when you're in a Slump,
you're not in for much fun.
Un-slumping yourself
is not easily done.
And then I got here and reading became difficult:
You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.
Some windows are lighted. But mostly they're darked.
A place you could sprain both you elbow and chin!
Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?
How much can you lose? How much can you win?
And IF you go in, should you turn left or right...
or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite?
Or go around back and sneak in from behind?
Simple it's not, I'm afraid you will find,
for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.
You can get so confused
that you'll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place...
Then it all fell apart and I couldn't read anymore:
...for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or a No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.
Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a sting of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.
During my breakdown in the middle of reading my child a bedtime story, he looked at me and said "Mommy, read it" a little uncertainly. He looked uncomfortable and confused; he didn't know what was going on. His mom just started inexplicably crying in the middle of the usual routine. But, he leaned against me, and I managed to finish the book with broken voice through the tears.
I don't know how much an almost-3 year old can understand, but I shared with him that we've tried to bring home two different brothers and it didn't work and it made me sad. I shared with him that mommy and daddy are stuck in the "Waiting Place" and we don't like it. I told him we're waiting because we want to have another baby, but that it's hard for us to have babies.
And then we read the "The Lorax", I tucked him into bed and he went straight to sleep.
hahahahaha in my dreams. He got up a couple times, begged for water, asked for more smooches and hugs, came downstairs after I left, had to be carried back to bed and tucked in again, thankfully that time he was so tired that he did actually fall asleep. For now.
Tonight, X decided that he wanted to read that book. It hasn't been a good day for me emotionally, but I was happy to be reading a different book for once, since he tends to make us read the same books over and over again. I know this as a popular graduation gift, something to give a young adult striking out to make their mark in the world. Because of that, my perception of the book is one of encouragement and success. It is both of those things, but not before some shit hits the fan.
I got to this part and was ok:
You can get all hung up
in a prickle-ly perch.
And your gang will fly on.
You'll be left in a Lurch.
You'll come down from the Lurch
with an unpleasant bump.
And the chances are, then,
that you'll be in a Slump.
And when you're in a Slump,
you're not in for much fun.
Un-slumping yourself
is not easily done.
And then I got here and reading became difficult:
You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.
Some windows are lighted. But mostly they're darked.
A place you could sprain both you elbow and chin!
Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?
How much can you lose? How much can you win?
And IF you go in, should you turn left or right...
or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite?
Or go around back and sneak in from behind?
Simple it's not, I'm afraid you will find,
for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.
You can get so confused
that you'll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place...
Then it all fell apart and I couldn't read anymore:
...for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or a No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.
Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a sting of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.
During my breakdown in the middle of reading my child a bedtime story, he looked at me and said "Mommy, read it" a little uncertainly. He looked uncomfortable and confused; he didn't know what was going on. His mom just started inexplicably crying in the middle of the usual routine. But, he leaned against me, and I managed to finish the book with broken voice through the tears.
I don't know how much an almost-3 year old can understand, but I shared with him that we've tried to bring home two different brothers and it didn't work and it made me sad. I shared with him that mommy and daddy are stuck in the "Waiting Place" and we don't like it. I told him we're waiting because we want to have another baby, but that it's hard for us to have babies.
And then we read the "The Lorax", I tucked him into bed and he went straight to sleep.
hahahahaha in my dreams. He got up a couple times, begged for water, asked for more smooches and hugs, came downstairs after I left, had to be carried back to bed and tucked in again, thankfully that time he was so tired that he did actually fall asleep. For now.
Friday, April 4, 2014
Strong
Me: I feel like I'm weak.
Therapist: Why? Doing what's best for your family makes you strong.
Thankfully Therapist had an opening yesterday and I could go in and be angry and hash through everything that happened (or didn't happen as the case is) over the past week and a half. The last failed match I was angry that D dragged us through her chaos all the while insisting that she knew this was what she needed/wanted and it's what she wanted for Baby A. I was angry that she didn't own up to wanting to parent before we took him home from the hospital. Logically, I know that it may have taken her trying to make the break before she realized she was making a huge mistake, but the emotions that I went through were anything but logical. I'm angry again, but I'm angry at a different person in a totally different situation. I'm angry that Baby N may end up in the foster system because of this person's actions (or inaction as the case is at the moment). And I say shame on you to the person who has not made any kind of progress towards claiming their right to parent. Shame on you for not being there for your child. Shame on you for not being supportive the months you knew about the situation, and shame on you for not picking up the fucking phone to find out what's going on and what you need to do.
It's hard to own up to this anger as an adoptive parent. We are supposed to say and do the right things, think child-centric, be compassionate to the parents, and sometimes to let ourselves get hurt during the process. Because we do get hurt during the process. As I face another failed match, I've been thinking about the anti- people. The people who would gleefully read my posts about heartache over someone else's baby. The people who would gladly target me (and who have) as a baby-stealer. The people who would ask me why I don't adopt from foster care because those are the children who need it. That's the one that hurts the most. Why don't I look into foster? Why can't I do that?
I. Just. Can't. I am not wired to live my life constantly in limbo. When I'm in limbo physically or emotionally, my life falls apart. Stress takes over and it's all I can do to keep moving forward one day at a time. Everything suffers from my concentration at work to patience in dealing with people close to me. When I'm in limbo I live in a constant state of when will it happen, how will it happen, what will happen? It sucks and I can't do it. I would love to be the type of person who can do it. Who is ready at any moment to pick up a child, and care for them until some sort of resolution comes along. We could have moved ahead with a formal placement with Baby N knowing that he may be leaving our home at any time. If it goes to the county, the county may remove him because we are not foster parents as we haven't gone through the training. The county could leave him in our home, and then we could wait out the lengthy process of whose rights get terminated, or not. At the end of the process, Baby N may stay in our home, or not. The point is, we don't know what will happen. We would be signing ourselves up for months or years of limbo.
Is that fair to Baby X? No. I need to be there for Baby X. He doesn't need his parents to be distracted by the what-ifs of this case. He needs us, present and aware and not emotional heaps of nerves. We need to be there for each other, and we need to recognize what we are capable of and where our boundaries are. Boundaries make us strong, and knowing when to walk away makes us strong.
I recognize what I can and can not handle. I am strong. I gave Baby N more emotional support over a week and half than anyone had given him in the first few weeks of his life. All I can hope, is that it helped him. All I can hope is that my hurt is not for nothing.
And the anti-people can kiss my ass.
Therapist: Why? Doing what's best for your family makes you strong.
Thankfully Therapist had an opening yesterday and I could go in and be angry and hash through everything that happened (or didn't happen as the case is) over the past week and a half. The last failed match I was angry that D dragged us through her chaos all the while insisting that she knew this was what she needed/wanted and it's what she wanted for Baby A. I was angry that she didn't own up to wanting to parent before we took him home from the hospital. Logically, I know that it may have taken her trying to make the break before she realized she was making a huge mistake, but the emotions that I went through were anything but logical. I'm angry again, but I'm angry at a different person in a totally different situation. I'm angry that Baby N may end up in the foster system because of this person's actions (or inaction as the case is at the moment). And I say shame on you to the person who has not made any kind of progress towards claiming their right to parent. Shame on you for not being there for your child. Shame on you for not being supportive the months you knew about the situation, and shame on you for not picking up the fucking phone to find out what's going on and what you need to do.
It's hard to own up to this anger as an adoptive parent. We are supposed to say and do the right things, think child-centric, be compassionate to the parents, and sometimes to let ourselves get hurt during the process. Because we do get hurt during the process. As I face another failed match, I've been thinking about the anti- people. The people who would gleefully read my posts about heartache over someone else's baby. The people who would gladly target me (and who have) as a baby-stealer. The people who would ask me why I don't adopt from foster care because those are the children who need it. That's the one that hurts the most. Why don't I look into foster? Why can't I do that?
I. Just. Can't. I am not wired to live my life constantly in limbo. When I'm in limbo physically or emotionally, my life falls apart. Stress takes over and it's all I can do to keep moving forward one day at a time. Everything suffers from my concentration at work to patience in dealing with people close to me. When I'm in limbo I live in a constant state of when will it happen, how will it happen, what will happen? It sucks and I can't do it. I would love to be the type of person who can do it. Who is ready at any moment to pick up a child, and care for them until some sort of resolution comes along. We could have moved ahead with a formal placement with Baby N knowing that he may be leaving our home at any time. If it goes to the county, the county may remove him because we are not foster parents as we haven't gone through the training. The county could leave him in our home, and then we could wait out the lengthy process of whose rights get terminated, or not. At the end of the process, Baby N may stay in our home, or not. The point is, we don't know what will happen. We would be signing ourselves up for months or years of limbo.
Is that fair to Baby X? No. I need to be there for Baby X. He doesn't need his parents to be distracted by the what-ifs of this case. He needs us, present and aware and not emotional heaps of nerves. We need to be there for each other, and we need to recognize what we are capable of and where our boundaries are. Boundaries make us strong, and knowing when to walk away makes us strong.
I recognize what I can and can not handle. I am strong. I gave Baby N more emotional support over a week and half than anyone had given him in the first few weeks of his life. All I can hope, is that it helped him. All I can hope is that my hurt is not for nothing.
And the anti-people can kiss my ass.
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