This time, baby, I'll be bulletproof.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Honesty is the best policy.
When discussing the fees associated with adoption at the Barker agency, the director said something that really stuck with me. "You are not paying for a child. You are paying for our professional services, which are worth something, but you are never, ever, paying for a child."
I think that's something everyone naturally assumes when they start the adoption path, but as the fees and paperwork and more fees start to mount, and you are looking at taking out loans to complete the process, I'm pretty sure that your brain will naturally start to wonder, "how different is this from baby buying?"
The answer is, a whole lot different. Baby buying is human trafficking. No two ways about it. Whether you have the best of intentions - whisking a child from poverty and strife to the lap of luxury - or the worst (I won't even talk about that here), you are inherently placing a monetary value on a human being. That, my friends, is slavery. To borrow a phrase: Let's be clear. Purchasing a human being is slavery. End of story. It's very disturbing and is part of, if not the main reason for, the Hague Convention on adoption. Countries who are signatory to the Hague have stated, by signing that document, that they are serious about preventing adoption from being used as a means of trafficking slaves around the world. I won't get in to any statistics on this issue, one: because I don't know any. And two: because I just can't look them up. I can't.
Which brings me to my main point about honesty. During this whole process, you have to strip away everything you thought you knew about yourself and really get to the core of what you can shoulder emotionally. This was not a long trip for me. I know that I tend to be overly empathetic. I listen to headphones every night as I fall asleep to give my mind something to focus on, instead of letting it replay endlessly through the litany of horrors from the day. Snippets from the news, someone spanking their child in public (I can't even put words to how much this bothers me), a story from a friend who works with abused women and children that reminds me that monsters are, in fact, real.
I know I'm sounding more and more like a nut job here. I'm considering how this post will sound to someone who is considering trusting us with a child. Not good, I imagine. This is not to say that I am weak and ineffectual. I'd like to think I'm the opposite. That my true strength shows when it counts the most. But this all ties back in to adopting, I promise.
The bottom line is that one day child will ask us, "How much did you pay for me?" (Or a stranger will, but I will slap that person in the face.) And we will look them directly in the eyes and say, "Not one penny. You are priceless." We'll pay fees for social workers to come in and certify us as capable human beings. And we'll pay fees to travel and to get certified copies of paperwork from various government agencies. But not once, not ever, will we pay for a child.
Similarly, if our child asks us why we chose them, why they got us as parents rather than the myriad other children out there who need homes, I need to be able to look them in the face and tell them, "because we knew, from the moment we looked at you, that you were our child." Or as a friend's parents said to her, "We always knew we had a child-sized hole in our hearts. We didn't know until we met you that it was a you-sized hole."
This is why we are limiting our search in terms of age and disability. I have nothing but respect and awe for people who take in teenagers and kids with severe mental and physical disabilities. But the reality is that I don't know how well equipped I am to tackle those issues, emotionally. I need to give my entire heart and soul to our child, without reservations. I need to be able to kiss scraped knees and hold them while they cry out their first heartbreak. And I fear that if I go looking for the child who "needs" a home the most, rather than the one who will fit best with us as a family, not only will I find that child, but I will also be the last person in the world who is able to help them. If I go looking for a charity case, I will certainly find it. Without a doubt. But I'm not looking for a charity case, I'm looking for a child.
I realize that I am assuming a much greater control over the circumstance than I am likely to have, realistically. When you are pregnant, for example, there are no guarantees that your child will be healthy and whole. Or that they will face no trauma in their lives. The same is true for the adoption process. Maybe you'll get a healthy infant, maybe you'll get one with fetal alcohol syndrome. You just never know. And by the point that the child arrives, I know I will be committed to them 100%. But in the interim, you have to set up some kind of selection criteria, or you'll go mad. Or broke as you pour all of your financial resources into "saving" as many as possible. This bears repeating: I'm looking for my child, not a charity case.
I'll wrap this up with a page from a great blog I just found called Single Dad Laughing: How Much Did Your Kid Cost? Hilariously put, but the underlying message is the same.
I think that's something everyone naturally assumes when they start the adoption path, but as the fees and paperwork and more fees start to mount, and you are looking at taking out loans to complete the process, I'm pretty sure that your brain will naturally start to wonder, "how different is this from baby buying?"
The answer is, a whole lot different. Baby buying is human trafficking. No two ways about it. Whether you have the best of intentions - whisking a child from poverty and strife to the lap of luxury - or the worst (I won't even talk about that here), you are inherently placing a monetary value on a human being. That, my friends, is slavery. To borrow a phrase: Let's be clear. Purchasing a human being is slavery. End of story. It's very disturbing and is part of, if not the main reason for, the Hague Convention on adoption. Countries who are signatory to the Hague have stated, by signing that document, that they are serious about preventing adoption from being used as a means of trafficking slaves around the world. I won't get in to any statistics on this issue, one: because I don't know any. And two: because I just can't look them up. I can't.
Which brings me to my main point about honesty. During this whole process, you have to strip away everything you thought you knew about yourself and really get to the core of what you can shoulder emotionally. This was not a long trip for me. I know that I tend to be overly empathetic. I listen to headphones every night as I fall asleep to give my mind something to focus on, instead of letting it replay endlessly through the litany of horrors from the day. Snippets from the news, someone spanking their child in public (I can't even put words to how much this bothers me), a story from a friend who works with abused women and children that reminds me that monsters are, in fact, real.
I know I'm sounding more and more like a nut job here. I'm considering how this post will sound to someone who is considering trusting us with a child. Not good, I imagine. This is not to say that I am weak and ineffectual. I'd like to think I'm the opposite. That my true strength shows when it counts the most. But this all ties back in to adopting, I promise.
The bottom line is that one day child will ask us, "How much did you pay for me?" (Or a stranger will, but I will slap that person in the face.) And we will look them directly in the eyes and say, "Not one penny. You are priceless." We'll pay fees for social workers to come in and certify us as capable human beings. And we'll pay fees to travel and to get certified copies of paperwork from various government agencies. But not once, not ever, will we pay for a child.
Similarly, if our child asks us why we chose them, why they got us as parents rather than the myriad other children out there who need homes, I need to be able to look them in the face and tell them, "because we knew, from the moment we looked at you, that you were our child." Or as a friend's parents said to her, "We always knew we had a child-sized hole in our hearts. We didn't know until we met you that it was a you-sized hole."
This is why we are limiting our search in terms of age and disability. I have nothing but respect and awe for people who take in teenagers and kids with severe mental and physical disabilities. But the reality is that I don't know how well equipped I am to tackle those issues, emotionally. I need to give my entire heart and soul to our child, without reservations. I need to be able to kiss scraped knees and hold them while they cry out their first heartbreak. And I fear that if I go looking for the child who "needs" a home the most, rather than the one who will fit best with us as a family, not only will I find that child, but I will also be the last person in the world who is able to help them. If I go looking for a charity case, I will certainly find it. Without a doubt. But I'm not looking for a charity case, I'm looking for a child.
I realize that I am assuming a much greater control over the circumstance than I am likely to have, realistically. When you are pregnant, for example, there are no guarantees that your child will be healthy and whole. Or that they will face no trauma in their lives. The same is true for the adoption process. Maybe you'll get a healthy infant, maybe you'll get one with fetal alcohol syndrome. You just never know. And by the point that the child arrives, I know I will be committed to them 100%. But in the interim, you have to set up some kind of selection criteria, or you'll go mad. Or broke as you pour all of your financial resources into "saving" as many as possible. This bears repeating: I'm looking for my child, not a charity case.
I'll wrap this up with a page from a great blog I just found called Single Dad Laughing: How Much Did Your Kid Cost? Hilariously put, but the underlying message is the same.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Today's episode of: Good idea/bad idea?
I was perusing the Internet today (a hobby I am not entirely comfortable with - I feel like there are many more productive things I could be doing), when I stumbled across an adoption blog. But this was no normal adoption blog. This was a PayPal adoption blog...
A couple decided to adopt, found their baby, and set up a website so people could make donations to help them finance their adoption...
A big part of me finds this extremely tacky. I know adoption is expensive, but asking strangers on the Internet for hand-outs seems... shameless? Tacky? Distasteful? I mean, on the one hand, no one would turn down financial gifts from family members (grandparents, parents, siblings), because adoption, and heck, babies in general, is expensive! But panhandling on the Internet? It just leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
Then I thought about the other side of the coin... If we did something similar, we could be raking in the dough! I'm kidding... We wouldn't do that... Would we? Anyone else want to weigh in? Tacky or a great way to finance your adoption?
A couple decided to adopt, found their baby, and set up a website so people could make donations to help them finance their adoption...
A big part of me finds this extremely tacky. I know adoption is expensive, but asking strangers on the Internet for hand-outs seems... shameless? Tacky? Distasteful? I mean, on the one hand, no one would turn down financial gifts from family members (grandparents, parents, siblings), because adoption, and heck, babies in general, is expensive! But panhandling on the Internet? It just leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
Then I thought about the other side of the coin... If we did something similar, we could be raking in the dough! I'm kidding... We wouldn't do that... Would we? Anyone else want to weigh in? Tacky or a great way to finance your adoption?
Pinky swear.
Dear Internet,
I hereby solemnly swear to never (never, ever) take pregnancy photos like this. I also promise to never make Allen do naked yoga photos.
Thanks for the laugh, even if I got mashed potatoes in my nose.
Love,
Autumn
P.S. I did think the adoptive mom beach ball photos were fun, though.
I hereby solemnly swear to never (never, ever) take pregnancy photos like this. I also promise to never make Allen do naked yoga photos.
Thanks for the laugh, even if I got mashed potatoes in my nose.
Love,
Autumn
P.S. I did think the adoptive mom beach ball photos were fun, though.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Daydreaming.
I want to live overseas. It's one of the big goals of my adult life. A small village in France or Italy or the UK somewhere. Or Germany... I'm not picky. Some days I want to live in a tropical locale - like a Caribbean island (Mustique, anyone?) - some days I want a place with seasons and snow. A place where we can have a bungalow like the house in "Under the Tuscan Sun" and walk to the street market for fresh fruits and veggies and bread and flowers every day. A place where the community becomes an extended family. A place where nieces and nephews can stay with us for weeks in the summer. A gathering place for our families during holidays or vacations. A place where our kids speak English at home and learn a completely new language outside of home.
I have no idea how to make this a reality though. Our current jobs don't lend themselves to moving abroad. (We both work for the government.) If anyone has any ideas on how a physicist and a wanna-be housewife/stay-at-home-mom can work and live overseas, I'm all ears. Until then, I guess I'll just have to daydream and plan vacations. Sigh.
I have no idea how to make this a reality though. Our current jobs don't lend themselves to moving abroad. (We both work for the government.) If anyone has any ideas on how a physicist and a wanna-be housewife/stay-at-home-mom can work and live overseas, I'm all ears. Until then, I guess I'll just have to daydream and plan vacations. Sigh.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
It's not you, it's me.
I was going to write a long post about where we are with the fertility clinic and such. But I had a revelation last night, so instead I'm going to sum it up in short order. Allen is fine. It's just me. We have a follow-up appointment on March 1, but I'm not even sure I care to go. It's a little ridiculous that they get you in so quickly for the first visit and then make you wait weeks and weeks for the next one, but I'm shaking that irritation off and moving forward instead.
So, the revelation. I have been getting pretty worked up in the past few weeks about all of this. I had a complete meltdown over absolutely nothing last week. I accused Allen - completely unfairly - of not making this (having kids/starting a family) a priority. To his everlasting credit, he took it in stride and gave me exactly what I needed: a big hug. Patience is not one of my virtues, but I've been trying to get through the last few weeks with some words of wisdom from my sister (in law) and a sweet friend. My sister said, "you are doing exactly what you are supposed to be doing." It's nice to be reminded that we are doing everything we can right now and we will make progress at the rate we are supposed to. Don't get me wrong, this is a far cry from "everything happens for a reason." That particular sentiment makes me want to scream. This is more like "you are doing everything you can and you just have to let it happen." I've been repeating that to myself.
My sweet friend said the other day, "all of the emotional turmoil and the fear and worry all evaporate once you actually have your child in your arms." I have been clinging to that like a freaking life raft. When I am most frustrated, I think of those words and remember that this is a temporary feeling and that we will be parents for the rest of our lives.
But none of that is the revelation I had. Allen and I were sitting on the couch last night, watching something stupid on Netflix (Stargate: Atlantis, actually. I know. I said it was stupid!) and eating gingersnap s'mores. Allen had brought home all the fixin's for s'mores as a Valentine's treat, and it hit me. I am pretty young. My husband is pretty young(er). Sitting on the couch, spending time together, high quality snuggles, eating junk food and watching junk TV... I should be relishing these moments, not filling them with anxiety about children. Most of the people we met at info seminars at adoption agencies are much older than us. Scott Simon and his wife were in their late 30s and late 40s when they adopted their first child. We have time. I have the best husband I could have ever dreamed of, and I need to focus on enjoying my time with him and being the best wife I can be. I need to stop filling our moments together with worry and stress and anxiety over something I can't control. Once we do have kids, I will be so glad that we had these moments together, just the two of us. (Well, just the two of us and 5 kitties...)
We have time. We have each other. If I become a mother at age 39, well, that wasn't part of my plan, but it's still amazing and wonderful and a precious, precious gift. And in the mean time, I'm going to try to embrace the life that I have, and try my very hardest to not take it for granted. We have time.
So, the revelation. I have been getting pretty worked up in the past few weeks about all of this. I had a complete meltdown over absolutely nothing last week. I accused Allen - completely unfairly - of not making this (having kids/starting a family) a priority. To his everlasting credit, he took it in stride and gave me exactly what I needed: a big hug. Patience is not one of my virtues, but I've been trying to get through the last few weeks with some words of wisdom from my sister (in law) and a sweet friend. My sister said, "you are doing exactly what you are supposed to be doing." It's nice to be reminded that we are doing everything we can right now and we will make progress at the rate we are supposed to. Don't get me wrong, this is a far cry from "everything happens for a reason." That particular sentiment makes me want to scream. This is more like "you are doing everything you can and you just have to let it happen." I've been repeating that to myself.
My sweet friend said the other day, "all of the emotional turmoil and the fear and worry all evaporate once you actually have your child in your arms." I have been clinging to that like a freaking life raft. When I am most frustrated, I think of those words and remember that this is a temporary feeling and that we will be parents for the rest of our lives.
But none of that is the revelation I had. Allen and I were sitting on the couch last night, watching something stupid on Netflix (Stargate: Atlantis, actually. I know. I said it was stupid!) and eating gingersnap s'mores. Allen had brought home all the fixin's for s'mores as a Valentine's treat, and it hit me. I am pretty young. My husband is pretty young(er). Sitting on the couch, spending time together, high quality snuggles, eating junk food and watching junk TV... I should be relishing these moments, not filling them with anxiety about children. Most of the people we met at info seminars at adoption agencies are much older than us. Scott Simon and his wife were in their late 30s and late 40s when they adopted their first child. We have time. I have the best husband I could have ever dreamed of, and I need to focus on enjoying my time with him and being the best wife I can be. I need to stop filling our moments together with worry and stress and anxiety over something I can't control. Once we do have kids, I will be so glad that we had these moments together, just the two of us. (Well, just the two of us and 5 kitties...)
We have time. We have each other. If I become a mother at age 39, well, that wasn't part of my plan, but it's still amazing and wonderful and a precious, precious gift. And in the mean time, I'm going to try to embrace the life that I have, and try my very hardest to not take it for granted. We have time.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Shockingly, I'm actually enjoying the gym.
This is shocking news, trust me. I consider the flight of stairs that separates my blue-ray player from my refrigerator to be exercise. Also, my office is on the ground floor and the bathroom is either one flight up or one flight down. Either way, I'm walking a lot of stairs every day. That totally counts as exercise.
I joined the gym last week, and the reason I chose this particular gym (the local YMCA - I dare you to not have that song in your head now) because it has an indoor running track and a pool. I love running but I hate all the frigging hills in our area. Plus, I don't like being cold, so running outside in Winter and/or Spring is not happening. I went running twice last week, and enjoyed it, even if the indoor track is a little underwhelming. It's kind of small - 25 times around equals a mile! - but I can't run on a treadmill without holding on for dear life or falling off completely, so it's a good option for me. But you run the track clockwise on Monday/Wednesday/Friday and counterclockwise the rest of the week, and since I've been going on Mondays and Wednesdays, I'm getting worried about being lopsided. Note to self: build in a trip to the gym on Tuesday. I can run about a half mile - though not all at once, buh - and have been doing about a mile on the track. I suppose I could walk a lot further than that, though, so maybe I should be trying to go two miles total right now? I'm trying to build up stamina without overdoing it. It's pretty difficult because I feel like I should be running like a gazelle even though I haven't been seriously physically active since my last semester in college. In 2003. (By the way, super yikes to that!)
This past weekend I finally got myself to a sporting goods store to buy a swimsuit. I have a worn out bikini (big-girl style, so not flattering) and a couple of old (super old - see the above reference to physical activity in 2003) one-piece suits, but nothing that I can actually wear in public, so my foray into the pool has been on hold until I got myself appropriately accoutered. I went for a run yesterday, then stretched, then made my way to the pool.
I was on the swim team in middle school, grew up in Florida and am therefore intimately acquainted with the beach and the pool, and took a swim class at UMass in 2003 that I loved, loved. I knew that I enjoyed swimming, but I didn't remember how much I adored it until I put a toe in that delightfully chlorinated water. Heaven. The pool at UMass was "heated", and I took that class in Winter, and let me dispel any myth still remaining that the water was anything resembling warm. 78 degrees sounds warm on paper, but in practice it is frigging cold, especially when you had to trudge through snow to get to said pool. So I was skeptical when the YMCA claimed that their pool was heated to "between 84 and 86 degrees." I put that first toe in very gingerly.
Words cannot express my relief and delight when I found that the water was, indeed, warm. Not quite bath water, but getting there. I was so relieved that I wouldn't have to spend the first 10 minutes shivering and trying to "warm up" in a large body of water.
The other fabulous thing about the pool at the Y? It's unpopular. At least in the Winter. I've never seen more than 2 people swimming laps at any given time, and while there were 5 total today by the time I was ready to leave, I had a lane to myself the entire time.
My time at the gym is rapidly becoming a welcome escape from my desk and surprisingly stress relieving, too. Well, surprising to no one but me, that is. I find that I am looking forward to the gym and am frustrated that I can't run longer/farther because it means I spend less time running. Another argument for walking that extra mile, I suppose. I gave up running years ago because of terrible, terrible shin splints. Like physical therapy terrible. I've been running in my Vibrams and can happily report that the shin splints are nowhere to be found. (Knock on wood...) And jumping in the pool after a hot, sweaty run (don't worry, I shower first) is such a joy.
Also, and I know this could be water weight or breakfast or even just random fluctuations, but I lost 4 pounds since I started going to the gym. I weighed myself on Jan. 31 and then again this morning and I was 4 pounds lighter. I'm calling it a win. I'm also probably going to avoid the scale for a little while... Probably not the best idea to obsessively weigh myself every week...
I never (in a million years) thought I'd say this, but I can't wait to go back.
I joined the gym last week, and the reason I chose this particular gym (the local YMCA - I dare you to not have that song in your head now) because it has an indoor running track and a pool. I love running but I hate all the frigging hills in our area. Plus, I don't like being cold, so running outside in Winter and/or Spring is not happening. I went running twice last week, and enjoyed it, even if the indoor track is a little underwhelming. It's kind of small - 25 times around equals a mile! - but I can't run on a treadmill without holding on for dear life or falling off completely, so it's a good option for me. But you run the track clockwise on Monday/Wednesday/Friday and counterclockwise the rest of the week, and since I've been going on Mondays and Wednesdays, I'm getting worried about being lopsided. Note to self: build in a trip to the gym on Tuesday. I can run about a half mile - though not all at once, buh - and have been doing about a mile on the track. I suppose I could walk a lot further than that, though, so maybe I should be trying to go two miles total right now? I'm trying to build up stamina without overdoing it. It's pretty difficult because I feel like I should be running like a gazelle even though I haven't been seriously physically active since my last semester in college. In 2003. (By the way, super yikes to that!)
This past weekend I finally got myself to a sporting goods store to buy a swimsuit. I have a worn out bikini (big-girl style, so not flattering) and a couple of old (super old - see the above reference to physical activity in 2003) one-piece suits, but nothing that I can actually wear in public, so my foray into the pool has been on hold until I got myself appropriately accoutered. I went for a run yesterday, then stretched, then made my way to the pool.
I was on the swim team in middle school, grew up in Florida and am therefore intimately acquainted with the beach and the pool, and took a swim class at UMass in 2003 that I loved, loved. I knew that I enjoyed swimming, but I didn't remember how much I adored it until I put a toe in that delightfully chlorinated water. Heaven. The pool at UMass was "heated", and I took that class in Winter, and let me dispel any myth still remaining that the water was anything resembling warm. 78 degrees sounds warm on paper, but in practice it is frigging cold, especially when you had to trudge through snow to get to said pool. So I was skeptical when the YMCA claimed that their pool was heated to "between 84 and 86 degrees." I put that first toe in very gingerly.
Words cannot express my relief and delight when I found that the water was, indeed, warm. Not quite bath water, but getting there. I was so relieved that I wouldn't have to spend the first 10 minutes shivering and trying to "warm up" in a large body of water.
The other fabulous thing about the pool at the Y? It's unpopular. At least in the Winter. I've never seen more than 2 people swimming laps at any given time, and while there were 5 total today by the time I was ready to leave, I had a lane to myself the entire time.
My time at the gym is rapidly becoming a welcome escape from my desk and surprisingly stress relieving, too. Well, surprising to no one but me, that is. I find that I am looking forward to the gym and am frustrated that I can't run longer/farther because it means I spend less time running. Another argument for walking that extra mile, I suppose. I gave up running years ago because of terrible, terrible shin splints. Like physical therapy terrible. I've been running in my Vibrams and can happily report that the shin splints are nowhere to be found. (Knock on wood...) And jumping in the pool after a hot, sweaty run (don't worry, I shower first) is such a joy.
Also, and I know this could be water weight or breakfast or even just random fluctuations, but I lost 4 pounds since I started going to the gym. I weighed myself on Jan. 31 and then again this morning and I was 4 pounds lighter. I'm calling it a win. I'm also probably going to avoid the scale for a little while... Probably not the best idea to obsessively weigh myself every week...
I never (in a million years) thought I'd say this, but I can't wait to go back.
Monday, February 7, 2011
No news is... no news.
In both adoption and infertility, there is a lot of waiting. A lot. An agonizing, soul crushing amount of waiting. But I digress. There are so many empty spaces in between flurries of activity, so what do I do about this little blog during those times? A few options:
1. Post nothing. Not my favorite option. I hate it when there are long silences on my favorite blogs, so I am reluctant to leave long silences on mine.
2. Write posts about nothing. A bit better than not posting, but I have no idea what to talk about. In my head I'm a super interesting person, but I guess in reality... Not so much. :-)
3. Write posts about baby stuff. This is very tempting. I have a moratorium going on purchasing baby things, but I still love, love, love to look at it online. For inspiration, for the feeling of hope, for the squee factor.
4. Profile other blogs I love. I think I'll do this anyway. There are some great ones out there.
So, that's it for today's post about nothing. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!
1. Post nothing. Not my favorite option. I hate it when there are long silences on my favorite blogs, so I am reluctant to leave long silences on mine.
2. Write posts about nothing. A bit better than not posting, but I have no idea what to talk about. In my head I'm a super interesting person, but I guess in reality... Not so much. :-)
3. Write posts about baby stuff. This is very tempting. I have a moratorium going on purchasing baby things, but I still love, love, love to look at it online. For inspiration, for the feeling of hope, for the squee factor.
4. Profile other blogs I love. I think I'll do this anyway. There are some great ones out there.
So, that's it for today's post about nothing. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!
"It comes from the love that binds us. That's what makes a family."
If you've seen this video already, watch it again. If you haven't seen it, well, it's amazing. More proof that love, not biology, not sexual orientation, love makes a family. This made my heart swell.
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