Twelve

I've mentioned Khai's new best friend at school and I called him Alex, which is not actually his name. Now I want to change the name because Nghia's brother's name is Alex and I'm not sure why I chose it for the friend's alias, other than the fact that it's a name I really, really like. Anyway, now Khai's best friend is named Simon.

Khai and Simon have become quite close this year. They argue and fight, but they also have a blast and really like spending all their time together at school. The other day in the car I asked Khai if he knew that Simon is adopted. Khai said, "Yes, I knew that and I also know what a birthmom is." I was happy to hear this because it told me that Khai and Simon have obviously talked about Simon's being adopted. Khai has never heard the word birthmom from me.  I asked Khai to tell me what a birthmom is and it turned out he didn't actually know, but he knew the word because he heard Simon talking about it. I explained to Khai what a birthmom is and to give an example he's extremely familiar with I said, "Like your cousins. They didn't grow in Aunt Daph's belly so Aunt Daph isn't their birthmom." Khai was indignant, "But Aunt Daph is their mom!" And I said yes, Aunt Daph is certainly their mom. A birthmom is different from a mom. Khai sort of said it perfectly.

I then asked Khai if he thinks Simon and his mom look alike. (Simon is black and his mom is white.) I'm trying to find opportunities to talk about race and how our baby is going to be a different race from any of us, but I want these conversations to be somewhat organic and led by Khai. I can ask him probing questions and hope he'll go in the direction I'm hoping for so we can have a discussion about it, but if he doesn't then I can't micromanage the conversation. (Well, of course I could, but the content of the conversation would be far less meaningful to Khai. It's better to create circumstances in which he can draw his own conclusions.) In the teaching world we say that you can show a child where to look, but you shouldn't tell her what to see.

So anyway, I asked Khai if he thinks Simon and his mom look alike, hoping we could start a nice conversation about how sometimes children are a different race from their parents. Khai immediately said no, Simon and him mom definitely don't look alike. I got excited about the direction it seemed like the conversation was going to take, but I forced myself to remain casual as I asked him what's different.  Khai said, "Simon has short hair and his mom has long hair." I tried not to laugh as I agreed that yes, that certainly is a difference between them. I waited for a few minutes, in an attempt to give Khai space to extend his thinking, trying so hard not to lead him to the place where I wanted him to go. After a minute or so of silence I asked, " Are there any other differences between Simon and his mom." And Khai said, "Yes, today they were wearing different shirts."

The thing is, of course Khai sees that Simon and his mom are different races. Research about racial identity tells us that children become aware of racial differences shortly after they become aware of gender differences, which happens at a very young age, usually around 2.5 years.  So Khai knows that Simon has dark skin and his mom has light skin, but that's not the most salient difference between them, in Khai's mind. The fact that the length of their hair is different is far more interesting to talk about.

Let's Take a Break...

Last Sunday I took Avi to a birthday party. The party was located at this big indoor playspace, the kind that hosts birthday parties all day long, scheduled back to back. When Avi and I entered the massive, industrial looking building located off of a typical New Jersey highway, we were immediately herded into a small, crowded "party room" which was next to the main play space. We were instructed by one of the employees to remove our shoes, place the gift on a table, and go back out to the playspace. We dutifully did as we were told and once we entered the playspace we spent the next 45 minutes being assaulted both visually and aurally. Visually because of the bright fluorescent lights that eventually gave me a headache, and aurally because of the loud country music blaring from the loudspeakers, in addition to the shouted instructions from the workers, who likely were hourly-paid employees who host children's parties all day long. They impatiently encouraged the children to jump on the trampoline and dive into the foam pit. Avi raced around happily, completely unaware of the fact that he wasn't following the strict party instructions.

After 45 minutes of playing we were herded into the party room, which was basically a cinder block square (similar to a prison cell, I imagine) that was jam-packed with kids, adults, cheap pizza, and balloons. The children ate pizza, sang Happy Birthday, ate a piece of cake, and then the lights began flickering violently. This was our signal to get the hell out because the room was booked for another party in 5 minutes, giving the workers no time at all to clean up and remove all evidence of our party. We jammed our shoes on, ran out the door, jumped in the car, and headed back home down the scenic strip mall highway.

What ever happened to kids' parties that take place at someone's house, not some big, overcrowded indoor playspace? Parties where the parents can hang out and drink, and the kids can run around and play whatever they want? At Avi's last birthday party we invited a bunch of friends over. The adults ate snacks and drank wine while the kids ran from room to room, then outside, then back in. Everything felt easy and fun and relaxed. After a few hours most of our friends began to trickle out, the adults tipsy and cheerful, the children hyped up on cake. A few close friends remained. They helped us to pick up cups and then we sat around the dining room table, chatting and drinking more wine. Soon we ordered pizzas and the kids and adults sprawled around the living room, eating pizza off of paper plates. Eventually everyone left, except for Nato, who was in town from San Francisco and was going to sleepover, which made the event even more festive and special. The kids went to sleep and Nghia, Nato, and I stayed up late talking and finishing off the wine.

Now that's a kids' party!

If you are planning your child's next birthday party at an indoor playspace, and your child is friends with either of my children, please do not uninvite my child to the party just because of this post. It is not my children's fault that their mother is opinionated and judgmental. 

 

Eleven

I wrote the last post right after I had gotten home from the meeting with our social worker, when I was feeling particularly vulnerable and emotional. I think people who know me generally think of me as a private person. I dislike talking about myself beyond superficial information and there are many things about my life and my past that might be surprising to the majority of the new people who are in my life. So I have conflicting feelings about writing so publicly about my emotional state as we go through the adoption process. It is generally not comfortable for me to be so transparent.  On the one hand I feel self-conscious and my usual knee-jerk desire to keep everything inside, but on the other hand there's something really wonderful about having a place to put my thoughts and feelings. There's something freeing about getting everything out in the open, about sharing the personal details of all this.  The people who read my words have been so nice and supportive to me, and that's a really incredible thing. I have gotten emails from strangers, people who have also adopted who just wanted to say hi and that they are thinking of us. That's really beyond incredible. The other day Kit told me that people want to read about all of the behind the scenes information--the worry, anxiety, and fear that one might face when they are adopting a baby. She said that's the part that nobody talks about and everybody wonders about. I was going on and on with my insecure ramblings, my worry about saying too much or appearing too self-serving and egotistical.  Kit said I should keep writing, and since we have been the closest of friends for the past 31 years, I tend to trust her judgment and wisdom. Nobody knows me like she does.

And it's now been nearly a week since that meeting and as it generally happens, with time comes clarity. I'm still worried about all of the possible bumps we could face, but right now I'm also a bit more aware of the ultimate truth, which is that this WILL end with our baby in our home permanently. And when that happens I know that Nghia and I will look back on the journey and we will know without a doubt that it was worth it. We really may go through a bit of agony to get there, but how could it not be worth it in the end? I'd literally walk through fire for Khai and Avi, so it makes sense that I would do the same for the next little one. Hopefully we won't have to walk through any fires, but if we do we can handle it together. Sometimes it's just what you have to do. If there's one thing I want to instill in my children, it's that they are capable of getting through hard times. Life is not always easy. Sometimes it's horrifically difficult, in fact. But it is amazing what people can get through.

Our neighbors up the street have a child who was adopted. Their son is 10 now and a very sweet, smart kid. Recently I was talking with one of the dads about their adoption process and he shared with me that years back they lost custody of a child who had been in their home for 6 months. After six months, before the adoption was finalized, a relative appeared, fought for custody and won. (This was through the foster care system, which is very different than adopting through an agency, like we're doing. In other words, this couldn't happen to us.) Here I am, terrified of losing a baby after one month and they lost one after six months. It's unthinkable. I asked the dad what that was like and his response was really beautiful and inspiring. He told me that it was very sad, that he and his partner cried a lot as they said goodbye to a baby they had loved. He told me they cried for weeks after she was gone and the sadness lingered for a long time. And then he said, "But we knew that we had helped her. We gave her a home when she needed one."

So if the unthinkable happens to us, hopefully we will be able to find comfort in knowing that we helped.

Avi says, "Power to the People!"

Ten

This process is going to have a lot of emotional highs and lows, and tonight feels like a bit of a low.

We had a meeting with our social worker earlier this afternoon. Her name is Kate and she's a very kind, sweet woman, and Nghia and I are both looking forward to working with her. I feel like we are in good hands with her. The purpose of the meeting was for Kate to go through the rest of the adoption process in detail, to answer all of our questions, and to describe all of the possible paths we could go down before we get legal custody of our baby. I guess it's thinking about some of those paths that is making me feel so melancholy tonight.

I've said before that we could fall into the category of adoptive parents that are chosen, the baby is placed, both birth parents terminate their parental rights at the hospital, and we take the baby home. This is the scenario we are desperately hoping for. But there are other possibilities as well...

If the birthmother lives in Pennsylvania then we're going to have a rough road in front of us no matter what. In PA the birthmother cannot relinquish her parental rights for 30 days. (In NJ it's 72 hours.) This means that a baby could get taken from our home because for those 30 days the baby will live at our house. Kate told us that when you're in this situation you sort of have to tell yourself you're just babysitting for the next 30 days. It might be your baby, but it might not be. It might be your child's sibling, but it might not be.  And there's nothing we can do about this. We can't refuse to work with a birthmother from PA.We have to be willing to work with all of the states that our agency works with. At the end of the 30 days we will find out if the baby is ours or not. If it's not, if the birthmother decides she wants to parent after all, then we have to say goodbye. Someone will come to our house and drive away with that baby.  I know myself well enough to know that there's not a goddamn thing I can do to stop myself from loving that baby after taking care of him or her for a month. This possibility literally hurts to think about tonight. And it is a very real possibility.

When we got in the car after the meeting I could tell Nghia was feeling as overwhelmed as I was. He asked me what I thought and I said that I'm worried and scared. I'm worried about a baby being taken from our home, I'm worried I will get attached to the baby, I'm scared to lose a baby that I love.  I asked Nghia how he felt about the meeting and he said that it seems like we're choosing to go through an awful lot of hardship to get this baby. Why would we choose to do this? I can see why people who are desperate to become parents, people who don't have any other possibilities, would have no choice but to go down this scary road. But we do have a choice. We do not have to do this.

We were quiet for a long time, each of us lost in our own little worlds of fear and sadness. After a while I said, "I still want to do it."  And Nghia said, "So do I."