I looked around and saw it was a teacher from the school Keith, my seven-year-old, attends.

"Yes," I replied, "this is Brent."

She gasped and said, "Oh, my! He looks just like Keith. What a blessing. What an amazing blessing."

Though I wasn’t sure what the "blessing" was, I assumed she meant I was lucky to be able to adopt such a handsome child, so I said, "Yeah, we think he’s pretty cute."

She continued to stare at Brent with amazement. "I just can’t believe how much he looks like Keith. This really goes to show that God had a plan when he brought the two of them together into your family. You are so blessed for them to look alike."

I replied with a quiet "Uh huh," before changing the subject to Keith’s summer school classes.

This teacher’s comments were odd and puzzle me still, many days later, and I am left with many unanswered questions:

She obviously thinks my kids are lucky to look like one another, but what about my third child who does not look like either of her brothers? Will she face more difficulties because she does not look biologically connected to the rest of her family? Do people who look like their siblings have an easier time in life? Is this a comment parents of biological siblings hear on a regular basis? Do adopted children need to look genetically connected to someone in their family?

I’ve never heard a parent—adoptive or biological—brag about how lucky they are to have their children look alike.

When my husband, Paul, and I were planning for our first adoption, we were open to building a transracial family. While trying to find kids with looks similar to ours didn’t affect our decision-making process throughout our multiple adoptions, wanting to parent children who would share similar backgrounds to each other did. We considered the label of being adopted, and we thought about what it would be like for child to be raised by parents of a different race (we’re both Caucasian). And, in doing so, realized that, no matter how much we increase our awareness and try to educate ourselves about these two truly unique circumstances and the challenges they might pose, we will never fully understand what life is like for our children. So we decided to let the race of our first child determine that of future adopted children, so they would always have one another to turn to for support. So when Keith, a Hispanic baby, came into our lives, we began growing a blended Caucasian and Hispanic family.

I shared the exchange with a friend who, having adopted two children from Russia and one from Kazakhstan, is often a source of transracial parenting support. While agreeing that the intent of the comment was not mean-spirited, my friend, who has white skin and red hair, while all three of her children have brown skin and black hair, was equally puzzled by the teacher’s comments. She could not tell me if she thought I should be offended or if I was possibly being too sensitive about a comment regarding my children’s looks. It was nice to know that there was no obvious answer to my predicament.

In the end, I have chosen not to be offended by this teacher and am coming to terms with the fact that I won’t ever understand why she said what she did. Since I do not feel that she has ever treated Keith differently because he was adopted, I will continue to interact with her as I did before.

But I am curious if this line of thinking is common? If you’ve adopted transracially, how did you come to the decision? Would you be happy if your children looked alike? Has anyone commented on your children’s similar or dissimilar looks?

Answering Tough Adoption Questions

 
• To Find the Birth Parents, or Not?
   
• What Adopted Means
   
• Are You Their "Real" Mom?
   
• How Well Can You Prepare for an International Adoption?
   
• Do You Love Her Like Your Own?
   
• Is Saying “Brown” OK?
 
• Where Is He From? Does He Speak Spanish?
 
• Is This an Open Adoption Divorce?

Over the years I have come to accept that this is the current status of my children’s adoptions, that the image I had associated with “openness” is not my reality, and, in fact, it feels like we are “divorced” from our children’s birth parents. It breaks my heart, but there is nothing I can do.  As with any relationship, you cannot force the other party to do what you want them to do.  You can only be responsible for your own actions.  I have been able to accept all of this for myself, but explaining it to my children has been harder. I never planned to have to talk to my children about why a birth parent is not around anymore, but that’s just what I’ve had to do.

Recently I had this conversation with my seven year-old son, Keith.

Keith (K):  Will I ever see my birth parents?
Me (D):  I hope so.  Why do you want to see them?
K:  I just want to know if I look like them.
D:  We have old pictures of them.  Do you want to hang them up in your room?
K:  I want to know what they look like now.  Why don’t they send us new ones?
D:  I don’t know, sweetie.  I have written them and asked, but haven’t heard back.  But I send them pictures of you, and I am sure they think you are so handsome.  They love you very much.
K (with tears in his eyes):  But if they love me, why won’t they write?
D:  I don’t know.  I hope that someday they have the chance to send you a letter or pictures.  But I can’t promise anything.  We’ll just keep sending them stuff from us.  Do you want to write to them and ask them anything?
K:  No.  I just want to see what they look like now.
D:  I know.  I do too.

Keith and I continued to talk about his birth family.  We guessed what they currently looked like, what subjects they had liked in school and what characteristics he got from them.  It was a positive adoption conversation between the two of us.  At the end, I told Keith how proud I was that he told me his feelings since it must be difficult to talk about. I was also proud of myself for not flipping out, crying, and hugging Keith as tight as humanly possible.  I could see his heart breaking.  I knew he had thought a lot about this topic and could not comprehend how anyone could be too busy to contact someone they love.  He’s too young and innocent to understand the complexities of relationships. 

Paul and I are happily married, as are all of our immediate family members, so my experience of divorce is limited, but following this conversation I felt as if I were in one of those Lifetime movies where the child is crying to their mother about how they long to hear from their father who abandoned them.  The mother has to say that she has no idea why their father is staying away.  I have also seen many Dr. Phil television shows about families going through divorce.  Thanks to these two “resources” I have, perhaps without realizing it at the time, learned some things which helped me in my conversation with Keith.

For example, I knew not to tell any lies because I could easily set my child’s expectations too high.  I didn’t say, “I know that they’ll write to you soon,” because I do not know when, if ever, they will write.  I also knew to sympathize with the emotions Keith was feeling about the situation.  By telling him afterward how proud I was of him for voicing his emotions, I was hopefully encouraging him to bring it up again if he feels like it.  I also learned that it’s okay, if difficult, to say, “I don’t know,” when responding to the questions Keith desperately wanted real answers to.

It’s surprising that movies and television shows about divorce are helping me talk to my children about adoption.  Then again, I’m also very surprised that I have to have these discussions with my children at all when we actively pursued “open” adoptions. 

I hope this divorce is not final.  I hope that in time the contact between us and the birth parents will become mutual.  Until then, I’ll look for any resources, from books on divorce and television psychologists to learning from your personal open adoption experiences, that will aid me in giving my children the best possible emotional support. 

Answering Tough Adoption Questions

 
• What Adopted Means
 
• Are You Their “Real” Mom?
 
• Where Is He from? Does He Speak Spanish? Surprising Adoption Questions
 
• How Well Can You Prepare for an International Adoption?
 
• Do You Love Her Like Your Own?
 
• Is Saying "Brown" OK?
 
• Transracial Adoptive Families: Would You Move for Your Kids?

In the first scenario, I’d often start off by answering, “Here, in the U.S.” But that generally led to more questions. Sometimes I’d say “Here in town,” if I wasn’t sure if people thought we were visiting from somewhere else.  If I said, “Texas,” which is where he was born, I’d get the response, “No, where is he from?”  So I’d say, “Austin,” the specific city of his origin, and wonder to myself why strangers really needed such details. 

From there, a typical conversation would progress like this:

Stranger:  “No.  Where did you get him from?”
Us: “Texas.”
Stranger: “No. Is he from Guatemala or Mexico?”
Us: “No. He’s American.”
Stranger: “No. Where did you travel to get him?” 
Us: “We traveled to Texas because he was born there.”
Stranger:  “Really?  Texas?  Wow!”

After a few of these more involved conversations, we figured out that people assumed we must have adopted internationally, simply because our child was Hispanic.  I didn’t expect people to know that you rarely adopt newborns overseas.  But I did expect people to know that there are Hispanic people in the United States that give birth. 

That baby’s neither a Caucasian nor African-American baby—the only two “kinds” of infants you can adopt domestically—so he must have been adopted internationally.  After all, there are no fertile women of any other race in the United States.  And, if these other “kinds” of women somehow do get pregnant, they are required to leave our country to give birth, or automatically want, or have the means and support system, to parent their children.  Because people were absolutely amazed each time we said we adopted a Hispanic child domestically, Paul and I felt like everyone around us might as well be thinking these kinds of things.

While we were surprised that people were surprised that we only traveled as far as Texas to adopt our child, the most shocking—and quite common—question we got, about our newborn baby, mind you, was, “Does he speak Spanish?” 

In our research, we read about adoptive parents who adopted internationally being asked this kind of question, but usually when they had adopted a toddler or an older child, not a three-week-old baby.

Carefully, in order not to offend the intelligence of the person questioning us, Paul and I would respond with, “We adopted him as a newborn,” “I was in the room with him when he was born,” or “We took him out of the hospital when he was three-days-old.”  We didn’t want to come off as smarty-pantses by saying, “Um…all he does is cry,” “He only speaks baby,” or “He didn’t come programmed with any language.”

Did it offend me that I was asked if we adopted internationally?  Absolutely not.  I was more offended that people assume only Caucasians or African Americans babies are available for adoption in the United States.

Did it bother me that I was asked if my son spoke Spanish?  I must admit I was taken aback by this question when I was holding a newborn in my arms.  Paul and I certainly weren’t prepared for that question! 

It would be nice if these two questions would be included in the books when I was originally researching being a transracial family.  Had we known we would have been better prepared with answers.  These particular questions apply not just to international adoptions, but for domestic adoptions, too.  Who knew?  Obviously not us!

Top Adoption Myths—Debunked

 
• Adopting Does Not Improve Fertility
 
• Adoption Failures vs. Infertility: By the Numbers
 
• Adoptive Children Aren’t the Only "Lucky" Ones
 
• Do You Love Her Like Your Own?

Answering Tough Adoption Questions

• To Find the Birth Parents, or Not?
 
• What Adopted Means
 
• Are You Their “Real” Mom?
 
• How Well Can You Prepare for an International Adoption?
 
• Do You Love Her Like Your Own?
 
• Is Saying "Brown" OK?

What Does “Real” Even Mean?
A quick check in a dictionary confirms that while there are many meanings for the word “real”—some of these include “actual rather than imaginary, ideal, or fictitious,” “being an actual thing; having objective existence; not imaginary,” “genuine,” and “not counterfeit, artificial, or imitation”—none of the definitions I come across mention “sharing of DNA.”

Yet, it seems as if the questions people ask about the “realness” of my family assume that this is the only definition.

I have learned how to handle most questions with dignity and am always in the process of teaching my children to do the same. Most comments, I understand, result from not being properly educated about adoption. I, myself, was clueless about many aspects of adoption—and how to talk about them—up until I walked into my first adoption support group meeting, started reading books on the topic, and became a full-fledged family formed through adoption. Yet, when people I don’t know use the word “real” in regards to adoptive families it strikes a nerve in me.

“Real Mom?”
Strangers—whether a cashier, another parent on a playground, or even a hairdresser who sees me with my children—will ask if I’m my children’s “real mom” quite often. Even though I knew this would happen when we chose to adopt, and especially when we chose to adopt transracially, I am usually taken aback.

Since my adoptions are transracial, I look nothing like my children, so I think it’s pretty obvious there is no genetic connection. So why do they use the word “real”? Do they think I am the children’s nanny? Could I really be some counterfeit mom while the other one is getting her nails done? I know these people just want to know if my children are adopted, but don’t feel comfortable asking directly, but it’s the way they ask that I find troubling. And it doesn’t help that this kind of question always seems to come on the days where I am ready to rip my hair out from being worn out by being such a “real” mom.

Answering Tough Adoption Questions
How I respond truly depends on my mood, and if my children are with me. If I am in an unpleasant mood, I might say, “Let’s see, I change their dirty diapers and wipe their runny noses day in and day out. It certainly seems like I’m ‘real.’” If I am in a nicer mood, I may reply, “I am an adoptive parent, so yes, I am their ‘real mom.’”

Answering Tough Adoption Questions—in Front of Your Kids
What angers some adoptive parents I have spoken to on this topic, is when their children overhear strangers question whether their mom is “real.” To a child, if something is not “real,” then it’s fake. Never should a child doubt that the parent who cares for them day in and day out is a fake parent. Imagine what doubts that could place in their minds regarding their security.

Putting the “Real Mom” Debate to Rest
Honestly, I feel that all of my children have two “real” mothers. One of us nurtured my child for their first months in utero and the other has nurtured them since. Both of us “really” have held or are holding an important role and should be rightly insulted by strangers who imply one of us is fake. Without their real birth mother and their real daily mom (me) my children would not be who they are today.

Top Adoption Myths—Debunked

 
• Adopting Does Not Improve Fertility
 
• Adoption Failures vs. Infertility: By the Numbers
 
• Adoptive Children Aren’t the Only "Lucky" Ones
 
• Do You Love Her Like Your Own?

That’s the question an adoption counselor who asked my husband, Paul, and I, along with a group of prospective adoptive parents, at an adoption training seminar prior to our first adoption.  If a prospective parent’s gut answer is "yes," then he or she might make a good candidate for transracial adoption, the counselor explained.  Answering "no" may mean transracial adoption isn’t the best fit.  Since Paul and I had already marked on our adoption forms that we were open to adopting transracially, it was a relief that we immediately looked at each other and nodded "yes," after hearing this question.

Jump ahead to Paul and I, both Caucasian, parenting our adopted Hispanic son in a neighborhood we moved into before becoming parents.  It was a lovely location and the local elementary school had some of the state’s best teachers. The problem? The overall population was probably 90 percent Caucasian, and the student body an even higher 95 percent. With that question about our child not being the minority that the adoption counselor asked us a few years before, and our answer to it, in the back of our minds, we knew we had to move. We had just adopted our second child, a Hispanic girl, when we began to house search.  We didn’t want our children to be known as the "brown" ones.

Our city’s Hispanic population is not very large, and it’s concentrated in a very specific location, one that would involve a long commute to Paul’s work and wouldn’t have as good as schools as I’d like for my children.  After researching the different areas that we could live, we realized that it was more important for us to live in an area with diversity, where our children would not be the only "non white" people, than to live in a specifically Hispanic community.  What we needed, we decided, was a neighborhood with people with black hair just like our kids.  So, we began to look at some of the other more diverse neighborhoods nearby (I remembering asking our real estate agent about moving to an area with "black haired kids," and he looked at me like I was nuts), including one with a large Southeast Asian population, with pockets of African American families and a growing Chinese community.  What do all of these minority groups have in common?  They have black hair just like our Hispanic children.

We ended up moving less than a mile away from our old house into a new neighborhood and school district.  By doing so, we are now in a neighborhood which is probably only 60 percent Caucasian.  My son attends an excellent school, which is only 50 percent Caucasian.  Unfortunately, the Hispanic population is still a small percentage of that multi-cultural other half.  But, children with black hair are all over.  Last year, in his Kindergarten class, out of 16 children, only 6 were Caucasian, while the others were Asian Indian, African-American, Chinese,  and two Hispanic.  I loved going into his classroom.  My child did not stick out out at all, but fit it with the other children who would be considered "minority status" elsewhere, but were in the majority here.

So, did we stay true to the adoption counselor’s goal of making sure that we would be comfortable with the challenges and responsibilities of raising children of a different race and ethnic background than ours (such as, perhaps, changing our lives, so our children don’t always have to be the odd ones out)? I’d say, "Kinda."  Paul and I are not in the minority.  My Hispanic children are not in the majority.  But we did move in order to help our children not feel out of place as the only minorities.

Does this mean that everyone who decides to adopt transracially has to follow our lead?  Not at all.  In perfect world we would have moved to a Hispanic community. But, for now, living in a community of many different ethnicities has been the best choice for my family.

So, the question we are ultimately holding ourselves responsible to answering is, "Are you willing to move so that your child is accepted, and not made to feel different for his or her features?” To this Paul and I said, "yes," and I’m thrilled we did.

Related Posts:

 
• Choosing Your Adoption Route
 
• What to Expect When You’re Adopting
 
• The Five Stages of Adoption Emotion
 
• Is Saying "Brown" OK?
 
• The Truth Behind Adoption Failure Statistics

Some of the other moms who heard this story were nodding their head in agreement.  One said she’d be floored if her child used “brown” to describe someone.  Another said she’d be afraid others would overhear the child and assume that they were racist.  I sat there quietly listening to all of them.

Then I spoke up with the opposite view.  “I see nothing wrong with what your daughter said.  I constantly have discussions with my kids about how their skin is brown and mine is white.  I point out a lot of our differences, like our hair and eye color.  I then explain that it doesn’t matter what color all of these things are, as we are all the same underneath.  I would never tell them it’s wrong to use a color to describe skin color, because I want them to feel comfortable asking questions about people’s differences.”

The mom who originally told the story was surprised that I, the only one there with non-Caucasian children, wasn’t offended by her daughter’s words.  “So, you wouldn’t be upset if you heard her ask why your kids are brown and you aren’t?”  I honestly answered, “No.  I’ve heard that question a lot from children about our family.  I’m never offended when I kid talks that way.  An adult on the other hand…”

The other moms admitted that they, too, thought I’d be upset if their children pointed out my children’s physical differences from my own by using “brown” to describe skin tone.  All I could say was, “Well, it’s true.  My kids are brown and I am white.  I don’t see why a child can’t point that out and ask why we don’t look alike.”

Some of my fellow moms said that they are so worried about what is politically correct these days that they want to teach their children the proper words to say.  I hope that, as a mom in a transracial family, my opinion gave their children some leeway in describing the world around them.

One of my favorite children’s books on this topic is Todd Parr’s It’s OK to be Different.  The book addresses different body types, hair styles, clothing choices, and skin colors.  Prior to each description, he writes, “It’s OK to…”.  For example, some pages say, “It’s OK to have no hair,” and “It’s OK to be tall.”  There’s even a page that says, “It’s OK to be adopted.”  It uses language children can relate to.  It doesn’t say, “It’s OK to be Hispanic,” as that is not a word (label) children use. 

Children see brown skin on Hispanic people.  So, if a child wants to use “brown” to describe someone, it doesn’t bother me.  I recommended this book for the daughter who called the lady “brown” in the grocery store—and all kids.  The book reinforces the idea that there are different colors of people, but it doesn’t make a difference, as everyone is the same inside.  Plus, the book says that differences make people important and special.  I especially like reading that part to my children and hope it’s sinking in with them.

Later, when I thought about this conversation, I was surprised that I, the one whose children may be confronted head-on with racism, precisely because of their skin color, was the most relaxed about using colors to describe people.  I am not sure if that is how other moms like me would believe.  But it’s OK to have different opinions. 

I usually gave a polite laugh and said something like, "Well that would be a surprise!" In my mind I was (perhaps rudely) thinking something along the lines of, "It’d be a heck of a lot cheaper than the infertility treatments or the cost of adoption," "Who knew all I had to do was stop infertility treatments to get them to work correctly?," or "Do you think I’m not happy to be adopting?"

I think people commonly say this after a person has announced their adoption plans, because they honestly do not know what to say when someone they know has tried so long to get pregnant. They aren’t aware of how much time, effort, and gut-wrenching emotion went into the decision to end infertility treatments and pursue adoption.

Someone must have heard from someone somewhere at some time about some woman who got pregnant once she decided to adopt—but that woman was not me. This story has become a bit of folk wisdom spouted as freely as, "Don’t count your chickens before they hatch."  Do they realize how, with such a simple phrase, they’re reducing an adoptive parent’s life, and the life of the adopted child, into a cliche?

The fact is the number of infertile people who get pregnant after pursuing adoption is the same number as infertile people who get pregnant after ending infertility treatments. The factor of deciding to adopt or adopting a child is not relevant.

I know a handful of couples who have gotten pregnant without infertility treatments once they chose adoption or had adopted. They were extremely surprised and happy not to have to spend the time and money on adoption. Some of these couples were even a bit mad that they got pregnant because they didn’t want to become the "cliche" which had annoyed them so much before.

As for me, I am convinced that my family is complete. If pigs decided to take flight and I became pregnant, I would be thrilled. But I’m not going to continue storing old baby clothes in hopes of this happening. I am going to move on with my life and not get wrapped up in the old "Could I be pregnant?" game. My focus is only on the three children who are already in my family.

Recently, my husband, Paul, told me a story of others expecting us to become pregnant once we adopted.  His co-worker announced that his wife was pregnant with their fourth child.

Paul told him that he couldn’t imagine having four kids because three make for a pretty hectic household. The co-worker (who knew we had adopted our children) said with a matter-of-fact tone, "Hey don’t count out having more kids. You never know…" Paul looked at him like he had two heads and replied, "What? Am I accidentally going to fill out some paperwork?"

Moving Past Fears of an Adoption Failure
My husband, Paul, and I knew the risks of an adoption failing when we selected domestic adoption.  It scared us.  We just ended our infertility journey with a miscarriage. But Paul and I came away from it a stronger couple, and knew we could make it through whatever obstacles we were to face in the adoption process.

We knew that we could hold back our emotions with potential birth parents out of fear of it failing and possibly miss moments of our baby’s pregnancy and birth, or we could leap right in and emotionally expose ourselves knowing that this baby may not become ours.  We chose to jump right in, as we didn’t want to have any regrets about the adoption experience later in life.

For our first adoption, everything was textbook perfect. The birth parents seemed to read our initial fear and on our very first phone call they joked that they “would never come rapping at our windows years down the road demanding their child back.”  In the end, everything worked out wonderfully and we adopted my first son, Keith, only three months after we turned in our adoption profile.

Finding a Adoption Match
When we pursued domestic adoption for our second child it took nine months before our profile was selected. The situation was very similar to our previous adoption. There was still two more months left in the pregnancy for us to get to know the potential birth parents even better. I talked to the potential birth mother directly on the phone at least once a week for those two months.  Over the course of those discussions I got a feeling that the relationship between the potential birth parents was rocky. Without them telling me directly, I eventually figured out this was the main reason they chose adoption for their baby.

About a month before the birth Paul, Keith, and I flew down to the potential birth parents’ home state and spent a weekend with them. Keith was only two years old and oblivious to the purpose of our trip, which was a blessing in disguise looking back on the situation.  Our weekend was lovely as we spent time with the potential birth parents discussing everything under the sun.  By the end of the weekend, all of my possible fears of things not working out were laid to rest. I was sure it was all going to happen. I knew I was going to be back with these birth parents in a month to get a new son.  Once we flew back home I was eager to wash all the newborn clothes, clean up the future nursery, and busied myself with other “nesting” tasks to prepare for our new baby. I happily told everyone that I was expecting a new son soon.

I continued to talk to the potential birth mother every couple days to see how she was feeling as it was near her due date.  I would jump whenever my cell phone rang.  I knew that when she was going into labor we’d have to rush to get ourselves on a plane as fast as possible. I didn’t want to miss any time with my future son.

The Phone Call That Changed it All
I was out with friends on a play date at a local museum when I received a phone call from the potential birth mother. My heart was racing as I asked, “Are you in labor?” She started crying and said, “Yes. But I need to tell you something.” She continued to say that she and the birth father had worked out their differences and decided to raise this baby together.  I was numb and could only say, “Okay.” Through her sobbing she kept repeating that her decision had absolutely nothing to do with me.  She said she adored me and knew I’d get the baby I deserved soon.  I told her very calmly, “Thank you for telling me about this decision now.  I am sure you will love your baby with all of your heart.  I pray that you have an easy delivery, that he is healthy, and that you will all be very happy.”  I stoically said goodbye and she said, “I am so sorry.  Goodbye,” and cried as she hung up. It was all over in about 60 seconds.

When I hung up, my legs gave out from under me and I collapsed to the floor.  All my emotions came out and my body began heaving from my crying.  My friends had no idea what had happened on the phone.  All I could spit out was, “She changed her mind.  There’s no baby.”  I barely recall them assisting Keith and I to my car.  I called Paul and honestly don’t remember what I told him.  I am not sure how he understood anything as I couldn’t stop sobbing.  My friends followed my car to make sure I made it home safe.  Paul was home by then, waiting for me.  For the rest of the day we just held each other and Keith and cried and cried and cried.  It was all we could do.

Mourning Our Loss
Before going through a failed adoption I would have assumed it would have felt just like a miscarriage.  In actuality, it didn’t.  Sure, there were similarities of shock, anger, and sadness.  Yet the reasons for those feelings were not for a death as with a miscarriage.  In a failed adoption there is still a living child in the world and you are grieving that that particular child is not in your home.  With a miscarriage you do not know if you will ever get pregnant again.  Adoption has a 100-percent success rate if you stick with it.  Even if you experience a failed adoption, you know that you will still end up with a child—just not the one you anticipated this time.

I knew there was nothing different I could have done to change the outcome of this failed adoption.  I looked back for red flags, but could not find any.  It was just the way it was meant to be.  Logically, I knew all of this, but my heart was aching.  I kept secretly hoping the birth parents would be overwhelmed with the baby, realize their mistake, and call us to come take the baby home.  This thought consumed me for at least a month after the phone call with the birth mother.  I knew I had to clear my mind.

With the money Paul and I saved to use to travel for our adoption, we spontaneously traveled to Mexico for a week to be pampered at a five-star all-inclusive resort with Keith. It was the best cure for us.  We reconnected and appreciated the family we currently had.  During that entire trip, I didn’t cry once for the child I thought our family was missing.  We returned home ready to move on with life and pursue our second adoption.

Healing Myself after the Failed Adoption
When I thought about another potential birth parent selecting our adoption profile, my stomach turned. Immediately I assumed that the next potential birth parents were going to lure me in and break my heart again.  I knew that was an irrational thought, as Keith’s birth parents did nothing of the sort. It was then I realized that I was not mourning the loss of the baby anymore; I was mourning the trust that I lost in people.

Someone has to work hard for me to lose trust in them. This failed adoption changed all of that and made me a cynical person, even thought I knew it wasn’t a fair way to be, especially toward any potential birth mother.  They didn’t deserved to be judged on the actions of others that came before them.  I grew weary and wary of answering the phone—for the fear of having to deal with a potential birth mothers. (We did not have Caller-ID at the time so anytime I picked up the phone there was the possibility it was our adoption agency.) 

Day by day I took time to try to heal myself., trying to find who I was before the failed adoption, so I could be the best wife and mother to Keith and my future child. Around two months after the failed adoption, the phone rang and I answered it.  I have no recollection who it was, but I do remember after I hung up I realized I wasn’t afraid to answer it like I had been. That’s when I knew I was finally healed.  Not 100 percent, but enough to move on and be myself once again.

A Happy (Adoption Journey) Ending
Just two weeks later on Valentine’s Day, Paul and I received a phone call that a baby girl had been born the day before and we had just been selected to be her parents.  We immediately flew to her and had our new daughter in our arms the next day.  It was 13 months from the time we turned in our profile until we adopted her.  Those months were some of our hardest times, full of more challenges than I could ever had imagined adoption would bring us.  From the beginning Paul and I knew the risks and accepted them knowing we could weather through anything. I am so glad we accepted those risks in order to get the children we have today.

Do I still think about that baby from that failed adoption?  Absolutely.  I truly hope that he and his parents are happy.  Am I still sad we didn’t adopt him?  Not at all. Ask any adoptive parent and they will tell you that their child through adoption was always meant to be theirs.  I can look at my beautiful daughter and know that she was to be in our family.  We were meant go through that failed adoption to learn about patience, trust, and appreciation of our family.  All of those things helped us be better parents.

A failed adoption is never an easy situation, whether it is before or after the birth.  I have friends who held babies at the hospital, had babies in their homes, or traveled across the world to meet a child, only to have the adoption fail.  All of us were afraid when we chose adoption that there was a chance we’d have one or more fail.  I, like thousands of others in the adoption community, took this chance, dove in, and I am now reaping the benefits of facing my fear. Being a parent to my children made it all worth it.

I was at a mall’s playground with my one-year-old son, Brent, and my four-year-old daughter, Irena. Brent ran over to a little girl in a stroller in order to see what she was eating. The girl’s grandmother, who had a large friendly smile for my son and me, sat next to the stroller.

Woman (W): Oh, he is so cute! Is he from South America?
Me (M): No, he is from here. He is Hispanic though.
W: Oh, I know that. Is his Dad Mexican?
M: No. I am an adoptive parent.
W: Oh! So you do not have any children of your own?
M: No, I do. I have three children through adoption.
W: You and your husband didn’t want any children of your own, so you adopted? Did you even try to have any of your own?
M: We were unable to have any biological children so—
W: (Interrupting) You adopted three children who needed a home. How wonderful. How were you able to pay for them? What does your husband do for a living?
M: He is a computer geek for a large local company.
W: That makes sense. Your children are so very lucky that you adopted them. They are so blessed. Are your other children here?
M: Yes, my daughter is in the pink shirt running over here.
W: She is beautiful. Look at her black hair! (Then talks to Irena) Se habla espanol?
Irena just stares at her.
W: Se habla espanol?
Irena buries her face into my side.
M: She does not speak Spanish.
W: Oh, you need to teach her. Just look at her!
M: I adopted my children as babies so—
W: (Interrupting) You really should teach her.
Irena runs off.
W: Your son looks cross-eyed. You should get him checked out.
M: Actually it is because he has a wide nose bridge. It is common with Asian and Hispanic children. They look slightly cross-eyed but it is just an optical illusion because of the bridge.
W: Hmm. I don’t know about that. My grandson was cross-eyed and needed surgery. You should have him checked out.
M: He recently saw his optometrist who is the head of the Pediatrics department at the University Hospital and was just fine.
W: He looks cross-eyed. Does not matter where your boy is from. You should have him checked-out again.
I look over to see that Irena has dumped my diaper bag out on the floor looking for a snack to eat.
M: Well, I have to go as my daughter appears to be hungry.
I quickly run away from this woman with Brent in my arms.

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So why did I have such a lengthy conversation with this woman? Part of me was in shock. Part of me was utterly amazed how many adoption faux pas she made while talking to me. Part of me was thinking this was a learning moment for me.  You never can predict what will come out of someone’s mouth.

In case you did not catch the parts of this conversation which annoyed me, here are some highlights:
1.She assumed I adopted internationally because my children are not white.
2.She referred to my children as not my “own.”
3.She thought I adopted only because I couldn’t have any biological children.
4.She said my children were “lucky” to have been adopted.
5.She only spoke Spanish to my daughter because of her race.
6.When I tried to educate her about the eyes of different races she did not believe me.

All the way to my car from the playground I was replaying the conversation in my head. Did I respond to that woman’s questions in a way that would make her think differently about adoption in the future? It is difficult when you are in the moment to remember what you should say. I do not regret any of my responses, but afterward I thought of better words I could have used.

I do not know when these situations will arise. I take my children to playgrounds often and usually strike up conversations with the other adults. I assume people will say the right things all the time. Silly, I know. It’s also silly because I constantly tell people just starting out in the adoption process that they will constantly have to have their guard up and be adoption advocates for their future children. Whenever I become laxe in my own life on this issue, a conversation like the one I had with the grandmother at the playground occurs.

Since people cannot know when these awkward moments will happen, I think that if you are adopting then you should discuss conversations like the one I described with your partner.  Consider giving responses to one another as practice.  I know I did that with my husband after I met this particular grandmother at the playground and it’s helped us both brush up on adoptive families advocacy.  Odds are no matter how much your child through adoption looks like you, you will find yourself in a situation like mine at some point.

I will still continue to strike up conversations with strangers. I will also continue to be open to discussing adoption with them. There is no way I would stop two of my favorite things (talking about my children and talking about adoption) out of fear of being in an awkward situation again.