Double Vision

Surprise, Surprise

TracyRaz — 2012-12-05T17:00:47+00:00

If there is one thing that surprises me when it comes to adoption, it's how much things still manage to surprise me.

Ten years in and I'm still floored by some of the things people say to me -- including my own twin daughters.

Here are the top five, in no particular order, along with the lessons I've taken away:

1) When Little Bit asked me why her birthmom didn't want her and gave her away. This happened when she was eight-years-old, so, after eight years of hearing her story, which includes many references to how much she was loved, how much crying there was in the conference room of the adoption agency when her birthmom said goodbye to her and her sister, and how often she wanted to check in on them and visit with them during their first year.

Lesson learned: Open adoption works. My daughters haven't seen their birthmom in many years (her choice), so, despite the stories we tell and the pictures they see, they create their own reality. On the other hand, Little Bit has never once imagined that her birthdad, Big K, was anything but completely smitten with her -- probably because she can see that for herself during our visits.

2) The number of good friends who still say things like, "Where is their mother?" "Do they see their mother?" "Do you talk about their mother?" "What is their mother like?"

To which I respond (always with a smile): "Right here." "Every day." "All the time." And "She's pretty nifty."

Lesson learned: It's really just semantics. My friends know who the mom in our family is, so I don't sweat it when they get confused with adoption lingo.

3) Adoption professionals who think there is only one way to behave or feel during "the wait." I have a friend who is very excited about adoption and her agency told her that, if she decorated the nursery in anticipation of the baby, she would only be hurt when a baby wasn't immediately available and it would show potential birthparents how needy they are. Adoption is not one size fits all, people. We make our choices and deal with our feelings. Just like all parents.

Lesson learned: Keep making connections among people in the triad to learn that there are almost as many ways to feel about "the wait" -- and any of the other stages -- as there are people.

4) The judgment within the adoption community. I have to admit that this one is still sticky for me, so I'm not really sure what I've learned. I just don't understand why some of the people I know who have adopted internationally think that I coerced a mother into giving up her baby so that I could become a mom, when there are so many orphans in other countries, OR that some people who have adopted domestically think international adopters bought their babies because they didn't want to deal with birthparents.

Lesson learned: It's a big world with lots of differing opinions. Some of them quite ill-informed. My belief has been and always will be that people adopt because they want to build a family. Anything else that informed their decision is none of my business.

5) The way adoption is depicted in fiction: books, television, movies. In reality, adoption is fairly mundane. On television, it's a huge ordeal fraught with drama. Birthmoms have unlimited time to get their babies back and always do, even if they have to kidnap them. Adoptive families lie, cheat, and steal to get their baby. I'm not saying it never happens, but it happens a lot (A LOT) more in fiction than reality.

Lesson learned: If you're thinking of adopting, don't watch television, read, or go to the movies. Or find real people to talk to about their real experiences in the real world.

The Numbers Game

TracyRaz — 2012-10-08T16:36:51+00:00

I hate that I am writing this blog post.

I hate that time marches on, and my age along with it.

And, mostly, I hate that Banana and Little Bit, the twins I adopted domestically, have learned math.

At dinner the other night, Little Bit asked me if I wished I were 27. I answered that I couldn’t remember what life was like at 27.

Little Bit was undeterred by my deflection. “I mean,” she said. “Don’t you wish you were, you know, younger?”

In my head I said, “Well, of course I want to be younger, fitter, more energetic, and so on.”

But I replied, “Well, I’ve learned a lot in these past 53 years, and I’m probably a better parent for it.”

“Yeah, but K’s mom is only 27,” she said. “So when she dies, K will probably be 60 or 70, but when you die I will only be 20.”

“Or,” I said, ignoring the fact that my daughter thinks I’ve only got 11 years left, “I could live to be as old as your great grandma and you would be 50 or 55 when I die.”

“Yeah, but you’ll probably be in a nursing home for most of that time,” said my little pessimist.

And there we had it, the secret truth that we older parents try to ignore -- our kids have done the math, they know that we are less likely to have the quantity or quality of life as their friends’ parents, who are mostly 10 or 15 years younger than we are.

Age is a huge topic in the adoption world and, like many pre-adoptive parents, I had my cut-off point -- the age at which I imagined I'd be too old to adopt a newborn. For me that number was 45.

What I learned from that dinner conversation was that it’s not really about how well I think I can parent at my (or any) age, but how a child will react to a parent at my (or any) age. Once again, my child had taught me that adoption needs to be child-focused.

I play the role of parent to my twins quite energetically. Despite my advanced years, I’m their Brownie leader, their chauffer, their at-home tutor, their classroom helper, their talent show coordinator, their dance cheerleader, their cook and laundress. You know, their mom.

But because of my advanced years my children fear that I’ll die and leave them.

Let me tell you, that is a sobering thought. And one that should be considered by anyone over the age of 40 who is considering adoption.

I know that none of us knows for whom the bell tolls, and that any of us could walk into the path of an 18-wheeler tomorrow. Little Bit knows that too. We’ve lost friends much younger than I am to accident and disease.

To be honest, I recognize the benefits of my being an older parent. I am more patient, more settled, better able to focus on parenting, and financially able to stay home.

But I’ve had the same worry my daughter expressed about not seeing them through their adulthood. That’s why I’ve kept a journal for each of them for the past 10 years, detailing their history, little bits of advice, and funny stories, in case I’m not around to share them every Thanksgiving when the family gathers.

I’ve surrounded my family with younger moms and friends (and have a husband who’s six years my junior!) who can offer support and be good role models if I’m not here.

Of course, I plan to be here. I plan to cry at weddings and play with grandchildren. But I also realize that choosing older parenthood is more complex than knowing you’re capable of parenting when you make the decision. You need to think about the future and how you’ll parent when you’re 60 and your child is 10.

Because your child will.

Do They Know?

TracyRaz — 2012-08-01T16:40:34+00:00

Ten years after adopting our twin girls, the question that still surprises me the most is, "Do they know they're adopted?" followed closely by "When did you tell them?"

The question is surprising to me because, in this day and age, I can't imagine why anyone would keep adoption secret. Or even that anyone would have an actual sit-down conversation with their children to disclose "the truth." We've told our children that they are adopted about 47,000 times since they joined our family and I expect we'll mention it another 470,000 times before we leave this early plane. There's nothing embarrassing, weird, or evil about adoption, so why not just let it be a part of our family's history?

But then I ran an adoption support group at a twins club convention, and one of the moms there had decided not to tell her children the circumstances of their birth and the other was on the fence.

Seriously.

The reasons? Because their children weren't really "adopted" -- one set was born through egg donation and the other through embryo donation. With new technology, it seems, come new questions and new ethics.

It's not my place to tell anyone how to run their family; if you want to keep this information secret, that's between you and your child(ren.) In most of those cases biological parents aren't known (although some embryo adoption organizations do keep those records), so it's difficult to have any sort of open relationship with biological relatives.

But that doesn't mean they don't exist. And the truth always has a way of coming out.

During our group discussion I posed what I believe to be the most important question in dealing with any adoption (or frankly, child-rearing) issue about which you lie or conceal the truth: What are you going to say when your children find out the truth? For me, this includes everything from the existence of Santa (I lied to preserve some magic in your childhood) to high school hijinks (gotta tell the truth about this one if only to serve as a cautionary tale to my daughters) to the choices their birthmom has made since placing them with us (shared gently, as they have gotten older).

If you think you've got a good reason for concealing the truth and you can handle the emotions of your child when he or she finds out, then go ahead and keep the truth to yourself. I'm not sure if egg donation or embryo donation is a good enough reason to keep the truth to yourself, though.

Both women in the workshop believed that telling would only confuse the children (and what adoptive parent hasn't worried about that once or a million times?) because they don't have a way to find out additional information about their biological families. It would only make them feel less connected to their family, one of the moms said, and it would serve no additional purpose.

So I asked myself if we would speak about adoption in our house if Banana and Little Bit's adoptions were closed. Or if their birthparents were completely unavailable. Or if their birthparents were predators or deviants. Or if there was no way they would ever find out.

And for me, the answer was always yes. The truth is the truth, and we all come from a gene pool that is both pristine and polluted -- it is what you do with this body and soul you've been given that's important. As humans, we have a right to know as much as we can about that -- even if it is simply that you are not biologically related to your parents. For me, that should be true if your parents worked through an agency, a country, a lawyer, or a test tube.

Agree or disagree?

Nature and Nurture

TracyRaz — 2012-06-13T17:40:20+00:00

One of the most common adoption issues I'm asked about is the whole nature vs. nurture "thing" -- who or what determines how a child grows up.

It's a question that was most recently ignited in my circle of acquaintances when the Private Practice character Addie Montgomery announced to her therapist -- after being a mom through adoption for about a week -- "I know nurture beats nature because Henry looks at me with love. I'm his mom and he knows it. And no protein code told him to believe that."

I found myself half-smiling at my television, gently shaking my head and thinking, wait until Henry is in elementary school and likes sports instead of science or refuses to learn math or laughs hysterically at cartoons or bites other children during passionate tantrums. Or any other number of behaviors that have nothing to do with what his mom likes or teaches or models.

I know that's frustrating for some adoptive parents, who need to see their influence on their children. And truly, how you parent -- how everyone parents -- will have an effect on your children, whether or not they share your DNA. But, honestly, if your child's DNA is foreign to you, it opens up new worlds for both of you.

I liken it to baking. You've got flour and eggs and salt and chocolate and milk and baking powder and sugar, and if you mix it one way, you've got a chocolate cake. If you mix it another way, you've got brownies. Another way, you've got cookies. All delicious in their own ways.

But what you will never have is chicken parmesan.

So, parents -- all parents -- take the basic ingredients in their child and help shape it into something palatable for the rest of society.

The difference for adoptive parents is that there might be ingredients that you don't recognize: a talent for singing when you can't carry a tune; a head for numbers when you can't balance your checkbook; a learning disability when you sailed through school.

I made a choice to parent my children's DNA instead of my own agenda when they were young, and was delighted to find that, mostly, they liked the same stuff I did. Banana, Little Bit, and I love to dance to music, do art projects, bake, write stories together. We try lots of other things too, that I love and they don't like so much -- like reading and sewing and telling really bad puns.

But then one of my daughters started to show not only interest but prowess in sports. How could this be? I hate sports. Every last one of them.

Yet somehow I have a child who made seven baskets in a row the first or second time she held a basketball in her hands. So my daughters (thanks to their uncle, who does like sports) now play catch and softball and kick a ball around the front yard.

What's even more interesting to me, though, is how much my daughters are like their biological brother, who is being raised in a situation very different from ours. He lives with his dad, who works long hours to provide for him, in an apartment in a small city. My daughters live in the country with a two-parent family and a mom who works from home. His dad is young and hip, Banana and Little Bit's parents are old. We come from different cultures, socio-economic strata, and races.

Yet our children, who see each other once or twice a year, share same facial expressions, mannerisms, and the same quirky sense of humor. Not one of them can do math, no matter how much we parents beg.

And all three of them love Big K, the man whose DNA they share.

So, as Henry grows up, I suspect that his mom will recognize how deeply DNA is programmed in her son. And I hope that she nurtures that DNA and cherishes the child she is raising -- even if she doesn't recognize all of it. Nurture may amplify or muffle nature, but it won't ever change it.

And, really, that's a good thing.

The Truth Be Told

TracyRaz — 2012-05-08T17:00:19+00:00

When I adopted my twin daughters, Banana and Little Bit, domestically, we spent the first week of our life as a family in a hotel room in Delaware.

I think it's safe to say that every maid, every delivery person, and pretty much nearly every guest in that hotel knew that I was an adoptive mom after years of infertility and then nine months ago we decided to adopt and now here they are and I am their mom and we are a family and we have an open adoption and their birthparents have 10 business days to change their minds in this state but I don't think they will because they made the adoption plan after parenting for nine weeks and no they didn't give them up they placed them with us and so now we are the parents. Then they would say something sweet or kind and validate that my family was fine, I was fine, and adoption is every bit as good as birthing babies yourself.

Breathe.

Smile.

Flash forward nine years: A couple of months ago I found myself in a new circle of people, one of whom commented on the color of Banana's skin, wondering aloud how I (who hopes to tan to a dark white each summer) could have a child with such gorgeous, tan skin.

"She gets that beautiful skin color from her birth parents," I said. And then almost as an afterthought, "Banana and Little Bit are adopted."

"She's beautiful," she said.

I nodded in agreement and we went on to discuss scrapbooking.

Why the change in disclosure?

I stopped telling everyone the details of my daughters' adoption when they were about four years old for reasons I didn't really understand until much later.

I didn't stop telling it because it wasn't my story to tell. We built this family together so we all -- the girls, their birth family, my husband and I -- have ownership of it.

And I didn't even stop because my daughters could answer the questions about how we became a family without my help.

I really stopped because I no longer needed to speak those details to validate or define our family to others, so that it would reflect back on me as the truth. For me, the absorption of adoption into our life was our own alchemy. Something that started off as one concept, then became something beautifully organic in its own right.

Do I still talk about adoption? Of course. I love how we became a family. And I tell those stories the way my friends talk about their hospital stays, their false labors, and their spouse fainting in the birthing suite.

We tell funny, sweet, and sometimes sad stories as friends bonding over the experience of being moms.

But, once I felt that our adoption was OK and I was no less a mom and we were no less a family, I didn't need to proclaim those truths to strangers.

And for that I am sure the random lady in the grocery store checkout line is grateful.

I know I am.

Open Adoption, Open Mind

TracyRaz — 2012-04-20T17:26:05+00:00

Nine years ago my life changed forever when my daughters were placed in my arms for the first time.

It had changed forever the day before that, too, when our adoption social worker called with the news that we'd been chosen to parent nine-week-old twins. And that we had to bring them home the next morning.

It had changed forever nine months before that, too, when we made the decision to pursue domestic adoption after years of infertility.

And it had changed forever two years before that, when surgery intended to promote fertility put me into a sudden and surprise menopause.

None of us really knows how and when our lives are going to change. Or why it happens. But our open adoption has taught me that life is more about the quiet moments of reflection and decision than those sudden, life-changing events.

Nine years ago I expected a relationship with my daughters' birthmother, yet, over the years, we have forged a lovely and caring relationship with their birthfather.

Nine years ago I thought that my children would wholly accept or reject their adoptive status, while instead it has been fluid -- some days they like being adopted, some days they don't like it, and some days they don't even believe it. Most days they don't agree about it.

The choices and changes happen daily, and daily we respond to them. Always with an open mind, and usually with humor.

Through all the changes and managed expectations of the past nine years, one thing has remained the same. I don't love these girls as if they were my own. I love them because they are my own. It's that belief that has helped us stay open and embrace all of the changes open adoption has thrown our way.

In the future, I'll blog about some of the issues that come up that surprise me or annoy me or make me laugh, as we continue to navigate parenting twins, open adoption, and life, in general.