I went through a stretch when I was 18-19 years old of “I want to find my birth mother”. It came at a time when I was feeling really disconnected from my family and also we probably shouldn’t discount the influence of stupidity, as now I just cringe at a lot of the decisions I made around the time. I never did go find my birth mother, although I thought long and hard about it. The prevailing thought process was this:
She could be married with a family, she could be a nutcase, she could be needy and unstable, she could be any one of a million things – and putting myself in her picture could be very bad for either her or me. Also, I thought about this…Assume that she is a well adjusted, good woman who is not in a situation where my presence would disrupt her situation much (not very likely to get a combo of all of that)… What do I want to gain from this encounter? I never really could put anything tangible on it, other than “I don’t know, but I want to”. Maybe it has to do with the longing for a connection, as Tom stated.
In any case, with 12 more years of retrospect, I’m really glad I didn’t seek her out. The possibility for bad seems to far outweigh the possibility for good.
What a lovely story, thank you so much for offering it.
In regards to the above quote, I must say this bluntly. There is absolutely nothing more insulting to the infertile parents and adopted child than to say,
I had to endure that comment. Not once. Not a few times. EVERYONE I knew in my life, seemed to have a friend or relative, and they ALL got pregnant the second their adopted child arrived. The pain here is when they say ( and, trust me, they all say the quote I used above ) that I’d get my own child, as soon as my adopted child arrived. THEN, everything would be “okay”.
My adopted kids are my kids. They’re not a useful clever device used to relax my wife’s ovaries and fallopian tubes and uterus into thinking all is fine so she could get pregnant. They’re not some psychological tool used to magically make me have a good sperm count.
They’re my kids. This, above almost every other remark I endured as an infertile man or adoptive parent, gored me badly and made me upset. So, if you ever think about tossing that comment out under the guise of being helpful, please think again.
Not any more common than any other type of infertile couple suddenly getting pregnant. About 8% within 10 years (last I check, my stats on that are rather old and I couldn’t find a cite). Which is the same number as infertile couples who decide to remain childless (and take no future precautions) and the same as those who conceive through technology and then spontaneously have a second child.
And my son was NOT an infertility treatment in order to get my daughter.
My favorite note on getting pregnant after adopting came from Brainiac’s cousin.
“Congratulations. I hear you are responsible for perpetuating the urban myth that all it takes to get pregnant is adopt!”
I hate the whole “well, it was stress” thing. I got pregnant between referral and arrival - Cartooniverse and Shodan will back me up on that not being the most stress free period in a persons like. More likely, cyclical hormonal fluctuations - never super fertile, we tried to conceive at a low point in my hormone levels.
The other thing they always say is to tell you to wear boxer shorts.
FWIW, the statistic I heard when we were going thru the adoption process was that 11% of adoptive parents go on to have birth children as well.
I could have added earlier that there are lots of other questions not as easily handled that adoptive parents get.
“Couldn’t you have any of your own?” They are my own, and I have the paperwork to prove it.
“What was the matter with you? I never had any trouble getting pregnant.” Good for you.
“Couldn’t you get a white one?” We don’t care what color he is, as long as he cleans his room.
People say stupid stuff sometimes. I usually try to deflect it, or make it tactfully clear that I don’t answer some questions, but I don’t try get nasty if I don’t feel like they are being nasty first.
It may be easier/different for me, since I genuinely do not care whether my children are birth or adopted, so I didn’t have any grieving to go thru as a result of infertility. I can’t imagine loving a birth child more than my son and daughter. I am not being figurative, I cannot imagine how that could be.
My children are not second-best in any sense of the word. I prefer them to any others, real or imagined. But I do that because they are my children in the only way that matters. Adoption is not really a factor. I just have the two best children on earth.
Sorry you heard that, Cartooniverse. There are lots of snappy answers, but none of them really help.
My older brother and sister are adopted. (My younger brother and I were a bit of a late-in-life surprise.) I remember once, my mom was being hassled by a distant cousin at a family reunion. She kept asking which kids were **really ** hers, and which were <whispered> adopted. After trying several times to explain nicely and getting very fed up, finally Mom just looked at her and said “I can’t remember. They’re *all mine * either way.”
And there was never a time in our house when we didn’t know about adoption. No big scene or explanation - it’s just what it was. Ancient history.
Thanks for the information. I hope I didn’t offend anyone with my uninformed comment. That said, that was the situation with my parents. At least, that’s what they believe, and I can’t really question that. And I’m sure other couples believe the same thing.
In regards to the feelings of adoptive parents about their children wanting to find their birth parents, don’t forget the very valid health reasons. For someone with particular health issues, it can be greatly beneficial to know if their parents suffered from the same or similar issues.
(Notice: This is my first post since changing my username. For some reason, when I first subscribed, the name I wanted - rather, the name that no one else should dare misappropriate - didn’t stick. I should have tried a few more times. Everything’s been set right, however. Thank you, C K Dexter Haven!)
Oooooh, I forgot the boxer shorts one !!! My retort to those comments was that I’d be happy to tuck a bag of frozen baby peas into my jockeys if it would get us pregnant. That typically elicted a look of horror.
As for the white one remark. My late Nani ( Not childcare giver, but German term for Gramma ) sat with us shortly after my son arrived. She made us lunch, we were visiting everyone and showing him off down in Philly.
She sits us down, we’re starting lunch, and she said clearly, " Well, at least he’s not too dark. "
So, that was the end of lunch. Horrors. I never forgave her. Ever. Apparently while I don’t have a racist bone in my body, I have racist blood. Damn.
As I read this thread-again- I realize that I am coming off as pretty mad. I am in fact, grateful beyond words for my children, and just about everyone in my life loves my kids as my kids. However, those snarky, cruel or insensitive remarks stick.
As I noted above, this is the stuff that makes me I-want-to-hit-them-in-the-face mad. I have restrained myself thus far, only occasionally going so far as to be rude in response. It’s not easy, though.
A pleasant anecdote may help the tone.
First, the background. One of the questions you ask yourself (or at least, one that they ask you in pre-adoption counseling which tends to stick) is “do I love my adopted child as much as my biological child?” This is a dumb question, but oh well. You ask it of yourself in moments of weakness and self-doubt.
So anyway, when our son is about 1-1/2 or 2, we have a few friends over to play games. We’re all sitting around the table in the dining room, which is a step up from the family room. I’m sitting in a folding chair with my back to the dining room and my son in my lap. I slide the chair back to adjust his position… and the back legs drop off the step.
I fall over backwards. And land all of my 225 pounds on my spine, because the only thing I was doing was making sure my son was okay.
I’m lying there in pain, holding my son in the air, and my first thought (okay, third, the first was “he’s okay” and the second was “ow”) is “well, I know what my reptile brain thinks. He’s my son!”
I only reacted sarcastically to the “boxer shorts” line one time. I paused, thought for a moment, and said, “I thought you had to take your shorts off to get pregnant.”
There is hope for the future. The “couldn’t you get a white one” came from my father-in-law.
Then my son put his patented charm to work. Six months later, the old man was down on the floor playing hide-and-seek with the little guy, and both were giggling insanely.
To which I would add, ignorance. Most of the time - not all, but most - it is just people saying stupid shit when they are confronted with something they aren’t used to.
Brainiac4 - You got it. Parenting is not a matter of papers and interviews - it is primitive and visceral.
My moment was -
I am, by nature, a cold person. I live mostly in my head, not my gut. And despite all the interviews and soul-searching, my biggest fear was that we would go thru the whole adoption process, and at the end of it all, I would not love my son. That it would be an effort to care for him.
Pretty nasty, huh? That I might be so selfish as to not love a little child. And all the worse, because it ain’t really something you can chat about with the social worker, who is a relative stranger.
Then my son arrives. Seriously, seriously jet-lagged, like they are fresh off the plane. And both my wife and I are up most of the night. My mom and sister arrived to see him arrive, but the next day, they went back home - and left me to take care of this little stranger. Yikes!
So we take him off to see the doctor, and get blood tests for lead, and so forth. And they have to draw blood, and his little arm is so fat they have to stick the artery to get blood.
And my son starts to scream. Literally scream.
My wife lost it completely, poor thing. The doctor made her go and sit in the waiting room. She said later she was sure people thought she had just found out she had cancer or something. But there I am, in the room with the doctor, and the nurse, and the technician, and none of them can get my son to be quiet.
So, in desperation, they hand him to me.
And, just like that - instantly - he is silent.
Now, up in my head, I realize it was probably coincidence. He was just getting ready to be calm again, and I happened to take him at that moment. All that I knew, in my head. And he had known me for less than 24 hours at that point.
But down in my heart, it felt exactly like that he knew his daddy, and that daddy wouldn’t hurt him, and that daddy could make it all better.
And I was overwhelmed with this frighteningly intense rush of emotion. This was now bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh - my first-born son, with whom I was well pleased.
And I never had that worry again.
You can be a parent on paper, or in theory. But being a parent happens when you know, deep down inside, who is important to you.
Ah, but then you get the funny completely clueless ones.
Stranger: “How will you talk to him” - looking at your seven month old child
Adoptive Parent: “What do you mean”
Stranger: “Well, he won’t speak English, will he.”
Yep, apparently language is a genetic imprint. Who knew? Its a good think us adoptive parents have strangers to clue us into the difficulties we will face.
And the wonderful ones…
When our son had just arrived home, we went out to dinner. I was holding him and this woman kept looking at us. I gave her “the look.” You know, the “its rude to stare look.” So she came over and told me my baby was very handsome and introduced me to her two teenage Korean daughters. At which point she started talking about their arrivals and how looking at my baby reminded her so much of them.
I pulled up to the daycare we go to, and next to me was a white guy taking a little Korean girl out of his car. As I went around to get my son out, I asked “Is she from Korea?” The guy sighed a little, and said, in that slightly tired voice you get when you know the next comment is going to be about how nice you are for adopting overseas, “Yes, she is.”
I said “Cool. So is he,” lifting my son out of the car and smiling.
I’m coming late to this thread, but we adopted a girl from China in June. Ours was a slightly different situation, in that I don’t like babies. I know this is odd, but I don’t. I’m sure if I gave birth to one I’d adore him/her, but generally speaking, babies strike me as pointless and stupid. [Just my opinion, I know no one agrees with me, I’m sure YOUR baby is wonderful. Don’t hurt me.]
So I wanted an older child. Ideally, one 7 or older. It seemed to me that children that age in the US who were available for adoption had already been through hell and back, and I didn’t think I could deal with the fallout. [Again, some people can, and they are wonderful people. This is just me, trying to be realistic about what I could handle.]
We asked around, and many people mentioned one particular agency as being reputable and good to work with. We went there, and interviewed them and the various country programs. Each one was very different. Obviously, different countries have different requirements [income, marital status, waiting time, travel, etc.], but we thought that the people working in each program also gave that program a little spin. We found that we liked the people in the China program best. They were like us, very cut and dried, everything laid out with checklists and numbered steps. The India program, which I’m sure was also wonderful, was more touchy feely. They played music, wore saris, and told stories about the beautiful gardens at the orphanage. I’m sure some people felt more comfortable with that.
The social worker flatly told us that 7 was too old for a first child, and we compromised on a three year old. She is perfect in every way. I can’t imagine a better child for our family. We are blessed beyond all possible anticipation.
It wasn’t cheap, but our agency had a sliding scale fee based on your income. Because we wanted an older child, we only waited about 9 months. (An infant is at least a year long wait.) Part of this is because there wasn’t an appropriate child on the first list, and we waited three months for the agency to receive another list of available children. (When you adopt an infant, you are asigned a child. When you adopt an older child, you are given a choice of several.) This varies by country, of course.
My mother and I went to China to get her. We were there about 2 1/2 weeks. We were able to visit her orphanage, which is not always the case in China. It was a wonderful experience all around.
So far, we haven’t had many racist comments. Partly, I think, this is because adopting Asian children is relatively common in the Twin Cities. Partly it’s because she’s only been here 9 months. Both families have been supportive, and adore her unconditionally. As I said, we’re blessed.
Which agency? Our son is a CHSM baby. As are our friends children from Peru and Guatemaula and my “cousins” from Russia. (We have other friends who went off the beaten path and worked with an agency in Georgia for a child from Khazikstan).
Yep, CHSM is the one. I wondered when you said your son was from Korea. Mrs. Han was our social worker, so we’ll be at her farewell reception May 1. Will you be going?
I don’t think we will go, but I haven’t gotten far enough to really think about it. Maybe the family day. We just did the Febuary Children’s Day thing with the kids. She is an incredible lady though. Our interaction with her was that she does the pre-arrival culture class (post arrival in our case because things happened so fast).
It is fair for me to say that, aside from being at the Mu Ji Gae Camp in Albany for adopted Korean children ( email me for details, ya’ll who are within the NY State area, and surrounding states ), I have never felt less alone and more proud as an adoptive father as I do right now, reading these posts.
No wrong can occur today.
-sniffle- ( Shodan, you really got to me with that tale)
- didn’t stick. I should have tried a few more times. Everything’s been set right, however. Thank you, C K Dexter Haven!)
