A Great Idea

I saw another adoptive mom post on her Facebook page today a truly great idea. I was so inspired, I literally put my blow dryer down and walked out to the computer, hair still wet.

This mom set up an email account for her daughter. She is going to give it to her, and the password, when she is 18. From now until then, she is going to send emails to her daughter. On her 18th birthday, her daughter can read these memories, some 17 years in the making.

I was inspired.

I immediately set up accounts for Brae, Sienna, and Graem.

Then, I sent them their first email:

Hello Brae, Sienna, and Graem!

I hope this email finds you well!

Mommy is starting a little adventure. I’ve created these email accounts for you. On the day you move out of the house and start your own next chapter of adventure, I will give you these email accounts, along with the passwords.

Over the next many years, I’m going to be writing to you. So, if you look in your inbox right now, you should have many, many, many emails from me over the years. Every time I’ve wanted to write to you, I did, sending you an email. It’s my way of speaking to you over the years, and sending you photos, etc. I hope you will treasure reading these emails as much as I know I will sending them to you.

I’m so excited for this and I want you to know YOU ARE LOVED. By the God of the Universe, and by your Mommy and Daddy.

xoxoxo

Britney

Private Pain

At church, we are going through a series about social media and its role in each of our lives.

This series has re-opened my eyes to the deluge of social media in my life, and caused me to wonder a little more about the person behind all those “selfie” posts.

I don’t take selfies. Or, at least I don’t consider them selfies. Someone else takes the picture, so it’s not a selfie, right?

I used to be someone who basked in the limelight. Loved attention.

Not anymore. Perhaps it was the pain of infertility for so many years, or perhaps it is just the maturity that comes with age, but I’m much more introspective than I used to be. I’ve retreated from the limelight for the comfort of a more subtle glow.

I prefer to be the observer than the observed now.

I have hundreds of friends. At least according to Facebook.

In reality, I have a handful of friends I feel truly comfortable around. Who know my joys, my sorrows, my fears, my delights, and who have walked beside me in my private pain.

Infertility being the biggest private pain I’ve ever suffered.

Sure, I’ve been very open and very public about our infertility. But, unless you’ve been through it, it is still a very private, raw, deeply personal pain. I’m not even sure my husband could relate to the vacancy I felt when I was in the throes of infertility.

I’m not even sure I could recognize today the person that I was then.

I can look back at pictures from during that time. Pictures of me, with a smile on my face. Hiding a broken heart.

I know I’m not the only one who has concealed private pain behind a beautiful shade of red lipstick.

In fact, I’m pretty positive that when I pull up Facebook tonight, I’ll find a dozen other “friends” who are masking their own private pain.

I may never know exactly who they are at any given time, or what exactly they are hiding, but there are some things I can do to connect with them in their time of distress.

I can be real. I can be honest. I can share the joys of my world without bragging about them. I can celebrate the goodness of life without acting like I’m the cause of it.

I can be grateful.

There is a saying that no one will ever remember all the things you said to them, but they will always remember the way you made them feel.

I try to keep that in mind every time I go online, and comment on someone’s post or picture, or share a “status” of my own.

Humility. Gratitude. And most of all, a little sense of humor.

Even if I, too, am hiding some private pain.

Graem’s 4 Month Check-Up

I breathed a huge sigh of relief coming out of Graem’s 4-month-checkup.

After a bumpy start to life, he is finally on par with other full-term babies. He weighed in at 13.9 lbs (60th percentile, age adjusted), and is in the 75th percentile (age adjusted) for height at over 25 inches.

He also laughed the entire visit.

He’s not yet rolling over, which many 4 monthers are, so there is a bit of his prematurity showing there.

The doctor gave the “go” for solid foods, and I headed straight to the grocery store. I love shopping for baby food.

We tried carrots first. And, I think maybe he got a total of one teaspoon in his mouth.

He’s sleeping between 5-8 hours straight at night, and averages 4 naps/day.

He loves going on runs in the stroller with me.

He adores playing with his older brother. Sienna still mostly keeps a safe distance from him.

He loves to be tickled on his inner thigh, and his collar bone.

He loves baths.

He is the kind of baby that makes you think you could do another 3 more.

Dot, dot, dot.

Sigh.

Here he is on Halloween, wearing the same costume Brae wore home from the hospital.

Halloween Baby

Today is Brae’s 6th birthday. In honor of my Halloween baby, I thought I’d share his birth story for those who may not know.

We had been on the adoption wait list for nearly 7 months before we got the call that Brae’s birthmom had seen our profile and wanted to meet us. She was the first birthmom who had actually wanted to meet us. We’d had numerous “false starts” before her.

We drove nearly 3 hours to meet her for the first time. It was September, and she was due in early November. We met at a Mexican restaurant for lunch. It was us, our case worker, her, her sister, and her mother.

I remember thinking she was radiant. A petite young girl, age 23, with a basketball under her shirt. I was so nervous, I didn’t eat a thing.

We all stumbled through the conversation, clearly in uncharted territory. We gave her a small bag of gifts we had brought – magazines, books, little things to occupy her during her labor.

At one point, she asked us if we had picked out names. She had decided to not know the gender, so she asked if we had a boy and a girl name.

We told her we did not yet have a boy name, but we had a girl name. It was Hannah.

The room fell silent.

Oh no, I thought. She doesn’t like our name. What could that mean? Will she still allow us to adopt this baby?

Then, she broke the silence with a smile.

“That’s my last name.”

Chills. Up to that point, we had only known her first name. To have our chosen girl name be her last name was truly a God thing.

The next day, she chose us to be the family for the child she was carrying.

Fast forward a few weeks, and we got the call that she was going to be induced. On Halloween. It was a Friday. The same as this year.

We had our last supper as a family of 2 (we hoped!), and drove the 3 hours down to the hospital. We stayed in a hotel on October 30, and the next morning, went to the hospital.

She allowed us to be present for the labor and delivery. When I walked in the room, she looked at me and smiled, “Are you ready to be a mom?”

I lost it.

Over the next several hours, we talked with her and her family, prayed with her, and otherwise encouraged her as she made her way through the labor process. At one point, she turned to us and said, “You know, I never asked if you had a boy name picked out.”

Tygh and I looked at each other. We had just decided the day before.

“Well, it’s a little unusual. But we like Brae.”

Again, the room fell silent. The familiar feeling of “Is she going to like it?” raced through my mind.

She again broke the silence with a smile. “My middle name is Rae.”

God was present.

I held her hand as she pushed our baby out, and then when the doctor revealed it was a boy, watched as they placed him on her abdomen.

I cut the cord.

Life breathed.

Our birthmom is an incredible woman. For many reasons. But all could see it that day, from the nursing staff, to the doctors, to the caseworkers.

She allowed us to completely assume the role of his parents from literally his first breath. We bathed him. We fed him. We changed him. We held him.

And, as the night wore on, she asked if I would sleep in the room with her and Brae.

I did.

Not much sleeping went on that night, however. She and I just talked. It was magical.

The next day, she was discharged, and he was officially ours.

The hospital put him in a pumpkin costume, and we saddled up for the ride home. I sat in the back with him, holding his hands the whole way.

Six years later, and I haven’t stopped.

Working Mom Guilt

I have posted about “Working Mom Guilt” before, and yet it is such a recurring theme in my life, it is never far from my thoughts. This week was particularly challenging, perhaps because I think for one of the first times, my husband had Working Dad Guilt.

Sienna is in preschool. Yes, I know even stay-at-home moms have their children in preschool, so I don’t know why I associate Sienna’s preschool experience with being a Working Mom issue. I know it is not.

And yet, every time I drop her off, I feel a sting of Working Mom Guilt.

This week, Sienna gave me a good, healthy dose of it.

Three out of five days this week, when I dropped Sienna off, she melted in a puddle. She even plastered her face and her hands up against the window, crying as she watched me drive away.

Knife. In. My. Heart.

Now, I know she loves her preschool. She often scolds me when I pick her up, saying I’ve picked her up too early, she is not finished playing, or doing her crafts, etc.

So what is it? This has only become a recurrent theme in the last couple of months.

I think a couple of things. One, she’s there by herself. I don’t mean there aren’t other kids there. There are, including her best friend. But she doesn’t have her older brother anymore. And, Graem is still at home with me while I’m on parental leave. She’s a sibling of three, flying solo. And, as independent as she is, I think she misses being separated from her brothers.

The second thing is I think she misses me. She has become more and more of a Mommy’s Girl in the last several months. She loves her dad, of course, but she is my shadow.

So, Working Mom Guilt sets in. As I left her at preschool this week, I’d just pray the whole way home. That God would comfort her. And me.

Tygh also got a healthy dose of Working Dad Guilt this week from Brae. Tygh gets up early, before everyone else, and is often out the door before we are awake. This week, Brae heard the garage door open as Tygh was getting ready to leave one morning. He bolted out of bed, flew down the stairs, and raced to the garage just as Tygh was pulling out of the garage. Tygh saw Brae, crying, reaching his arms out to him.

Tygh stopped the car, parked, and came inside. He carried Brae to the couch, who was inconsolable. “I miss you, Daddy!” he wailed.

Knife. In. My. Heart.

So where is this guilt coming from and what do we do about it?

I know that we are in the majority. Two, full-time working parents. Sure, one of us could stay home if we chose to. Yes, we’d have to dramatically alter our lifestyle, but we could do it.

We have chosen, however, not to. Tygh and I both love our jobs. Our careers. Our professions.

We also dearly love our children. The two are not mutually exclusive. For me, I firmly believe I am a better mom as a working mom. I am at my best when I feel fulfilled in my profession, and at home. I need that balance. My kids need me to have that balance.

But, I still feel guilty. At times. Not all the time, but at times. Like this week.

The ironic thing is that I’m not back to work full-time yet. I’m still on leave, and have chosen to work part-time, from home. So, yes, I could pull Sienna out of preschool (I suppose) and have her home with me, too. I have chosen not to.

And this is where some raw honesty comes in. I want to be home, alone, with Graem. I want Brae in school, and I want Sienna in school. With Brae, it was just me and him, at home. With Sienna, I kept Brae in preschool, and it was just me and Sienna at home. I’m doing the same with Graem. I need this bonding time with just him.

I’ve accepted Working Mom Guilt. So what do I do now? Well, I’ve chosen to let some things go. When the kids are home with me, I’m completely devoted to them. The laundry sometimes stays in the dryer for days. The dishes pile up in the sink. The beds aren’t made. We’ve hired a housekeeper so I don’t spend my weekends cleaning house. I say “no” to other commitments that would keep me away from my kids.

At church this week, the sermon was about living in the margins. Creating more white space on your pages of life.

I believe in that lifestyle mentality.

Because life happens in the margins.

Precocious

pre•co•cious
adjective \pri-ˈkō-shəs\
of a child : having or showing the qualities or abilities of an adult at an unusually early age

This is Brae. At least, according to his teachers. I must admit, I had to look it up when they told me this is how they would describe him. I didn’t know if they were giving me a compliment or not. (In truth, I still don’t know).

You see, since Brae started kindergarten, we have been in regular communication with his teachers. He throws pencils. He can use potty words. He has to be at the front of the line. His paper has to be on top.

The teacher has a “behavior” chart. Red is bad. Yellow is a warning. Green is good.

Guess where Brae has spent most of his kindergarten days.

When the teachers have called, asking for advice, I tell them the truth. Yes, he’s tired. He’s adjusting to a long day. Yes, he is very smart, and if you do not keep him occupied, he will act out. And, quite frankly, yes, he’s a 5-year-old boy with a big personality.

I don’t want to break his spirit. However, I also want him to get a job one day, get married, and stay out of prison.

So, we have been working on his behavior issues at home. I’m told things improved last week at school. “Improved” being the operative word. “Improved” meaning he still got removed from gym class because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. “Improved” meaning he still got removed from music class for using potty words.

Sigh.

Dear Brae’s teachers, don’t you see what I still see?

Britney

In Two Months…

In two months, we will meet Sienna’s genetic family for the first time. Face to face.

In two months, Sienna will get to meet the genetic parents who chose life for her. She will get to look into the eyes of her two fully genetic siblings.

And smile.

We live in Oregon. Sienna’s genetic family lives in Ohio. We’ve decided to convene in Florida.

Disney World.

This trip has been in the making for nearly a year now, and we are beyond excited. (Apart from the whole flying across the country with three small children thing).

We have an open adoption with Sienna’s family, and since her birth, we have regularly exchanged pictures, videos, emails, texts. We are even Facebook friends.

This level of openness has probably been instigated mostly by me. I am an open person. Period. And it is important to us that our children know their roots. I’m just grateful that both Brae’s birth family and Sienna’s genetic family have welcomed this level of openness.

But, we have never spoken on the phone with Sienna’s genetic family. Although we’ve heard their voices (via videos or recorded storybooks), I’m excited to hear their voice when they see our daughter in person for the first time and say, “Hi, Sienna!”

No, Sienna won’t know what is going on. And we haven’t really shared the depths of Sienna’s story with Brae yet. He wouldn’t understand.

But, we will take lots of pictures, and lots of videos, and we will make lasting memories.

And I hope this will just be the first of many visits over her lifetime.

Britney

Birth Father Visit

Last weekend, we had our annual visit with Brae’s birth father and his side of the family. Each visit keeps getting better and better.

We met at a local amusement park and for the first time, I think Brae “understood” who his birth father is to him. In fact, I asked him in the car on the way over what it meant that he had a birth father. His reply? “It means I’m special to him!”

We spent the next several hours exploring the park. Brae and his birth father played miniature golf together, rode the go-karts, and played in the arcade.

We then got lunch together and they deluged Brae with birthday presents. They also got Sienna a pink Barbie convertible, with Barbie included, and she was in hog heaven.

While Brae ran around the restaurant in his new Teenage Mutant gear, swinging his swords, I got a chance to catch up with his family.

They expressed, as they have before, how difficult it was at first when Brae was born and the adoption was going through. They wanted to keep him. But, in the same breath, they expressed tremendous gratitude and relief that he was with us. They also recognized (and appreciated) that we need to make clear to Brae that our role is as his parents, and his birth family has a separate role as his larger, extended family. Because he is adopted, they said, they understand that means he has more people that love him.

They wiped away some tears as they indicated how much it meant to them that we continue to have these visits and that we send pictures and keep them updated on Brae.

I told them it is just as important for us, and for Brae, that we do that as it is for them. And, I reiterated, we will continue to have these visits for as long as Brae wants them.

When we left that afternoon, Brae gave hugs to all of them. When he got to his birth father, he hugged him and thanked him for being his birth father.

I am so proud to be his mom.

Britney

________________________________________

There Are a Few

There are a few people whom I would call “friends” in my life who still do not know the stories of Brae’s and Sienna’s journeys into our family.

I had one such friend over yesterday for a playdate.

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her. We’ve known each other for over a year and I want to tell her about Brae and Sienna’s adoption stories. I want to tell everyone, because Brae and Sienna have the coolest stories.

But, I hesitated. And, by the time she left, I still had not told her.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t lie to anyone. If I’m ever asked a straight up question that requires me to disclose that either one of them is adopted, I answer it truthfully.

But, I no longer volunteer.

Why?

Because, I’ve come to realize, Brae’s story and Sienna’s story are each their own. They are not mine to tell.

I’ve learned this more and more as Brae has gotten older, and developed friends outside my group of friends. He has friends outside my circle of playdate friends. He has friends at school, he has neighbor friends. He is his own person. He knows he is adopted, knows who his birth family is, and if he wants to share his amazing adoption journey, then who am I to trump that? Similarly, if he does not want to share his amazing adoption journey, or wants to select with whom he shares, again, that is his choice.

As proud as I am of him, of Sienna, and of each of their journeys, I recognize that adoption is a highly personal journey. Yes, I have my own part in that journey that I am entitled to share, but I have to be mindful that Brae and Sienna do too. And, their choice to share may be different than mine.

I need to respect that.

Britney

The Wedding

This last weekend, we attended a very special wedding.

Brae’s birthmom got married.

The wedding was about 3 hours away. We loaded into the car on the sweltering hot Friday afternoon and prepared for the long ride. Brae and Sienna were occupied with a movie, and I was just praying that Graem would stay asleep the whole ride. (He almost did – the last 20 minutes were a fun-filled screech fest).

We rolled into the sleepy little town shortly before the ceremony. This is a small town. A very, very small town. Quaint. Beautiful.

We pulled into the church parking lot just in time. Tygh took Brae and Sienna into the church while I tugged Graem out of his car seat to nurse him. Since I didn’t want to make a scene nursing Graem in the church, I just nursed him in the car, praying no one noticed me. (I don’t think I succeeded).

I slipped into the church just in time to see Brae’s birthmom walk down the aisle. She was stunning. This amazing, gracious young woman who changed our lives 6 years ago.

She looked radiant. Happy.

As tears rolled down my face, I slid into the back pew. I couldn’t believe this was my life. I was sitting here, with my three amazing children and my awesome husband, watching the young woman who delivered our son in a stark hospital room on a sacred Halloween night, now in a lovely white dress, beaming. I felt tremendously blessed.

I was pulled out of my daze abruptly by seeing Sienna out of the corner of my eye emerge from the bathroom, naked, running toward the wedding aisle. I catapulted Graem into Tygh’s arms, and grabbed her before she made (any more of) a scene.

We didn’t get to speak to Brae’s birthmom until the reception. But when Brae saw her, he glowed. This is the first visit where I think he has finally understood who she is to him. He marched right up to her, told her she looked beautiful, and asked her to dance.

It took my breath away, watching them, swaying to soft music.

I was so proud of him. So in love with him at that moment. So happy for him.

The rest of the night was glorious. Family member after family member (many who had only heard of us and Brae, but never met us) came up to us to introduce themselves. Many had tears in their eyes as they told us how grateful they were that we came. How Brae seemed like such a happy little boy.

I was the one who felt grateful. I mean, how many people get to experience the awesome journey of adoption? It is just surreal. It is such an amazing journey – hard at times, of course. But this, oh this, is what makes it so divine.

We watched Brae run around after his half-sister, marveling at how much they were alike – in looks and in personality. We giggled (shamefully) as Sienna zoomed across the dance floor, crawling through elderly couples’ legs sashaying across the hardwood. We had intensely meaningful conversations with Brae’s birth cousins, grandparents, aunts, uncles about the pain and beauty of adoption.

And, when the night came to a close, we had memories. Tremendous memories.

We had love.

As we loaded the kids into the car, and Brae gave just one last hug to his half-sister, we felt content. We (and Brae) had even more friends and family than we knew. Who loved us. Who prayed for us.

And that is what is so special about open adoption.