Waiting Is The Hardest Part…
My boys drive me completely and totally insane some days. Other days they are the most womderfully snuggly little men. Some days I get to see glimpses of who they will become. Some days I think they look like Jim. Some days I know they look like me.
I had two “whoops!” pregnancies, both resulting in healthy babies. I do not take for grnated how lucky I am in that matter. Every day I thank whoever it is up there taking names for my sons. My world would be so empty without them and they truly gave meaning to my life.
Not everyone is so lucky. Infertility is something that affects so many people. I would like to share a little something that was written by the wife of a childhood friend.
i had a dream that died last year.
a dream of little babies that looked like Devin and me.
a dream of being a co-creator of life.
a dream of feeling life grow within me.
a dream of surprising our family and friends with the blessed news.
a dream of getting flowers in the hospital.
a dream of hearing the heartbeat.
a dream of Devin and i alone in the hospital room with an hours old baby in our arms.
a dream of the little ankle bracelet with my name and baby’s name on it.
a dream of maternity clothes.
a dream of taking pictures each month to show how much bigger the baby had gotten in my tummy.
a dream of counting down the days.
a dream of experiencing the spirituality of the delivery room as my mother described it.
a dream of having a baby when i wanted to have one.but…
those days after the “bad” news were hard.
(that’s the understatement of the year!)
we fasted and we prayed and we poured out our hearts.
i cried and cried and cried …because the dream had died.those prayers were answered.
and we were blessed with a miracle.
the miracle of understanding and accepting.
the miracle of gaining a testimony and a desire for adoption.
the miracle of feeling the power of the sealing power seared into my soul.
the miracle of peace.
When I stumbled across this on Lynette’s blog I was struck with emotion. Being someone who was adopted I’m sure added to it. I have my feelings on that, some good some bad, but I am above all gratefully that someone gave me the chance and welcomed me into a family.
Lynette and Devin have been approved for adoption for over a year. The wait is brutal and they are asking for help. All they want is for people to remember them. Just remember that this wonderful couple who want a baby more than anything are waiting for their forever child. Keep them in mind when you hear of children waiting for a home.
This is their adoption profile blog. Lynette says it better than I ever could. So go take a look and keep them in your prayers. They will be such amazing parents and I know for a fact that the amount of love that this family has to offer is amazing.
Beautiful Blogger
Yesterday I opened my reader as always and went to read my favorite blogs. I am always excited when I see that Jenn over at Princess Prose has posted. I was even more excited to see that she had tagged me for an award! I was having a bit of a bad day (still am) and it cheered me up considerably. THEN came the extra frosting on the already calorie heavy cake…I pulled up my site and saw that she had redone it for me! I LOVE IT! Thank you so much lady.
Also gave me something to post today which is also a bonus. So thanks Jenn, I super awesome love you and can’t wait until August when I love tackle you in Philly International.
However, along with these lovely little awards come rules. I’m not so good about those.
- Thank the person who nominated you for this award. (Thanks Jenn!)
- Copy the award and place in on my blog. (Done and Done)
- Link to the person who nominated me. (Go Here Beeshes)
- Share 7 interesting things about yourself. (This is where things start to go downhill)
- Nominate 7 other beautiful bloggers. (Easy Peasy, right? RIGHT?)
So. 7 interesting things about me. I’m not really all that interesting so this is not fun for me.
~ I always wanted to be left handed. Badly. In about 7th grade I actually tried going the whole year only writing with my left hand. I practiced and practiced and can actually now write very legibly with both hands.
~I am in a full out search for my birth family. I was placed for adoption at birth and was in a NICU for 27 days after which I was placed with a foster family who I stayed in contact with as a kid. The search is super stressful, but my goal is to come out of it with some medical history for my family.
~I hope to enter nursing clinical in Fall of 2011. My ambition is to be a NICU nurse and provide support for little loves like Heather’s Maddie and Lindy’s Natalie.
~ Tomorrow (SQUEEEEE) I am buying a Canon Rebel XSi. I have no idea how to use it but Heather has assured me the “For Dummies” book will make me a pro! 
~ I have a four year old step-daughter. Actually her and Jimmy’s birthdays are only a day apart, they are one day away from being exactly 3 years apart. ACTUALLY…Maddie and Chase are 18 months apart, Chase and Jimmy are 18 months apart and Maddie and Jimmy are exactly 3 years apart. Gah.
~ I *may* have a touch of baby fever. Thank the sweet baby Jesus for an IUD that I can’t just decided to stop taking, because mah ovaries are on FIRE!
~ I’m peeing myself nervous for Blogher…but can’t wait to go!
OK. I’m glad that is over. Now for seven Beeeeeautiful Bloggers.
Cara of Momma Says. She doesn’t blog enough *hint hint* besides…she kept me on the phone for an hour a few weeks ago so she OWES me!
Katie of Loves of Life. I love her blog and actually know her in real life through an old job. She is expecting her first child soon and her blog is so much fun.
Steph of A Grande Life. We survived the double blizzard of 2010 together via tweet deck and I will always be grateful!
Cindy of Poobou. I love her and her little Catie is my Jimmy’s birthday buddy! She also answers my stupid ass questions for me without throwing fruit at me.
Lu of Jaded Perspective cause, dude, it’s Lu.
Amber of Pacifier Graveyard. The girl just went through hell and is on the other side smiling.
Sara. 3 little ones and still manages to look at things on the bright side. I need more of that!
It’s My Right
I was born on March 20, 1983 in a tourist trap of a town in southern New Jersey. I don’t know if I was born during the night or day, I don’t know if my mother had an epidural, I don’t know if she was alone.
I don’t know if she ever held me, or even looked at me.
I do know that I went to the NICU for a week, and then “home” to my foster parents. They cared for me for the first six months of my life. I was not the healthiest of babies, it seems my mother made some not so great choices during her pregnancy and I paid for them early in my life. Luckily, nothing was long lasting, and by the time I was one I had caught up to other little ones my age.
My adoptive parents knew from the time I was a newborn that I was to become part of their family. The paperwork was complete by the time I was three months old, but due to some health concerns the state was not willing to release me into their care as I would be moving 3 hours away from the Doctors who had been treating me since birth. So I stayed.
My Mom kept in contact with my foster parents during my childhood, I would periodically go visit them and always LOVED it there. My foster sister is only a year or so older than me and we always had a ton of fun. I always knew I was adopted. I don’t recall a conversation that involved me being told…it just was.
Being adopted has always been a major part of what makes up me, even at a young age I was so acutely aware of it. In first grade I remember making family trees in class. All the other kids were furiously writing away on their construction paper, chatting with each other about siblings and grandparents. I sat, pencil in hand with my paper blank. Teacher came over “Allison, why aren’t you making your family tree?” I chewed on my bottom lip, a habit that I still have. “I can’t, it will be a lie and I’m not allowed to lie.”
As a six year old I had no real grasp of what being adopted was going to mean in my life. I just knew my family was different from others. I knew that no one else’s brother had dark skin. I knew that my parents weren’t my parents in the same way my friend’s parents were.
As I got older, I understood more. I understood that my biological mother was very young and unready to raise me. I understood that the decision she made was hard, probably the hardest she ever made. I understood that at some point it would be my choice if I wanted to seek my birth parents out. I’ve never held any anger for them, only sadness.
Now I’m angry. I’m angry because I’ve been on a waiting list for THREE years to get non-identifying information. I’m not asking for names, I’m not asking for addresses, I’m not asking for ways to contact them.
I’m asking for my medical records.
Every time I go to the doctor I fill out the little form. Age, birthday, height, weight….family history. I always just write “adopted” next to the box and move on, but my thoughts linger. What am I not getting checked for that I need to be? What kind of genes are in my blood that I have passed on to my boys? I feel like I can’t protect them without all the information.
The State of New Jersey disagrees with me, though if I had alot of money they could be made to agree alot faster. I was born just a couple years after all the records became sealed. It is unbelievable the hoops I have been made to jump through, only to end up back at the beginning…usually on hold. The last time the state contacted me, they told me I would have information within three months. Thats was over a year ago. I have not been able to talk to an actual person since then, and all my correspondance is unanswered.
There has been alot of talk lately of people’s rights. People have a right to health care. People have a right to breastfeed in public. People have the right to own guns. I have opinions on all of these, none of which I’m going to go into now. The thing that sticks out to me is that in most of these debates people usually take the side of the child.
Children have a right to health care.
Children have the right to be breastfed.
I am the child.
I have a right to my medical records.
Wondering about Mothers
Mother’s Day has always been a odd day for me. Yes, I have a Mother. Two to be exact. I have the Mother who birthed me, and the Mother that raised me.
I was given up for adoption at birth and adopted as an infant. I don’t remember my time in foster care or any of that and in alot of ways I am extremely fortunate. So many kids get stuck in the system for years and years, I was one of the lucky ones.
I would like to find my birth Mother, but I don’t have any deep seeded emotional need to. Sure, it would be nice to have someone to blame the freckles, slow metabolism and ba-donk-a-donk on, but my reasons are a bit more logical, I just want my kiddies to have full medical history. I’m on a super huge waiting list to get my non-identifying info, but who knows how long that will take.
I’ll admit, there are times when I wonder about my BM(birth mom). She pops into my head on random occasions, sometimes at the oddest times. I guess the most common day would be my birthday for obvious reasons. I always wonder if she is thinking about me on that day and wondering about me. I wonder if I have siblings who look like me. Sometimes I look at C, who is my little clone…and wonder if I am someone’s “Mini-Me”.
There is one day though, that will stand out in my memory forever, that I thought about her, and cried for her, for me and for all Mothers.
That was the day of my son C’s birth. C is my first born child, and while I am not generally a emotional person overall, his birth got me. Right after he was born and they laid this tiny, yelling, red, angry little man on my chest…all I could think of was her. Did she even hold me? Did she mentally name me so she would have something to call me in her thoughts?
As I clung to C I couldn’t even imagine letting someone take him from me. I didn’t even want to let him go for a bath, let alone the idea of him being gone. I then really, for the first time in my life realized how hard that reallly must have been. You really can’t get it before you have children. You know it must have been hard…but you can’t understand the physical ache of wanting to hold your baby. Having to recover from a birth and all the pain that comes with it…with no happy ending waiting.
This is something that has been floating around online, I don’t know the author:
“This is for all the mothers who have sat up all night with sick toddlers in their arms, wiping up barf laced with Oscar Mayer wieners and cherry Kool-Aid saying, “It’s OK honey, Mommy’s here.” Who walk around the house all night with their babies when they keep crying and won’t stop. This is for all the mothers who show up at work with spit-up in their hair and milk stains on their blouses and diapers in their purse. For all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies and sew Halloween costumes. And all the mothers who DON’T. This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they’ll never see. And the mothers who took those babies and gave them homes. This is for all the mothers who froze their buns off on metal bleachers at football or soccer games Friday night instead of watching from cars, so that when their kids asked, “Did you see me?” they could say, “Of course, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” and mean it. This is for all the mothers who yell at their kids in the grocery store and swat them in despair when they stomp their feet like a tired 2-year old who wants ice cream before dinner. This is for all the mothers who sat down with their children and explained all about making babies. And for all the mothers who wanted to but just couldn’t. For all the mothers who read “Goodnight, Moon” twice a night for a year. And then read it again. “Just one more time.” This is for all the mothers who taught their children to tie their shoelaces before they started school. And for all the mothers who opted for Velcro instead. This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to cook and their daughters to sink a jump shot. This is for all mothers whose heads turn automatically when a little voice calls “Mom?” in a crowd, even though they know their own off spring are at home. This is for all the mothers who sent their kids to school with stomach aches, assuring them they’d be just FINE once they got there, only to get calls from the school nurse an hour later asking them to please pick them up. Right away. This is for mothers whose children have gone astray, who can’t find the words to reach them. For all the mothers who bite their lips sometimes until they bleed – when their 14 year olds dye their hair green. What makes a good Mother anyway? Is it patience? Compassion? Broad hips? The ability to nurse a baby, cook dinner, and sew a button on a shirt, all at the same time? Or is it heart? Is it the ache you feel when you watch your son or daughter disappear down the street, walking to school alone for the very first time? The jolt that takes you from sleep to dread, from bed to crib at 2 A.M. to put your hand on the back of a sleeping baby? The need to flee from wherever you are and hug your child when you hear news of a fire, a car accident, a child dying? For all the mothers of the victims of all these school shootings, and the mothers of those who did the shooting. For the mothers of the survivors, and the mothers who sat in front of their TVs in horror, hugging their child who just came home from school, safely. This is for mothers who put pinwheels and teddy bears on their children’s graves. This is for young mothers stumbling through diaper changes and sleep deprivation. And mature mothers learning to let go. For working mothers and stay-at-home mothers. Single mothers and married mothers. Mothers with money, mothers without. This is for you all. So hang in there.”
Happy Mother’s Day!
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