Parenthood Path

OAR#33: Mommas' Boy, or Practicing What I Preach

2012-01-04T14:42:00.000-08:00

Heather over at ProductionNotReproduction offers a new prompt for OAR#33. She says, "The Open Adoption Roundtable is a series of occasional writing prompts about open adoption...It's designed to showcase of the diversity of thought and experience in the open adoption community." This one is:

What did you learn about open adoption in 2011?

This year I learned that someone else can call my darling boy "son" and he can call her "momma," and I'm okay with that.

I've allude here before that after a long stretch of not hearing from her, we have reconnected with D's birth mother, V. It began with a phone call and then a flurry of loving and honest texts and telephone conversations in late summer. Then when she suggested we come to her small city and spend the day with her, we jumped at the chance. After all, we hadn't seen her since just a few weeks after our son was born.

The visit went really, really well. We all admitted how nervous and excited we were, and there were a few moments of stiff jitters, but soon we began sharing photos - us of D over the months, and V of herself as a child - and talking about our shared hopes and dreams for this boy.

V indicated that she's taken the big step of disclosing her placement with several important people in her life, and indeed, we were honored that she introduced us to her new roommates. Her life continues to be tumultuous, but she expressed again and again how important we all are to her and that - even though it is sometimes difficult - she wants to be a part of D's life and for him to be part of hers.

Before we arrived, V shared concern about how D would respond to her. Would he remember her, or indicate any kind of special connection? Frankly, I was worried too. He was (and still is) a toddler who takes awhile to warm up to people. He clings to me and especially to M, checking new situations and unfamiliar people out. I worried that V had unrealistic expectations about how comfortable he'd be with her after such a long separation.

In fact, he was timid at first, but she wisely held back a bit and he quickly got comfortable. Before long, he was his bubbly self. In fact, perhaps he did intuit their special connection, because he let her hold and carry him much sooner and longer than anyone else he doesn't spend a lot of time with.

The four of us headed off to the county fair. It was fun! We all - especially D - marveled at the colors, and sounds, and the throngs of interesting people. Of course, the kid loved seeing real cows, and chickens, and bunnies. V walked around a tiny ring with the tiny boy on his first tiny pony ride.

As the heat of the day mellowed and the arcade lights began to flicker on, V bought D his first cotton candy. "Here, sweetie, Mommy has a treat for you," she said, as she extended a sticky wad toward his grinning face. He looked at me a little confused, then lunged toward the sweet treat.

I said something to the effect of, "That's right, D. I'm your mommy and V is your mommy!"

Later in the evening, we all met up with V's roommates. "D!" she said, "Where's your momma?" To the obvious delight of V and her friends, D pointed at her.

And you know what? It was weird. To be completely honest, I had to take a deep breath and remind myself that this was testing some of the things I believe most deeply about open adoption. Since then, I've thought about those exchanges and discussed them a bit with others. The fact is, D does have two mothers, two mommies. But this was a new test, and I found that sometimes my heart (and insecurities?) makes it a challenge to practice what I preach. That was something important that I learned about my open adoption in 2011.

Standing there, with the smell of dust and popcorn in the air, and his darling birth mother bouncing him in her arms and beaming with pride, I knew that what he or anyone else calls us doesn't change who we are to him. We each play important but different roles in his life.

My son with his other mommy

After D had waved, we'd embraced tightly, and said our goodbyes, I was the one who prepared his cup of milk on the tailgate, checked carefully that he was secure in his car seat, and softly sang lullabies as his dark lashes fluttered and he drifted to sleep on the long drive home.

Advent-ure

2011-12-23T21:28:00.000-08:00

There is so much else I should write about but, well, 'tis the season to focus on Christmas, so I will.

I remember from childhood - and sometimes still feel - the "magic of Christmas." So I've been thinking a lot about how to create that for my son. Though we aren't religious, we celebrate by spending time with family, consuming (too much!) good food and drink, enjoying the beautiful decorations and festive music, and exchanging gifts. I want to be deliberate about building traditions now that will become meaningful and special to D (and manageable for his parents).*

One we started this year is a "secular Advent calendar." We're calling it the Christmas Cabin. In addition to the little animals behind each door, D's loved discovering small notes, each relating an activity or occasionally a small gift.

Because I believe a big part of Christmas' magic is about giving to others, as he grows older, I plan for the activities to be a bit more altruistic. For example, I envision adding "Sunset hike and trash pick up," "Help at the food pantry," or "Take treats to old folks." But he's still a bit young for those things. (Right now, if a Christmas Cabin note said, "Buy a goat," D would be quite upset that Billy was helping a family in Uganda rather than in the backyard"!)

For now, mostly we've incorporated things we would have done anyway during this busy month. By now he's got a pile of notes, and for the last few nights, after opening a new one, he has rifled through the older ones, asking me to read them, too. It's been a nice way to remember the little things we've already done together over the last several weeks that are making this time of year so special.

Here's a partial list:
- Read (and sniff) "The Sweet Smells of Christmas"
- Dinner in his tent in the living room
- Watch "Emmet Otter" together
- Rudolf slippers
- Turning the exterior house lights on
- Hot cocoa!
- Stickers on the window
- Bath with green and red bubble (warning: turns the water brown!)
- Go to our town's holiday parade
- Dinner by candlelight
- Ice cream treat with syrup from our orange trees
- Santa and snowman finger puppets
- Getting our Christmas tree
- Celebrate Scandinavian Christmas with Granddad and cousins
- Having a holiday music dance party
- Hanging our stockings on the bookshelf (alas, no fireplace)
- Spark of Love - donate toys and visit the fire station
- Drive through "candy cane lane"
- Placing the star on top of our tree

* When I asked a friend about the Christmas traditions in her family, she asked me, "Does Santa wrap presents?" I thought about it awhile and realized, "No, Santa doesn't need to wrap presents!" Though there is a big urge to overcome, I believe that from here on out, the gifts D will receive under the tree from the jolly ol' elf will save paper and his parents' time.

Here's to the traditions - old and new - in your family that make this season bright.

Happy holidays from our family to yours, and best wishes for peace and joy in the New Year!

Open Adoption Interview Project 2011: Come Meet Lisa at Consumed by Love

2011-11-17T10:27:00.000-08:00

Wahoo! It's time to share this year's Open Adoption Interview!! Many kudos and thanks are due to Heather over at ProductionNotReproduction for coordinating this initiative to connect and learn from bloggers involved in adoption from many different perspectives.

This year, I was paired with an adoptive parent who I'd never "met" before, Lisa at Consumed by Love. She and her husband are the dotting parents of Olivia, who just celebrated her fourth birthday and is eagerly anticipating becoming a big sister. They have an open adoption with Olivia's birth mother, Miss Samantha.

As I read through Consumed by Love for the first time, I recognized some significant difference in our lives and some remarkable similarities. Lisa is thoughtful and caring and very dedicated to her family and community. I learned from her experiences and enjoyed getting to know her, and I think you will, too.

Really, I just wish we lived close enough that I could have invited her over for a nice cup of tea and a long chat while our kids played together! The questions I asked Lisa are in bold.

What are a few things you'd like anyone new to your blog to know about you?

I’m an adoptive mom, a Natural Family Planning advocate (and teacher), and an infertile. I believe the path that led us to becoming a family was orchestrated by God and was for our own good. We learned things along the way…important lessons that make us a stronger couple and better parents.

It's clear that your faith is an important part of your life. How has it influenced your family building? Your parenting?

My faith does permeate my whole life, and it is a part of all of our decisions. I always assumed that we’d have a houseful of kids and be one of those families that witnessed to our faith and openness to life by having a large family. But God had other ideas, obviously. So, likely, our family will be much smaller than I had envisioned, but it is a witness to our faith in other ways. We witness to our “openness to life” by being open to the children God sends us, however he chooses to send them. Right now, that means being a multi-racial family anticipating the adoption of another racially-different child. In the future, our openness to life may very well lead us to foster care and/or adoption through the foster care system.

My child is the smartest, strongest and most athletically gifted kid of her age that I’ve ever seen, and that was all genetic. She is naturally gifted…we didn’t give her any of that. We did give her an environment where those gifts could shine through. That very fact makes me ponder the potential of every child and imagine a world where every child can grow up in a home where he or she is safe and loved and can explore and develop his or her unique gifts. These are the kind of thoughts that make me think we may become foster parents someday. My heart hurts for all the kids I’ve seen who have been abandoned, abused or neglected during those years when they most need security, support and stability. Through our faith, we see that infertility has given us the “freedom” to adopt and, perhaps, the freedom to be available to be foster parents. We just have to discern where we are being called.

Our faith also influences our parenting and how we pass on our values to our daughter. Olivia knows that God is in control of the “baby brother or sister” department, and she asks Him regularly to send her one (while trying to be patient in waiting). She also knows her birth story and understands God’s part in bringing us together as a family. We talk to her about kids who don’t have two parents, and kids whose parents can’t afford all the fun things she enjoys. We’ve used these lessons to teach her about generosity and sharing what we have with others. As we do every year before birthday/Christmas time, we recently went through her things to decide, together, what toys she wanted to keep and which ones we’d donate to “kids who don’t have a lot of toys.” I was amazed, this year, at all the things she was willing to give away to other kids. I think these are important lessons to learn early, and our faith and the way we live it helps mold her worldview to include a love for the poor and a desire to be involved in charitable organizations.

What about being a family that is multi-racial and built by adoption has surprised you?

First of all, I’m surprised by how many other families there are like us. I see them everywhere, and I don’t recall having noticed them before we became a multi-racial family.

Second, even though families like ours are more commonplace now, I’m surprised at all the double-takes I get when I’m out with Olivia…particularly when people hear her call me Mommy. She is very light-skinned, but her hair stands out, and I often wonder what kind of things are running through the minds of people when they stare at our obvious differences. To be honest, it isn’t until I notice them staring that I even REMEMBER the differences. We’ve been a family since Olivia came screaming into the world, so I don’t SEE her as different in my mind.

I’ve developed a tendency to look for diversity in her dolls and books, to try to expose her to images of people who share her ethnic heritage. I think allowing her to experience diversity will be more challenging for us as she grows, since we live in a rural and very homogenous area. Olivia knows she’s different, but for now it doesn’t bother her at all. We’ll see how that changes as she grows older.

You are currently waiting to adopt another child. How have your views about adoption changed since you were matched with your daughter's birth mom? Have those views influenced anything about your current plans?

When Olivia’s birth mom was making her adoption plan, we were understandably nervous. I remember thinking that my ideal would be a semi-closed adoption where we’d have her mailing information and would send regular photos and updates and maybe the occasional phone call to keep her informed about Olivia’s life. Visits never even occurred to me. I wanted to keep some contact so Olivia would have that connection when she got older and wanted to know more, but I certainly didn’t want her to be a regular part of our life.

Oh, how that has changed! There are many things about Samantha’s life that we want to shield from Olivia’s knowledge for quite some time. However, we love seeing her regularly and spending time with her. Olivia knows that she grew in “Miss Samantha’s belly” and she sees her as her very special friend. I think that relationship will only help her as she grows and learns more about who she is.

I have an overwhelming appreciation for Samantha and the sacrifices she made to give Olivia the life she wanted her to have. She seems to have an overwhelming appreciation for me and for Joe and truly enjoys her time with us and with Olivia. It just seems natural to us to include her as part of the family as much as we can.

With our second child, we are hoping to have an open adoption from the start. We are not nearly so apprehensive the second time around, and we’ve had the benefit of reading and learning so much more over the course of the last four years. We see the benefit of openness to both the child and the birth mother, and we think that relationship is worthwhile and worth fighting to maintain.

An issue with which many bloggers struggle is determining what details of their lives that involve other people are appropriate to share, and what aren't. As a mom in an open adoption, how do you determine what is your story to tell, and what details to withhold because they are your daughter's, her birth mother's, or someone else's story?

This is a hard question for me because I often struggle with how much to tell. My blog is a place for me to work through my own thoughts and emotions when it comes to some of the frustrations and challenges of this whole parenting and adoption business, so it seems natural just to tell it like it is. However, any time I run into a story that starts telling itself in what I’d term “identifying details,” I try to back off and go vague. While Olivia’s birthmother isn’t what we’d call “computer savvy” (she joked the other day with Olivia that it took her 10 minutes to figure out how to turn on her friend’s laptop), I would never want her to find our site and be embarrassed over what I’d shared about her. At the same time, she’s pretty open with us and with others about ALL of her dirty laundry, so I do feel like I can share a little without overstepping. I think part of that depends on the personality of the birth mother.

The FACT of Olivia’s adoption is another story. There are schools of thought out there that say that her adoption story is hers to tell…and that is true, but it’s also our story of how our family was made. And it’s a GOOD story! There’s no question she was adopted, nor will there ever be a question about it. Anyone who sees her and us will guess as much. So leading with that information makes it seem normal, commonplace and ordinary. Our family was built through adoption, and there is no shame in that. Sometimes, I think the idea of withholding that bit of information seems to put adoptive families into the proverbial closet. And we don’t want to be there. Adoption, even with its issues of loss, was and is ultimately a joyful thing for us, and I think being open about it helps witness to that…not just for us but also for Olivia. It helps HER to know that she’s special and loved and that her story is a good and happy one and she should never be ashamed of it.

The details of her birth mother’s situation at the time, of course, are things that we’ll share with her as she’s old enough to understand. THOSE are hers to share as she chooses. But the fact that she was adopted and she has a birth mommy named Samantha…that’s easy stuff for all of us to share.

Honestly, as she grows older, Olivia may decide that reading through details of her potty training mishaps will be more embarrassing than reading about her adoption.

How do you envision your blog evolving in the future?

Again, it’s hard to say for sure. Right now, the blog seems to be more about life and parenting than about adoption. But when that second child comes along, he or she will come with his or her own adoption story and birthmother issues that will inevitably cause me to examine adoption issues and talk about them more here. Mostly, the blog has always been about what is on my mind, from infertility to adoption to foster care to the best way to get your preschooler to go to bed on time. I don’t imagine that will change much.

Thanks, Lisa! I look forward to following your family' story and wish you all the best.

Attention All Adoption Bloggers!

2011-10-26T10:42:00.001-07:00

Yah, I'm talking about you, and you, and you, and of course anyone else who blogs who is interested in adoption.

I've linked to Heather's site many times before, and now I'm doing it again. She has done a wonderful job of building a online (and real life!) community of those interested in adoption. Right now, she's coordinating an Adoption Interview Project. I am planning to participate, and I hope you will too. It promises to be a great way we can all continue to learn from each other.

Note: the deadline to register is Friday, October 28th!

So, So Much

2011-10-21T09:58:00.000-07:00

Judging from the frequency of my posts of late, one might guess that not much is going on and I have little to say. Au contraire! Things have been jumping over here, and there is a great deal I'd like to share!!

D's second birthday festivities.

All of the amazing new things he's learning and doing...and so many of the cute, sweet things he's already outgrown.

Our boy's excellent adjustment to daycare.

The ups and downs of a friend's recent match and placement that has got me thinking a lot about the losses and gains, disappointments and hopes inherent in adoption.

Some really great posts on other blogs I feel anyone interested in open adoption should read.

And perhaps most important: our reconnection with V!!

Those are just some of the things I want to write about. Alas, I continue to lack time and focus. So, I'll just throw up a few photos of our big boy enjoying a trip to the "pumpkin patch" with his beloved Grandmom.

I hope to be back soon!

OAR#29: Accidents Happen?

2011-09-25T14:22:00.000-07:00

Heather, who is the Hostess with the Most-ess of the Open Adoption Roundtable over at ProductionNotReproduction, prompted:

Our group is growing and a lot of us haven't "met" each other yet. So point us to a favorite post on your blog. It doesn't need to be about adoption. And tell us a little bit about why you picked the one you did.

Of course, it's hard for me to decide which one to select! So I'll just share the one that came to mind when I first read the prompt. It's called Accidents of Birth.

Crafted just a few weeks before we were contacted by the woman who became Dylan's birth mom, it's my "what I did on my summer vacation" post. Part of why I like it is because my own life is now so different than it was when we took that wonderful trip to Vietnam.

For what it's worth, I suspect this post came to mind because I still think about those kids - and children like them around the world - a lot, and also a lot about the issues I touched upon in the post.

Oh! And here's a link to M's photo gallery from the trip! This photo is the one that connects most closely with what I wrote so long ago.

I Have A Problem

2011-09-23T22:04:00.000-07:00

Hi, I'm Kristin, and I can't figure out how to use Blogger!

For probably, like, the fifth time since I started blogging here a little more than two years ago, I just unintentionally published a post way too soon.

Yah, I was able to delete it, so most readers might not even have realized my inanity. But for my nearest and dearest who actually receive emails of each and every one of my posts, it must be really annoying. So, I'm SORRY. I really do apologize for drawing your attention to something not (yet) worth reading.

The last couple of times, I think the issue has been with the labels function. If I press after entering the labels before selecting another one, rather than going back into editing mode, Blogger publishes whatever I've got. Urghh! You'd think since I've figured this out, I'd be able to avoid it. But it's just such a reflex to hit the enter key when I'm done with a line of type!!

Every now and again I run across another blogger cursing about not being able to fix spacing or whatever, which makes me feel a bit less alone in my bloggy-clumsiness. But mostly, I feel really technically challenged.

Does anyone have any ideas for how to help me use this technology more easily?

Ready? Set? Grow!

2011-09-07T16:00:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was Dylan's first day at daycare. He did great! His momma? Not so much.

I really do believe this is a great situation for him. The social interaction he will get and the new developmental adventures he will have will be good for him. He'll spend four mornings a week at a nearby family daycare, and then afternoons with his dad and one day a week with my mom. The daycare is run by a lovely and loving, experienced and professional woman and her two enthusiastic young assistants. He will be in a safe, nurturing environment and I have every confidence in their ability to take great care of him!

To prepare him for the change, we took him to play there a few times in the last couple of weeks. After some initial timidity, he seemed very quickly to get comfortable there and with the other kids. (All of the riding cars and balls and other toys freshly available to him certainly helped!) He was ready.

I'm not an overly sentimental person, so I was surprised by the anxiety and sense of loss that crept up on me as his big day approached. Afterall, I've been back to work for more than a year and he's spent lots of time being well cared for by others, particular his wonderful nanny all last school year.

But, he's always been at home, with his daddy just down the hall in his office. It was always easy to imagine exactly where my boy was, what he was doing, and what crazy antics he was up to. Now it feels like we're sending him off into the big wide world, out of our sphere of influence. No longer will we know of his every emotional ache and physical pain. No longer will we celebrate with him his every triumph.

So, yesterday morning, I shed a few tears. They came as I struggled to get him buckled in his car seat. He squirmed and protested, and I felt the sting come to my eyes. I want so much for the few minutes I will get to spend with my child each morning to be enjoyable - for both of us - and this wasn't a good start to the new chapter.

I remember judging harshly other mothers who've expressed angst over their kids going off to preschool or daycare. Come on, I thought. This is an important step in building the independence and self-confidence we want in our children.

As M. and I watched Dylan settled easily into his place at the table, surrounded by his new friends, watching attentively as a fun story was read to the group, I realized it isn't about worrying about how others will care for him. It's about missing him. And to be a good parent, there will be many, many more occasions when I will have to let go, for his sake, even when it's painful for me.

Apparently, it isn't just Dylan who is growing.

Early Education

2011-07-26T15:48:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, after I rocked Dylan and stood to put him in his crib for his nap, he pointed over my shoulder at a picture of V.

"Momma," he said.

"That's right. That's V., your birth mommy."

"Belly," he said, drowsily.

Clearly, he has been absorbing the little story I tell him from time to time about how he grew and grew in V.'s belly, and when he was ready, he popped out. And about how Mommy and Daddy were there and we were so happy to see him. Mommy, and Daddy and V. all hugged and hugged and kissed him, we loved him so much.

So, I guess I'll need to work on how I tell him his birth and adoption story a bit more. We want to make sure it is easy, and age apprepropriate, and accurate, which feels like a tall order right now.

I find it so helpful to learn the specifics of how other parents talk with their kids of diffferent ages about their adoptions. If you have any resources or ideas, please share them!

One of my goals for this quickly fleeting summer was to create a Life Book that includes simple text and more photos of his birth relatives and of our time together around Dylan's arrival. I think it would be a helpful, and that he might come to treasure it. I haven't gotten around to it yet, but after Dylan made his interest apparent yesterday, I'm really motivated!

Hairmageddon?

2011-07-24T21:01:00.000-07:00

Before

During

After

Shortly before Dylan's first birthday, M. and I made a major decision, a decision that to this day at least one family member calls "the disaster." We gave him a haircut. Bravely, M. was the chief stylist, and I was the chief distractor, providing toys and snacks to keep hands away from the clipping blades. I must say, I was impressed! M. did a really nice job: our kid's hair was even, neat, and no longer in his eyes. But, the sweet, sweet little curls at the nape of his neck were gone.

So I should have anticipated ambivalent feelings when finally on Saturday we took him to get his first professional cut.

I'd found a shop not far away that specializes in kids, and based on our last few home haircutting attempts, I thought it would be wise to find a stylist used to working with little squirmers. Indeed, we walked in and Dylan immediately gave an excited, "Whooooaaa!" and headed toward the train table. Then he noticed the red car and got even more delighted. It was easy to get him up and into the chair. The stylist worked quickly and within a few minutes, there was a little pile of soft, fine hair on the floor.

And then it was done. And though the experience was successful - it went quickly, Dylan was too interested in all that was going on to fidget much, and our goal of getting what had become his fairly long and sloppy hair tidied up - I am really sad. Major disaster.

Now he looks like a boy, ready for school. I miss my freespirited little toddler.

The Sweetest Sound

2011-07-19T16:14:00.000-07:00

Witnessing Dylan's language development has been fascinating. I wish that I'd kept better track of it since he uttered his first intelligble word - ball! - about six months ago, because it seems like there are patterns, and then he'll totally surprise us.

When we were in Hawaii, M. and I were marveling how he seemed to be having some kind of linguistic developmental leap because each day, he surprised us with one or two new words we didn't know he knew, which was a much faster pace than before. M. confessed that he'd been keeping a list and that suddenly, it was quickly approaching 50 distinct words.

At that point, we joked a lot about how one of the words Dylan didn't know yet was "mommy." He'd been saying "dad" for months, and when you asked him where mommy was, he'd clearly point at me. But he wasn't saying it, even as he approached 100 words.

For awhile, it didn't bother me that he wasn't calling me anything. I noticed that he wasn't saying any words that began with an mmm sound. I heard from several others who said that "mommy" was not among their kids' first words. And, there were plenty of other ways I knew Dylan was attached to me.

Nevertheless, as the days that he acquired other words accumulated, but there was still no "mommy," some self-doubts crept in. (Good grief, he spontaneously said "backpack" and umbrella"!) Secretly, I worried that he'd master his nanny's name before he'd call me mommy. I wondered if there just were too many other women with spots in his heart - his grandmother, his aunties, his birth mom - and if his lack of vocal identification was a sign that I really wasn't that special to him. I didn't want to make this about adoption, but...

Shortly after returning from vacation, I came home from work to Dylan clearly calling "Momma!" Now throughout the day, there are so, so many "mommas." There's the pointing-at-something he wants momma and the that-belongs-to-you momma. There's the please-pick-me-up-momma and the where-are-you momma. Oddly, there's the red-car momma, as any red vehicle apparently reminds him of my little cherry Honda. There's the good-morning momma and the please-read-to-me momma. One of my favorites is the out-of-the-blue "momma" accompanied by an oddly placed lip smack. And you know what? All of those mommas are the sweetest sound I've ever heard.

Good Job?

2011-07-05T14:15:00.000-07:00

(Cue the melodrama...but this is a true story.)

Big tears slid down my cheeks and into his crib as I look in on my sleeping son and breathe in his sweet breath. I am shaken by the full realization that if we parent well, this little one will some day not need me.

Oh, other mothers, how do you bare it?

ghoti*

2011-06-30T10:54:00.001-07:00

Some say that children are little sponges, absorbing everything around them. Sometimes, it freaks me out a bit how much Dylan picks up without any effort on the part of the big heads around him. For example, he holds the pen of his EtchaD*odle between his thumb and index finger and "writes" with almost exactly the right posture. How did he learn that?!

Yesterday, as we were growing frustrated with our attempts to get Dylan to eat the healthy things we'd provided him for lunch, I off-handedly asked M., "Do you think we should give him some *f*i*s*h?" I stealthily spelled out the word, hoping to avoid shifting the boy's attention from his fruit to one of his favorite snacks.

Before M. could respond, Dylan exclaimed, "Blub! Blub! Blub!"...which is what he believes fish say.

The thing is, I don't think I spell words around him that much, and I can't remember ever doing it for the little orange crackers. Clearly, I must have, because my son knew exactly what I was talking about!

Freaky.

* gh as in enough; o as in women; ti as in nation. (Isn't English a wacky language?)

Happy Summer!

2011-06-22T11:48:00.000-07:00

Dylan and Daddy in the Garden
June 21, 2011

Yesterday, as we played in the garden through the long dusk, I felt a real kinship with my Scandinavian relatives who truly celebrate the shortest night of the year. I love summer!

Though I know it wasn't official until yesterday, as someone whose calendar is closely tied to the academic year, my summer began shortly after graduation more than a month ago, and it will conclude at the end of August. So, I have already really been enjoying it.

Here are a few things this season of sun means to me:

- Part-time work schedule. Most important, I have more time to spend with my boys. I also have more time to keep up with the laundry and all the household tasks that nag at me during the school year, which relieves pressure. It might even mean I'm a more regular blogger. (See! Two posts in two days! Don't get used to it...)

- Peaches! Our tree must have produced more than 200 of the sweetest, juiciest fruit. Alas, they all ripened in a three week period and are gone already. Fortunately, they freeze well and we'll have yummy smoothies for many months.

- Summer Delicacies. It's not just the fruit we grow ourselves that I love, it's all of summer's healthy, natural abundance. To me, summer tastes like sweet corn on the cob (with lots of butter and salt), lush watermelon, and strawberries on vanilla ice-cream. Ymmmm! BTW, Dylan's favorite food right now is watermelon and he's eating tons of it. If I go near the fridge, he starts exclaiming, "Melon! Melon!" Interestingly, he is also quite fixated on some of the citrus in our yard, and in a bit of verbal dyslexia, exclaims "Melon! Melon!" when he's really trying to say "Lemon! Lemon!"

- Vacation. At the end of May, we spent nine whole days in Hawaii. Those who know M. and me know that we love traveling and have had some wonderful adventures in distant lands. What appealed most to us this year, however, was the notion of sitting on beach...without having to worry about whether the ice in our cocktails was safe to consume. So, we rented a little condo in the Poipu area of Kauai. My mom came with us, saying she was our au pair, and she did provide many hours of attention to her grandson so that M. and I could escape the responsibilities of parenthood for a bit. It was so much fun to sit in the warm water of a tide pool and watch Dylan splash around, declaring each volcanic rock "laawvah!"

- Family Time. Dylan will have a chance to hang out with all of his cousins, who live in other states, this summer. We've already had some time with his "Arizona cousins" and it made my heart sing to see them all together. Those kids are much older but they just dote on their littlest relative. Even the too-cool fourteen-year-old vied for time to bounce his baby cuz around. Dylan will also get to see more of each of his grandparents, who he adores. Each one brings something special and different to his life and I know he will always cherish the time he spends with them, being the center of the universe for hours at a time.

- Celebrations and Mini-adventures. Father's Day, Independence Day, M's birthday, a weekend at one of our favorite spots, camping at the beach, the wedding of dear friends - all moments to get together with loved ones and let loose a bit.

- Making progress on my neglected To Do list. Some things I am dedicated to accomplishing in the next several weeks include: exercising and losing weight; making our back patio area more inviting with shade, plants, and decorations; researching and buying a fuel efficient four-door car to replace my old Honda coupe, since we'll need to fit a car seat in there when Dylan goes to daycare in September; painting and finish decorating Dylan's room; and creating a Life Book for the boy.

- And lastly, casting off my ghostly pallor. Okay, I know. I know. I know. I know it's all an illusion, but I really DO look healthier with a bit of a tan.

I remember a time in childhood when summer seemed too long. I got bored and began to itch to go back to school. My, how times change.

Irrational Exuberance

2011-06-21T11:35:00.000-07:00

Dylan is growing up so fast. It's hard to keep up with him, here and around the house.

Before we adopted, I thought I'd miss not having a kid who inherited my biological traits and tendencies. Something that surprises me is how delightful I find many of the ways Dylan is different from me. One simple example is that I am definitely NOT a morning person. I set my alarm at least 20 minutes early because I know I will need to hit the snooze button a few times. (Praise my understanding bed-mate!) Once I finally do manage to throw off the covers, I typically trudge heavy-footed and sleepy-eyed around the house. My assistant at work could probably tell you I'm not very friendly, or even communicative, until about 10 a.m.

My son, on the other hand, usually wakes up with a huge, sunny smile. When I come into his room, he's often already dancing at the rails of his crib. He's most cooperative and easy-going in the three hours or so before his late-morning nap.

Fortunately, Dylan's sunny disposition in the a.m. is having a positive influence on me. I now look forward to his greeting each morning, and especially to a few moments of snuggling in bed with him and his daddy before starting the rush of the day.

Though I am a generally happy person, and I was even voted "Most Optimistic" by my high school class, it would be a real stretch to describe my personality as "bubbly." But that's what Dylan is.

He just exudes joy.

And I just love that about him. Yes, some of it is undoubtedly typical toddler energy. But I think there's more to it than that. I think he inherited much of his exuberance from V. But sadly, as M's observed, a hard life has already dulled much of her shine.

It is one of my greatest hopes and challenges as a parent to help Dylan preserve his wonderful, positive disposition. I hope he won't become world-wary, and that there will always be great, unstifleable joy in his life.

(Of course, I don't expect that it will always be running around half-naked with a toothbrush that will bring on such irrational exuberance...At least I hope not.)

If you have kids who were adopted, how are they like and dissimilar from you? How do you feel about it?

For Another Mother

2011-05-07T21:00:00.001-07:00

Dear V.,

I don't know whether you ever read this blog. I hope you do. Have you received the emails and texts we've sent? How about the Happy (Birth)Mother's Day card Dylan made for you? There is so much I want to share with you, and I'll put a bit of it here now.

Tonight at dinner I talked with M. a bit about my ambivalance toward Mother's Day. For so many years, it was a tough day for me. All of the mothers who have lost their children, or still long for their children, are never far from my mind. Of course, I think about you and wonder how you are feeling.

Before Dylan was born, you said that you thought our happiness about finally bringing our child home would help you cope with the pain of your loss. I want you to know that since you placed Dylan into our family, every day is special for me. I don't need breakfast in bed or flowers to enjoy this holiday. His sweet, wet kisses are the most precious Mother's Day gifts I can imagine.

We haven't heard from you in several months and I miss you and worry about you. But, I feel like we are in touch in some way every day. That's because your beauty, intelligence, good humor, and determination are all so clearly growing in our son.

On this day and always, we are thinking of you and sending lots of love.

xoxox
Kristin

The Cat's Meow

2011-04-23T22:26:00.000-07:00

The small, black-and-white cat paces beneath our bedroom window. Her plaintive meows keep me awake, thinking about mothers and children. Thinking about maternal instincts, broken hearts, and people who do what they think is best for the little ones.

She is a feral cat who had kittens beneath our house. After a couple of attempts foiled by Momma-cat's ferocity, we were able to capture the kittens. Three adorable little balls of fur. They are old enough that they will drink milk from a syringe we offer, and after a few hours, they are purring in our arms. We hope, we believe, there is a very good chance they will be adopted into a loving family after we take them to the SPCA.

I don't want to overly anthropomorphize or make assumptions about what this little cat is thinking and feeling. But I can tell that Momma-cat knows her babies are in here. She doesn't know or care of our good intentions. Even days after they were taken from her, she hangs close to our house. Though I truly believe we have done the right thing, not just for ourselves, or for our neighborhood. Her offspring will likely live longer, more luxurious lives than they would scrounging for food in the alley and dodging coyotes and having litter after litter themselves...if they survive the pound.

But all I can think of is how hard Momma's worked to birth her babes and care for them in the wild for weeks. Whatever she's trying to communicate to them now as she wails beneath our window, it conveys her deep, deep unbreakable connection to her children.

PAL, You Can Say That Again

2011-04-01T11:17:00.000-07:00

I've written here before and thought a lot about how the words we choose influence our experience of adoption. I believe, as with any topic - and especially those that are emotionally laden - it's tough to find and use words that are neutral, that don't relay certain biases, or just reveal certain cluelessnesses.

Truthfully, when I read or talk with someone about adoption, I quickly surmise a lot by the language they use. My judgement hasn't always been fair or accurate, and I often have to remind myself that I've come a long way in my own views about adoption, and I still slip up and say things clumsily. In fact, I have different feelings now about some of the Positive Adoption Language (PAL) I promoted earlier.

One term that I struggle with from time to time is how to refer to the parents who have placed their children for adoption. This is because some of the people I respect the most in AdoptionLandia, and from whom I've learned the most, use the term first parent (first mother/mom/father/etc.). I recognize the temporal accuracy of this term, and also how "birth mother" can be diminishing.

But I just can't bring myself to call V. Dylan's first mom. And I'll admit it's because of the primacy "first" suggests. If V. expressed a preference for the term, I would certainly use it. (When I asked her about it at our match meeting, she looked at me kinda funny and said she is fine with "birthmother." But I don't think she'd given it a lot of thought herself at that point.) Maybe someday I'll get over this stupid insecurity. But for now, on my blog and when referring to my situation, I will continue to use birth mother (separating the words, so there's an adjective that describes a noun), unless I know of someone's other preference.

I will NOT however, ever again refer to an expectant parent considering adoption as a birthmother or to the material we had to create to market ourselves as a "Dear Birthmother Letter." Frankly, though I didn't even question it during our agency's orientation, I'm now horrified that that supposedly "progressive leader in open adoption" uses those terms. Come on!

As with so many other adoption words, I wish there was a better, more neutral term for birth mom. And truth be told, there is. But using it all the time would probably just raise too many questions and cause too much controversy. What is it? It's simply: MOTHER.

Dylan has two mothers. There's another instance of where my viewpoint has shifted: most proponents of PAL encourage saying "was adopted" rather than "is adopted." They reason that adoption is just a finite, legal process and that individuals' identities should not be defined by it. I get that, and I think it is right in most cases. However, the more I read about and learn from adoptees themselves, the more I see how adoption IS part of who they are. So, this is an example of where I want to listen/read closely to discern where someone is coming from. If an adoptee says "I am adopted," rather than "I was adopted," I can make guesses about how they - at least in that particular circumstance - frame adoption in their own lives.

The last term I'll bring up now is "gave up for adoption." So much of the current philosophy behind open adoption emphasizes the "loving choice" birth parents make in placing their children. It suggests that children who are "given up" may feel abandoned or discarded. And that may well be true. But it is also true that most birth parents do "give up" their children. They experience an incredible loss, and one most would not suffer through if they saw any other viable option. So, if a birth (first?!) parent talks about "giving a child up," I view it quite differently now; I see that it accurately reflects their experience.

I worry that parsing words could discourage people for talking about adoption, and I really don't want to contribute to that. AdoptionLandia (my term for the space on the internets and our collective consciousness devoted to the topic) is crammed full of people relating awful stories of stupid, hurtful things people have said about them or their children. In most instances, though, I can see that there was no ill-intent. Inappropriate curiosity or insensitivity, maybe. Or, most disheartening, unwillingness to learn something new and/or consider another's perspective.

M., Dylan, and I have been pretty fortunate thus far not to have had any really difficult situations related to inappropriate questions or language that we've struggled to handle. Most of the time, I just try to educate by using the terms I prefer and gently correcting when we're with someone who Dylan will have continuing contact with. I hope that revealing my own evolving thoughts and words related to PAL might be helpful to others.

What do you think about PAL? Where do you find yourself struggling to use it? What has trying to use it taught you?

Class Act

2011-03-20T15:29:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, Dylan was invited to my colleague's Child Psychology class. She was teaching infant development and thought it would be instructive for the college students to see a little kid in action. Along with my guy, my good friend's eight-month old girl was on exhibit.

It was fun! Of course, I loved hearing the students exclaim how cute he is and try to catch his eye. A little shy at first, Dylan soon started flirting as usual.

The professor began by asking my friend and me to relate our children's birth stories. I hesitated for a moment, wondering how relevant his adoption history was to the class, and then decided that though it really wasn't, learning a bit about open adoption might actually be interesting (and potentially useful?) to these students. I ended up saying something like, "Well, Dylan was adopted, which means we first 'met' him when his birth mom was about eight months pregnant and she selected us to be his parents. We are still in contact with her, and we are grateful every day that she gave us the opportunity to raise such a beautiful kid."

Then the professor moved on to asking us about various developmental milestones. How were our kids sleeping? What did they eat? How would we discribe their temperments? How did they communicate? She demonstrated a few things, like object permanence, for example, by taking a toy away for Dylan and showing the class that he knew to go looking for it.

A few times, I felt a little nervous that he was expected to demonstrate something that he wouldn't be ready to. She gave him a bright plastic Easter egg that he could hear had something inside of it. She explained that at about 18 months, many kids will learn that certain adults can be counted on as "helpers." Sure enough, after trying to get the halves apart himself for awhile, he came to me, shaking the egg so I could assist with unscrewing it.

The only task that he "failed" was when she smudged his nose with some lipstick and explained that doing so will upset many kids about his age when they see themselves as "blemished" in the mirror. But when Dylan saw his reflection, he just chuckled and moved on to rolling his truck along the floor.

And then class was done and the students scooted off. I was really touched, though, that a few of them came up to thank us for coming and to tell me directly how sweet my son is. One young woman in particular waited to speak with me. She said, "I wanted you to know I think it is so cool you adopted him. I'm adopted, too."

I said, "Oh, great. Thanks for saying that. We feel so fortunate to have him, and I love hearing about other families built by adoption."

"Yeah, I have a younger brother and sister, and they were also adopted. They're all closed adoptions though. He's really lucky. I know he'll have a great life with you." And off she went with her big book bag slung over her shoulder.

I'm not sure whether she thinks Dylan is lucky because he is in an open adoption, because he was adopted at all, or because he was adopted by us in particular. Whichever, I left the class reminded that I am the lucky one.

SICK (Part Two)

2011-03-05T16:26:00.000-08:00

M. made it to the first hospital in time to see two big guys in uniforms pushing a gurney with a car seat strapped to it into the hallway where he'd left me and his ill son several hours before.

Immediately before that, Dylan (and I) endured what was probably the worst part of the whole ordeal: inserting an IV needle into the tiny vein in his elbow. Apparently, that was a requirement of transport, in case he needed medication stat. Two nurses and I bundled him up burrito-style with just one arm hanging out. He looked at me with worried eyes until he felt the prick, then all hell broke loose. It was so hard seeing him wraith in pain and feel his sad eyes beg me to help, but instead I had to struggle to hold him still. Unfortunately, after too much poking, the nurse declare his first vein "too small," so we had to re-wrap the screaming child and go for round two on the other arm. Mercifully, this time the IV was quickly inserted and taped down and just seconds after he was freed and rested on my shoulder, he quieted down to a sad little whimper.

Of course, when the guys with the funny looking car seat showed up, he seemed to lose all memory of the trauma he'd endured moments before. And then when Daddy showed up, our boy was smiling again.

I had mixed feelings about strapping Dylan into the car seat on top of the gurney. On the one hand, I knew it would make him safer for the 20 or so minute trip on the freeway to the Kaiser hospital. On the other hand, it meant that I couldn't hold him and comfort him. I must say: he looked so cute up there. Fortunately, the novelty of it all kept him fairly entertained and not too upset about getting restrained.

I told M. that I didn't think I was coherent enough to drive, so again I was the one to go off with Dylan in the ambulance. Unlike the previous night, this time Dylan was wide awake and very interested in all that was going on. As he got loaded into the back with me by his side, he kept pointing and exclaiming "cah! cah!" (car). Our whole trip on the freeway was "oooooh! oooHHH!" with energetic finger directed at the trucks he saw out the window.

Shortly we all arrived at the hospital, which is spankin' new. We went up in the elevator to the Pediatric Unit and were immediately taken into Dylan's own room, a spacious place with a fancy, elevated crib (which looked too much more like an animal cage to me) with all kinds contraptions connected to it. A very pleasant nurse came and introduced herself and explained everything she did while examining him. The little guy was still so curious about this new adventure, he didn't protest at all.

As the EMTs were leaving, I heard them relate information provided by the other hospital, including that Dylan's chest x-ray may have shown "a touch of pneumonia." That was the first time I'd heard of that dreaded possibility...and fortunately, it was the last.

After a bit, I fed Dylan some yogurt and a bottle. We snuggled a bit on one of the chairs and he fell asleep in my arms at just about his typical nap time. I held him that way for a long time while M. worked on his project from the laptop. I also called my mom, who was very anxious to hear how things were going. I told her we didn't know at that point how much longer we'd be there but that Dylan seemed to be doing better than his exhausted parents!

It wasn't long after Dylan woke up that I saw something interesting in the hallway outside the room: a furry beast. Sure enough, "Prince" and his guardian asked if they could come in for a visit. Prince is a gorgeous, big therapy dog with a very gentle disposition. Dylan was a bit hesitant at first, but after some encouragement, he got down on the floor and stared into Prince's eyes. He never wanted to go far from his dad's protection, but ultimately, Dylan gave Prince some friendly pats and enormous smiles. As the dog went down the hallway to visit another little patient, Dylan blew him a kiss.

Prince and the Little Patient

After Prince left, Dylan was examined by a very nice doctor who said all of the right things to reassure us that he'd be fine and that we weren't terrible parents for not recognizing the seriousness of the situation. In light of his energy and increasingly rascally activities, we had expected her to tell us to go home immediately. So we received yet another surprise when she said that he was looking really good, but that because when he coughed he still sounded so croupy, they wanted to continue to observe him and she thought he should stay the night.

Beginning to feel delirious from fatigue, I called my mom and asked her if she could come relieve us for a few hours soon. She told us we couldn't keep her away from the hospital if her precious boy was going to be there any longer!

So while we waited for grandmom to show up, Dylan explored the unit a bit. He was pretty cute in his tiny smock, roaming the hallways. He was only marginally interested in the nurses' stations, but was very intrigued by the playroom and all of its toys. We spent awhile there before slowly making our way back to his room.

My mom arrived and breathed a huge sigh of relief, I believe, when she saw for herself that Dylan was pretty near to his jolly ol' self, with the unfortunate exception of a very hoarse cough. With little encouragement and much haste, M. and I pulled our stuff together and split. In retrospect, perhaps I should have felt more concern as we left our sick boy. But at that point, he was in such good hands - his dear grandmother's, not to mention all of the hospital personnel - I couldn't focus on much other than my own pillow.

The next few hours are kind of a blur. I know we made it home, set our alarm clock and crawled into bed. We slept for a few hours, then roused ourselves with showers, grabbed something to eat, and headed back to the hospital. The plan was for M. to spend the night there with him and for me to return and then go work in the morning or back to the hospital of he needed to stay longer.

We went back to Dylan's room to find him climbing up the walls...almost literally. Clearly, he was feeling much better. He was keeping his grandmom on her toes, exploring all corners of the room...and the oxygen bottles, and the trash cans, etc. It was so good to see him!

We thanked my mom profusely and sent her on her way. We read to Dylan a bit and I fed him a bottle, rocking and hoping that he'd soon feel as sleepy as we did. By 11:00 p.m. there were minimal signs of him slowing down, so I helped prepare a bed for M. on the room's funny chair and gave them both some snuggles. Eventually I left, feeling both relief and trepidation. Even knowing that Dylan was much healthier, and that he had his daddy right there, I was worried about my little boy spending another night in the hospital.

Early the next morning before heading to work, I spoke with M. He said they'd both had a pretty good night and that there was no new news about Dylan's condition. They were waiting for the pediatrician to come by to check him out and hopefully send them home.

So, I headed to work reluctantly and got a few things done. About 11:00 a.m., M. called and let me know that the doctor had examined our boy and determined that he was in good shape. And then he called me about an hour-and-a-half later to let me know that they were both home, Dylan was already sleeping in his bed, and M. was headed for his. Such a relief.

Of course, I asked M. what we were supposed to do to follow up. Medication? Nope. Keep him as calm as possible. Nada. Visit to his own pediatrician tomorrow? Not necessary. Apparently, she'd said "if we wanted to" we could get him a humidifier for his room. I was amazed that after two ambulance rides and two nights in the hospital, there was apparently nothing more much for us to do to make sure Dylan was well.

In the end, I'm not quite sure what to make of this unfortunate episode. On the one hand, it feels like much ado about nothing. On the other hand, I'm terrified by what could have been.

And, throughout the whole ordeal, I kept asking myself, "Should we contact V.?" Although we had sent her an update just a few days before, we hadn't heard from her since Christmas. I wondered if she would want to know her son was in the hospital, or if it would just bother her that she's far away and couldn't do anything to help. We were awfully busy and struggling to cope with the situation ourselves. I reasoned that we should wait until we had real information to share before potentially concerning her unnecessarily. We emailed her a few days later and let her know.

But what I realize now is that I really didn't want my son's birth mother to know I hadn't recognized when our child really needed help. My maternal instincts had failed me. In addition to failing Dylan, I felt I had violated the trust V. had placed in my.

Sweet Valentine

2011-02-14T20:45:00.000-08:00

This little cherub has filled my heart with happiness.

May you feel such love today and always.

SICK (Part One)

2011-02-11T16:31:00.000-08:00

(…and unfortunately, I don’t mean that in a positive way, as so many of the college students I associate with do these days.)

Well, we’ve passed another parenting milestone: the first trip to the ER with our ill baby. I will hasten to add that all is well now. But it was definitely no fun.

Between Christmas and mid-January Dylan held onto a little cold that manifested only as a persistent runny nose and a little cough, as far as we could tell. Then one Sunday we took him to the “h*ppiest place on earth” (a story for another time…) and we noticed as the day progressed that his cough was deepening. He wasn’t coughing often – maybe just once an hour or so – and it didn’t seem to bother him much, but it sounded awful.

We didn’t notice the cough or runny nose getting any worse, but he did seem to really be “snoring” on Monday night, and then again when we put him down to sleep on Tuesday evening. With hindsight, we now realize we should have been more concerned about that.

On Tuesday night, I was already in bed around 10 p.m. when Dylan woke up whimpering. M. went in to comfort him, and I could hear the little guy really panting. After trying to soothe him a bit, M. brought him into our bedroom. Dylan looked and sounded like he was working awfully hard to breath. We decided to call the advice nurse at Kaiser.

I held the little guy who slowly fell back to sleep while M. spoke with her. She asked all kinds of questions that I could hear too. Was he blue? No. Was he unconscious? No! Did he seem dizzy or was he having trouble controlling his limbs? No. Fever? No. Was he eating okay? Yes, he had been. Were his lungs “retracting”? Because Dylan spent the first few days of his life in the NICU learning how to breathe better, we knew what that meant. We unzipped his jammies and, yes, his diaphragm was visibly being sucked in whenever he inhaled.

At that point, he woke up a bit more and started coughing his barky cough. The nurse could hear him. She suggested that M. hang up and call 911!

We were shocked, scared, and horrified that we hadn’t realized the seriousness of the situation. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be the first time that night.

M. called and the dispatcher indicated paramedics were on their way. Dylan watched us with big eyes while we scrambled around to put on clothes, gather his diaper bag, and otherwise prepare for a possible trip to the hospital. I remember thinking how odd it was to hear sirens in the distance coming closer, and know they were coming for us. A few minutes later, the paramedics arrived along with a big fire engine, followed by an ambulance.

Dylan was so sweet and cute as the big guys in uniforms came into our little house. But we knew he must not be feeling really well because there were only a few of his characteristic “ooooohhhhs!” when he experiences something new and interesting.

The emergency personnel were really nice with him. They tried to give him some oxygen through a mask while they checked his vital signs, but he kept pushing it away. As we had 15 months ago in the NICU, M. and I tried to interpret the various numbers and “secret code” they were using to communicate and assess what was going on.

Eventually, they told us that they advised he be transported to a hospital. (Again, we were surprised.) They brought a stretcher in, and M. and I made a quick decision that I’d go with the little guy while M. followed behind in our car. Unfortunately, because it was apparently a busy night for emergencies, the hospital closest to us and with which we are most familiar was “slammed” and they let us know they’d be taking us to another area hospital.

I got on the gurney and held Dylan tight while they strapped us both in and loaded us in the ambulance. In a moment of brilliance, M. remembered Dylan’s Puppy and passed him into us. We gave Daddy a bunch of kisses before they turned the lights and siren on and off we went.

It was pretty surreal, and because Dylan clearly didn't seem in critical danger, it was all kind of interesting to me. Thankfully, I’d never been in ambulance before. I think that part was a lot harder on M. He didn’t know how his boy was doing or where the hospital was located. (In fact, when he arrived just a few minutes after we did, the ambulance driver let him know he’d followed a little too closely! Of course, I was grateful he was already there.)

I was curious about what would happen next. It was SO not like the TV show ER, thank goodness! We were shuffled around a bit by the EMTs and the hospital personnel, but fairly quickly moved to a small room designated for pediatric patients. There was just one other little girl there with her mom. Dylan soon was diagnosed with croup, which wasn’t a surprise to us.

We were told that croup is a very common childhood illness, typically caused by the same viruses that result in a cold or just a mild sore throat, if anything, in adults. It’s usually the swelling of the larynx, and because the bronchial tubes are so small in children, the airway is obstructed. In modern times in the U.S., it rarely gets as severe as it did with our boy…which makes me feel like an awful mother for not getting him treatment sooner.

They gave us a medicated nebulizer and instructed us to keep it close to Dylan’s face, which was a real challenge since the mist seemed to bother him and he’d push it away. (When it wasn’t in his face, he’d snuggle up on our shoulder and go back to sleep.) After listening closely to his breathing and giving him a chest x-ray, they decided to give him some steroids as well, at which point they finally shared that we’d be there “several more hours” and there was a possibility that he’d be admitted to the hospital. (Another shock.)

His breathing seemed to be improving, but at some point, they evaluated him again and decided he needed another treatment of the medicated nebulizer. It was about 2:30 a.m. when I encouraged M. (who was already exhausted from working hard on a work proposal) to go home. At least one of us should get some sleep. He did so reluctantly, and I assured him I’d give him a call if anything changed, I learned something new, or we needed him in any way.

Fortunately, at about that point, the other little patient was admitted to the hospital and moved, so we had the room to ourselves and could even turn out the light. I spent the next four hours lying on a gurney, repositioning a sleeping baby so that he’d get the steam in his face but it wouldn’t wake him up. Not an easy task, and I didn’t sleep a wink.

About 6:30 a.m., Dylan woke up and started to be his active self. A new shift of nurses was on, and a very nice one came and examined him and even ordered us some breakfast. Finally, the doctor returned and told me that typically, when two of the treatments are required, hospitalization is indicated, so they were recommending admission to the hospital. (Another shock, especially with a pretty happy baby I was having trouble keeping from squiggling out of my arms.) About 8:30 a.m., I was finally told they were making arrangements to transfer us – by ambulance – to the closest Kaiser hospital, since that’s where we are insured. I called M. – who was actually able to get about three hours of sleep – to fill him in, and he was already packing up to come back to the hospital. He arrived just as the guys for the ambulance service were preparing us for transport.

To be continued…

OAR#23: Taking the bliss outa ignorance

2011-01-30T21:04:00.000-08:00

(I'm sliding in a post before January concludes officially.)

In a little twist, the most recent Open Adoption Roundtable sent interested responders to another blog and asked for answers to Jessica at O Solo Mama's "ignorant questions" about open adoption.

I'll take a stab at answering as best I can...

1. If open adoption is so great, why do so many people suck at it? By this I mean, not honouring commitments, closing the adoption, telling the other family they’re not “doing this thing” correctly or playing the “for the sake of the child” card?

Open adoption relies on human relationships, human relationships with loss, longing, and love at their heart. Like any relationship, it is only as healthy as all of the humans within it. Therefore, it is almost always complex, messy, and emotionally challenging. All too often, it "sucks."

Of course, for perspective, it's important to recognize that open adoption is not the only relationship in which people sometimes have trouble honoring commitments or behaving as anticipated. And of course, it is in relationships with a great deal at stake - such as marriages, or bonds between parents and children - that our human weaknesses cause the most pain and do the most damage.

2. From the standpoint of first parents, open adoption sounds like something that could prolong suffering. Could this suffering potentially outweigh the good of knowing where your child is? Who helps the first parent?

Obviously, I can't answer this one, but I am interested in the responses being submitted by first/birth parents.

3. I’m guessing kids are not hung up on how many relatives they have. Tell me that the thing that hangs up the public all the time about open adoption and other unconventional relationships—two mommies, two daddies, three, four, parents—is the least of your worries because it seems to me it is.

Yep.

Well, it's too early to tell how Dylan will feel about having two mothers, but I'm guessing he'll pick up on the cues that M. and I give him. We're pretty comfortable with the lingo of open adoption, so we suspect he will be too.

4. Do you ever feel like you should give this child back? Does the thought ever seize you totally as you watch your child with her bio-family: “ooops?” (OR for f-parents: Do you ever feel as though you need to take this child back? That nothing is stopping you beside an agreement that feels false? Does that feeling go away?)

Nope.

Well, unfortunately, we haven't seen Dylan interact much with is birth mother. But I have never felt that Dylan isn't exactly where he "should" be.

I can say that I have wondered what his life would be like if he was with her instead of us, and what could have or should have been different in her life to make it possible for her to parent him.

5. How do children ever cope with knowing they could not be kept? When they see their natural parents having more kids, what do they think? Who helps the child in this situation? Both sets of parents?

I don't know yet, but I hope it is both sets of parents. I know that how Dylan will feel when she has and parents additional children is something that concerns V.

I will say I hope we never use - or think of, really - the term "could not be kept" with Dylan. Yes, at some point, he will be mature enough to understand that his birth mom made the decision that she could not parent him as well as she felt he deserved. But I hope the focus, and the feeling, for him is on the love and courage that decision took, rather than on a sense of being discarded.

6. Can you say comfortably that some surrendering mothers could not cope with an open adoption or do you think that it should always be the standard?

I think that's actually two questions. Yes, I believe some surrendering mom's can't cope with an open adoption, but that's not because it's an open adoption. Like I said, it's complex, messy, and emotionally challenging, and not everyone has the support or emotional fortitude to move beyond it. But that is true of any of the options for handling an unanticipated pregnancy, right?

The second part of the questions is a bit tougher for me to answer. I guess I'll say "yes," it should be the standard that all members in an adoption - birth parents, adoptive parents, and children - have the option to maintain relationships with each other. But I know that there are lots of circumstances - particularly in international adoption - when that isn't possible. I say that I think openness should always be an option for a placing parent.

7. Is there ever a reason (aside from extreme/illegal behaviours) to close an adoption totally?

No.

But of course, determining which behaviors are "extreme" can be a subjective thing...and that is why, I believe, many people "suck" at open adoption.

Now, go read what other people had to say!

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

2010-12-24T20:12:00.000-08:00

Hang a shining star upon the highest bough...

Wherever you are, whatever you believe, may the new year bring peace, health, and happiness to you and yours.

What's In A Name - Part III

2010-12-20T14:45:00.001-08:00

Naming in adoption can get tricky. I've already devoted two posts to it in the past.

What isn't so tricky is all of the loving little nicknames we've given Dylan. It seems like with each new phase, he earns some silly new moniker. Here are the ones that come to mind:

Golden Nose, because he came out of the womb with this unusual gleam. (We subsequently learned that it was caused teeny-tiny pimples that disappeared not long after we brought him home.) We saw it as a sign of his inner radiance ;).

Bright Eyed Boy - As soon as Dylan could open his eyes, they became his most prominent feature. There is just something so magical about his deep, dark eyes and the way they sparkle.

Burrito Baby - Once we mastered the swaddle and our kid slept a lot better, we became huge fans of The Happiest Baby on the Block. (Can't you just tell what he's thinking in the photo below? "I want my Binky!" Well, have no fear: he often earned another, related nickname: Baby Houdini.)

Cobra - Our son always seemed to enjoy his "tummy time." From very early, it seemed to us that he had unusal strength in his upper body, and at just a few months old, he began extending his arms, arching his back, and posing in this yoga pose.

Inchie - From Cobra, Dylan moved fairly quickly on to inchworming. It was his fist self-directed, forward motion and it was adorable.

Bozo - Our boy was born with quite a lot of lovely, dark straight hair. That grew. But it grew in a strange pattern, first just in tight curls at the top of his head, and one goofy lock on the side of his head. Since that tuft would get fluffy, he of course drew references to a certian clown.

The Hurdler - Since he's been able to sit on his own, Dylan has surprised us with the poses he finds comfortable. One of his favorites is to jut one leg out straight in front of him and to tuck the other behind himself. Of course, his former track star daddy immediately recognized that his boy is already practicing to make it over the high hurdles.

Butterstein - So, one day we fed Dylan some green beans bathed in butter. That day, he was especially interested in his hair, which by that time had grown out to a fairly uniform length and gentle wave. Naturally, he put his greasy fingers into his coif and the result was a 'do reminescent of Albert Einstein. Since then, he's had many crazy hair days, caused by things like sleep, rolling on the floor, and applying yogurt to his locks, but we always refer to the original gel.

(Photo taken by Auntie Lisa)

Of late, now that he's toddling and super curious, I've taken to calling him Destructo. No explanation necessary. Of course, we're attempting interference rather than snapping photos whenever he's earning that name...

Last by not least, no matter what stage he's in, or how old he gets, I know that Dylan will always and forever be my precious, special boy.

Look Who's Walking Now!

2010-12-14T10:01:00.000-08:00

Dylan First Steps

Since I can't get my act together to create a traditional "baby book," I've intended to use this space to chronicle Dylan's development. Alas, you all see how well - or poorly - I've done with that. It turns out that blogging regularly is one of the things, along with exercise and a social life, that have been squeezed out of my life by the full-time work/parenting combo.

But I've caught a few moments now and want to share what I can.

Obviously, the big news is that just a few days before his 14th month, Dylan began walking, and this morning for the first time, I noticed that he seems to prefer getting around on two legs rather than on four limbs. (We'll see if that's still true this evening when he's tired.)

Truthfully, I'm surprised that it's taken our little guy so long to stand up and get going. I haven't been worried about him; I know that all kids develop differently, and that though some parents can boast that their kids were toddling around at nine months, there was not yet any cause for concern with our boy. What I didn't expect was that he'd be inchworming (at eight months), then bear walking (at nine months), then speed crawling (at ten months), then cruising (at eleven months), then jamming around the house with his walking toys (since around his first birthday), and then "walkin' with the one-finger assist" (since shortly after that) for so long. I kept thinking he was so close to taking his first independent steps, but then another week would go by.

For a couple of weeks now, his cruising has advanced to include a few shuffling steps between couch and ottoman, for instance. And more and more, he'd stand up on his own, pick things up, throwing balls, etc. without any locomotion. But finally, the other night, we had bonafide first steps...and (in an incredible stroke of good luck, since it's rare) I had my iPh*ne with me.

I was in the living room, M. and Dylan were in our bedroom. M. shouted, "Hon, come look at this!" But I didn't have to go anywhere, because into the living room toddled my little boy.

In one hand, he was holding a wooden flute M. had picked up in Ecuador that we'd just given to him to distract him from other items he was going after in the bedroom. In the other, he was holding his precious Puppy. I think he wanted to show me the flute, but he wasn't willing to put his lovey down. Dylan could crawl very easily with an item in one hand, but carrying TWO things made getting up and walking a necessity. So up he went and off he went.

The vid is just moments after I applauded his accomplishment and encouraged him to show his daddy the flute. Who knows how far he would've gone if we all hadn't gotten so excited about it!

Since then, he's had several "repeat performances," going a bit further and not requiring two hands full, but he definitely still showed a preference for the speed and accuracy of crawling. But after this morning, I suspect we've truly entered a new phase: life with a toddler.

When I've mentioned this to others, they all get a sympathetic look in their eyes and say something akin to "oh, I hope you've baby proofed" or "he'll really keep you on your toes now." Uh-ooh.

Yes, the last couple of months, as Dylan's mobility and determination have increased, have been a lot more challenging. Long gone are the days when we could strap him into his bouncy seat and clean the garage while he contentedly fiddled with a toy. He now requires constant, vigilant supervision. And it's exhausting. Will it get even harder?

But he's also so much fun now.

He understand so much of what we say, sometimes it startles me. How did Dylan know what I meant when I suggested he smell a blooming rose? I'd never done it before. Then I remembered that Paul smells the flowers in his "Pat the Bunny" book. It's so cool that now I can say, "go get your brush" and he'll DO it!

Dylan's comprehension is impressive to me, but he still hasn't articulated much. He babbles all the time, and its fun to hear him mimic the tone or cadence of our voices. He's insisted that a dog says "arff! arff!" for months now, and recently he's learned that a dinosaur says "rrrrhhhrr!!" Still, it's rare we'll hear him say something intelligible. Everyone agrees, however, that he has uttered his first, easily-understood and consistently applied word: "BALL!" Usually followed by "ball! ball! ball!!!"

Now he is really playing - stacking blocks, moving cars around, throwing (and catching!) balls of various sizes, opening and closing doors to play peak-a-boo, "diapering" his stuffed gorilla. He is still a bibliophile, pulling book after book from his shelf. Often, he'll spread one out on the floor in front of himself and flip through the pages, pointing at things and making sure we notice them. Not infrequently, he'll find something on a page and we'll hear "arff! arff!" or "ball!" and sure enough, he's "reading."

For quite awhile, he was a terror on the changing table, wiggling and squirming so much I feared he'd fall off. Now I can ask him to help, and he (usually) lifts appropriate body parts at the right times, even offering a foot to go into a pant leg and such.

Dylan has always loved bathtime, and as he gets older, his fun in the tub just seems to increase. He's got a few favorite toys that he scoots around and splashes with, but he gets by far the most enjoyment when we let the cup pour into the water or onto him from higher and higher.

Our boy is now not just a walker, he's a climber. Though (thankfully!) I haven't seen it myself, I received a report from the park that he climbs all the way up the big slide ladder, fusses and pouts for awhile at the top, and then finally decides the easiest way down is plopping on his bottom, letting go, and woshing down the slide. Oh, my!

I've always thought Dylan was a pretty good eater, and maybe he still is, comparatively. But the list of finger foods that make it into his mouth rather than getting thrown off his tray and onto the floor is shrinking and concerningly scares of vegetables. His favorites right now: yogurt, grapes, apple, tofu, and J*oe's O's. He will no longer eat cheese (unless its melted on pizza) or peas. Increasingly, he's interested in what's on our plates and will fuss until we offer him some, only then to send it flying over board. For awhile, I took some pride in the balanced, healthy "meals" my son ate because they focused on whole-grains and veggies. Now I happy if he'll just eat the same stuff his folks do.

As with his eating, Dylan's sleeping pattern seems to go through phases. Napping is kind of a crap shoot these days. Fortunately, he continues to be a very good sleeper at night, usually going down around 8:30 p.m. and rarely peeping until around 6:30 a.m. or even later. In the last week or so, he's been doing something I find so adorable: he loves this little plastic music maker some of my friends from work gave him. You press a button, lights flash, and it plays one of a half-dozen or so simple, classical tunes such as Mozart's Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. Well, one day M. put it in Dylan's crib with him for a nap, and he played with it quietly until he fell asleep. Now, rather than being awoken ourselves with some whining and the beginnings of tears to let us know he's up, some lovely little electronic tunes will come floating down the hallway from the boy's room. If we're lucky - like we were this weekend - we can extend our snoozing for twenty or so minutes while he continues to make his music.

At other times in the day, when he plays his music box or he hears music from some other source, he'll do a little dance. When he's seated, its waving his arms and moving his feet around. When he's standing, he puts his whole little body into it. My favorite is when he dances while I'm holding him and we can boop joyfully around together. The kid has more rhythm than I do!

For awhile, I was a bit disappointed because part of Dylan's growing independence seemed to include a lack of interest in snuggling. Almost as soon as he'd finished his bottle (which is down to just three times a day and should be even less), he'd want to be up and playing or pointing sleepily to his bed. Sure, I'd give him lots of kisses and hugs anyway, but often he'd just push me away...which is a hard thing for a momma to take! Somthing has change this week, however, and I hope it's more than just a phase. He offers lots of hugs, has snuggled with us in bed in the mornings, and is full of kisses.

There is just something about slobbery little smacks that makes my world a better place.

Happy Holidays

2010-11-24T13:38:00.000-08:00

There have been so many fragments of posts floating around in my head for the past several weeks but no time to sit down and form them into coherent writing. However, I know time will get only more scarce in the next weeks, and so I want to get a few things out now, inarticulate as I may be.

Thanksgiving
Last year at this time, I was a brand new mother, filled with some awe about how much my life had changed in the six or so weeks since Dylan arrived.

Now, I'm the mom of an almost-toddler, and I still can't believe how much has changed in such a short period. Of course, I continue to be grateful to be parenting such a great, great kid. Dylan is amusing, challenging, and inspiring. I think I tell him - and the universe - everyday how fortunate I feel to be his mommy.

This Thanksgiving, I want to express my gratitude for all of the people who have helped us through this major transition in life. From close family to new acquaintances (virtual and "real"), so many people have generously offered their support. And we have relied on it. From providing hours upon hours of loving care to our son, to thoughtful gifts and hand-me-downs, to just sending good wishes across the Internet, the assistance has been so, so valuable. It has cheered us through the inevitable ups and downs of new parenting and made our lives easier, richer, and often more fun.

This year, our family will be observing the holiday in a way that is atypical for us: we'll be going to a nice buffet at a hotel restaurant. I am sure there will be a point - probably when the server removes my last plate - when I will miss having the tasty leftovers that usually accompany Thanksgiving. But mostly I am so glad that we mutually agreed to avoid the burden of cooking and cleaning that is so often inevitable on such occasions in favor of emphasizing what is really important to us: enjoying each others' company.

While I am celebrating with several of the people who have been the most supportive to us, I will also be thinking of those people who we aren't able to be with this year. I want them to understand how grateful I am for their love, and for their eagerness to truly be a part of the "village" that is raising this child. I want them all to know what a difference - in big and small ways - they are making in Dylan's life, in my life. Thank you.

Halloween
Doesn't this blog seem to be missing something? Yep, photos of a kid in a cute costume. Well, I'll have to rectify that!

I've always gotten a big kick out of Halloween. It's an excuse to get creative, dress up, and be silly! In fact, I have many fond memories of the holiday from my childhood. Truthfully, I barely remember trick-or-treating, though I do recall vividly coming home with a bag full of loot, spreading it out on the living room carpet, and then entering high-stakes candy trading negotiations with my brothers. What I remember most was talking and planning with my parents about what I'd "be" and how we'd make the costume. How old was I when my dad spray painted a box silver, my mom crafted tinfoil antennae, and I added red reflective tape buttons and a heart to become a robot? How delicately did my mother explain to me why, in junior high, I might want to tone down my "dance hall girl" outfit? How was it that, even when she became a single mom, working full-time and going to school, she managed to find time to sew capes and carve pumpkins?

Anyway, as Halloween approached this year, I had to temper my expectations. First of all, last year, new to our neighborhood, we were very disappointed to only have a few kids come to our door. (And most of them were so old that they barely qualified as kids.) Secondly, Dylan is too young to go trick-or-treating. In fact, I worried he wouldn't be able to tolerate a costume at all.

So, I ended up being very pleasantly surprised by how enjoyable the day was. We started it by putting Dylan in his booster seat so he could watch and "participate" while M. carved a pumpkin that eventually found its way onto our front porch.

In the afternoon, we hosted a small "Halloween Happy Hour." My dad and Dylan's aunt from Texas were in town, and his Auntie M. and Uncle B. also were excited to celebrate with us. We've been wanting to get to know our neighbors better, and this seemed like a good excuse. We invited those in the homes closest to ours over for some autumn ale and sweet treats.

Ultimately, we were joined by a couple who live two doors down from us. Though we are about the same age, they have a 20 year old, an 18 year old...and now a five month old. They are very nice, friendly people and we'd like to get to know them better, especially since our son and their daughter could well be play-mates. We were also joined by another neighbor whose daughter and her five week old baby boy are staying with her now. Additionally, some good friends who live close by brought their little girl, born in May, over. So, at one point we had four babies (plus Auntie L.'s sweet dog, who is her baby) hanging out on the porch!

And Dylan didn't just tolerate his costume, he loved it! Make that: he loved both of them. Back in August, Auntie M. called from Costc* and said there were some adorable costumes. Did we want Dylan to be a duck, a frog, a monkey, or a ladybug? M. immediately responded, "A ladybug!" You see, at the time Dylan was fixated by a toy ladybug that hung from his floor gym. So his auntie got him the ladybug costume...It was only later that it occurred to us our son would be a cross-dresser for his first Halloween!

In the two months between the ladybug costume purchase and the big day, Dylan became even more fascinated with dogs, barking at anything and everything on four legs. And so I couldn't resist: I also got him a little puppy outfit.

Our guests were greeted by the ladybug and midway through our Happy Hour, the boy had a costume change. He was adorable in both. It was so precious to see him interacting with the other little kids in their costumes!

I am already excited about next Halloween, when we may be able to go trick-or-treating. I wonder what our two year-old will want to be?

Anniversary
Though it is not a national holiday, each fall now we celebrate another important date: our wedding anniversary. This year, thanks to M.'s good planning, we were able to score a cottage at Crystal Cove State Park, which made it a really special get-away.

We were joined for a long weekend by M.'s sister and brother-in-law, who graciously agreed to babysit so we could go out to dinner just as a couple.

M. and I had a lovely time. It had rained and stormed most of the day, but the evening was clear and crisp. We went to a restaurant justly known for its romantic atmosphere and were seated in a secluded corner with flickering candlelight. We ordered cocktails! We lingered over our meals! We exchanged gifts and loving words without interruption!!

As I told M., there is no one else on earth with whom I'd rather share this escapade called life. He is a fabulous partner, and I so look forward to all of the adventures we'll share together.

National Adoption Awareness Month
Though you may not have known it, there was another celebration in November. Started a few years ago to focus attention primarily on adoption from foster care, the observance of National Adoption Awareness Month has expanded to draw attention to adoption in general.

Here are a couple of different takes on it.

If you'd like my suggestion for how to observe it, this year or in the future, I'd love for you to use every opportunity you can to correct any myths or misconceptions you encounter about adoption. Help "normalize" it, for all the members of the adoption triad. Use PAL. Let whomever will listen - friends, acquaintances, legislators, the media - know how it's touched your life. And if it helps, tell them a story about or show them a photo of a little boy who is loved very much.
...

For me, holidays often serve as markers in my life. They provide reference points for current events and my changes in emotional state. Last year at this time, I could only speculate what my life would be like now. In many ways, my predictions were right: being Dylan's mom has added an incredible new dimension to my life. That's not simply because of my evolving role as a mother. It's because of the new relationships I've built, the existing ones that have deepened, and the better sense of self I've gained through it all.

Wherever you are and whatever you are doing this Thanksgiving and in the weeks to come, I hope that this holiday season you too have a full heart and are able spend time doing things you love with those you love.

Missing Persons

2010-11-08T16:16:00.001-08:00

Last month, we got a surprise in the mail.

Dylan's amended birth certificate arrived. It was a surprise because we received it just three months and three days after his adoption was finalized. Since our state government is in such a mess right now, we'd been warned that it might take more than three times that long.

I must say, it was very nice for something in this adoption process to go more quickly and smoothly than anticipated.

As we have after passing through several of the small and large hurdles of our journey, M. and I did a little happy dance around our living room. (We did it quiety, though, since Dylan was napping.)

Other than astonished and relieved, how did receiving this important document make me feel? Kind of strange. Actually, kind of sad.

Next to the line that says "mother," my name is neatly typed. Next to the line that says "father," M.'s name is neatly typed. There is no trace of Dylan's first parents on the document. They've disappeared, been erased.

It would take only the very assute observer to recognize something atypical: that the date of birth and the date the certificate was issued are almost exactly a year apart. Otherwise, it just looks like I gave birth to our son (at a county hospital in some strange city, I might add).

In California, original birth certificates are sealed and can only be opened with a court order. This makes me sad.

It makes me sad because it seems to somehow dimish the link that Dylan has to his birth mother.

It makes me sad that, because so many states have birth certificates that lie by omission, it is such a challenge for birth parents and adoptees who want to find each other to be reunited.

It makes me sad because it is (so far, at least) the most blatant evidence we've personally encountered that there is still a stigma associated with adoption. I keep thinking, "Can't our state come up with a better, more truthful form that provides for all of an adoptee's parents, birth and legal?" But then I assume it's the way it is because there are lots of people who don't want their association with adoption known, for whatever reason. How sad.

Having "identifying information" without having to rely on a court order is another reason why I'm grateful for open adoption. Of course, despite what his new birth certificate says, Dylan will grow up knowing all that we know about his birth parents.

Rock the Vote

2010-11-02T16:40:00.001-07:00

He didn't. But I did. Hope you did, too.

Party On(e)!

2010-10-25T20:23:00.000-07:00

The day after his first birthday, we had a small, simple gathering for close family at the little park down the street. Dylan spent time on a blanket, marveling as each new loved one arrived (and at the colorful boxes and bags they toted with them).

The Birthday Boy Greets His Guests

Dylan and His Girlfriend Under the Photo Tree

Recognizing that this was probably the birthday Dylan would be least excited about until he turns 40, we tried to keep things simple. But, we did do a few special things to mark the occassion. One was a photo display documenting big and small moments in our last twelve months. M. hung images on a lovely oak tree across from our picnic tables.

Then we ate some dinner and played with a pinata one of the guests brought (fun!) while all anticipating the big moment of most first birthday parties. Eventually, we propped the kiddo in his boster seat in the middle of the table and all gathered around.

Our Wish Come True!

As I brought out the goofy giant cupcake I'd made for him, all I could think of while the candles flickered was how MY birthday wish for so many years was to become a mother, and here was my precious, special boy, surrounded by so much love, and generating so much joy.

We helped him blow the candles out and then coaxed him to taste the cake. It was his first nibble of artificial sweetness. We weren't sure how he'd respond.

Baby's First Taste of Cake

He likes it. He REALLY likes it!

Yep. He loved the chocolate frosting with sprinkles and the yellow cake and ended up eating quite a bit of it. (To our relief, it didn't seem to negatively effect him at all.)

And then he started playing with it...

The Obligatory Cake Smash

Dylan really seemed to enjoy the afternoon. He was especially friendly and had lots of belly laughs to share. We are thankful for all of the nice, thoughtful gifts he received, and especially that we could gather together to celebrate the occassion.

It was a very happy first birthday!

On the Move!

The Big One

2010-10-09T15:29:00.000-07:00

I'm one!
Dear Precious, Special One,

A year ago, when you came into this world, your Daddy and I knew our lives would change forever. We had been hoping and planning for you for so long. There was an empty spot in our hearts that ached to be filled with love for a child.

So when you arrived, too purple and grunting for breath, we were fearful, and nervous, but oh so happy! We touched your soft, soft head and marveled as you opened your big dark eyes. What a strange world this must have seemed to you then.

Now our world revolves around you...and you seem to know it. This year has gone too quickly. After your first weeks in the hospital, you have been a thriving, healthy boy. (In fact, we haven’t had to take you to the doctors – other than for a checkup – at all yet!) Though I don’t miss the sleep deprivation, I do miss getting up with you to snuggle and feed in the wee hours of the still morning, when it seemed like we were breathing together, one peaceful being.

You aren’t much of a baby anymore. Of course, I want you to continue to grow and develop into the healthy little boy you are becoming. But, oh, how I will miss those dimples on your hands, those gummy smiles that light up your face, and the way you curl your small legs under your diapered bottom to fall asleep in your crib.

Now, each morning, as we are waking up ourselves, we hear you starting to squawk and rattle Puppy, your plush little dog with a tiny blanket body that has become your “lovey.” When we go into your room, you are already standing up, smiling from ear to ear. As your face matures, the dimple in your right cheek becomes more obvious. Your hair, with its soft auburn curls, is all fluffed up around your head. You practically jump into our arms, you are so excited to start a new day.

Yes, chasing after a now-toddler is exhausting and sometimes leaves us with little energy for anything else. You’ve expanded our patience, and flexibility, and our appreciation for each other. Through you, I have learned so many wonderful things about your father, and seeing the bond you two share is a wonderful reward. You’ve brought so much warmth and light into our lives, and to our family.

Happy Birthday, Dylan. To me, you are the bright shining sun, my son.

Where's the Baby?!

2010-09-30T17:00:00.001-07:00

Really? I haven't posted a photo of Dylan in more than two months? Wow, time flies when you're a growing boy!

Here he is with his new dump truck (which I scored for a buck at a garage sale we just happened to be running by). Not the greatest quality photo, but I love the expression on his face.

Attitude Adjustment

2010-09-24T11:20:00.000-07:00

I wrote my last post quickly, relieved to have a prompt that brought forth thoughts that were (relatively) easy to put into words, because I'd already been musing on related topics.

But I wish I'd taken a bit more time to draft and post it, so that I wouldn't feel compelled to say more now. If you'll bear with me, I'd like to share a couple more thoughts related to my diversity/open adoption attitude analogy that I feel are important.

I believe that, as attitudes, neither diversity nor open adoption are quantifiable goals to be achieved. We shouldn't say "we've accomplished X" and then rest on our laurels. We shouldn't be satisfied that our community is "diverse" if we have X number of X people from X backgrounds represented. Instead, we should ask what it's like to be an "other" in our community, and consider how we view and act on our differences. Similarly, we shouldn't be satisfied that we have contact information for everyone in our adoption triad. Instead, we should ask what it's like for the other members, and consider how we view and act on the rather unusual circumstances that brought us together.

So, if it's about attitude, is it possible to have diversity if everyone looks alike? Hmmm...probably, because if we dig deeper than skin tone, of course we ALL have other differences, things that set us apart from the crowd, things that may stereotype us in negative ways, or cause others to draw unfair assumptions. If having those differences is viewed by the group as a strength, and they are accepted with open-mindedness, humility, and respect, than I'd say there is an attitude for diversity. (But don't get me wrong, I worry about groups that all look alike, and I don't think we should judge a group "diverse" just because it includes a few people of color. What I'm trying to say is that it's about a lot more than that.)

Reaching further, if it's about attitude, is it possible to have an open adoption if there is no ongoing communication? I hope so. Even if it were to come to pass that tragically we never hear from his birth parents, I'd like to think that because of our attitude, Dylan's adoption is open.

OAR #19: Open adoption is about...

2010-09-15T15:13:00.001-07:00

Heather over at ProductionNotReproduction said: "Awhile back I read a summary of a workshop held for prospective adoptive parents who were exploring their options. During their survey of different sorts of adoption, the speakers said that, at its most basic core, 'Open adoption is about information sharing.' Share your reaction to that statement. How well does it match up with your experience of open adoption? If you disagree, how would you finish the phrase, 'Open adoption is about...?'"

Sure, at a fundamental level, it's about information sharing, as any close, honest relationship is. But in my experience open adoption is about much more than exchanging contact information and providing updates on the son we adopted. For me, the best way I can describe it is as an "attitude."

The prompt made me reflect back on the year I spent in graduate school earning my master's in higher education. A major theme at the school that year, which stretched across many of my courses and class projects, was "diversity." Early on, it became obvious that there are as many different understandings of diversity as there were people discussing it.

In the end, I came to the personal conclusion that "diversity" isn't about multi-cultural/ethnic/racial representation, though that should often be the manifestation of it. It isn't even about "celebrating our differences." I decided that, at least for me, diversity is an attitude. It's a frame of mind that seeks to learn from experiences that are different from our own. It requires open-mindedness, humility, and respect.

Oddly enough, I think that the "open adoption attitude" has similar requirements. It demands that I put aside my fears and stretch myself to establish and maintain relationships that are completely unfamiliar to me. It requires me to check my assumptions, sometimes take the road less traveled, and often shut my big mouth and listen.

I find that maintaining the open adoption attitude is something that hasn't come naturally to me. But, it feels natural as it unfolds. I need to practice, practice, practice. And I need to hope, hope, hope, that the work and love we are putting into it will be worth it, for the precious little boy we share, and for us all.

Heigh-Ho

2010-08-26T15:19:00.000-07:00

It's back to work I go. Two weeks ago, I returned full-time to my job as a college administrator. I know that a very special era in my life is over.

When Dylan arrived, I took the first three months off from work totally, using a combination of accrued vacation and our state's paid family leave to make up for my missed income. That time, especially, was so unique. I spent hours just focused on my new son, getting to know him, cuddling him, feeding him. We took long walks and spent lots of time rocking in the glider on our wide front porch. Often, when he napped, I would nap too, which helped me stay coherent despite the regular night feedings.

Friends and family were excited to meet our little one, and I loved sharing him with them. I invited colleagues over for lunch and felt connected to the "real world" just enough. For the first time I can recall, I was able to keep our house (reasonably) clean and tidy. Dylan's first months coincided with the holiday season, and I really enjoyed having time to shop online, wrap presents nicely, and deck the halls. I baked. I nested. Mind you, I wasn't super productive and I often marveled at how little I actually was able to accomplish in a day. (Though we had grand plans, Dylan's room still isn't decorated!) But my primary ambition was caring for this new human, and I felt like I was succeeding.

Then in January I returned to work 60% time, spending three full days in the office. This summer, I went down to 50%, which has usually meant just going to the office one full day and three afternoons. With my part-time work, most of my domestic "niceties" went out the window; we've avoided entertaining, and there are monster-sized dust bunnies floating around.

But I was able to stay connected with my son. I knew his routines. I could spot tiny incremental developments in his awareness and skills. Heck, I could predict the color and consistency of his poop the next day, because I prepared his meals and fed him!

I know how privileged I was to have had all this time with him. The vast majority of parents around the world and even in our "developed" nation struggle to put food on the table while working at least one full time job. They don't have the stable position with good benefits that I do that enabled me to shift my schedule.

And let me also say that I respect those parents who want to work full-time jobs. They recognize that a critical ingredient to providing little ones with happy, fulfilling childhoods is having parents who are happy and fulfilled, and many people would not be happy and fulfilled without pursuing careers that demand full-time attention.

Before becoming a parent, I speculated that part-time work would be ideal for me. It would allow me to continue to contribute to endeavors that make a difference beyond my immediate family and keep my mind engaged in things that challenge me in interesting ways. I recognized that I couldn't really be content as a full-time, stay-at-home parent.

Fortunately, my partner in parenting was also interested in splitting his time between caring for his child and his paid work. We debated and investigated and determined that if we scrimped and cut back some and relied on the regular help of my mother, we could afford to both work less than full-time for a few years, so that we could care for Dylan in our own home, by ourselves, which was our preference.

Unfortunately, that wasn't to be. A few months ago, my boss let me know that she needed me to return to work full-time when the new school year began. Hoping to convince her otherwise, I proposed lots of other options, including job sharing. Never-the-less, she stuck to her conviction that my job, as it currently must be constructed, is truly a full-time (or more, I must say!) job. Though I suspect she made the right decision for the College, I was of course quite disappointed. I contemplated leaving, but that just isn't feasible at this point.

And so began the scramble to figure out childcare.

Even before Dylan, M. and I spent lots of time investigating and discussing the great debates about the impacts of different childcare arrangements on children. I reached a few conclusions. First, the research is inconclusive, and the "conversation" is sometimes divisive. Second, its impossible to extract the influence of the type of childcare from the other influences on a young child's life. Next, most families have limited options and therefore don't necessarily make a decision they feel is ideal for their children; as in most situations in life, compromises are made.

I became convinced that whatever we arranged, Dylan is the type of kid who will do well. The preference to have him looked after entirely by family members in his earliest years is more about us (me!) than him.

With that in mind, we checked into day care centers, home day care options, and nannies who would come to our home. Since my mom was still willing to spend one day a week looking after her grandson, and since M. was still able to work his clients into about 24 hours per week, we only needed to find part-time coverage.

There were some really stressful days when it looked like none of our options would pan out. But then I followed a lead from a colleague that got more and more promising. I'm delighted to report that we've hired K., a warm, wonderful young woman who will be Dylan's nanny four mornings a week. She has strong experience and good references, and clearly loves kids. In fact, she will be earning her elementary teaching credential at my school during the evenings.

In my first conversation with K., I told her we hoped to find a situation that becomes so comfortable, the nanny is like an extension of our family. Sure, it's too early to tell, and in fact, she won't start caring for Dylan until next week, when her classes also begin. But I am very optimistic.

We've patched together childcare in these intermittent days before K. arrives, exploiting the love of Dylan's aunts and grandmother.

Now I'm back in the office, typically from 8 a.m. until 5:00 p.m., with lots of opportunities for "weekend and evening work." It's still too early to really tell what it's going to be like to be a mom who works full-time.

Yes, I still snuggle with him when he first wakes in the morning, I've come home for lunch a lot to see him a bit, and we're together in the evenings. He crawls through my legs while I'm pulling together dinner, and he sits next to me in his booster seat shuffling Joe's O's while M. and I dine. We splash through his bath and then play a bit before I wrestle him into his jammies. There's still time to read a story together, and then we rock and rock while he drifts to sleep (if we're lucky). There are still many, many sweet moments.

But even now, the relaxed confidence I had that I was doing a "good job" as a mother is slipping away. I'm constantly checking in with myself: "Am I paying enough attention to my son? Is it the right kind of attention? Should I be playing with him more, instead of clearing the dishes? Should I keep him awake a bit longer, so we can read more together, or should I put him down, so I can relax a bit and maybe actually have a conversation with M?"

I'm nervous about how I'm going to handle the tough juggling acts on the horizon, and I am sad that the sweet, sweet months at home with my baby boy are already behind me. I know the tension I'm coping with is nothing new; I feel like I am living a cliché. It's something many (most?) parents struggle with at some point. However, the fact that I have excellent company at my own personal pity party is cold comfort. This is a big transition for me, dang it!

Sometimes, I forget

2010-08-10T18:02:00.001-07:00

Last Friday I spent a really lovely afternoon at the beach with Dylan and the mom. We splashed and played in the sand where it met the water and my son squealed when the tiny waves in the bay created by the wake of the boats rolled onto him.

At one point, my mom - always prepared with a healthy snack - offered some grapes. I surprised myself by decadently responding that what I'd really like was an ice cream. She surprised me by encouraging me to got get some for both of us.

And so I slipped on my sandals and found myself reveling in the summery feel of sand rubbing between my toes as I walked the short blocks to the little liquor store on the peninsula.

Coming off the sunny sidewalk, my eyes adjusted to the dim store as I slid open the cooler's door and the frost tingled my salty face. I browsed through the treats before selecting a foil-wrapped drumstick for my mom and a plastic covered ice cream sandwich for myself. Classics!

Out of the shop, I headed back and let my happy thoughts drift to our plans for the weekend. Then they shifted darkly to news my mom had shared about a friend who is ill.

Stepping off the boardwalk and back onto the sand, my thoughts refocused as I saw again my mother, still sitting at the edge of the water. And there next to her was a very little boy, his floppy white hat reflecting the bright sun. The sight of him startled me.

I realized that for a moment, I had forgotten him. I had forgotten this little child, that I have a precious son.

How is it possible that from time to time, I forget? All those years hoping, waiting, and working to bring a child into our lives, how can he slip so easily from my awareness?

While I find this forgetfulness remarkable, I don't feel guilty about it or find it disturbing. It's always fleeting, and certainly the reminder is pleasant. For so long, my identity was tied to being a single woman, and then to being infertile. I just figure that it will take awhile to fully integrate this new me, to always know that I am a mother.

Contact

2010-08-04T21:23:00.001-07:00

One of the premises of open adoption is that the birth and adoptive families will have contact after placement. A quick cruise around Adoptionland makes it obvious that this contact takes as many different forms as there are families. However, it is striking to me how much of the pain in open adoption is related to contact.

In most states, open adoption agreements – which typically stipulate the frequency and modes of connection - are not legally enforceable; once the adoption is finalized, the legal parents hold all the cards.

It didn’t take much internet research to find blog after blog by birth moms who feel deceived about the kind of access they would be given to their children. It is horrifying to me that some potential adoptive parents are so desperate for a child that they intentionally mislead expectant mothers, knowing all along that they don’t intend to maintain a relationship.

Perhaps almost as frequently, I’ve read about adoptive families who are eager to hear from their child’s birth mother (or father) and wish they had more contact. If they haven’t heard from her in awhile, they worry about her. That’s our situation with V. right now.

When we were getting to know her before Dylan was born, we spoke to V. on the phone a couple of times a week and emailed just as often. During our formal match meeting led by our agency’s social worker, we talked a lot about contact after birth. V. was asked how often she thought she’d want to see us and whether she’d like to receive phone calls, emails, photos, etc. She indicated she’d like to see him about every other month (which truthfully sounded good on an emotional level but potentially challenging logistically, since we live about 2.5 hours apart. But we committed to it, and intended to meet this commitment).

We very carefully and candidly told her that if we became the parents of her son, she would always be welcome in our lives...unless we felt it undermined our family in some way or if we felt if was dangerous for some reason. V. smiled and said she understood and supported this. She said she didn’t see it being an issue, but if it did for some crazy reason, she’d want us to protect Dylan and our family.

While we were sitting there in the coffee shop, discussing and documenting question after question, scenario after scenario, I remember the social worker cautioning us that things change, and though the agreement should serve as a helpful framework, we should strive to be flexible in the future. She reminded us that people move on – literally and figuratively – and needs and wants in life change. She pointed out that we couldn’t anticipate now how Dylan’s placement might affect us all emotionally, especially V. This scared me.

I want to be careful about what I write here about our contact with V. since Dylan’s placement. It’s too personal for this public space. But let me just say that it has always been positive (at least from our side), in the sense that she’s been open with us about all she’s been going through related to adoption loss, but also talked about good things happening in her life. She’s fun, funny, and easy to talk with.

But the communication from her has been infrequent and unpredictable. Though we send email updates with photos every month, we struggle to know what else to do. We don’t want to push her to do things she isn’t comfortable with and we want to support her if she needs some distance to “move on.” On the other hand, we never want her to doubt that we love her and want her in our lives. We never want her to wonder if she should contact us, or fear that she’s inserting herself where she doesn’t belong.

And I worry now about Dylan. At this point, he isn’t aware when she doesn’t respond to our suggestions we visit, or that she hasn’t called in several months. But someday he will know if a birthday is missed or an invitation ignored.

I know it is impossible to shield our children from pain, and that part of parenting is teaching them how to cope with disappointment and loss, adoption related or otherwise. But I fear we need to start practicing now how to talk with him about his birth mom, her love for him, and then why we don’t hear from her much.

So I get a lot from reading about others’ experiences with contact between families. In some ways, it’s reassuring to learn about how challenging it is in most open adoptions; we aren’t alone. In other ways, it’s discouraging. There are so many misunderstandings, miscommunications, unexpressed desires, and many, many fears.

When I read about “successful” open adoption – ones in which there is frequent, consistent, and (at least fairly) comfortable connection - I am often struck by how much hard work goes into them. My sense is that, like in most other relationships, there are ups and downs, times that a easy and time that are challenging, but that those who continue to strive to have open minds and open hearts, rewards are there for all involved.

Tell me, since most of us choose open adoption because we believe it is in the child’s best interest, how do we get beyond our adult insecurities and pain? How can we support others in our triad so that the effort is worthwhile to us all?

Give Peas a Chance

2010-07-21T10:23:00.000-07:00

A sad day is on the horizon: the day Dylan no longer fits into one of our favorite items of his clothing. Given to him by his dear Auntie M, this stylish onesie is not only made from soft organic cotton, it also boldly encourages our boy (and everyone else) to discover the yumminess of a certain veggie too often unfairly disparaged.

As a nine-month, our son is still getting the vast majority of his calories and nutrition through his bottle of formula, so his diet isn't that different from most kids' his age. We've introduced the typical purees and then small pieces of fruits and vegetables slowly, and he's been a pretty good eater. Even though he furrows his brow and grimaces (adorably) with the first bite, he will usually even finish his peas.

But as he matures, most "experts" advise beginning to feed him small pieces of meat. This is something we have no plans to do. Dylan is a vegetarian baby.

Way back when, during the first, nervous phone conversation M and I had as singles looking for love, we talked about a lot of things. But it wasn't until the subject of food came up that I became really enthusiastic about the deep-voiced guy on the end of the line.

I asked M what kind of cuisine he enjoyed, and he said something like, "Thai, Italian, Middle Eastern..." There was something about the way he excluded "ribs" and "burgers" that prompted me to make a confession. "I like those foods too. I'm a vegetarian, and they all have great veggie options."

"You're vegetarian?" asked M. "Me too!"

Although we'd already found a lot of commonalities, this was a big one (especially for me, since in the U.S. there are so many fewer vegetarian men than women). We talked a bit more and learned that we are the same kind of vegetarian: we both eat diary, eggs, and seafood, but not other kinds of meat.

Most importantly, we learned that we made our dietary choices for the same reasons. We both don't like the way animals are treated as commodities and tortured and killed for a meal. We both don't like how distant consumers in supermarkets and restaurants are from the process that brought animals to their plates. We both have serious concerns about how the food industry impacts the environment and how much more damage is done because of livestock. (Do you know how much corn is used to feed chickens? Why not just eat the corn?!) And, we both think that a plant-based diet is the healthiest option.

We have, from time to time, asked ourselves, "If we believe all of those things - and we do - why aren't we vegan, avoiding all animal byproducts entirely?" The answer is, while we admire vegans, that is a lifestyle we personally can't tolerate. It's too extreme - at least right now - for M and me. It would take away more of the enjoyment we get out of dining than we can handle. (Is a life without chocolate gelato really worth living?)

In fact, I'll share that when we travel, our diets sometimes vary from the usual in the name of "cultural immersion" so that we can try local specialties.

So, now back to Dylan: when M and I shared our adoption plans with friends and family, we often got the question: "Will your child be vegetarian?" Truthfully, I was always startled by the question.

M and I both choose to be vegetarian because it reflects our values, and since we see that one of our most important roles as parents - adoptive or otherwise - is teaching our child our values, of course Dylan will be vegetarian.

But then I feel I need to modify my declaration.

For both of us, what we eat is a very personal decision. Fortunately, it's the same decision...which makes dinner planning much simpler. While we think there are very good reasons to eat the way we do (see above), other people obviously reach different conclusions.

We expect to only feed Dylan the same foods that we eat. And why we eat as we do will be part of our family conversations. But as our little guy develops and has opportunities to explore other options, we won't discourage eating things that aren't on our family's menu.

Like we will with religion and politics and other manifestations of our values, we will guide our child to the best of our abilities. And we will try not to be too shocked when our teenager rebels by requesting ham for Christmas dinner!

One of Dylan's first exposures to legumes

Always and Forever, Our Son

2010-07-08T14:55:00.000-07:00

Of course, Dylan has felt like “ours” from the moment we laid eyes on him. This morning, however, we went before the judge who proclaimed him our son – always and forever.

I’m taking the occasion of the legal finalization of his adoption to at last write what I can. I’ve attempted to chronicle the hours before and shortly after his birth because I don’t want them to fade any further into the backdrop of our lives. And also because when we were waiting to adopt, I ate up the stories I could find about how families built through adoption came together. They fed my optimism and kept my cynicism at bay. I hope that our story – which does have such a happy ending - might do the same for someone else who is now struggling on the path to parenthood.

But it’s too late. Already I can’t remember when we signed what, who we saw when, what we said to whom. I feel so badly about this. How could those details that seemed so important disappear already?

I guess the answer is that they really weren’t all that important. Because I certainly do remember some things, the really important things, like slipping him into my blouse and holding this tiny, warm boy for the very first time, and like watching his daddy’s face as he coaxed him to drink more from a minuscule bottle. And like feeling torn between tending to my newborn son and his ailing birth mother, my heart bursting for them both.

Here is what I can recall – big and small – from Dylan’s birth, exactly nine months ago, way back on October 9, 2009.

I wrote extensively about our “fire drill,” which left off not knowing exactly when V., the expectant mom with whom we were matched, would give birth, but knowing it would be soon. After returning to our home – about 2.5 hours from her hometown – again without a baby, we stayed in a constant state of vigilance with the car packed and cat-sitter on notice. Though V. knew she’d have a c-section because of complications from her older son’s birth, she was worried about going into labor before the surgery could be scheduled and that we wouldn't make it in time.

After several days of waiting to hear from her, we grew anxious, beginning to fear the worst. Finally, rather than waiting for her to call, we called her. We were relieved when she sounded fine, and said emphatically, “You guys are going to be parents by this weekend!” She had conferred further with her OB, who was working to schedule her surgery. He told her to come to his office on Thursday morning, and that if his exam didn't break her waters, they'd proceed with plans for the surgery the next day. If the scheduled surgery took place on Friday, it would to be at Crummy Hospital, the county facility they had been hoping to avoid. V. shared horror stories of people she knew who'd been mistreated there, and she was especially nervous about how she'd be received as a parent placing her child for adoption. So we told her we'd leave as rush hour was wrapping up here on Thursday morning and would likely get there as her appointment was finishing up, in case we needed to accompany her to the hospital then and there.

Wednesday night came and neither M. or I slept much, so we got on the road earlier than anticipated. Traffic wasn't bad and we were happy we knew we'd make it there before the child was born. When we were about a mile out of her home town, we got a call from D., her wonderful friend who supported her throughout the pregnancy and in her adoption plan. He said they'd concluded the appointment already and the birth was not happening that day. It was scheduled for tomorrow at 5 p.m., but could possibly happen earlier if space in the operating room opened up.

I had heard before from someone who'd had to travel out of state for their adoption that some hospitals have special deals with local hotels and such. After making a few calls to the hospital where we thought the birth would take place, I was transferred to the Ronald McDonald House and spoke with an incredibly enthusiastic young woman. Though the mission of the charity is to support families with ill children, she said they had space available, so of course we could stay there. She also said it was just $15 per night!

The Ronald McDonald House (RMH) in this small city was only a few months old, and in the back parking lot of Mediocre Hospital. When we arrived, we were immediately greeted by friendly volunteers and staff. They showed us around the sparkling clean and fresh facility, which included a well-stocked kitchen and eating area, a laundry area, a living room with windscreen TV (unfortunately, I don't think we ever saw it turned off), a "computer room" still waiting for computers for the guests to use, and a little office alcove for the staff. Then there were three very small but comfortable bedrooms and two bathrooms, complete with towels and toiletries. Everyone really encouraged us to make ourselves at home (as I recall, someone had just baked cookies!) and asked us all kinds of excited questions about our situation.

Then they started presenting us with goodies. Apparently, the community had been incredibly generous and donated all kinds of stuff as the House was opening. So, we were given some handmade baby blankets, a diaper bag, and told we could choose as many books from the library to take home as we'd like. Then we were asked if we'd like any baby clothes. Since fear of jinxing our match had kept us from shopping for the baby much at that point, I said sure. They came back with three boxes of boy-baby clothes!

M. tried to nap for a bit, but I was too excited. Going through the clothes - which were mostly gently used - and chatting with the nice RMH people, I felt like I was at my baby shower. It was wonderful.

We met V. and D. for dinner at a small local Italian restaurant where we mostly just chatted and occasionally squirmed over the enormous day ahead of us all tomorrow. After dinner, they invited us to return to D.'s club house, which we appreciated. It was nice to meet a few more of her friends, all of whom were incredibly nice and accepting of us. But we didn't want to over-stay our welcome, or make V. feel she had to stay and entertain us when we could tell she was getting tired. So eventually we headed back to the RMH where we slipped into bed and held tight to each other. Was this really happening? To us? We were both so excited, we didn't sleep much.

D. called us in the morning around 9 a.m. and told us that they'd heard from the hospital and the surgery had been moved up to 10:30. He asked that we meet them on the north side entrance to the hospital.

We quickly finished up breakfast and showering and such. The staff and volunteers gave us directions to the hospital and sent us off with well wishes.

Getting off the freeway, we could see we were in a different part of town. Homes were boarded up, some with graffiti. Stray dogs roamed the streets. And ahead was a big, imposing old hospital.

We circled around it once, twice, but could NOT figure out where the north entrance was. There were doors and parking lots on both the east and west sides, but even after checking our compass, we couldn't figure out what D. meant by the north entrance.

Panic ensued as time ticked away. We did not want to be late for this! Finally, we parked at what seemed like the main lot and went in. The building was big and bustling and not well signed. We rushed through the whole first floor but couldn't find D. and V.

Finally, I stayed at one entrance while M. ran around the rest of the building. After many excruciating minutes, he returned, announcing he'd found them, and that they'd already gone up to the labor and delivery waiting room. We headed back up there, panting.

What a contrast with the Fancy and Mediocre Hospitals we'd visited during our false alarm trip! The small, cheerless room was cramped with big bellied women and their entourages. It was so stuffy in there that V. preferred to sit on the floor of the hallway outside the room.

We all exchanged hugs and M. and I expressed our regret for being a little late. V. seemed pretty nervous and a little withdrawn. It was tough to know what to say to her. She said she was scared about the surgery...but of course I wondered how she was feeling about the adoption. We joked uneasily for awhile, took turns pacing the hallway, and mostly just stood silently. All of us were asked repeatedly to get out of the hallway and to sit in the waiting room -- all of us, that is, except D. No one dared ask the muscular, six-foot-four-inch, tattoo-covered guy to do something he didn't want to.

Eventually, a nurse came and got V. We gave her another copy of the birth and placement plan, which we'd worked out carefully together with the guidance of our agency social worker a couple of weeks earlier. It specified all kinds of things about V.'s preferences, including that D. accompany her to the operating room, and that we be in a room nearby and brought in to assist with washing and tending to the baby. She wanted us to be the first to hold him.

The nurse indicated that V. would be right back. In actuality, she disappeared behind the double doors and we did not see her again until several hours after the birth. I wish I'd gotten to squeeze her tight before she headed off.

More time passed. And more. Then a different nurse came and retrieved D. After awhile, we could look through the foggy windows on the door and see a hulking figure we assumed was him, all scrubbed up and in a goofy smock and hat. We couldn't tell for sure, but it looked like he was in front of a gurney, and we assumed he was there, down the long hallway, with V.

We started to get nervous. Had they forgotten about us? What about the plan for us to be there in the moments immediately after the baby was pulled from the womb? At long last, a cheerful nurse came and found us. After confirming who we were, she ushered us too behind the double doors.

Then things moved quickly. We were urged to wash up and put on scrubs, which made it suddenly seem very real to me. We were taken into an operating room and told that V.'s surgery was about to begin in the next room, just through an open door where we could see various medical personnel in smocks bustling around. Our room was bright and quiet, with a "baby tray" warming up. We were introduced to two wonderful nurses, Dave and Eva, who chatted with us with just the right balance of friendly excitement and professionalism. Every now and then, they'd walk to the other room and bring back an update. "She doing well, joking around." Or, "the surgery's begun."

Just seconds later, Dave said he'd be right back. Indeed, he disappeared through the open door, we heard a little more noise, and then he came back, walking briskly toward us.

In his hands was a tiny baby. Covered in goo, and with his mouth wide open, gasping for air, there was our son!

Dave put him on the tray, and he and Eva gave him calm, encouraging words. Though M. said later he couldn't, I could tell pretty quickly that something was not quite right. First, the little guy was awfully purple. Second, he wasn't crying vigorously. Still, he was very sweet. Ten tiny little finger, ten tiny little toes. A perfectly shaped head with lots of dark hair. At one point he opened his dark, glistening eyes and seemed to look around wondering where the heck he was.

Dylan was born on October 9th at 12:51 p.m., weighed 5 lbs. and 14 oz., and was 18.5 inches long.

Dave and Eva stayed calm and reassuring, but they explained that he was obviously not the 39 weeks of gestation that we all anticipated. They could tell by things like the (lack of, I believe) creases on his feet. He had a strong heart beat, but they were worried about his breathing. His coloring and "retraction" - the way his little chest sucked in severely with each breath - suggested immature lungs. The nurses continued to play with his feet, trying to get him to pink up a bit more. While we went on snapping photos and just staring at this little creature, oblivious to the seriousness of the situation, they turned him first on his tummy, then declared they didn't like the way he was grunting, and turned him back to give him some oxygen through a mask that was way too big. This did improve his coloring, and they seemed encouraged.

Never-the-less, after about 15 minutes of checking his vital signs and attempting various mild intervention, they indicated he needed to take a trip upstairs to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. Of course, this was scary to hear, and I think our first real reality check that things weren't going as planned. Still, Dave and Eva were very upbeat and calm, which kept us from getting panicked.

As we followed them wheeling the little guy across the hallway to the elevator, V.'s OB emerged from the operating room. He congratulated us, looking a bit harried and surprised when he learned where we were headed. He explained that the delivery was tougher than he expected because Dylan's umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck. He was also surprised to learn about the new suspicion that the baby was several weeks more immature than he'd predicted, but said that because of the cord and the pain V'd been feeling against her prior cesarean incision, it was good he'd scheduled the surgery when he did.

So up we went to the NICU. Though I was very focused on our son, I was aware that we'd entered a strange and foreign world. The sights, sounds, even the smells were so unfamiliar. For the next hour or so, Dylan was assessed by various medical professionals, all of whom were very friendly and excited about our adoption situation. There was a respiratory therapist who was especially generous in explaining what was going on. She indicated that they would give him Surfactin, a drug commonly delivered to preterm babies, because it helped decrease the tension caused by fluid in the cells of the lungs (or something like that). They also hooked him up to an IV to deliver antibiotics, a heart monitor, a thermometer, and a nasal cannula, which delivered enriched, pressurized oxygen.

Very quickly, Dylan's little body seemed to get lost in a mass of wires and tubes. He didn't seem to mind too much, but we sure did. Though everyone we asked answered our questions, it was hard following what exactly was going on. I remember trying to interpret their medical lingo to get a better sense of his status. At one point, some of them were talking about how they "didn't like that he was floppy." This terrified me. I started to fear that maybe there was brain damage or some other very serious complications.

My memories here really starts to blur. I know that at some point, the hospital's pediatric social worker found us. She took us to a little room where we waited and waited while we fidgeted, worrying about the baby. Then she brought us paperwork related to assuming authority for making medical decisions. She also brought us paper wrist bracelets that became our keys back into the NICU, where only parents and grandparents of the wee patients were allowed.

We were also starving, so somehow eventually we made it downstairs and got burritos from the lunch truck at the curb. I think I was running on adrenaline at that point, because being out in the sunshine, noticing others going about their "normal" lives while the baby who might become our child was suffering upstairs, just felt like an out-of-body experience. In particular, I remember being really startled to notice several patients in their hospital smocks smoking cigarettes around the flag pole.

While scarfing down the food, we contacted our social worker at the adoption agency and told her it looked like Dylan would have to be admitted to the NICU for a few days, which essentially threw out the window the placement plan we'd so carefully discussed with her and V. She consoled us, and said that in her experience, it sounded like everything would ultimately be fine. She said that if we needed her, she'd make the trip to the hospital. I wanted to tell her that, yes, we needed her! We really needed someone who could take control and make it all right. Instead, we agreed to keep in touch.

Meanwhile, we were wondering about V. and how she was doing. I can't recall exactly, but there were some challenges in finding her. Eventually we did. She was pretty out of it, and sharing a room with two (and eventually three) others who were rooming in with their newborns, which must have been so hard for her. Her friend D. stayed constantly by her bedside, with his huge, muscular body crammed in the little wooden chair.

She was glad to see us, and eager for a report on the baby. We knew that she took his welfare very seriously and personally, so we didn't share all of the upsetting details with her (and in fact, at that point, we didn't know all of them). We showed her some photos of him, and at that point we all decided on his name.

We also presented V. with a couple of small gifts of congratulation that just seemed so, so inadequate. One was a pair of pajamas in her favorite color, pink. The other was a sock monkey. When she saw it, she squealed with delight and explained that she'd had one just like it as a child, which she'd loved and called JooJoo. We told her that we'd gotten another for Dylan, and that we thought maybe in the future, when they were both thinking about each other, they might like knowing that the other sock monkey was with them, too. She seemed to really like this, and as we talked, the idea developed that we'd take photos of Dylan on a regular basis with his monkey, so that she could see how much he was growing.

Eventually, we went back to check on the little guy. While we were out, they'd moved him to a different spot in the big room so that he was now lined up near other babies and more permanently connected with various beeping and flashing monitors, oxygen, etc. They had also put a feeding tube down his nose, which was really hard to see, and even worse to imagine the insertion.

Fortunately, we were then able to meet with the doctor who became his pediatrician while he was in the NICU. Of all the personnel with whom we interacted, this guy was the most tight-lipped and somewhat morose. He definitely wasn't the warm, fuzzy baby doctor I was hoping to acquaint my child with. Still, he gave us fairly encouraging words. He explained that, though serious, Dylan's situation wasn't atypical for a baby of his gestational age and that he didn't anticipate any long term impact. Essentially, he thought all the kid needed was some time, and that after a few days, he'd go home a healthy boy. Whew!

A few days. Though much longer than anticipated, that sounded manageable. Unfortunately, a few days turned into a few more days, and ultimately almost two weeks. Though Dylan's breathing continued to improve, early on his blood work showed sign of an infection common in preterm babies, and so an antibiotic course was started. Though the doctor was always reluctant to project how long we'd all be there, when we learned it was a 10-day course, we got the picture that we'd need to get a bit more comfortable being so far from home for awhile.

In sharp contrast to the doctor's chill was the first shift nurse to which Dylan was assigned, Ruth. A jolly middle-aged woman with a warm Jamaican accent, she was so kind to us. She cooed over how adorable he was (which was hard to tell, with all the tubes and wires and such), and told us that he was not one of the sick babies. He just needed to "cook" a bit more. She asked us about things that made us feel like normal, proud parents.

For example, she asked us what his name was, and we shared that at that point, we still hadn't decided. There were two top contenders, and we - along with his birth mother - wanted to meet him before deciding for sure. We told her as long as she promised not to tell any of our friends and family, we'd share them both with her. When we did, she said, "oh, they are both excellent names for this boy. The first one, that's a serious, powerful name. A politician's. Dylan, that's an artist." And you know how that part of this story ends.

Ruth taught us how and where to touch him. She said that in her experience, the little babies preferred constant pressure to stroking, and so M. and I both spent several hours that first day and night just cupping his little head in our hand, or laying our fingers on his small shoulders. Because of his various tethers, we weren't able to hold him yet, which was really hard. But we were able to change his diaper, and sing, and whisper to him.

At some point that afternoon, M. and I managed to go to the cafeteria and find cell phone reception. In the courtyard with construction going on around us, we made a few quick calls to our parents and siblings - all of whom were waiting anxiously to hear from us - to joyfully announced Dylan's birth. We regretfully told them it looked like we'd be there for awhile.

Later, when we checked in on V., we asked her if it was really okay for a bunch of people eager to meet her and Dylan to show up tomorrow. She confirmed what she'd said during our birth planning - that it made her happy to know Dylan had family excited about his arrival, and that she wanted to meet these people who were now part of her family too. This made my heart swell!

We went back to the RMH and made ourselves something quick to eat for dinner from the generous cubboards, sharing the news of Dylan's birth. We were reassured we could stay there as long as we needed. Then we headed back to the NICU. The main entrance to the hospital was closed, but we told the security guard where we were headed and were given immediate entry. It was kind of weird - both good and awful - that we were given the privilege of visiting our patient anytime, 24/7.

We stayed for a couple of hours. When we finally surrendered to exhaustion, Ruth assured us that she would call if there were negative developments, but that she didn't expect any and we should get a good night's sleep.

Surprisingly, we both did. But we were awoken about 6:30 a.m. by the phone ringing. It was Ruth. Of course, my heart flew to my throat. Was there a problem with Dylan? It turned out her shift was ending and she just wanted to share that he'd had a really good night. I thanked her and told her we would be there in about an hour.

That day was especially active and is now especially blurry. I know we went in early and met a new nurse, who was also exceedingly nice. She related how things had gone over night - slight improvements in his breathing, etc.

Most importantly, we got to hold our boy! What a sweet, soft, warm little bundle he was. The nurse advocated kangaroo care, which means as much skin to skin contact as possible. So M. and I took shifts all day, shifting his wires and tubes so that he could lay on our chests.

Then our parents and siblings began to arrive from around the state. We could only take grandparents in to meet Dylan one at a time, and our siblings were only allowed to see the little guy from across the room through a large window.

Similarly, V. could only have a few visitors at a time. So we did what we could to coordinate smoothly. For the most part, I was proud of our family. For example, they understood open adoption and our relationship enough to bring V. flowers and such.

V. had warned us that she might have a few biker friends visit her too. I was glad that a couple of rough looking guys who acted like teddy bears did indeed show up to wish her well. There was a funny exchange between one of them and my mom about whether the A on his cap stood for the baseball team or some other Angels.

I remember feeling really torn. I wanted to just sit in the rocking chair with Dylan on my chest. But, there were relatives around, clearly excited to meet the little guy, and I was delighted to introduce them. And V. needed attention too. She was feeling good, but still needed help gettng to the bathroom and such. We also sensed that she didn't want to be alone. Since D. finally left her side for a few hours, we stuck as close to her as we could when others weren't around, sometimes taking shifts, with one of us with her and the other with the baby.

That evening, our relatives still in town brought food back to the RMH where we all enjoyed dinner together. Then M. and I went back to the hospital and arranged with V. to go visit Dylan together. We helped her get dressed and shuffled over from the maternity ward to the NICU, trailing an IV bag. Then we had some fun announcing to the security intercom that Dylan's motherS were there to visit him.

We went in together - to the astonishment of a few nurses, I think - and she met her son, our son, for the first time. She held him and snuggled and smiled adoringly at him. We asked if she wanted some time alone with him, but she declined. After a little while, she said she was tired, and we shuffled back.

The next day, she was released exactly 48 hours after giving birth. Clearly, she wanted to get out of the hospital and, I suspect, start moving on with her life. In the week or so following that while Dylan was still hospitalized, we saw her twice more, for two very nice dinners. After one, she returned to the NICU to visit the little guy again.

I must say that in the months before we connected with V., while we were waiting to adopt, I spent an inordinate amount of time either fanticising or fearing what the time around our child's birth would be like. In most of my imagined scenarios, I envisioned there would be a time when a young woman would bravely pass a bundled baby into my arms and I would be transformed into "momma."

It didn't happen like that at all. Now I realize that there was no possible way I could have anticipated how events unfolded or how I would feel about them. I was surprised by how mixed my emotions were. I was stunned, scared, and enormously hopeful and happy. I was also incredibly sad and worried for a lovely young woman who was trying to do right by the baby she brought into the world. I wanted to make sure V. was okay. But I also wanted to make sure D. was okay. Both of them had no one else and needed us.

Many, many times since Dylan was born, I’ve begun drafting his “birth story” in my head. I wanted to make sure to get it all down in writing, for him and for us. I wanted to create something that not only captured the details – the things I know he’ll be curious about at some point in life – but also conveyed the “hugeness” of it all. As milestones like bringing him home from the hospital and his six-month birthday came and went, I regretted not taking the time nor summoning the emotional space to get it down. Now, I fear I've achieved quantity rather than quality in describing our experience.

It is so hard to understand, let alone explain, how all those strange moments and ambiguous emotions came together to become the most powerful experience of my life. Nine months later, with Dylan a thriving and happy little boy, on the day he is at last recognized legally as our son, I can't tell you when, or how exactly, but sometime in those earliest hours after Dylan emerged from another woman's womb, I at last became a mother.

Eight is Great!

2010-07-03T17:39:00.001-07:00

During our trip to Italy, we didn’t learn to speak much Italian, unfortunately. However, we did learn a few things. We soon began to recognize a question we received over and over, to which we learned to reply “Otto mesi!”

Yes, Dylan is now eight (almost nine!) months old. After several weeks of travel and other timing tumult during which he was apparently just following the status quo, it seems that this week he’s suddenly taken several developmental leaps.

First, teeth! We have a sighting of two little white buds, front and center behind his lower lip. This arrival has prompted Dylan to stick his tongue out over and over, which is pretty cute. I think he gets a bit crankier than usual some evenings, and since a frozen washcloth to the mouth soothes him, I attribute it to sore gums.

Next, motion! For several months before our trip, Dylan’s “downward facing dog” pose had progressed to “the worm.” He was getting around pretty quickly, and in the forward direction, by lifting the front of his torso up, pushing himself forward, then letting himself crash down – over and over. While he still isn’t crawling, he’s now moving forward in more fluid motion…and fast.

What’s even more remarkable to us is that in the period of a few short days, he’s learned to stand. For many months now, he’s enjoyed standing up when we got him into that position. But earlier this week, he figured out how to get himself into a kneeling position. Half a day later, he learned that if there was something a bit higher to hoist himself by, he could get his feet under himself and stand! Of course, his hoist of preference is a parents’ hands. But he’s already discovered that a chair or table leg will also do the trick, as well his crib rail. Fortunately, we were on our toes and managed to get his mattress lowered about 12 hours before he learned to perform this new (and terrifying) trick.

What’s so precious is the pride and delight Dylan seems to take in his own progress. He does something new, and then looks with a half-smile on his face to make sure we’ve noticed and approved before cracking into a open-mouthed grin complemented by sparkling eyes and often a belly laugh.

Our boy is also getting the hang of eating “real” food. It’s still mostly pureed or mushy, like his fave: bananas. But now we’ve added a few things like Cheer*os to the mix. Watching him scoot them around on his tray for minutes of fun before palming them into his mouth is amusing. My research suggests that we should be feeding him even more solid foods, so we need to start thinking about adding some additional items to his menu.

We are all enjoying bathtime. For more than a month now, Dylan’s been content to sit in his little tub in our larger tub and splash and play for quite awhile; I’ll confess to being happy to able to use that time to get dressed or brush my teeth, etc. We’ve just been handed down (thanks, Nathan!) a little bath seat that keeps him (fairly) safe in the big tub, and it appears to be quite a hit as well.

Last weekend we went to the beach. Dylan’s cousins filled a little hole in the sand with water for him, and he loved splash! splash! splashing himself and them. His dad took him out for his first dip in the foam, and although it didn’t last long because the temps are still so chilly, Dylan wasn’t scared and mostly just seemed fascinated by this whole new world of experience (which is great, since after all, he is “son of the sea.”)

A couple of final notes about Dylan’s physical development. For one thing, M. sometimes calls him Popeye, or when he’s repeatedly pounding on something, BamBam. This kid has muscles! I don’t know if they are just more obvious than on a lot of other babies his age because he doesn’t have a ton of chub, or if he’s unusual in this way. But his shoulders, forearms, and calves especially are buff and chiseled.

Since birth, Dylan’s had a lot of dark, downy hair. At about three months, he sprouted a couple of silly little curls in odd spots. Since then, the rest of his hair has kind of been growing in around them, so they don’t look so silly. Right now, he’s got a very nice set of waves arranged in a “hurricane” around the top of his head, and the color seems to be lightening a bit, with new strands of red and even blond among the lovely chestnut. Maybe this is his summer ’do?

So, a little bit of boasting: when we were in Italy, we went to a pizza party hosted by the owner of the agriturismo where we were staying. I noticed that there was a sweet little old lady who couldn’t keep her eyes off the boy, so I brought him over to her and she gladly held him for much of the night (which was such a lovely reprieve for us!). At the end of the evening, this charming Nonni, who couldn’t speak any English, told us that our son was “bellissimo E buono.” We conveyed through enthusiastic nods that we understood and agreed!

La Dolce Vita

2010-06-21T06:03:00.000-07:00

We've just returned from 11 great days of vacation in Italy. I hope to find time to tell you more about it, especially about our good little traveler. Until then, I'll just share one photo and say...Pasta! Formaggio! Vino! Gelato! Mmmmmmmmmm!

Near Barga, Italy
June 2010

Blur(b)

2010-06-07T21:00:00.000-07:00

Really?? I haven't written in over a month?! Oy! Well, there has been a lot going on in our lives - mostly good, a little bad - in the last few weeks.

Our biggest and best news is that the date that Dylan's adoption will be finalized has been set! We've got an appointment at the court on Friday morning, July 9th (the date that Dylan will also turn nine months old). Our appearance before the judge will only last a few minutes and then we'll go out for a celebratory brunch with a few family members and friends.

The last couple of weeks has been really busy with work for both of us. M secured a couple of new clients and I was focused on end-of-the-year school activities. We've also had two very nice visits from M's college friends and their families. It was a lot of fun to catch up with them, introduce them to our son, show them our "new" house, and take them on hikes in our hills.

Plus, we went to court three times to submit finalization paperwork (our county lost documents twice), plus four more times attempting to secure the decree necessary to get Dylan's passport and twice to the Federal Building across town to receive said passport. Added to all that, we had a minor traffic accident. We were not at fault and the woman running the light has insurance, the car is still (kind of) drivable, and most important, no one was hurt. (Dylan wasn't with us, thankfully! It was on a rare "date night.") But, it's been more hassle to have to deal with during an already very busy and stressful time.

The other not-so-good news is that my boss has let me know that she needs me to return to work full-time beginning in mid-August. I attempted to negotiate some other options, including job sharing, with no success. So now we need to figure out our childcare options. Fortunately, at this point, M can continue to look after Dylan two days a week and the boy has a wonderful time one day a week with his Grandmom. However, I will really miss my time with him.

Needless to say, with all of this going on, I can't help but feel our son's been a little neglected and that we all could use a vacation...(note cliffhanger)

Pick Up Six

2010-04-30T14:30:00.000-07:00

Dylan is half a year old!

We celebrated his demi-birthday, mostly by exclaiming how quickly time has passed. He truly is no longer a newborn baby, and every day he looks and acts more like a little boy.

Earlier this week we had the wonderful opportunity to meet the brand new daughter of M's best buddy. She weighs almost a pound-and-a-half more than Dylan did when he was just born, and yet she looks (and feels!) so tiny. We really couldn't remember our son ever being so small. It made me very nostalgic!

Of course, we took him in for his six month check up and the doctor once again declared him a healthy kid. The little guy was so cute for his exam; he had to wear this tiny little smock and kept chewing on the ties and squiggling all around the table. He was smiley and sweet and howled for only about 20 seconds after receiving his three inoculations before his mom could get his bottle in his mouth and calm him right down.

The stats? At that point, he weighed just over 14 pounds and measured 26.5 inches. He's still really small for his age, but as the doc says, its hard to know whether he will always be small-statured or whether he's still behind based on his early arrival. However, he is "tracking" - following the growth curves consistently - so there is no cause for concern. It is especially reassuring that he seems to be hitting his developmental milestones at a predictable and typical pace.

The pediatrician would like us to return for an exam when Dylan's nine months old, rather than waiting until he's 12 months, which is usual. He just wants to make sure he's continuing to grow apace. (He also said that Kaiser's protocol is to see a baby five times by his or her first birthday, and since he didn't see Dylan until he was two weeks old, we're covered for another visit.)

Dylan is getting ready to MOVE! He's definitely realized he can get from one place to another under his own power, but he's usually more frustrated than satisfied about what he can accomplish. As of this week, he's a scooter, mostly going backward. He's got the yoga pose "cobra" down, stretching his arms and arching his back while he's on his belly. More often than not, when we're holding him while seated, he'll beg to be propped up, and then he'll push off our chest so that he's standing, just holding on to our shoulders. One thing that impresses me is his persistence. He'll keep working to get where he wants to go, or pick up what he's interested in for quite awhile. And then the proud and delighted "look-at-what-I-did!" toothless grin that lights up his face is too cute!

He's making better use of his hands, now able to bring them together and coordinate their motion. And he's discovered how to use "tools," grabbing his bottle and able to move his pacifier ("Binky") in and out of his mouth, bang his wooden keys in the same spot...over, and over, and over, etc. Apparently, he is exploring how the world feels and loves squishing or crinkling things. He'll grab a piece of paper and play with it for quite awhile, or move a soft blanket and rub it against his face. And he's scratching, moving his talons across our skin! Truly, it feels like more than just a grab with nails that need a manicure. I think he's trying to draw blood...and he has!

Our son knows how to get our attention. He's apparently learned that we attend to him when he cries, and the louder he screeches, the more quickly we'll respond. I don't feel manipulated; I think he's learning to communicate. But I do think that his screams are often exaggerated in order to get what he wants - usually some snuggling - sooner rather than later.

He is not yet experiencing the "stranger anxiety" that is common of kids about his age, but he's become more clingy, and more than ever before, he's showing that he likes being held by mom or dad. He goes from laughing to whining and back in seconds.

Bath time is fun! Because all three of us enjoy this time together, we usually clean our boy as a family project. Dylan seems to like being in the water more and more, and doesn't complain at all when he accidentally - or not so accidentally - gets his face doused. At this point we're using a plastic tub over the kitchen sink (though soon we'll move to the bathroom, I think). Usually when Dylan first goes in, he'll sit there with his arms draped over the edge, looking like a cool dude hanging out in the Jacuzzi.

Then its off to bed. I'm delighted to report that he slept almost 12 hours straight for the last two nights! But it's too soon to call it a trend. For the last few weeks, we've been a bit frustrated that he's woken up fussing two or three times. Fortunately, he's just required a quick Binky re-insert rather than a feeding. Still, it gets us up and out of bed, so we're grateful that he may be - keep your fingers crossed! - growing out of that phase.

Perhaps our biggest news is that we're feeding him "food." The doc gave us the go-ahead and we've tried a few things with mixed success since then. Dylan seems to like to sit in his booster chair, and definitely likes grabbing the spoon, the bowl, the bottle, and whatever else might be in the vicinity.

But the new grub? Not so much. His typically pattern seems to be to cry heartily the first time he's offered something, to whimper the second, to accept it the third, and to relish it by the fourth or so time. So, he's digging his rice cereal and bananas now, and can tolerate carrots, but doesn't like sweet potatoes so much and absolutely detests avocados.

We're trying to following the medical recommendation to wait several days to introduce each new food to ensure no allergic reaction, but its a challenge. My sense is that Dylan still prefers his formula. He thinks its the quickest, easiest, best way to fill his hungry tummy. And at this point, I must confess I agree with him!

Dylan's hair appears to have surpassed his eyelashes as the topic of public comment. Our kid definitely gets noticed when we're out and about, and most often now, people talk about his soft dark hair. He was born with a lot, but much of it rubbed off after several months. Now he's got real locks growing in. He still has some funny fuzz on the sides of his head, but its less goofy because there is more around it. Plus, there is a lovely patch of waves right on top. As someone who's always bemoaned her straight hair, I marvel at those curls. They are adorable!

Perhaps it is all that hair that makes Dylan look so grown up to me. I've also learned that M and I have different philosophies about how to dress our son. Dylan's dad prefers to dress his boy in real pants and shirts, like a big boy, while I argue that there will only be a few months in his life when he can really wear baby clothes like cute little onesies with feet that look like frogs.

Dylan is our special boy, and he is a wonder. Sure, it can be exhausting, attempting to anticipate and tend to his every need. However, every day we tell him and each other how much we love him. Our lives have changed so much in the last half-year. It is overwhelming to think what our lives may be like in six months, when he's a full year old!

Most mornings, after we hear his first stirrings over the monitor, one of us will go scoop Dylan out of his crib and bring him into our bed. Then we'll spend some lovely, tender minutes snuggling and snoozing together before the alarm blares or our daytime duties call too loudly to be further ignored. He continues to be his most rosy in the morning, smiley and babbling sweetly, or sucking quietly on his Binky, often while holding a parent's hand or an edge of the duvet. Sometimes I stop and force myself to take mental images. I so want to remember these sites, and sounds, and smells. I know I will always treasure such simple, fleeting moments.

Dam Overflow

2010-04-18T16:15:00.000-07:00

After more than six months of pressure building up like water behind a dam, on Saturday night I burst into a river of uncharacteristic tears. Out poured a tumult of joy, relief, and grief. I had been weakened by a not-very-good-in-my-opinion movie and triggered by the sweet fragrance of my snoozing son.

I explained to M., who woke up to my snuffling in bed, that bubbling up was an odd mix of emotion. Looking at Dylan asleep in his crib, his long lashes fluttering with each exhale, his pudgy hand wrapped around his binky, I felt such a sense of relief. Maybe...probably...almost definitely, I will have the privilege of being his mommy for the rest of my life. It feels foreign to accept that this long-held and hard-won dream really has come true. What a relief!

And I was overwhelmed with happiness. I felt (and feel) so, so fortunate. He is such a beautiful little person; happy, and healthy, and full of smiles. I feel lucky not just to at last be a mom, but that HE is my son.

Mixed with those emotions, however, was some self-pity. Now that I love Dylan so much, it makes me sad that I didn't know him from the very beginning. I am sad that his gestation was more a time of concern and worry than a time of joy. I wish I could have grown him and nurtured him for nine months myself. I know this is kind of weird. After all, if I'd been able to conceive and carry this child, he would not be the Dylan we adore so much now. But the other night, I just felt sad that it was someone else who got to experience those special, earliest connections.

What made me weep hardest, though, was thinking about V., his birth mother. How difficult it must have been to give up* this precious boy. Sure, she didn't know what a special kid he would be. But he was her kid, and I know now how special that alone must make him to her. And sure, she had good reasons for placing him. Never-the-less, as my connection with my son strengthens beyond anything I could have anticipated, I can better recognize what an incredibly difficult and selfless decision she made.

Now I know that in some way, V. took a bullet for me. I've said before that there was an empty spot in my heart that only a child could fill. This child has made my love flow over. V. knew, though, that while I would be healed when she placed Dylan with us, her heart now will always have a hole that can never fully scar over.

The dam has burst and the pressure has been released. I understand more fully, though, that my open adoption will always be a deep reservoir of mixed emotions.

* Stay tuned for a post someday about how my views on the term "given up for adoption" have changed...

Bloggers' Dilemma

2010-04-18T15:32:00.000-07:00

Well, blogging isn't going exactly as I anticipated. Before I began this endeavor, I thought some about what being a "good" blogger would mean, and I based my judgements mostly on the blogs I enjoyed most. I remember telling M. how important it is to post frequently and regularly, and that I hoped to post about twice a week. Hah!

I know I am not the first writer to observe that there is - at least for me - an inverse relationship between how much there is to write about and the opportunity to do it. Life is busy these days! And I'd like to have time to pause and reflect a bit, let alone craving out a quiet space and actually articulating my thoughts and experiences so that they are publicly digestible.

This weekend I announced to my sweetie that a high priority among all the things to accomplish is posting something pronto. It's been way too long. So he's at home now with our (hopefully) napping boy while I'm catching a few minutes at the local coffee shop, struggling to spew it all out, lickity-split.

In addition to finding time and mental energy, part of my challenging with blogging is that I sense this one is veering toward becoming "just another mommy blog." Not that there's anything wrong with that. (There are a number of mommy blogs I love!) In fact, I think family like the pictures and the developmental notes all about Dylan most. But that's not what I intended. I wanted this to be a place where, in addition to providing updates to loved ones, I could focus on adoption - open adoption in particular. I also hoped it might serve as a catharsis, a place where I could journal about deeper things I don't often get to discuss in my "real" life.

I'll list the topics rattling around in my noggin to both catalog them for future reference and see if there are any reader preferences for where I might start. (Readers?? Are there still any out there??) Some of the things I hope to be able to blog about in the not-too-distant future are:

- Dylan's six month check-up and "monthly" update
- Our lil' traveler: D's first flight and meeting his cousins
- The Russian adoption scandal
- Our steady march toward finalization
- My own take on the work/parenting (im)balance
- Hearing from V. - Yippy!
- On to solid foods: vegetarian parenting in action
- Open Adoption Roundtable

See?! The topics are all over the place. Building a big audience isn't my goal. Never-the-less, a "good" blogger would be much more focused.

Anyway, I've got a post forming in my head now that's pushing to get out first. So I'll go attend to that and stop whining about why I don't post more, and all I could but haven't yet written about. I'll just do it.

Interview Project: Welcome to Henry Street

2010-03-22T00:01:00.000-07:00

I wrote recently about how grateful I am for the internet, largely because it's enabled me to connect with other people whose experiences with adoption have been informative and have helped me feel less alone along our journey. One of the very best resources for me has been Heather's blog, Production, Not Reproduction. You may remember that she's the host of the Open Adoption Roundtable, in which I've participated a couple of times.

This week, Heather's coordinated a clever project: interviews between bloggers. When she announced the plans, I jumped in, assuming that it'd be an opportunity to learn more about another blogger.

I was delighted when I was paired with Rachel of Henry Street. She is a bright, articulate thirty-something living in New England with her husband, T. As I shared with her, I was already familiar with her blog. I discovered it early in the summer of 2009 - I think through the Open Adoption Blogroll - just as they were matched with expectant parents. As someone still waiting impatiently for a match, I followed with interest as their plans for placement developed, and my nerves and excitement grew along with hers. She didn't know it, but when she brought her precious son "Henry" home, I breathed a huge sigh of relief on the other edge of the country!

Several months later, it's fun to follow along in her parenting adventures. Little did I know it when I began following Henry Street, but now our sons are just a few months a part.

It is my pleasure to introduce you to Rachel and her life on Henry Street. I hope that after reading her responses to my interview questions, you'll spend some more time investigating her blog. She's been at it for quite awhile, and her story is both heartbreaking and inspiring. (And of course, if you are interested in seeing my responses to her questions, you'll have to head over their too.)

My questions are in bold. Rachel's answers are not.

Have there been things about open adoption that have surprised you?

How has your open adoption been different than you imagined? I feel weird saying this, but our adoption hasn't been particularly surprising or different than I imagined. That does not mean that things are perfect or easy, because they're not. It just means that I expected to be unsure about how to communicate with Henry's birthparents. I expected to be disappointed when I didn't hear back from them. Though I thought I would hear from them a little more than we actually have. I expected to be nervous when I felt like certain limits were being stepped over. So, I guess I'm surprised that I expected it to be so bumpy?I feel like I answered this poorly.

What advice would you give anyone considering open adoption to build their family?

It's different than biological parenthood, but it is worth the effort. At first, it might really difficult to 'share' your child with another set of parents. However, these other parents are who created your child, and you are obligated to maintain some sort of relationship with them so that he can know about where he came from. Do not take it lightly, for it is a big commitment, but it is worth it in the end.

Do you think you approach parenthood differently because you are an adoptive mom and not a bio mom? [Rachel asked me this question. I liked it so much, I asked it back to her. - K]

I definitely think I approach parenthood differently because I'm an adoptive mom. Even 7 months later, I am still amazed this wonderful little boy is my son. I'm sure bio parents feel this way sometimes, but I have other people to thank for this. I think that changes my perspective on things. I also think I'm a little less casual about certain small things -- I've heard bio parents make small jokes about 'giving away' their kids. They can do that because there is a 0% chance that would ever happen and they can be cavalier about it. This is something I could NEVER say because it is on some level it's 100% my son's reality. I don't think my parenting 'style' is affected, but I do think my 'big picture' is very different than most bio parents.

How would you describe your relationship with Henry’s birth parents?

At this point, I'm not sure how to describe this relationship. I feel like it's kind of strained. I want to be able to communicate openly with them, but to be honest, it feels a little awkward. While CC was pregnant, I spoke with her quite often. I felt comfortable talking to her for the most part. When we flew down to Florida to meet Henry we spent 48 hours with them in the hospital. That time was great. Both T and I felt very comfortable with both CC and O. We really felt like we clicked, mostly. I tried to communicate with them reasonably often. I sent them emails and pictures and we heard back from them once. But when I communicated without a pattern, I felt like things were getting too loose and it made me uncomfortable, so that's when I decided that I'd be more clear about when I would be sending them updates. I send them an email every 3 months, plus there is a letter that I send through the adoption lawyer we used. I've heard back from them two or three times. Once was a nice email from CC. Once was a nice email from O. Then I had an IM chat with O. which I found to be very awkward, and after that I've avoided the IM thing with them. I need more structure. But I haven't heard from them since the IM. Many things could be going on in their lives that would cause them to not be able to contact us,but it does make me sad. I wish this could be easier.

How have your struggles to build a family impacted your marriage? And how has becoming parents impacted your relationship with T.?

This question could probably elicit an entire book, but I will try to give the short answer. It's weird, but sometimes I feel these things haven't impacted our marriage much at all. We still have pretty much the same relationship we've always had. We've always been able to talk about our feelings with each other, but infertility has helped us do this even more easily. Similarly, we've always had more 'traditional' roles at home -- I'm the person that has taken care of the home for the most part, and he's the one that brings home the bacon, so to speak. With parenthood upon us, we decided I should stay home to raise our son and this has continued. Sure we butt heads sometimes, and occasionally we get angry or frustrated by the increased stress of parenthood, but it seems to happen so infrequently that it hasn't made that huge of an impact. The fact that Henry is such an easy baby definitely factors in to this. But we were always happy together, and now we are even happier as a family with a baby.

If you are willing to share, what are your thoughts and feelings about adding to your family again?

We are planning on having another child. I was planning to start working on homestudy paperwork after we submit our taxes, but embryo donation is tugging at my heart strings a little. I just can't let goof the idea of being pregnant and giving birth. I'm just not sure our state really does this and I have strong feelings about using a clinic and not an 'embryo adoption' group because though I don't disparage those who use them, I am skeptical of their ulterior motives and I do not want to use them. I also am unsure how openness works with embryo donation and I feel strongly about having some openness with the donors and siblings of a donor couple. So there's a little curiosity there, but I'm not sure what I'm going to do with that.

What impact has blogging had on you?

My blog is like my journal. It has helped me get my feelings out in the open. It's almost like therapy on a page. Just typing out what I am thinking has really been cathartic. Also, finding people in similar situations has really been helpful. Reading other people experiences has helped me learn how to endure the bad times and helped me shape some feelings and opinions about openness.

How do you see your blog evolving in the future?

I don't blog as much as I used to. I still think of it as my journal, and though I thought I was going to take a break from blogging for awhile, but I just need it as a source to express some thoughts and feelings that I can't do elsewhere (except for with my therapist, perhaps.) I also like to show off how beautiful my boy is. :) Also, I like to be in touch with other adoptive parents (or those who became parents in alternative ways after infertility.)

Boast Post

2010-03-19T17:18:00.001-07:00

Dylan slept from 8:30 p.m. last night until 6:30 a.m. this morning!

- his proud (and well-rested) mommy

Little Birdie

2010-03-12T11:37:00.000-08:00

I've written before about how grateful I am for the internet. Barely a day goes by when I don't wonder in appreciation at the information available at my fingertips. The web has been incredibly helpful in researching our options for parenthood. Since I'm one of those people who likes to gather a lot of info before taking action, you can imagine the many hours I've spent over the last five years - first about "normal" conception and pregnancy, then about infertility and treatments, followed by all of the adoption options. And now, of course, I am loving learning about parenting!

But what is most amazing to me is the personal connections I've made thanks to the World Wide Web. There have been many times on our path to parenthood when I felt alone, freakish, or misunderstood, and all I had to do was hop online and Go*gle a bit, or read someone else's blog, or participate in a couple of the discussion boards I've discovered.

What a modern phenomenon to find solace in the experiences of someone I've never met - and probably never will meet, writing from across the country or even around the world! I've often been struck that I know so very intimate details about some couples' relationships, some families' histories, some peoples' medical makeups, but I have no idea what they look like, where they live, how they make a living, or other typical details we know early in our relationships "in real life."

Like in other personal relationships, there have been a few (well, more and more) people I've "met" online that I feel a real connection with. Perhaps I relate closely with their experience, or perhaps their writings bring me new insights or move me in special ways, or perhaps I just get the sense that they are really cool people. These are my "e-buddies," as I call them to M. In many cases, I don't think they even know who they are (that I stalk their blogs, for example, rarely or never commenting) or who I am. Weird, huh?

So, I'm especially tickled when my internet life intersects with my real life. I've been known to exclaim out loud when I learn that one of my favorite e-buddies lives nearby and haunts many of the same places I did when I lived in her city, or that someone I "followed" from our agency's waiting families profile is finalizing his daughter's adoption not far away. (Congrats, Bobby!)

I think I originally discovered Brook's blog, Babbles by Brook, through Lisa of Welcome to Babyville, who I found through her very thoughtful and articulate posts on our agency's discussion board. I took special interest in Brook's adoption progress because I realized that she and her husband became eligible to adopt about the same time M. and I did. When they matched and brought their adorable daughter Lily home during a very dry and depressing period of no contacts for us, I was both envious and encouraged.

Back in January, when Brook expressed an interest in learning more about who is following her blog and threw in incentives, I jumped at the chance to enter her contest. She said that any "lurkers" who responded would be entered into a random drawing to receive a cutie little birdie she'd made by hand. (So crafty!)

Truth be told, I'm not a big fan of birds (but that's a story for another post). I probably would've responded anyway, but when I continued reading and learned that she'd sweeten the deal by forwarding chocolates made by her husband, I quickly posted a comment telling her a bit more about myself and how much I appreciate her blog.

It was so fun to return home several weeks ago and discover a little package. Out popped a little birdie who flew all the way from Indiana. She now sits on the rail of Dylan's crib, and once in awhile, she makes her way into his nest.

I look forward to sharing with Dylan the special way his birdie came to him, and I imagine that it will be a childhood treasure he hangs onto for years and years. (The chocolates? No so much. They were delicious and disappeared almost instantly.)

All Fours

2010-02-22T14:53:00.000-08:00

[Apologies to anyone who was emailed this post prematurely. Somehow I managed to hit "publish" rather than "save" again! Arghh!!]

Dylan is four (and a half!) months old now, and I continued to be amazed by how rapidly he's developing. It seems like almost every day we notice some new "trick," or different way he is absorbing the world around him.

We took him for his well-baby visit and the doctor again told us that Dylan is doing great. We learned that our son now weighs 11 pounds and 13 ounces, and he's 23 inches long (or 1'11", as his dad likes to say). He's still small, even when adjusted for his early birth. But he's on track, following a typical growth curve, and there is no cause for concern. The doctor did encourage us to try to get him to drink more; he's only consuming an average of 21 - 23 ounces of formula a day, and we'd like it to be closer to 26 ounces. We described how he devours the first couple of ounces of his bottles voraciously, but then it can take a full hour to get him to drink more, and asked how long we should keep at it. The doc said that Dylan's size and calorie consumption don't suggest that we should devote extended periods to feeding him. In essence, he indicated that the kid looks good - chubby cheeks and all, and is developing normally, so we don't need to do anything other than we are.

(I really like our pediatrician. He is very attentive and receptive to all of our questions, and seems to evaluate his young patient with a reasoned, and reasonable, approach.)

At the end of his appointment, Dylan got three shots of vaccines, as well as one delivered orally. He took it pretty well then (brave lil guy), and quieted down really quickly with the bottle I stuffed in his mouth. We gave him baby Tylenol, and he quickly fell asleep. The first time he got his shots a couple of months ago, it didn't seem to effect him much; perhaps he was just a bit fussier the next day. But this he obviously suffered with all of those mini-diseases coursing around in his little body. He didn't sleep very well, his appetite was off, and he was quicker to cry then usual. Fortunately, more Tylenol and some snuggling soothed him pretty easily. It was hard, though, to see our little guy so uncomfortable. As M. said, "He's dealing with diphtheria right now!"

Fortunately, Dylan is typically a very happy-go-lucky guy, something we speculate he's inherited from his birth mother. He is so smiley, and he's developing a nice little laugh. He's sleeping well. It's funny: I know that "sleep training" is a point of pride with a lot of parents, and one of the most common questions we get is if he's sleeping through the night. I've started asking the inquirers how they define that term, and usually they indicate a six or so hour stretch of time. (In fact, sleep experts do define sleeping through the night as six hours.) In that case, our boy has usually been sleeping through the night...just not the same night we are.

We usually put him down when he starts fussing, often between 8 - 9 p.m. We change him into his jammies and a disposable diaper, give him a bottle, sing a few songs, and swaddle him up. (He's still letting us wrap him tightly at night.) We stick his binky in his mouth and turn on the Sleep Sheep. We give him some kisses, stroke his soft head, and leave the room. Almost always, when we check on him a few minutes later, he's already asleep and he'll stay that way until 2 - 3 a.m. when we can hear him grunting and groaning. (Rarely does he get to the point of wailing at night.) Then we feed him - and usually we can do that quickly and quietly - and get him back to his co-sleeper, where he most often will continue to slumber until 6 - 7 a.m. At that point, we frequently bring him into bed with us, hoping for a few more zees of our own, though since he's enjoying his new freedom out from the swaddle, his active stretching and squawking usually make that impossible. He is so bright-eyed and full of grins in the morning. If we can't keep him quiet enough to sleep a bit more ourselves, we usually spend some time snuggling and marveling together at our boy who just seems so excited to start another day.

At this point, our "system" is that whichever parent is working the next day is "off," and the other parent needs to tend to the boy throughout the night. This means that in theory, at least twice a week, each of us should get a full night's rest. Unfortunately, it doesn't usually work out that way. I'm a light sleeper, and its hard for me not to wake, even when I know that M. is up and tending well to him. (M. on the other hand, can stick in the earplugs and slumber soundly when I am "on.") And while I can usually fall back to sleep quickly after getting up with the kid, M.'s found it a challenge and has had several really tough nights when he hasn't been able to catch a wink between his late night and early morning feedings.

We've been doing a little experimenting with Dylan's sleeping too, feeding him really late, just as we go to bed ourselves. Then D. will sleep soundly until about 4 a.m., and may or may not go back to sleep until later in the morning. But we haven't found the perfect pattern yet.

Though I can't brag the way some parents of four month olds do that our son is "sleeping through the night," I'm feeling okay about his - and our - sleep right now. One of my greatest fears about becoming a new parent was the delirium of sleep deprivation. Sure, we could use some more, but it's not as bad as I dreaded. We go to bed early, catch up on weekends, and occasionally nap when he does. And last night, he slept from 8:30 p.m. until 4:30 a.m., and then again until 7:00 a.m. So we are headed in the right direction1

In fact, we are developing a "routine," and life is becoming easier to manage in general. Dylan's usually a pretty good napper, often sleeping for two-hour plus stretches, either in the morning and/or afternoon. Of course, this is the time we scurry around to shower, pick up the house, make and eat a meal, and maybe, just maybe find time to check email or blog and such.

Between meals and sleeping, we run errands, go for walks, read a book or two, dance a bit, hang out on the front porch if the weather permits, and generally have a good time together. Dylan is becoming more interested in toys. His grasping is more directed and he is able to bring his hands together. More often than not, he can get a hold of his object of interest and bring it to his mouth. He is increasingly able to get his thumb and/or fingers into his gob to suck vigorously. He tries to hold his own bottle and pulls on his binky. His playmat has become increasingly popular, and he can spend lots of time just hanging out, banging into the chimes that sound gamelan music.

Adorably, he's started to take interest in the baby in the mirror. I still don't think he'd figured out that his feet are his own extremities or how to control them. Today he was surprised and delighted when he happened to grab them.

And then there is all the "talking" he's doing. There are cute little babbles and sharp screeches, and constant chattering about his imaginary friend Hagu. In other oral developments, though there are no signs of teeth, there is lots of bubbling with saliva going on, and plenty of drool drips. The doctor indicates this is his salivary glands prepping for more solid foods, though he's advised us to wait until Dylan is at least six months, since he's getting all of the nutrition he needs now from his formula.

Most exciting to us is his gross motor development. The little guy can sit up - often with a gleeful, self-satisfied grin - with just a couple of our fingers holding his back. And he easily goes up to standing with just a firm grip on our pinkie fingers.We've now introduced the Bumbo seat, which he enjoys for about ten minutes a couple times a day before he starts arching and stretching and complaining to be picked up.

Remember all of that gorgeous, dark hair Dylan was born with, and how it's grown into several very sweet swirls? We joked that he needed a haircut! Well, a few weeks ago we started to notice that he was leaving soft strands of hair wherever his little head lay. Sure enough, our boy is balding! In fact, he's now got very thin hair with lots of pink scalp showing through and just a curly tuft on the top of his head (good for a comb-over), and another on one side. (We've been known to affectionately call him Bozo.)

There's lots more I could share, but this is already too long. I'll wrap up just by saying that as Dylan's wonder at the world grows, my wonder in him grows. He is just a fabulous kid, and I am so proud to call him my own.

Heart Felt

2010-02-14T15:46:00.000-08:00

Happy Valentine's Day!!

Love,

Dylan

Show and Tell

2010-02-07T21:28:00.000-08:00

Show...

During the six months between when Dylan's birth parent's rights were terminated and when we can apply to the state for his adoption, we must be monitored by our agency. This means we must attend a support group meeting or trek to the office each month. In January, to cover this obligation, we were invited to speak at the conclusion of a weekend intensive, which is essentially an orientation with people who have just "signed on the dotted line" and launched the process to become adoptive parents.

Almost exactly two years ago, M. and I sat in the same room and listened first to a birth mom talk about her experience placing her child and maintaining a relationship with him and his adoptive family, and then to a new adoptive mom, who brought along her adorable tiny baby. The stories they related really helped us understand how this whole open adoption thing could work; they had a powerful impact on us. So, eager to "pay it forward," M. and I agreed to tote Dylan across the city and talk about our own experiences bringing him into our lives.

It was kind of strange. In a way, meeting with these new hopefuls brought me back to a very painful time: the period in my life when I wasn't sure I had much more to give to our family building efforts. And a time when embarking on the path to parenthood via adoption brought both new optimism and increased risk. As I looked out on this group of people, I wanted to tell them that I knew they'd probably already been down a rough road, and that while there is a light at the end of the tunnel, unfortunately, they should strap themselves in for some more bumps on a wild roller coaster ride (to mix some crazy metaphors).

Asked to share "our story," we spoke honestly and from the heart, though I think how we ultimately matched with V. and brought Dylan home is more interessting than how we actually related it all. We need to hone our story-telling skills!

The questions from the group were good. One person asked what we know now that we wish we'd known when we were in their seats. At first we responded with some technical tips about the arduous process to get "in the books." Then upon further reflection, I said two things.

First, I had kind of expected that when we final "got" our baby, there would be this magical moment when he was placed in my arms and he felt like ours. That single, special moment never came. Instead, because of our attachment to his birth mom and our desire for the match to continue to progress smoothly, for us the moments immediately following his birth were just as much about her and how she was doing as they were about him. And oddly enough, I am glad for that. We will have a liftime of magical moments with our son. But V. was our focus at a time when she really needed us.

After our talk, one of the participants thanked us and said that she now realizes she and her partner need to progress with more thought about what they can offer a birth mother than what she can offer them. So, that reframing is a good thing, I think.

Second, for a long time I've recognized that I attempt to manage my stress by fighting to control things around me. Part of that is struggling to anticipate things I can't possibly predicct. During our long wait, I spent ungodly amounts of psychic energy trying to guess how things might unfold so that I might have a chance to better prepare for them emotionally and otherwise. However, at some unidentifable point shortly before Dylan's birth, things became so unpredicatable, I just had to stop fighting and go with the flow. Looking back now, that made it so much more enjoyable. While I don't think its in my nature, I wish I hadn't tried so hard to figure everything out much sooner. I told the group that I wish I'd known there was NO way I'd guess how my baby would come to me and trusted more that however it happened - as long as it happened - I'd be okay.

Of course, throughout the whole session, Dylan was adorable. I think I caught in a few people's eyes that same baby lust that the little guy in the session we attended 24 months before had tiggered in me. I must admit, it was so gratifying to show off my son.

..and Tell

Like most new parents, when we are out and about with our little guy, he attracts lots of attention. People want to know what his name is, or especially how old his is. They often comment on how much hair he has and his gorgeous dark eyes.

And when people make these comments, there's always a little something in me that wonders if I should share that he is adopted. If I know the people, or the conversation becomes more involved, I will usually say something. More and more, though, I just say thank you...without adding, "he's adopted, so we have nothing to do with how cute he is."

Recently I noticed that I feel less driven to share that he was adopted when I am out alone with Dylan. When M. and I are together and Dylan attracts attention, I feel more compelled to reveal the special way he joined our family. What's weird is that I think this relates to some kind of latent fear of the questions that might come up when people can see that this little boy obviously came from some other gene pool than his parents'. I want to pre-empt any odd assumptions or awkwardness.

I hope this is something I get over soon. I'm surprise by how challenging I am finding it to navigate the issue of when to try to "pass." I know that when to share what with who about a child's adoption is a hot top with ambigous answers. Ultimately, I want Dylan to make the decisions about disclosing that information. But until then, I need to work on my own feelings and language related to "telling."

A World of Hurt

2010-01-31T21:47:00.000-08:00

When Dylan was just a few weeks old, M. and I took him for a little walk around our neighborhood on a sunny autumn afternoon. As we strolled up the sidewalk, a wizened old woman hobbled down her front steps to take a peek at our bundle of joy. She exclaimed, "What a blessing!" She asked how old his was, and we responded cheerfully, proud to show off our son. Then she said, "He is beautiful. He is so free of sin." We trundled off, uttering our thanks.

At the time, I didn't appreciate her words. They felt, I don't know, so...sanctimonious or something. It made me uncomfortable that this stranger was judging my son in such a way.

But since then, there have been many times when I've looked at our sweet little guy and reflected back on her comment. Especially like now, when he's asleep. His soft round head is turned to one side, and his long, dark lashes rim his closed, fluttering eyes. Occasionally, his pudgy cheek moves a bit, in concert with his full lips in their precious infant overbite. He's swaddled, so his body is one small bundle. He looks so vulnerable, and so innocent.

Once when I caught my husband looking over him while Dylan sucked sleepily on his pacifier, M. struggled a bit to find words. Then he said, with moist eyes, "He's so earnest."

Yes, that's a good word. Everything that our son does now, he does with pure intent.

I told M. then what I am trying to express now: that observing the baby like this makes me melancholy. "He's so naive," I said.

As much hope and optimism as I feel for this young human, I am also already desperately sad for all the hurt I know life can - and will - bring to him. There is so much I can't - and shouldn't - protect him from. I continued, "He has no idea that there is a whole wide world out there." And for now, that's the way I want it.

The Essentials

2010-01-20T18:26:00.001-08:00

As new parents, M and I have learned quickly that when it comes to getting your kid to sleep - as in other emergencies - preparation is key. Here, in no particular order, are the items we've found to be essential in getting our little guy to nap well...and to maintain our sanity.

A flashlight - actually, this item is used at night rather than at naptime, as a courtesy to the partner still attempting to sleep during the one or two feedings that take place after 10 p.m. and before 7 a.m. What's essential is keeping it from shining on Dylan's face, waking him unnecessarily. This one was once part of a goofy headlamp, but now its nice to have a small, powerful light source easily accessible

Spit up cloth - typically placed wherever his head is, these old, fancied-up-with-ribbon-by-my-cool-counsin-cloth diapers are a lot easier to swap out when spit up upon than the sheet of his co-sleeper.

Sleep Sheep - I must confess: when my sis-in-law gave Dylan this white noise machine disguised as an adorable, plush lamb, I thought it was a bit extravagent. Could such a thing really make a difference? Indeed, it does! This clever device offers options: babbling brook, crashing waves, singing whales, or rapid rainfall. Dylan's preference, it turns out, is the deluge. We speculate this is because it sounds most similar to another essential item: the hairdryer. Early in his life, while I was attempting to dry my hair and get out of the house as the baby screamed, we discovered that the Conair 1875 has some kind of magical soothing power. He goes from red faced and inconsolable to serene in seconds whenever it's flipped on. (We recognize this is not a sustainable use of wattage...but sometimes a parent's gotta do what a parent's gotta do, you know?) So, the Sleep Sheep has been a welcome addition to our arsenal. I fear Dylan's addiction, however.

Binky - paci, pacifer, soothie, whatever you wanna call it, one of these was in our kid's mouth within minutes of birth. And it really does seem to help calm him down. We've pledged to remove them from his life when he's about six months old and should be able to get his own fingers in his mouth to suck or otherwise self-soothe. Wish us luck!

Binky Numero Dos - see #4. This one is in case the first one fails for some reason (e.g., is projected out of the co-sleeper by a vigorous tongue-thrust).

Blanket - handmade by a friend of my mother's, this soft, cozy cover has been a constant in Dylan's life since very early on. We love that it provides some warmth, and yet is loosely-knit enough to limit the ever-present fear of suffocation.

Swaddle blankets - these are truly the essential speel items. We've become big believers in the "fourth trimester" posited by Karp and his "Happiest Baby on the Block." Essentially, his position is that for the first several months of a child's life, we should mimic the womb as much as possible. Tightly wrapping a baby restricts movements like they were before birth, preventing "spasms" that startle and frustrate until the kid is mature enough to have some limb contol. We're not sure about all of that - though it does seem to make some sense. But we do know that swaddling Dylan has helped him - and US - sleep much better.

If you have a child and have been surprised by what helped her or him get needed rest, please share your own "essentials." Truth be told, ours are useful but not always successful, so any suggestions would be much appreciated!

You've Come a Long Way, Baby!

2010-01-16T08:46:00.000-08:00

Dylan, a few days old and in the NICU

Dylan, three months old and (almost) all smiles

Our boy is three months old now, and it seems to me he's recently matured from a "new born" to a "baby."

Some things we've noticed and want to remember from this time in his life:

He is smiling reactively now. (See above.) He is especially full of grins in the morning, which I suspect must be a Darwinian survival trait, since I am definitely NOT a morning person.

He is more interactive in general. He looks around and watches things closely, and it just looks like he's trying to make sense of it all. (Good luck, Dylan!)

He must have an imaginary friend from India. He talks about "Hagu" all the time.

We'd been a little concerned about how much - rather how little - he'd been eating. But this week, he's started consuming a lot more. And he's not usually "writhing" - which we attributed to acid reflux - as he typically did after each feeding, which makes them a lot easier...and quicker!

My hair is now dangerous territory. Though he is not grasping deliberately yet, his fat little hands flex and close all the time. And he is delighted and surprised whenever they clutch something he's interested in.

He outgrew his Moses basket several weeks ago and is now sleeping in a "co-sleeper" at the foot of our bed. We are delighted to report that he's starting to sleep for longer stretches - closer to four hours than three at a time.

One of the things that makes it seem as though his new born days are already over is how well he's holding up his big noggin. He keeps his head up really well, unless he's really tired or hungry, when it starts to tip off balance and then dip. Also, his little legs are getting really strong. His birth mom, based on her in utero experience with him, warned us that he'd be a kicker, and that seems to be proving true.

Like many little ones, motion lulls our baby. If you walk him in the stroller, or even the Ergo, he will reliably fall asleep. This is especially true in the car. Yesterday, we had a short outing that concluded on the outer limits of his mealtime, so he was cranky. But he quieted down whenever we were in motion...and then complained loudly whenever we had to stop.

We are working to set up a routine that includes fairly regular nap times and a bedtime ritual.

I'm in my second week back to work now, and it seems to be going pretty well. Of course, it's meant new "patterns of parental attention," which requires some adjusting for us all.

Often, when I'm snuggling him close, perhaps after a feeding, he nuzzles his soft head in even closer, tucking in under my chin. Inevitably, this sweet, primal gesture causes a lump to swell in my throat.

Holiday Wrappings

2010-01-06T11:01:00.001-08:00

...errr....make that wrap up.

On this twelfth day of Christmas (lemme check. Yep, it's still January 6th here), my true love gave to me....many special moments with our baby. (Thanks, M!)

Here he is, prepping for the onslaught of merriment.

Dylan and his daddy, topping the tree.

Our warm little house all aglow.
(Can you tell we live in California, enjoying the porch in December?)

The halls are decked, the stockings are hung,
and we are ready to PARRTAY.

"Look deep into my eyes."
Dylan with his Granddaddy

My dad came down from Northern California to wish his grandson a happy first Christmas before heading back east to be with my younger brother and his family. We missed them all! But I was glad they could be together.

Grandpa Jack reading - rather dramatically - a favorite from
M and his sisters' childhoods, "The Christmas Mouse,"

(I have a feeling a new tradition has been born.)

M's family came over on Christmas morning for a great potluck brunch. We exchanged "Simple Santa Stocking Stuffers" - everyone gave each other the same gift of a nominal value, which made shopping so much easier and more affordable. And the gifts were great! For example, we all got movie theater tickets from M's sister, practical flashlights from his dad, and framed photos of Dylan from M (my personal favorite).

Dylan - in one of three adorable Christmas outfits he received -

with his silly Grandmommy

On the 26th we headed "over the river and through the woods" (actually down the freeway and toward the beach) to my mom's place. There we shared festivities with my older brother and his family, in the area from Arizona. After hours of opening wonderful gifts, we enjoyed a yummy dinner of mac'n'cheese and chocolate cake and took a quick stroll through the canals, with the fancy houses and docks alight and sparkling in the water.

Dylan with his great aunt and my counsin

With my dad back in town, on the 27th we went to his sister's place for our traditional Scandinavian celebration, complete with herring and meatballs (neither of which I eat, but I do enjoy the rice pudding!). Her house is always so cozy, and it was great to catch up with my counsins.

We had such a nice holiday season. We got to spend time with so many loved ones. (Is it my imagination, or did some of them want to spend more time with us this year? I wonder why. We ate and drank well and too much. We - especially Dylan - got so many thoughtful, creative, generous gifts, and we enjoyed the grateful reactions to those we gave too. This year more than most, we found ourselves singing; it's not something we do on a regular basis, and I loved it. For some reason, all of the carols about adoring a special baby especially resonated. It was certainly a Christmas season to remember.

I think my favorite memory will be of one of the simplest moments of the season: getting cozy with M and some hot cocoa on Christmas night, on the floor in front of our beautiful tree, with our jolly boy between us.

Here he is with the gorgeous stocking his Auntie L. hand stitched for him.

Happy New Year!
Best wishes for health, happiness, and
dreams come true in 2010!

First Visit

2009-12-30T16:57:00.000-08:00

Dylan with his birth mom, V.

The little man w/his Uncle, Auntie, and cousin

(who is so happy to no longer be the youngest!)

We had not seen Dylan's birthmom, V., since a few days after she was discharged from the hospital and while he was still in the NICU. We had planned for her to come visit us during Thanksgiving weekend, but a few days before, she let us know that they were having car trouble and wouldn't be able to make it. We told her we understood and hoped to reschedule soon. Then we didn't hear from her for a couple of weeks. Privately, we wondered if it was all just too hard for her right now and if it would be awhile before we connected again.

But I emailed her once more, indicating a few specific dates that would work well for us for a visit, and after a bit of delay, she responded enthusiastically!

The weekend before Christmas, we were delighted to have her to our home for several hours. The visit was preceded by a bit of my nervous scurrying to determine and buy some holiday gifts, tidy up the house, prepare a meal, and ensure the boy was bathed and adorable (the latter not being a hard thing!). I was actually really glad she was coming this time of year, as I love the way our house looks all decorated for Christmas. Bright poinsettias lined our entry stairs and the tree sparkled in the window; plus, we got to show off the beautiful stocking Dylan's aunt L. needlepointed for him, a true labor of love.

We were fearful that the visit might be canceled again, but V. called several times - the day before, again as they were leaving their town, and shortly before arriving - to reassure us!

She came along with her new fiance. They also brought their beautiful dog, who they had brought home that week from the SPCA. They joked a bit while she was here that we were adopting a boy, and they were adopting a dog...but it did feel a little odd. I am sure Freud would have a field day with it!

I wondered what it would be like for her to see Dylan for the first time in our home. I know it must have been hard. I suggested to M. that he be holding the little guy when they arrive, rather than me. For some reason, I just suspected it might be easier for her to see him with his daddy.

The dog's arrival - and our cat's presence - probably made those first minutes less awkward. We had to take the dog around the house and make sure he was all set in the back, which M. did with Dylan. Then they all came in the house, and while we were giving them a quick tour, M. asked her if she wanted to hold him. She did.

She held him close and made funny faces and talked about how much he'd changed. She said that his gorgeous long eye-lashes didn't come from her, which surprised me; I remembered her having really pretty eyes and associated this striking feature of the baby's with them. She seemed comfortable with him and with us...

They were very sweet and polite guests, complimenting our simple lunch, indicating how much they liked various things around our home and garden, etc. It's clear that our "approval" means a lot to her. She asked quietly what I thought of her guy, and I told her he seems so nice, and very into her (which is true).

After a leisurely lunch, I suggested we move to our front porch. I brought out our gifts, which they genuinely seemed to appreciate: for her fiance, a hot cocoa set (not too personal, but after all, we hadn't met him yet); for her son turning two this month, a set of Curious George books for his birthday and some sidewalk chalk and an activity book for Xmas); and for V., a soft, green sweater (which V. said she'd wear for their engagement photos), a Barnes & Noble gift card (to feed her appetite for reading), and a little craft kit with a photo frame on one side and stuff to "cement" a child's hand and/or footprints on the other).

The visit was complicated by the fact that we had previously made plans for my older brother and his family to stop by around dinner time on their way from their home about eight hours away to my sis-in-law's family, about 1.25 hours away. I thought that this was good timing, as V. has said many times how much she hopes to know and be involved with our extended family, I wanted them to meet her to help remove some of the "mystery" of our open adoption, and who knew when they'd be in the same area again. But in hindsight, I don't think it was ideal for a first visit.

Just as V. and her fiance finished opening their gifts, up pulled the raucous crew! My niece and two nephews (ages 12, 9, and 7) came racing up the walk. They were SO excited to finally meet their new cousin! It melted my heart, and I wanted to intercept them with huge hugs and lots of nuggies, their enthusiasm meant so much to me.

Introductions were made, and everyone was very friendly. But the focus was off of V.

We all spent more time together, mostly hanging out in the back yard (including cleaning up after the dog, whose poop my littlest nephew promptly stepped in). My relatives couldn't take their eyes and hands off of the little guy; I had to remember to make sure his birth mom had time to hold him. She did take him some more, and fed him a bottle. We made the frame memento, with both his little feet and hands fitting. To it, she added his name with the date and some hearts. She provided some mothering advice about various things and chatted with the children. In fact, at one point M. and I realized that she's actually closer in age to the kid with the poopy shoes than to us!)

Not long thereafter, V. made motions toward leaving. M. told me later that she had confided in him that she knew it would be tough to "leave" her son again. I wish I'd thought of this; I mean, I suspected that the visit itself wouldn't be easy for her, but I didn't really put it together that physically departing would pour salt in her wounds.

They did say their goodbyes to the motley crew, so I purposely put Dylan in his crib, and M. and I headed out with them. After lots of hugs, and good wishes, and promises to keep in touch and vague allusions to seeing each other in February, they pulled away with freshly-printed directions to a famous local attraction that they don't often get a chance to visit.

She left from her fist visit and I felt...relieved. I am so proud of V., that she followed through and really put herself out there. Plus, she saw an authentic slice of our lives...and seemed to appreciate it. Over lunch, she confided that though she is having a harder time with the separation from her son than she anticipated, she has no doubts that we are the right family for him.

I feel like we've passed a major landmark in open adoption: the first visit. Though there were things I wish had been different, I can see how this can work in the future. And I so hope it will, for all of our sakes...

A Different World / A Different Life

2009-12-20T22:39:00.000-08:00

Have I shared here that M. is a wonderful photographer? He's just "published" on his website more photos and reflections on the homestay during our trip to Vietnam this summer.

Though that was just a few months ago, so much has changed in our lives since then. I still think about those families a lot...

It's (Not) ALL Good!

2009-12-11T23:23:00.002-08:00

About a week ago, I started drafting a post about how much I was enjoying our domestic tranquility. Feeling self-congratulatory, I was somewhat astonished by how much I was enjoying my temporary status as a stay at home mom. I was truly finding satisfaction in keeping the house (relatively) tidy, the laundry clean, the bills paid, and the groceries stocked, all while tending to the little human.

With the onset of the holidays, there was even more for me tackle successfully. I relished having time to identify special gifts for loved ones and shop for them (thank goodness of the internet!). And I couldn't wait to put on the holiday music, to start baking, and especially to decking the halls - things I do every year, but rarely feel I can enjoy fully because of the competing demands of my job.

Then fatigue set in. Dylan still needs to be fed a couple of times during the night. And even though my fabulous partner - who isn't on parental leave - shares this responsibility with me, it means I'm awakened to various degrees every few hours. Not much REM sleep in this house (at least for the adults).

And to make things worse, I really hurt my back. (Man, there is nothing like injuring your back to make you feel OLD!) Not quite sure how I did it, but it must have involved moving heavy boxes of decoration because the next morning, I had a sharp pain in my lower back, a horrible ache in my hip, and oddest of all, my right thigh was numb. Needless to say, the pain didn't help getting enough sleep or staying productive.

Poor M.! For a couple of days, he had to be on double-daddy duty, which he did with no complaint and much compassion.

I'm relieved to report that my back has slowly healed and as of today, it feels normal. But my thigh? It feels like it has a horrible sunburn. Odd, huh? Fortunately, its not slowing me down much anymore. I no longer have to hesitate before picking our little guy up.

Meanwhile, M.'s had a couple of rough days at work, AND he was attacked by a feral cat he was trying to capture so we could take her in to get fixed before she procreates AGAIN.

Christmas is almost here. There is more shopping to do, and much more wrapping to be accomplished between various "events." There are family relationships to negotiate, now including with Dylan's birth mother, V.

So, I'm not going to write that boastful post about how well I'm managing everything, about how much easier it is to be a mom at home than I anticipated, and about how I am brimming with holiday cheer. Instead, I'll admit it: this is hard.

My fuse is short, and I am a bigger nag to M. than he deserves. I am feeling guilty that I don't have more energy to give to interacting with Dylan. We're not sending holiday cards this year (and we finally have a cute kid to feature in it!).

Have no fear: this Bah Humbug mood is fleeting. I know that we're muddling through a huge change in our lives, and that I should be patient, and flexible, and gentle with myself and others. All I need to do is spend a few calm moment with my swaddled baby and adorable husband, snuggling quietly together on the couch in front of our beautiful, fragrant Christmas tree to know that we really are doing okay. In fact, we're doing great.

Thanks for "listening."

Tremendous Two's

2009-12-11T23:23:00.001-08:00

Earlier this week, we celebrated Dylan's two month birthday. M. and I sang him a little song (you know the words) and his grandmom sent him a congratulatory email. And I've reflected a lot on how much can change in just eight short weeks.

Yesterday, Dylan had his two-month "well baby" pediatrics appointment. Now it's official: our boy is doing "great." Before hand, we speculated how much he's grown. In fact, he's gained more than three pounds in six weeks and is now almost 9 pounds and 3 ounces. He's also two inches longer. He's still very small for his (not preterm adjusted) age. But all we need to do is look at his chubby cheeks and thigh creases to know he's not our tiny baby any more.

At the doctor's, he got three different shots and an oral vaccine. Wow! I've never heard him scream like that. But then I held him close and he quieted right down. He's been a little extra "clingy" since then, but is easily comforted by close contact and some baby acetaminophen.

He is eating well - about three ounces, about every three hours, including at night. So no, he isn't sleeping through the night. We think that's still a few months away, since he has so much growing to do. At this point, M. and I are still doing "shifts." Typically, I stay up and feed him about 12:30 a.m. and then burp and change him and hope he'll settle to sleep so that I can too. M's shift begins at 3 a.m., and Dylan usually starts fussing again about 4 a.m. Usually, they will both get back to sleep pretty quickly after the bottle, though if Dylan's fussing, M. will "invite" him into our bed so that they can both get a few more hours of zees before M.'s got to wake up and start working. Usually, I keep sleeping and take charge of the kid again about 9 a.m. So, we're both getting about eight hours of sleep, which is plenty, though it is always with lots of interruptions. I'm not as exhausted at this point as I feared I'd be...but it would be lovely to sleep a whole night in bed, along with my husband.

Our biggest concern about Dylan right now is that we think he has a touch of heartburn, which the doctor thought was probable given the symptoms we described. Though he rarely spits up, and when he does, it's not much, he does get awfully pout-y and sometimes cries and "writhes" (wiggling all about) after feeding. The doc suggested burping him more throughout the feedings, keeping him more vertical, and propping something under his bed so that he lies on an incline. After just one day following those directions, it does seem to be helping a bit.

It's so fun to notice him developing. He's got eyebrows now, and very long, flirty eyelashes. He's discovered his hands and is getting them closer to his mouth each day. He's grasping. Every now and again, we catch him in a sweet little smile, though it still isn't deliberate. (Note: I'm predicting now that it will be by Christmas. What a gift that will be!) What's most captivating is how he stares deep into our eyes. He's also definitely following our movements, and seems to be taking it all in with his dark, soulful orbs.

I am on leave from work, and it feels really indulgent to have so much time to spend with him. My biggest stress during this time has been some ambiguity about my work situation. For more than a year, I've indicated to my boss that if/when I finally became a mom, I'd like to return to work less than full time. I presented various scenarios, always stressing how they could be beneficial to both me and the college where I work. It's been a huge relief that my boss was generally supportive, but (reasonably) citing uncertainty about when this significant shift might occur, she didn't make any commitments. She told me late last week that she's found a way to honor my request to return 60% time...at least through this fiscal year; we'll reevaluate then.

So! My wonderful mom has agreed to watch Dylan one day a week, and M. and I will both provide principal care two days a week. Which means we won't have to find any child care for him! As we hoped - and as we indicated to perspective birth mothers - our child will be looked after just by loving family members.

On Sunday, M's sister and two dear friends threw us a "Welcome Dylan Celebration." My sister-in-law on the East Coast helped out too by coordinating the evites. What a joyful day that was! I realize that it is the kind of experience I have been fantasizing about for years: introducing my precious child to our friends and family.

There was some great food and a gorgeous cake, and many people brought thoughtful and generous gifts, which we've been opening slowly at home. But what was best of all was seeing so many loved ones from different parts of our lives come together and delight in our little guy. It was so fun to observe how different people responded to him. At some points, I felt like a traffic cop, needing to encourage one person to pass him along so that another would have time to hold him. He slept peacefully most of the time and awoke just enough to show everyone his gorgeous eyes.

And then on Tuesday, there was ANOTHER party in honor of our son. My wonderful friend and colleague hosted a reception on the small campus where I work and invited all faculty and staff to attend. One of the things I love about my job is that I'm involved with such a tight-knit community. More than a year ago, when we were debating how wide to cast our "adoption networking net," we made the decision to contact many of my colleagues to ask them to keep an eye out for a good match. It felt a little awkward at first, sharing something so personal so publically. But since then, I have been so touched by the support and encouragement we've received, often from surprising places. Many people came to this reception; a bunch of them baked yummy treats for the rest of us to enjoy. And again we were deluged by generous gifts. (Let me just say, Dylan will be one very well dressed guy for quite awhile!)

In our Dear Birthmother Letter, we said something about how we believe the African proverb that "it takes a village to raise a child, and our village is filled with friends and family looking forward to bringing our child into their lives." This week, I truly felt the power and warmth of our village.

Journey to a Foreign Land - Observations of the NICU

2009-12-04T00:00:00.000-08:00

Dylan spent the first 12 days of his life in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit ("Nick-You") at Crummy Hospital. I still hope to share his birth story in detail, which will involve more about what led to his admission there, but for now, I'll just concentrate on my observations of the NICU itself. For me, it was such a strange, foreign place that initially I knew so little about, and when I could take a deep breath and step back from the care my son was receiving, I found it fascinating.

I suspect there are things most NICUs and hospitals have in common, and others that are particular to "ours." Regardless of the time of day, there were always people milling about outside the hospital entrance. Not infrequently, there were patients in hospital gowns sucking hard on forbidden cigarettes under the flag pole. Other times, when general visiting hours were over at 8:00 p.m., there were family members conferring. Then, we felt a certain privilege, I guess, that because of our son's condition, we were allowed in anytime. Security would slide the doors open and we'd sign in.

There were posters everywhere warning about H1N1 and admonishing us to "gel" frequently. In fact, while we were there, the hospital was restricted to visitors 18 years and older because of the virus.

After several days of riding the elevator up to the fourth floor and down, we determined that climbing the stairs might be the only form of exercise we'd get in awhile. So, we began hoofing it and often arrived a bit winded.

To enter the NICU, we had to buzz at a door along a corridor and announce who was visiting, and then we had to relate (and sometime show a tiny camera) the number on our hospital bands. Only parents and grandparents of patients were allowed in. (V. and I got a chuckle when we announced to the speaker that Dylan's motherS were there to see him.)

Then we entered a world without day or night, without sunshine or weather, absolutely void of nature. The florescent lights were always on. Nurses and therapists and occasionally doctors were buzzing about. And it was always LOUD.

There were probably thirty kids in there, and I'd venture to guess they all had at least three different monitors on them, each of which would bing loudly if its input varied out of a certain range. For example, at one point, Dylan had four different "leads": one each for blood saturation level, heart rate, respiration rate, and body temperature. They were constantly going off - which was always a bit, urm, alarming! Then we learned that if he squiggled just a bit, they'd move off their intended target, thus triggering all the commotion. Though at first we were glad they were there, we came to view the alarms as very annoying.

Immediately upon entering the unit, we had to scrub our hands (to ensure we did it long enough, we were instructed to hum "Happy Birthday"), wipe with paper towel, and then also use antibacterial fluid. Anytime we touched something - our faces, a diaper, each other - we thought might be germy, we repeated the process. We did it so often and habitually that for days after Dylan was discharged, I was still trying to turn on faucets with a foot pedal like the hospital sinks'!

Then we'd nod greetings to various folks as we headed to our son. The unit itself seemed to be divided into different sections, depending on the level and kind of care required. Dylan was with the other "big" kids. It was pretty apparent to us as soon as we saw some of the tiny, tiny babies with all kinds of wires and tubes, that our boy was one of the healthier ones.

For the first eight days or so, he was in an isolette, a contraption we determined must cost much, much more than my car. Its a Plexiglas bassinet with temperature and gas flow and other controls. It can move up and down, be positioned on an incline, has breaks, and various portholes, some for hands, and some for wires and tubes. Most of the kids were placed in these, typically with little "sheepskins" designed to help prevent bed sores.

Initially, Dylan was in a more open isolette, so that there was easier access to him for various procedures and monitoring. We came to see the day he was moved to the "glass box" as a sign of good improvement. And ultimately, a few days before being discharged, they moved him to a simple clear plastic tub because he didn't need any more of the bells and whistles. (In fact, they even moved him off the unit into Pediatrics where we got to spend two very uncomfortable nights on a big lounge chair with him in his private room.)

Lucky for us, his isolette was positioned close to the one window in the big room that made the unit visible from the corridor. The day after our son was born, there was a crowd of non-parental relatives gathered, pressing their noses against the glass, hoping to catch a glimpse of the wee one.

Upon arrival at Dylan's isolette, we'd learn who was looking after him. This NICU ran on 12 hour shifts, and visitors were allowed anytime except during the shift change, between 6:30 and 7:30 both in the morning and in the evening. (We came to understand that they often did the more complex or uncomfortable procedures during the shift changes too, likely so the visitors wouldn't get in the way.)

For some reason, the same nurse was rarely assigned to the same patient during the same time period. M. speculated that this might be intentional, to avoid inappropriate bonding between staff, patients, and family members. I don't know if I buy this, because I don't know what the downside would be, but it did seem odd that every day, twice a day, we were introducing ourselves to new personnel.

During our little guy's stay, he must have had twenty different nurses, and (with just one small exception) they were all truly wonderful, warm, caring people. I was going to say "women," but he did have one very good male nurse while he was there, and in fact, one of the three "charge" nurses - the nurse in charge of the unit - was a really nice guy who helped us out once when Dylan was tangled in some cords and the "small exception" above was not paying attention to him.

Truly, the nurses were wonderful. As the days progressed, we began to observe that, as in other social microcosms, there were different cliques of nurses. While they all worked well and were friendly with each other, when there was a slower moment, or someone was headed off to lunch, we could see where there were stronger bonds. One clique was comprised of the Filipina nurses who sometimes chatted and joked in Tagalog. Another clique was comprised of South Asian nurses, who most often spoke English to each other, but occasionally I overheard another language (Hindi?). One of our favorite nurses - who came to check on Dylan and us often during his stay, many days after she was assigned to him - was from this group. And the third clique was young, mostly blond women from the area around the hospital. Oddly, a number of these nurses were new mothers themselves, so I enjoyed getting some new momma advice from them. Perhaps I am reading too much into it, but it makes me kind of sad that the cliques seem to form around cultural lines.

Oddly, there were just two doctors - pediatricians - who were ever in the unit. One was assigned to Dylan. He certainly seemed dedicated and competent, but he wasn't "warm and fuzzy," and he was rather tight lipped. Since the nurses typically asked us to wait and get medical updates from him and he'd make rounds at different, unpredictable times on different days, many days we wouldn't see him at all. And sometimes we'd see him and delay our departure with the hope that he'd make his way down the row of patients quickly so that we could ply more information from him.

It wasn't just medial personnel with whom we interacted while in the NICU. We also got to know and appreciate some of the other patients' families. There was the very young mother of a tiny baby boy right next to Dylan. She came most days, sometimes with her gangsta looking beau, and sometimes with her very proud mom. She'd hold and feed and coo to her son. Once we saw her waiting at the bus stop in front of the hospital. She'd be taking public transportation to spend time with her precious boy from many months until he is big enough to go home. I was in awe.

There was a loving couple who explained to us that the daughter who was born ten weeks too early was their first, but that he had three from another marriage and that she had two as well. I was so impressed by their dedication. She always showed up with frozen bottles of breast milk. And you should've heard the way he flirted with his little girl! He tickled her feet, talked with and sang to her, and was so excited about her every little improvement. They were so nice about always asking us how Dylan was doing and telling us what a handsome son we have.

There was another nice couple whose son was there for only a few days. We were alarmed to learn that their little boy was named...Dylan. So much for our name being fairly unusual!

I also enjoyed my interaction with a young Sikh couple. I barely spoke with the shy young woman, but her husband was quite affable. He was clearly proud of his son, and after several days of friendly greetings, came over and chatted with me for awhile while I was feeding Dylan. He explained that he had just been in the States for 10 days for the birth, joining his wife who'd been here for the last four months. He and his wife were married just nine months before in Punjab, 14 days after they were introduced by their families. He asked me lots of questions about Americans, which I enjoyed trying to answer. I also told him that his young family was now living in a beautiful state, and I encouraged him to do what he could to travel beyond his new hometown to explore the mountains, beaches, and cities of California.

During our stay, we explained to so many people that we were adopting our son. Regardless of position or culture or connection, they responded enthusiastically.

I've told several people that, as eager as we were to leave the hospital and bring our son home, there were some advantages to his stay there beyond the obvious medical attention he was receiving. For one, it was very helpful to us newbie parents to have experts to show us how to diaper, feed, swaddle, and bath our little guy. It was also reassuring to see the way they handled him - so NOT gingerly. It gave me confidence that he isn't that fragile and that if I was reasonable careful, I wouldn't hurt him. They also advocated "kangaroo care," which we love so much we continue to do today at home. We lay the baby's head near our hearts and hold tight. It's a proven theory that this skin-to-skin contact calms little patients down, speeds development, and improves vital signs.

Having our son in the hospital for the first two weeks actually enabled a fairly soft transition to parenting. It was really nice to be able to leave the hospital, knowing he was receiving excellent care, and go out to a good dinner with a glass of wine or "home" to a full night's sleep.

I wrote earlier that we had hoped he'd be born at Fancy Hospital, but it ended up that he was born at Crummy Hospital. Turns out, we are very grateful he was. Crummy is a county hospital with excellent emergency and acute care facilities. We heard many times from people there and others completely unaffiliated that, because they have so many patients, and so many of them are so seriously ill, our son was at the best NICU in the county.

Indeed, the NICU wasn't pretty. In fact, it was a bit shabby in places. But we had a very positive experience there - well, as positive an experience as having your son in the hospital more than two hours from home could be. I think often of the nurses and other medical staff, the families, and the little bitty patients we interacted with while we were there. What strikes me most is that Dylan was born in this medically advanced country, at a time when his issues could easily be resolved with just a little time and attention. How very fortunate we are.

Giving Thanks

2009-11-25T22:20:00.001-08:00

It probably won't surprise you that Thanksgiving this year has special significance for me.

For the last several years, I began the holiday season with very mixed emotions. I've always loved the sights, the sounds, and the smells that come this time of year, and I really look forward to sating myself with good food and warm moments with family and friends. And there is for me something about this time of year that is reflective, and that marks life's progress...or lack there of.

So, at the beginning of the last four seasons, I struggled to be grateful for what I had rather than mour what I didn't, to hold onto hope. But every Thanksgiving found me disappointed that I was commencing yet another holiday that I had wished to experience along with the joy of a child.

The holidays became for me like it is for so many others: a time when loved ones no longer or not yet here is accutely felt. My heart goes out to all those who may be suffering in big and small ways today, including V.

As the holiday buzz begins, as yummy smells eminent from kitchens, lights start to sparkle, and we make plans to gather together, I am a bit dumbfounded by how different I feel this year.

When I look down now on my son's sweet face, his near-translucent eyelids fluttering between sleep and wakefullness, I know my life has changed. His perfect little lips quiver, and I swear, he is trying to form a grin.

This year, I have so much to be thankful for: my loved ones are healthy; I have satisfying work, we have our cozy little home, and there is little we lack materially; I am more in love than ever with my wonderful partner. And this Thanksgiving, I am especially grateful for the precious new life that is filling mine. My heart is full.

What's In a Name, Part 2 - Son of the Sea

2009-11-17T22:14:00.000-08:00

Our son's name is Dylan [V.'s Last Name as Middle Name] [M's Last Name]-[My Last Name].

This isn't what we planned, but we are very happy with all four of his names. They are each significant, and they each suit him already. I want to tell you about them.

First, the last name. This was a dilemma we discussed for a long time. Neither of us particularly wanted to change our last name to the other's, for various reason. So we were excited when we came up with an entirely new name comprised of syllables from both our names. It seemed appropriately non-traditional (kind of like us), but not too weird.

However, when the rubber hit the road, and the birth certificate needed to be signed, we had second thoughts. M. in particular realized that it was more important to him than he anticipated to continue his family name. He felt that this significant link to heritage is especially important for our adopted child. I told him I thought it would be great for our son, the only male "heir," to carry on his family's name.

But M. felt that it wouldn't be right to just represent his family in our child's last name. He advocated for including mine as well. This wasn't important to me, initially. But M. was persuasive. He talked about other cultures that hand down names from both parents' families to their children. He said that if we included only his family's name, my cultural heritage would not be represented, and we thought it would be nice. Plus, we'd be following the patriarchal convention we were hoping to avoid.

Ultimately, we decided to hyphenate. Screw our former argument that such a complex name would just defer a difficult decision to our kid. Yes, that might be true. On the other hand, maybe its a good idea that if and when he wants to change his name (say, to blend it with his partner's), he'll be the one to determine what's important to maintain, and what can be altered or abandoned.

Though I'm sorry we weren't able to make this decision until late in the game (and after we'd shared the other name with V. and some close family members - who tried well and not-so-well to hide their dismay), I am really happy with where we've ended up. I especially like that M. and I are also using the last name, and that already most of the gifts and cards that have arrived in honor of our son's birth have been addressed to the [M's Last Name]-[My Last Name] Family!

Next, his middle name. This didn't go as planned either, though we also pleased with this new direction. When M. and I fantasized about our hypothetical child and his or her name, we settle on middle names early. This is because M's sisters share a middle name (Marie), and we wanted to honor them if we had a daughter. Oddly enough, my parents have the same middle name (Martin - it was my dad's father's name, and a last name in my mom's family). So if we had a son, we'd like to give him that as a middle name.

But then reality walked in -or rather, e-mailed us! As we got to know our future child's birth mother, we found that we wanted our child to have something in his name to reference and honor her. We asked her if it would be okay to give him her last name as his middle name, and she was delighted. She said that this would be especially meaningful to her own father.

I love that our son's names connect him with all of his parents...(well, except for his birth father...but that's another story).

And last but not least, the kiddo's first name. In an early conversation with V., well before we were officially matched, she brought up names, and it was clear that this was important to her. It was quickly obvious we had quite different ideas, but that we wanted to work together to find something we'd all love.

We all developed lists and would tentatively float new suggestions to the others. Inevitably, we'd get excited about one, but someone else would have a negative association to it. Slowly but surely, though, we developed a short list. We ended up agreeing on two names - one that we suggested, and one that V. did. We hadn't considered it, but ended up really liking it. We decided we should wait to meet the little guy to see which name suited him best. When our son was born, we hung out with him awhile before settling on what to call him.

Dylan. I love the way it sounds, alone and with all of his other names. And its pretty easy to pronounce but not too common.

V. told us that the meaning of names was important to her so I was thrilled when I looked up Dylan. It is a Welsh name that means "son of the sea" or "of the ocean." Since M. is a surfer and I've always been drawn to the ocean, it seemed almost like fate.

But we still weren't sure. Though we didn't tell anyone we knew well what the top two contenders were, we told a few of the nurses and others we encountered, and gauging their reactions was interest.

In fact, we told the nurse who would spend the first night caring for our little one in the NICU. She said, with a wonderful Jamaican accent, "Oh, those are both good names. X, that's a strong, politician's name. And Dylan, he's an artist."

So, above are some photos of our little artist, our son of the sea, taken on his first visit to the beach, just a few days after we brought him home.

Catching Up

2009-11-10T22:46:00.001-08:00

There is so much to say. In particular, I am anxious to chronicle Dylan’s birth story before the details become any dimmer. They are already becoming rounded, cloudy pieces of glass; still beautiful, but not the sparkling and distinct pieces of mosaic they once were.

He came into this world with so much love and great anticipation. I imagine that one day, like most of us, he will be very curious about the events surrounding his arrival, so I want to make sure that the small moments that mean so much, as well as the big ones, are documented.

And I also want to write about his birth and the days around it for me. We’ve received so many wonderful congratulations to our adoption announcement! I’d say fully a third of them make a comment such as, “They grow so fast. Enjoy every precious moment of these early days.” I am enjoying them! And I know that writing about them might help the time, which is already passing so quickly, slow down just a bit.

But I’m having trouble finding time to write. Actually, I probably COULD find the time…in the wee hours of the morning when a certain little one has managed to slip back to sleep though it eludes me somehow. But I’m having trouble finding the concentration.

How can I focus enough to put into words such powerful experiences? What should I include (for significance, or interest, or whatever), and what should I exclude (for insignificance, or privacy, or whatever)?

So, my plan now is to just let it come out in bits and pieces, mixed up with things happening in our lives now, random thoughts and opinions, etc. That’s the only way I think I’ll be able to get my arms – and my head, and my heart – around it all.

Okey-dokey? Oh, and I’ll throw in a photo now and again too, if that’s okay. ;)

[By the way, our laptop – my primary writing tool – seems to have died! The screen is all messed up. Can anyone suggest an inexpensive laptop that won’t malfunction after just two years?!?]

Let the Wild Rumpus Start!

2009-11-05T04:59:00.000-08:00

We have more good news to celebrate. Tuesday morning, Dylan’s birth mother V. called us personally to let us know she was meeting with our adoption counselor and signing the papers to terminate her parental rights. She knew this was an important step and that it would bring us some comfort to know.

In fact, we danced around the front porch. Though Dylan has felt like our son since before he was born, it was a huge relief to cross this hurdle.

Since we have also received the necessary clearance from three different Cherokee tribes, we can now begin the legal process to officially adopt him, which should take between six and nine months. Technically, we are currently his guardians for the time being.

We’ve now sent an “official” birth announcement email to our extended family, friends, and colleagues. And TWO different "Welcome Baby Bashes" are being planned! We are so grateful to let everyone know about our darling Dylan, and it fills our hearts with joy that he’s been so warmly welcomed.

Home Sweet Home

2009-10-24T21:23:00.000-07:00

Good news! Yesterday (Friday), we brought our darling son Dylan home.

He was discharged from the NICU on Thursday with orders to treat him like any other newborn. He's healthy!

We spent one last night with our new friends at the Ronald McDonald House who plied him with affection and us with more baby goodies.

The 2.5 hour drive home went well; the little guy slept most of the way and didn't complain at all. Since then, we've just been enjoying being home again and are adjusting to our new lives together here. Eating, sleeping, and pooping seem to be Dylan's favorite activities at the moment.

We are still waiting for his birth mother to sign relinquishments - which should happen in the coming week.

We continue to appreciate your interest and good wishes. It is wonderful that Dylan has received such a warm welcome.

Darling Dylan Update

2009-10-17T08:20:00.000-07:00

Thanks so much for all of the congrutulations and good wishes!

Dylan has now spent his first week in the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit), continues to improve. He’s graduated from a feeding tube to drinking vigorously from his own bottle and surpassed his birth weight a few days ago. There are no further sign of jaundice (he had to be under “the lights” for about 18 hours), and the infection we initially worried about appears to be gone, though we must conclude a full course of antibiotics. Yesterday, we even held him for quite awhile without any oxygen supplementation. It was so wonderful to be able to kiss his little face without any tubes in the way!

We think he is eager to come home. (We know we are!) Unfortunately, at this point we are guesstimating we’ll be here through Thursday since our rather tight-lipped pediatrician has said “middle of next week” and adoption relinquishment papers may be signed by then. We continue to admire V., his birth mom, who we now feel is part of our family too.

Who would’ve guessed we’d get to know this small city so well? We are extremely grateful to be able to stay at the Ronald McDonald House here. Not only are we saving a lot, but the staff and volunteers here are so warm, supportive, and accommodating. It is definitely making our extended stay more manageable.

Your continued interest in and support of our little family means the world to us.

He's Here!

2009-10-12T07:54:00.000-07:00

We are so happy to introduce you to

DYLAN

Born on Friday, October 9, 2009
at 12:51 p.m.
5 lbs. 14 oz.; 18.25 inches

He is adorable and we are in love!

Unfortunately, rather than being delivered at 39 weeks of gestation as anticipated, the doctors believe he is closer to 35 weeks. So, he’s been having some trouble breathing without help and will be in the NICU at Crummy Hospital for about a week. Fortunately, it seems that all will be well; it’s just a matter of time.

V. is also doing well. She’s been a trouper following her c-section and was discharged almost exactly 48 hours after delivering. We feel so lucky to be in an open adoption with her!

We appreciate your continued good wishes and I can't wait to tell the whole story. Though it’s pretty hectic here, I’ll provide updates as we can.

Fire Drill (Part III)

2009-10-05T20:12:00.000-07:00

So, was the moment for which we've been waiting for years, and then months, and now weeks finally here? Were we about to become parents? We were on our way to the hospital with the expectant mom with whom we are matched, all thinking she'd deliver via c-section very, very soon.

When we met up with V. and D. at Fancy Hospital, she was out of breath. She explained that in the parking lot, she'd spied a car that suggested someone else was in the maternity ward, someone she didn't want to see. She was trying not to freak!

Heading upstairs, we approached each turn in the twisting hallways cautiously, peaking around to make sure V. wouldn't run into a situation she was really hoping to avoid. The elevator doors opened on the maternity floor and we could see and hear a big group of people stuffed in a little waiting room. We walked by them quickly and through the big double doors. V. squeaked, "They're there." But they apparently didn't see her. I tried to reassure her that they weren't expecting to see her here, and they were involved in their own drama.

At the end of the hall, there were four other very large, pregnant women in labor as well as assorted groupies lining the walls. Nurses were bustling around and it took a little while for V. to check in and get a seat; they rolled an office chair out. She was feeling uncomfortable, not just about avoiding people, but physically too. And she was getting nervous about what the next few hours would have in store. We tried to calm her down by chatting (probably inanely). For the first hour, I was interested in all that was going on around us...

But time wore on. I strolled the floor nervously and overheard a nurse on her mobile phone complaining about how incredibly crowded it was and how there were no beds left. (I did NOT share this info with V.) While we waited, two more women in labor (and their own entourages) came in. A nurse joked that they must have all been at the county fair and eaten something. Meanwhile, V. hid behind D. every time someone new turned the corner.

V. hadn't even been assessed yet.

Eventually, a nurse came and told most of us that we had to go to the waiting area. V. froze. We assured her we'd keep her apart from the people she didn't want to deal with. We went to the elevator bay and hung out there for awhile, seating V. in a wheelchair. After about 20 minutes, the nurse came back and rather gruffly told us that we couldn't hang out there, we needed to go to the maternity waiting area. We encouraged V. to explain to her why that wouldn't work. With some cajoling, she did eventually explain the situation to the nurse, who immediately became very apologetic. She told us we could go down to the waiting room at the entrance to the building, gave V. her cell number, and told her to call in 20 minutes to see if a bed had opened up.

Twenty-minutes passed. And twenty more. And twenty more. V. was getting more and more agitated....and M., D. and I were getting hungrier and hungrier (but we certainly weren't about to complain, since V. thought she shouldn't eat). During that time, in addition to calling the nurse and being told there was still not a bed, V. called her doctor, hoping he might be able to get her some attention, only to receive his answering service.

Finally, more than three hours after we arrived at Fancy Hospital, V. reached her doctor, and though he was there, he explained that they were over-crowded and encouraged her to go over to Mediocre Hospital. We debated whether it made sense to trek over there, since it was increasingly obvious as time marched on that she wasn't actually in active labor. At last, I think hoping to just get it all over with, she determined to head over there and see what they could do.

The emergency room's waiting area of Mediocre Hospital was packed, crowded with sick looking people, some even wearing face masks. V. must've said the magic word ("labor"), because the four of us were whisked into the emergency area. It's the first time I've actually been to a place that resembled the show ER! (Fortunately, no one came in while we were there with a GSW.)

V. talked with someone, filled out a few forms, and then had an aide wheel her across the huge maze of buildings. She talked with someone else and filled out some more forms, and then got wheeled to the maternity area where BINGO! she was given a room. A nice nurse asked her to disrobe, lie down, and strap up to the monitors. She did so reluctantly, expressing reservations that all of this would actually lead to delivery this evening. The nurse reassured V. she'd be back in 20 minutes to let her know what the monitors were indicating.

So, we settled in. Would you believe that "Sons of Anarchy," which D. described as a biker soap opera and his favorite show, was on TV? We'd never seen it, so it was interesting. But I was more fascinated by the monitors. One line was intended to show contractions, and sure enough, every now and again, there were little peaks and valleys. But more incredible to me, it showed and sounded a fast little heartbeat, and even better, crazy whooshing sounds every time the baby moved around. It was really cool! As V. had suggested, he is an active kid!!

Twenty minutes came and, you guessed it, went. Twenty more, and the nurse checked in, telling us that she had a call into the doctor, but it looked to her like the labor was not active and that the baby was in very good shape. Twenty more minutes. V. was getting really frustrated (and so were we). She asked about whether we should just leave. No one would make the decision for her. She was just about to give up when the nurse returned and told her the doctor had called and said she could continue to wait and be monitored further, or go home. She was done! She opted to go home.

Well, not really home. We were all starving! We headed back to the all night diner. She was annoyed and frustrated and disappointed and I think a little embarrassed. We reassured her that though we were disappointed there wasn't a baby to welcome tonight, we knew there would be soon, and that were were grateful for the extra time we got to spend with her.

M. and I briefly debated heading for home to save money and time. But it was so late and we were emotionally wrought. After hugging V. tight and encouraging her to rest, we headed back to the hotel and checked in again. We were a little numb from everything, and reviewed for ourselves all that had happened. There was a lot of strangeness, a lot of drama. But we still felt really good about V. and our match.

After M. did a bit of work remotely in the morning, and sending a deflated update email to key family and friends (and our house and cat sitter), we got back on the road, onto a highway we've come to know very well. Once we were back home sweet home, I blew off the urge to go into work in the afternoon and instead took a long nap.

Going back the next day was odd. The people who knew the details of our situation were surprised to see me. And I didn't feel like interacting much and explaining to those who didn't know what was up. I was able to make more progress on wrapping things up and on Friday afternoon, left my office with a clean desk and fairly clear conscience.

On Friday we sent V. an email, just letting her know that we'd made it home safely and reiterating that though we were sorry she'd been through so much in the last several days, we were excited about all the future has to hold and that we are so grateful to be matched with her. The next day we got a message back that brought tears to my eyes. V. said that she too appreciated the time we'd spent together, that she knows we will be wonderful parents, and that for the first time, she is feeling part of strong family.

So...we've been thinking that we'd be trekking back to her hometown for the c-section the doctor had previously suggested would be on Tuesday...assuming she didn't go into labor sooner. And she made it all the way to today, Monday, which means tomorrow is Tuesday. But what time is the surgery scheduled for? Should we head out this afternoon in time to have dinner with her this evening? We didn't hear from her in the morning.

I had kind of thought I'd leave work at noon, but without further word, I hung out and went to lunch with friends. Tick-tock, time wore on with no word. By the end of the afternoon, we were imagining all kinds of scenarios about why we hadn't heard whether there would be a birth - and whether we'd be at it - tomorrow.

When I got home, M. and I squeezed each other. Our nerves were fraying, and we were unsure how to handle it.

Finally, our need to know outweighing our desire not to harass her, we gave V. a call. D. answered, and sounded friendly and casual. Then he passed the phone to V. She said that they were just about to call us. She is so OVER the drama, and she again apologized for sucking us into the situation. She explained that she'd talked with the doctor's office today and they scheduled her for an appointment tomorrow about 10:30 a.m. At that point, the doctor will schedule a c-section; it could be for later in the day, or later in the week, or who knows?!

Things seem to be complicated by MediCal, and by his schedule and the desire to deliver at Fancy Hospital, rather than Crummy (not even Mediocre) Hospital. We still get the sense that he is really trying to help her out, and is trying to work the system within the system. Of course, it's not soon or easy enough for us and V.

Bottom line: there is no baby yet...but there may be tomorrow. So please stay tuned!

Fire Drill (Part II)

2009-10-02T22:00:00.000-07:00

As I shared in my last post, though confused and anxious about whether the birth mom we're matched with was in labor, M. and I were exhausted and quickly fell into deep sleeps in our hotel room. We were startled awake about 2 a.m. by a phone call.

It was D.! He handed the phone to V. and she talked to M., but I could hear most of what she was saying. She was clearly agitated. They had tried to call us dozens of time over the last couple of hours. Where were we? Were we in a wreck? Did we know that we wouldn't become parents tonight?

Obviously, there was some problem with our toll-free number's call forwarding system. (Indeed, the next day when we checked the on-line call log, there were about 60 calls from D.'s phone.) AND we discovered the next day that I'd been trying to reach them on a number that was one digit off! So terrible. It's a wonder V. wanted to stay matched with us technodummies!

It turned out that V. and D. were calling from an all-night diner...about 30 yards from where we were in bed. We encouraged them to come on over.

Through a tired and sleepy fog, we listened to V.'s story of the evening. She was in pain and frustrated that her contractions hadn't shown on the monitor. She reassured us that all signs indicate the baby is doing well. After sympathizing for a bit, and apologizing profusely for the phone problems, we agreed to meet V. and D. at the same nearby diner for breakfast in just a few hours, before going to her OB as he'd instructed by phone earlier in the night's odyssey .

After a round of warm hugs, they left and we went back to sleep quickly.

D. called us the next morning when they were leaving the house, headed for breakfast and we met them at the diner a few minutes later. They both seemed better rested and V. was calmer. She was a bit sheepish about causing us to trek out there, but we assured her we were glad to do it. Then we followed them to the OB's office.

Unfortunately, her doctor wasn't there, but his partner and assistants were. After her exam, V. came out and told us that they thought she should return for her regularly scheduled appointment late the next afternoon and that it was likely that her doctor would send her then to the hospital to deliver (especially since he was headed out of town for the next four days.) Wow!

M. and I debated briefly whether we'd drive the 2.5 hours home that morning and return the next afternoon. Reasoning that 1. she might really go into labor before then and it would suck to have to drive so much in an even shorter period of time, and 2. if she didn't deliver the next day, we'd rather have only made the round trip drive and return home without a baby once than twice. So we decided to stay.

V. was eager to get home to sleep, as she'd been having trouble getting any rest during the last several nights. But before separating, we followed up an a something she'd mentioned earlier. She said she'd watched one of the recent "Adoption Diaries" on TV and liked how the birth and adoptive families had gotten together to have a nice dinner. She said it wistfully, believing there wouldn't be a an opportunity for us to do something similar.

With this new time frame, M. and I asked whether she'd like to invite a few friends to join us for dinner at a restaurant of her choice that evening. She seemed to like the idea, and we agreed to talk again after she woke up from a nap, but that we'd likely rendezvous at the Italian restaurant where she'd originally hoped we'd have our match meeting a few weeks ago. Then M. and I were on our own for several hours.

We went back to the hotel and napped ourselves. M. did a little work, we watched some TV. Then after a fruitless search for someplace still serving a good lunch after 2:30 p.m., we picked up a little picnic at the supermarket and ate at a nice park before heading into the near by hills. D. had told us that a beautiful river canyon was close by. He was right.

We drove about 20 minutes along the narrow road that became more twisted as we gradually ascended. On a Monday afternoon, there weren't many others on the road. The sun was beginning to get low in the sky and the light was beautiful. M. found a nice turnoff and we scrambled a bit (I wish I'd worn better shoes!) down the rocks to get to the river, which was surprisingly swift for this late, dry time of year. Of course, my photographer husband was in his element. And of course, I was getting anxious about being out of cell service range.

In the end, I think we spent long enough in the quiet canyon to feel we'd gotten away to a beautiful, natural place without risking a repeat of the previous night's phone contact crisis.

Shortly after we returned to the hotel, V. called. She said to M., "I hope you're not too mad..." which he reported caused him to catch his breath, "but I'm craving Mexican now." Of course we weren't mad...especially since that's one of our favorite cuisines!

We found the place without problem and saw that V. and D. were waiting for us as we pulled in. As we crossed the parking lot, we saw another couple, with the guy sporting a leather jacket with the name of D.'s motorcycle club on the back. So we introduced ourselves and were already chatting amicably when we approached smiling V. and D.

It was a nice meal. Mostly it was casual conversation, though occasionally V. would confess to being a little freaked out about what she was facing the next day. We had the friendly server take a few photos of us all, which I hope will make it into our son's baby book someday.

Since the evening was still young, V. asked us if we'd like to see her friend's tattoo shop. Since we know that this friend (I'll call him Doc Johnny), is an important person in her life, and that she spends a lot of time in the shop, we told her we'd love it.

I suppose now is a good time to say that M. and I always kinda assumed we'd become a trans-racial family through adoption. As it turns out, we won't (most likely, assuming this situation goes through). But, it is definitely a trans-cultural adoption!! One of the things we really appreciate about this situation - and I think V. does too - is that we have very different backgrounds. Despite that, we've found a lot of common ground. In fact, I think we are all enjoying learning about people who live very different lives - for whatever reason - than we do.

Doc Johnny and his tattoo shop were fascinating. It's packed (neatly) with totems he's collected from working all over the world. He is a true artist. He says that it's been a tough way to make a living and he wouldn't recommend it to everyone, but it's allowed him to support his family, travel to interesting places, and do something he enjoys. We looked through his big book of photos of his work, and I must say there were beautiful pieces...and I just can't grasp how some people can do some of those things to their bodies.

We explored the shop and learned more about tattooing for awhile, and then we received a high honor: an invitation to the "club house." Doc Johnny roared off on his big bike with D. and V. in hot pursuit in his big truck and us putting along behind in our little Subaru, listening to the local NPR station's classical music.

The motorcycle group's "club house" is a storefront in an old - though not extremely derelict - part of town. As I told D. later, it is what I suspect many boys (and girls!) fantasize about as kids...except it's not in a tree. It's a big open space with several comfy couches, card tables and chair, a big jukebox blasting tunes, an area to pull up their bikes, a trophy case, and a big bar with stools. Behind the bar, holding the bottles of booze, is a coffin.

There were about a half-dozen club members there, and I was delighted to see the ease with which V. introduced us. They all seemed to understand who we are and why she was bringing us around. They were polite and friendly. They offered us beer. V. told us there were plans for a meeting later in the evening. I asked her what they meet about, and she said that she'd been curious about that too. Then she found out it was usually just about coordinating an upcoming ride or something, and the last time these big, tough looking guys had an official meeting, it was to decide whether to get club hoodies or regular sweatshirts. Hee!

M. played a round of pool, and I chatted more, mostly with V. but also with some of the others. Since she said they'd wait for us to leave before meeting, and I could tell she was getting tired and couldn't leave until D. had met with his buddies, we wrapped things up.

D. and V. walked us to our car and we encouraged them to call us if they needed to be in touch before we'd planned to meet again at the OB's office the next day.

After marveling together for awhile about all we were experiencing, M. and I turned in and were able to sleep surprisingly well. In the morning (now Tuesday), we had the pretty decent breakfast at the hotel and decided to check out since we didn't want to pay for another night we might not need since 1. we'd heard that its not uncommon for hospitals to offer empty rooms to adoptive parents while birth moms are there, or 2. she might not deliver that evening after all.

We loaded the car back up ad headed to the County Museum, which is a large park with a collection of historic buildings from around the area. It was a great way to spend several hours. The weather had gotten a lot cooler and there weren't many people around. We could just wander. In fact, we left and got a good lunch (at someplace we'd researched in advance) and came back.

As the time for V.'s 5 p.m. appointment approached, we were staying pretty calm. We even spent about 45 minutes just lounging on a picnic bench, speculating on how things would go, talking about the oddity of the situation, and just holding each other close.

We got to the office a little early and M. posted a photo we'd taken several days before to Face*book. It's of us sitting on the back bumper of the car, with the car seat next to us and the hatch full of other baby-related items. It shows that we were ready to hit the road to meet our child!

He finished up just as V. and D. arrived. She and I confessed to feeling really nervous. The guys just kind of nodded in agreement. We waited together for a bit in the glitzy waiting room. A few other pregnant people came and went. I speculated that the doctor wanted to see V. last, so then he could send her to the hospital and meet her over there.

Finally, he called her in personally, greeting us as well. The exam didn't take long, and then V. re-emerged saying,

"Well, it looks like we're on our way to the hospital".....

Fire Drill (Part I)

2009-10-02T21:21:00.000-07:00

Well....

Last Sunday evening, we were enjoying a delivery pizza and some good red wine with our friends Anne and Andy when the phone rang. It was V., who explained that she'd been experiencing painful contractions and thought we should stand by because "tonight might be the night." We told her, "no problem, we are ready to go!" She told us she'd call back if things seemed to be progressing.

We hung up and....squealed!!! And jumped around a bit!! The Raggedies were a good audience.

We tried to settle down to watch the big show: the season premier of The Amazing Race, our favorite. During commercial breaks, we scurried around, making sure we truly were ready to go at a moment's notice. M. watered plants and washed dishes. I can't quite remember what I did, other than run around, but I'm sure it was productive!

The first contestants had just made their way to Phil and the mat when V. called again. She said she couldn't take it anymore and was headed to the hospital.

Oh, boy!

We both jumped in the shower, checked and double checked our various lists, and we set off. Once on the road we did a few things:

- M. drove carefully but faster than usual, with intense concentration.

- I called my mom and told her we'd keep in touch when there was more news.

- I called M. sister and told her the same.

- I called the agency as instructed. The operator patched us through to the on-call social worker, who happened to be S., our adoption counselor. She sounded excited for us. I asked what we were supposed to do when we arrived, and she encouraged us to go on up to labor and delivery.

- I recalled some good advice I received on my wedding day: take some "mental snapshots" of special moments. This will make it easier to recall a few things in the blur.

We were a little more than half-way and just out of a mountain pass when we decided to run into a service station for a bathroom break and something to drink. Alas, we left the cell phone in the car. Fortunately, we thought to look at it when we returned two minutes later, and sure enough, there was a message from D. He indicated that he thought they'd be sending V. home, and asked us to call him. We tried to call him back but couldn't reach him. So begins a very sad part of the story.

Pulling into the parking lot at the hospital, we tried to call again. No response. Were they still there? We debated what to do. Ultimately, we decided to go in. Because it was about 11:30 p.m., we had to enter through the emergency room, which was crammed with sick and uncomfortable looking people. After inquiring, we were sent on up to Labor and Delivery.

The elevator doors opened on a calm, quiet floor. Behind closed doors, we could hear the occasional cry of a tiny baby. Some further exploration finally yielded a nurses' station where we inquired about her. They directed us to her room. So she WAS still there.

I knocked softly. No response. I opened the door slowly and whispered. No response. I went on in. No V! She wasn't even in the bathroom. Finally, a more in-the-know nurse clued us in that they had indeed released her about 45 minutes earlier.

So back to the parking lot in a quandary we went. We tried calling again.

Briefly we debated heading home. Then we decided better and headed to a hotel that M. had scouted out online. I called and found they had availability, in fact at a good rate better than advertised on the net. We headed over there, concerned about V. and not sure what to do.

We checked in and headed to bed. I'd just drifted off when the phone rang. But no one was there.

We were both sound asleep about 2 a.m. when the phone rang again....