Attention All Adoption Bloggers!

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!

Party On(e)!

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!

Always and Forever, Our Son

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.

Interview Project: Welcome to Henry Street

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.)

Little Birdie

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.)

You've Come a Long Way, Baby!

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.

Tremendous Two's

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.

Giving Thanks

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.

Let the Wild Rumpus Start!

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

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.

Fire Drill (Part I)

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....

Emergency Preparedness

Urgent maintenance and repairs have been made, the gas tank has been filled, and the Subaru is packed to bursting. In it, we've got a car seat (still too superstitious to take it out of the box). We've got a Moses Basket that could cradle a little one for several days if we need to be in a hotel with the little guy while V. is still in the hospital recovering from her c-section. Filling it are some tiny adorable outfits, a few of which V. gave US at our match meeting, and a few of which our friends Marc and Jennifer gave us when they came over on Saturday with lots of wonderful hand-me-downs from their two wonderful boys. (THANK YOU!)

The baby's room now has a dresser ready to become a changer (a $250 Heywood-Wakefield sideboard steal!) and the rocker M. gave me for my birthday. The cat box and all of the artwork we still haven't hung since moving in in January are out and Marc and Jennifer's co-sleeper is in, ready to move to our bedroom when the time is right.

My wonderful friend and colleague Lisa couldn't resist plying us with a few useful baby items. (THANK YOU!) They and the few other things we've collected have been washed in sensitive skin detergent, folded and placed in the drawers. I've made some extra room in "my" closet in the room.

Lisa's got a key to the house and instructions to contact the former student with whom we've arranged to house and cat sit when the time is right. We're giving the cat lots of attention in preparation for being gone for awhile.

All of our electronic helpers (hassles?) are charged and ready to go: the cell phones, the cameras, the lap top. We have lists of family, friends, and colleagues - updated by my helpful sister-in-law (THANK YOU!) - ready to notify whenever there is news.

M. keeping the garden well quenched. The house is clean, and we're even keeping on top of the dishes, laundry, and bill paying.

A small, sentimental gift for V. has been ordered; I give it a 50/50 chance of arriving before we have to head out.

We're working late and hard to get on top of our professional responsibilities as much as possible. I've contacted my HR department and filled out my request for a leave of absence. I know who to call when there is a "life changing event" and we need to add a "dependent" to our insurance.

We've got a map of V.'s home town and know where the hospital is, the pro's and con's of various hotels in the area, where the Target and Traders Joe's are, and have even printed a (short) list of recommended restaurants from ChowHound.com.

We've canceled any upcoming plans to be more than a half-hour apart or further from home in the next few days. We've got lists prepped to remind us to lock the doors, set the AC, and bring the cat in if we need reminding in a state of panic.

But are we ready??? H-e-double-hockey-sticks NO!!

Supporting Loved Ones Who Are Adopting

Throughout our path to parenthood, M. and I have been amazed and touched by the thoughtful and caring things that people have said and done for us. Sometimes, sweet gestures or just the right words have come from unexpected places when we needed them most.

Let me also say that I know that infertility and adoption are very foreign subjects to most folks and that they can feel awkward to discuss because they often connect with very personal issues and/or loss. We understand that, so we cut fumblers a lot of slack. We recognize that most missteps aren't intended to be negative and probably even come from a "good" place. Never-the-less, we've received a few thoughtless comments or questions that are curiosity-overgrown-to-nosiness that have stung and left me (yes, me!) stumbling for an appropriate response.

So, I thought I'd write some about things that can be said or done (or not said or done) to support a loved one who is adopting. But as it turns out, Heather at ProductionNotReproduction - one of the bloggers I follow - has already written on just this subject and done a marvelous job! As I told her when I asked for permission to link or quote from her site, "Why mess with perfection?!"

I hope you'll check out her original post AND then the one she wrote subsequent to it that incorporates a lot of the great input she got from other readers.

Here is Heather's spot-on advice on supporting family members who are adopting.

Again, I invite anyone with further input or questions to be in touch. You can add a comment or send me an email or whatever works best for you. Remember, we want an OPEN adoption, which to me means being open about our circumstances, thoughts, and feelings with anyone who is kind enough to care about them.

Song In My Heart

Hey Music Connoisseurs,

I have a favor to ask of you…Can you help us figure out a great “soundtrack” for our adoption slide show?

As I've written before, a bit (and rather uncomfortable part) of the process in domestic open adoption is “marketing” ourselves to prospective birthmothers. We’ve already got a web site. Now we’d like to try to make a video slide show to post on YouTube and elsewhere. It will feature photos of us, some of our adventures, family and friends, etc.

Of course, a big part of what makes such slide shows attractive is the soundtrack. We’re stumped, and would be grateful for any suggestions you might have!

We’d like to find something that is upbeat, has broad appeal - especially to young women, and that conveys in some subtle way that we are caring people who will not only love this child, but its birthfamily as well. (I’ve been inspired in this project by one of my new internet buddies who's given me permission to link to their adoption video. It features the Plain White T’s’ 1-2-3, which works really well, in my opinion.)

Any guidance you can provide will be much appreciated. Thanks for your help!!