One year ago, I was clinging to the hope that I would become the mother I so desperately knew I already was. I didn't know what it felt like to have my arms ache so badly after a mere trip around the grocery store. I had never gone without sleep for longer than a few all-nighters during finals. I still held onto the notion that I could never love anyone the way I loved my dog. I was praying for strength for myself and my family. And at this time last year, I was also praying fervently for the first mother my daughter had. Then and now, I believed wholeheartedly in her ability to parent and raise this daughter of ours. I would step in and do my best if she called me, but I had hope for her, too. If she changed her mind, it wouldn't be a tragedy for that little girl.
48 hours after her birth, Amelia's first mother, who wrote OUR last name on the birth certificate, signed a paper saying we were her parents. Forever. She made the bravest choice and a loving decision for her child. Not a day goes by that I don't think of this and her great big heart.
I have only blogged on this open adoption twice, because my daughter's birth mother is, to me, a lot like another child. Her privacy should be protected. She has absolutely remained a part of our family this last year. I know that can change sometimes in open adoption, but it hasn't for us. She was the one who I trusted with the gender reveal of our second daughter- the first and only person to know if we were having a boy or girl before we knew. We get asked how this works quite often, and we both always answer that it just does. We are compatible. We love each other. We trust each other. We do both with abandon, and we haven't had to look back.
I have, of course, struggled with what I have heard is commonly called adoptive parent's guilt. I allowed myself to feel guilty for not having as much time to spend with Amelia's birth mother as I did in my pre-mommy days. Guilty for making parenting decisions in the moment and wondering if she would agree with my choice. For calling myself "mommy" without second thought. Even guilty for getting pregnant when my baby girl was only 3 months old and having to share her first year with morning sickness and general hormonal upheaval. Millie's birth mother and I have spoken about all of this. And because she is that good at listening, and then disarming everything I just said, she laughs at how very silly she finds me for not realizing I AM guilty. Guilty for doing the only thing she's asked me of me: to be a good, albeit slightly neurotic, parent to this child. As she said to me the other day, "Adoption is a big deal. But it doesn't have to be a big deal every day." Are there any words more freeing than those to an (adoptive) mother's heart?
And as if the words of my daughter's birth mother, the support of our friends and family, and the love of my husband who has not once been weirded out that our baby came to us in a non-traditional manner weren't enough, there's Charlotte Claire, the little cage fighter growing in my belly. At first, I thought that this pregnancy was just one of those things you hear about happening; my mind had simply been playing a trick on my body. But as she grew and Amelia grew, something else beautiful happened. My role as a mother became solidified, and I began to see that to adopted or biological children, Eric and I alone were going to have to be those really great parents everyone always said we would be. The whole parenting plan I'd come up with had to go out the window, because now I would need to parent sisters only a year apart in age. The metaphorical looking over my shoulder and whispering, "is it okay if I raise her like this?" to her birth family would have to stop. I can't thank Charlotte enough for showing up in the 3rd month of her big sister's first year. She's a constant reminder that I am a mom, not because my body made a baby when science told me it couldn't happen, but because moms have to deal with this kind of wrench in the plans all the time. And they have to do it all while being awesomely involved with their kids.
I see this year and the four months before it as a walk of faith that Eric and I took without knowing that we'd be walking for so ding dang long. We hear well wishes from people, that our babies are miracles, both of them, and answered prayers, and God's promises to us. But really? My babies are not answered prayers. They are God's way of saying to me, "see? I told you I would bless you, in spite of what you asked for." If God had answered MY prayers, I would've been pregnant three years ago with the baby I miscarried at 9 weeks. Another prayer unanswered was the call to adopt from an agency, only to be turned away. We were heartbroken. And we were insulted. Eric and I have always wanted to be parents. We are the couple spoiling our friends' kids and helping to pass out cake at birthday parties. The ones smiling at the crying kids at restaurants and trying to distract them. The people at the kids' table. We heard over and over that we are JUST SO GOOD with kids, that we deserve them, that we will be amazing parents. We trusted these words. We felt entitled to being parents. Instead, we were set upon a journey that called us to earn every single shred of parenthood.
That fight to be parents is so worth it. The joy of being the mother and father of this one year old girl is indescribable. There has not been a single moment with our Amelia Louise this year that hasn't been my most favorite. I could write about the first few weeks when we were tired and confused and emotional and crazy in love with her. Or about the morning six months later when we woke up after a wedding in Austin, crying because she slept through the night. There would be paragraphs on all the hilarious quirks she has- her monster voice, the way she slaps her belly, her ceaseless obsession with Asian people, her lack of volume control at all times, and the way those teeth and dimples are all you can see when she's dangling upside down in your arms. Her smiles, her wet kisses she learned from her dogs, her big hugs and cheers when we enter her room in the morning- they are all moments of rejoicing. She made me whole in a way I did not know I could be whole. Toni Morrison writes in Beloved, "The pieces I am, she gathered them and gave them back to me in all the right order." That is what my daughter did for me.
So now, we close this first chapter and begin a second one with another brand new baby and her big, strong, smart, silly sister by her side to guide her. Adoption gave us the kick in the pants we needed to start a family. Now we take the reins and focus on teaching these sisters how to love each other fiercely. Thank you to all who read along with us and our journey. You'll still see my #openadoption hashtags from time to time, but the one you're looking for now is #thebirnbaumgirls. The two sisters that don't look all that much alike, but who share a heart.
As with my other two adoption blogs, I'll close with thanking C.C. one more time. For your love, bravery, and friendship. You are a piece of my soul and my sister. Your initials matching my second daughter's initials means you have left your mark on both my girls. Follow your path and I will always be there to cheer you on. I believe in you. I love you.
48 hours after her birth, Amelia's first mother, who wrote OUR last name on the birth certificate, signed a paper saying we were her parents. Forever. She made the bravest choice and a loving decision for her child. Not a day goes by that I don't think of this and her great big heart.
I have only blogged on this open adoption twice, because my daughter's birth mother is, to me, a lot like another child. Her privacy should be protected. She has absolutely remained a part of our family this last year. I know that can change sometimes in open adoption, but it hasn't for us. She was the one who I trusted with the gender reveal of our second daughter- the first and only person to know if we were having a boy or girl before we knew. We get asked how this works quite often, and we both always answer that it just does. We are compatible. We love each other. We trust each other. We do both with abandon, and we haven't had to look back.
I have, of course, struggled with what I have heard is commonly called adoptive parent's guilt. I allowed myself to feel guilty for not having as much time to spend with Amelia's birth mother as I did in my pre-mommy days. Guilty for making parenting decisions in the moment and wondering if she would agree with my choice. For calling myself "mommy" without second thought. Even guilty for getting pregnant when my baby girl was only 3 months old and having to share her first year with morning sickness and general hormonal upheaval. Millie's birth mother and I have spoken about all of this. And because she is that good at listening, and then disarming everything I just said, she laughs at how very silly she finds me for not realizing I AM guilty. Guilty for doing the only thing she's asked me of me: to be a good, albeit slightly neurotic, parent to this child. As she said to me the other day, "Adoption is a big deal. But it doesn't have to be a big deal every day." Are there any words more freeing than those to an (adoptive) mother's heart?
And as if the words of my daughter's birth mother, the support of our friends and family, and the love of my husband who has not once been weirded out that our baby came to us in a non-traditional manner weren't enough, there's Charlotte Claire, the little cage fighter growing in my belly. At first, I thought that this pregnancy was just one of those things you hear about happening; my mind had simply been playing a trick on my body. But as she grew and Amelia grew, something else beautiful happened. My role as a mother became solidified, and I began to see that to adopted or biological children, Eric and I alone were going to have to be those really great parents everyone always said we would be. The whole parenting plan I'd come up with had to go out the window, because now I would need to parent sisters only a year apart in age. The metaphorical looking over my shoulder and whispering, "is it okay if I raise her like this?" to her birth family would have to stop. I can't thank Charlotte enough for showing up in the 3rd month of her big sister's first year. She's a constant reminder that I am a mom, not because my body made a baby when science told me it couldn't happen, but because moms have to deal with this kind of wrench in the plans all the time. And they have to do it all while being awesomely involved with their kids.
I see this year and the four months before it as a walk of faith that Eric and I took without knowing that we'd be walking for so ding dang long. We hear well wishes from people, that our babies are miracles, both of them, and answered prayers, and God's promises to us. But really? My babies are not answered prayers. They are God's way of saying to me, "see? I told you I would bless you, in spite of what you asked for." If God had answered MY prayers, I would've been pregnant three years ago with the baby I miscarried at 9 weeks. Another prayer unanswered was the call to adopt from an agency, only to be turned away. We were heartbroken. And we were insulted. Eric and I have always wanted to be parents. We are the couple spoiling our friends' kids and helping to pass out cake at birthday parties. The ones smiling at the crying kids at restaurants and trying to distract them. The people at the kids' table. We heard over and over that we are JUST SO GOOD with kids, that we deserve them, that we will be amazing parents. We trusted these words. We felt entitled to being parents. Instead, we were set upon a journey that called us to earn every single shred of parenthood.
That fight to be parents is so worth it. The joy of being the mother and father of this one year old girl is indescribable. There has not been a single moment with our Amelia Louise this year that hasn't been my most favorite. I could write about the first few weeks when we were tired and confused and emotional and crazy in love with her. Or about the morning six months later when we woke up after a wedding in Austin, crying because she slept through the night. There would be paragraphs on all the hilarious quirks she has- her monster voice, the way she slaps her belly, her ceaseless obsession with Asian people, her lack of volume control at all times, and the way those teeth and dimples are all you can see when she's dangling upside down in your arms. Her smiles, her wet kisses she learned from her dogs, her big hugs and cheers when we enter her room in the morning- they are all moments of rejoicing. She made me whole in a way I did not know I could be whole. Toni Morrison writes in Beloved, "The pieces I am, she gathered them and gave them back to me in all the right order." That is what my daughter did for me.
So now, we close this first chapter and begin a second one with another brand new baby and her big, strong, smart, silly sister by her side to guide her. Adoption gave us the kick in the pants we needed to start a family. Now we take the reins and focus on teaching these sisters how to love each other fiercely. Thank you to all who read along with us and our journey. You'll still see my #openadoption hashtags from time to time, but the one you're looking for now is #thebirnbaumgirls. The two sisters that don't look all that much alike, but who share a heart.
As with my other two adoption blogs, I'll close with thanking C.C. one more time. For your love, bravery, and friendship. You are a piece of my soul and my sister. Your initials matching my second daughter's initials means you have left your mark on both my girls. Follow your path and I will always be there to cheer you on. I believe in you. I love you.
Great work man i would like to congratulate you on this effort dig this
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