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Queen of Worry…Starting at the End

I know I should probably start at the beginning, but I’d rather talk about the present right now. I miss Jenuine, Babygirls’ bmom. I haven’t heard from her since late last year. I know that things are rough for her right now, as family members are sick and hurting. I’ve tried to contact her several times now, but I haven’t heard back. We usually talk via email at least 2-3x a month, sometimes more often, sometimes less. But we’re coming up to the end of January and the lack of response is…well…concerning.

I tend to worry about her a lot. She is a friend, and she is family, but she is more than that. She gave our daughter life and love. She believes in us and how we are raising Babygirl (well…mostly…that is another entry). ūüėČ But our differences in opinions have always been worked out and talked out between her, TheMan, and I with success.

I’m rambling now. But I wanted to get that out. I hope I hear from her soon.

StripedPajamas
–Mama in an open adoption

Adoption No Nos and Yes Yeses

My attitude and opinions on adoption have changed since first considering adding to our family by adopting a child. Most of my changes have occured since our son. I was going over some old posts recently to stir memories of my journey and it was an eye opening experience to see where I was then vs. where I am now. I felt like such a jerk-ass-nincompoop at some of the things I said and thought THEN. Blech.

nutsSome of my greatest friends are adopted adults and parents who have relinquished. Some I ‘talk’ to daily on internet forums. Not always about adoption but since that is what we have in common it is often discussed. I find it ‘easy’ to learn from their experiences as we have a shared respect for each other. Sometimes they say things to me that I really take to heart whereas the very same thing can be said from someone else in a ferocious manner and my ears close as an involuntary defense mechanism, I suppose. I think the difference for me is the energy involved. My friends can say whatev, with respect in their voice and I’m all ears. Someone else, may seemingly want to guilt trip me for being an adoptive parent with rather harsh words and it zaps the energy right out of me. As much as I want to hear and learn from everyone I just can’t subject myself to personal insults and directed guilt trips anymore. It hurts. Not what is being said but the mean-spirited embellishments that are sometimes used to express a passionate opinion. Often I don’t think hurt it intended consciously, but rather unconsciously.

Still, I have learned alot over the years and come a long way.

My list of then (no nos) and now (yes yeses)

THEN: Adopted children are unwanted which is the reason that parents relinquish parental rights. NOW: An overwhelming majority of adopted children are wanted by relinquishing parents but for various reasons they choose to relinquish. Lacking parenting resources is a common reason. Self esteem and confidence another common reason.

THEN: Relinquishing parents heal and move on with their lives. NOW: Relinquishing parents often have regrets and struggle to heal. In my opinion they never simply ‘move on’ even those who do not experience regret. They carry feelings about relinquishment throughout their lives.

THEN: If you love an adopted child enough they will grow up happy in their home and never have adoption issues. NOW: Love is not enough especially when the child is either adopted at an older age or is adopted transracially. I now believe it is the norm for an adopted child or adult to at least be curious about their adoption and biological family. This does not necessarily reflect their feelings for their adtopive family. It’s a completely seperate issue in most cases. Adopted children and adults can profoundly love and respect their adoptive parents and siblings while still feeling normal curiosity, pain, and other adoption related issues. It is essential that they are supported by their parents and that their parents not take this personal. It’s most often not about the parents, but the child/adult and what comes natural to them.

I have also grown to realize how important it is and will be to my son that we embrace his race and culture. As he was adopted transracially/transnationally among the normal feelings and curiosities that I expect him to explore are that of his culture, race and country of birth. I welcome that and I’m glad that I do as I didn’t even consider this at one time, early in my exploration of adoption.

Live. Learn. Grow.

*~*kiwiamo
transracial international adoptive mom
bio mom

kiwiamo’s blog entries

In the beginning there was just one, part 2 and 3

Some of my friends struggled with the loss of the dream of adopting when they became pregnant. Not ME!!! I just wanted more children, preferably a whole pile. The method really did not matter. Because of my daughter’s condition I was automatically high risk. Got my first level 2 ultrasound at 7 weeks. Of course I went by myself thinking it was more of a “meet and greet” type of appointment. I was pregnant all right: times 2! Twins! I was beyond shocked with excitement. Finally, I was getting what I deserved (or so I thought). I won’t bore you with all the reasons this was important but it should have statistically actually increased the chances of having 2 healthy babies over the chance of that happening in 2 separate pregnancies (at least by my crazy math). Sadly, it was not meant to be. We found out about a month later that both babies were effected with my daughters condition and they died shortly thereafter. I know its hard to believe that I had no mental issues but I did not take it that hard. I just wanted a child. The desire for a healthy child helped balance out my grief at losing the pregnancy. I still don’t talk about it though.

After this loss we explored our options yet again. There was no reason I could not conceive, it was the combination of mine and my DH’s genes that was the problem. We started the homestudy process once again and this time sent in all the checks and got to work. After we had turned in all the paper work and were waiting for them to do the interviews (a process that takes months in my state) we considered artificial insemination. I was all for it. Biology just did not matter to me. DH was completely against it for reasons that he could not put into words but he was adamant. We were actually ready to do embryo adoption when the phone calls about adoptive situations started coming in long before we were “homestudy ready.” We never really decided to stick with adoption. It chose us. And I am mighty grateful!

So adoption it would be! By this time, I was baby obsessed and mighty familiar with adoption forums. I saw things happening in Guatemala that were scrary to me. Adoptions of some of my cyber friends were going way slower than the 4 months it had been taking previously. Plus, I just could not wrap my arms around where all these babies were coming from. I didn’t like the answers I was getting when I pushed the envelope on that topic. But I loved looking at those baby pictures on the Guat Boards! Then I started loking at pics on the transracial boards. And I realized a lo of black and biracial kids are not as dark as kids from Guatemala. I slowly realized that I did not care about race. At all. Truthfully, I cared a little. I wanted to adopt a child of color. I will blog more on that later!

Thus, the end of part 2 and 3 was the loss of a pregnancy. It would be my last loss. And in all honesty, I was tired of the struggle with my body and all the stress. I was glad to move onto adoption. Now onto part 4!

Queen J

More on can you hear me

I spent the first 20 weeks of my pregnancy on pins and needles waiting for my ultrasound to tell me if I was having a girl.¬† When the day finally came, I felt like my entire emotional self was lying on that table for the entire world to see.¬† My sonogram tech was an ass, and I knew this from the previous sonograms I had had with him.¬† He clearly did not think a woman should find out the sex of her baby, even though it has absolutely nothing to do with his life.¬† I waited until he was done doing all of his measurements¬†and it was clear that my child was healthy before asking to know the sex of the baby.¬† He said his standard, “I’ll try to see if I can tell” line and headed¬†down south.¬† I felt my body completely freeze¬†except my¬† hands, which were trembling uncontrolably.¬† My heart was pounding so hard I was scared he would see my chest thumping.¬† “It looks like a boy, ” he says,¬†“but I can only tell you that¬†it is about a 75% chance because it could just be a really swollen girl.”¬† I let out a sound that was clearly a sound of disapointment and to this day I¬†still can’t forgive myself for that.¬† At that moment it felt like my whole world had crumbled.¬† This was going to be the last baby that my husband and I were going to have.¬†¬†In an instant my dreams of raising a daughter had died, and it felt like a¬†part of me had to.¬† And this is where my internal struggle began.¬†¬† *Bugaboo*¬†¬†¬†¬†

The eff word

What did I tell you? Boys will be boys!

When I picked Kiwi up from school today the teacher asked to have a word with me. I could tell by her, ehmm, tone that it was not good. Poor thing, she looked whooped so I did enter into this “word” with pity effwordfor her. But what the heck could my sweet snooky ookums have done to contribute to the dark circles under her eyes and disheveled hair? Hmmm. Not my son. Nuh uh. Not my son.

Miss Sally puts an arm on my shoulder and begins our word with “it has been one of those days“. Rut Roh. But I’m sure my son had nothing to do with it. Right?

She explains that the boys in class today were obsessed with the eff word. Fart. She had been redirecting them all day to choose appropriate language and even tried to instrust that farting is not funny. You know what a class of three year old boys do when their teacher tells them that farting is not funny? They say “Miss Sally farted!” and die laughing right there on the classroom floor. They roll and hold their tummies while laughing hysterically. Everytime their teacher tells them to stop they say “Miss Sally farted again!” and proceed to laugh even harder.

Guess what. Kiwi was right in the middle of it. My son! I don’t know why it was so surprising to learn of this. I mean he does have his own language around the house and uses fart, poop and pee as much as possible in dialogue.

If you were a fly on the wall in our house you may overhear the following and I will translate for those who are not adept with the language.

I fart you sooooo much. Translation: I love you so much.

I’m farty. Can I have a pootsie pop? Translation: I’m hungry. Can I have a popsicle?

Daddy will you fart with me? Translation: Daddy will you play with me?

I don’t want to take a fart and get fart! Translation: I don’t want to take a bath and get clean!

Mojo farted! Translation: Mojo farted. (our dog)

Can I watch Farty Neutron? Translation: Can I watch Jimmy Neutron?

Can I watch Fart Bob Fart Pants? Translation: Can I watch Spongebob Square Pants?

It does NOT help matters that Dad points out the obvious when Kiwi passes gas which he seems to do in numbers by the way sometimes several in a row. Dad will say “Ah ha ha you faaaaarted!” They will proceed to rejoice in laughter together. Sometimes high fives ensue if numbers are large like, oh say, 4 or 5 quick ones in a row. A father/son thing.

This encouragement, I do believe, goes back to the days when Kiwi was learning to talk. Like all good mothers I, Rosanne Rosanna Danna, taught my son to simply say “Pardon” after such an event. He was so mannerly and would even help others by saying “Pardon” for them. Nana loved it when she skooched in her seat at the movies and got a loud “Pardon” out of Kiwi. Ok. She didn’t love it. In fact she was embarassed and had to bring it to my attention that I was teaching him to be TOO mannerly. Sorry ’bout that one Nana. I don’t take criticism well from my oh-so-perfect-mother-in-law. It made me want to yell “Nana farted!” and hang up. But I restrained myself.

When toddlers begin to speak they are not enunciating their words well and they sometimes sound like, well, like other words. For instance, when Kiwi first learned the word “pardon” it came out “pardy”. This may be where it all began. One evening after dinner, when Kiwi was approximately 20 months old, he did the deed followed by a very mannerly “pardon”, er “pardy”. Dad roared. I mean roared. The man had tears in his eyes when he finally got control of himself. All the while I am waving to him and mouthing “Don’t encourage him with laughter!!!”

It was too late. Kiwi, who aspires to be a world class comedian, learned that he would always make dad laugh by you-know-what followed by a loud “pardy!”

So this ill behavior, I’m afraid, started right here in my own home and was encouraged by none other than Dad.

Poor Miss Sally. She wants me to talk with Kiwi and help him understand why this is NOT a good thing but to him it IS a good thing. Gawsh, he makes his Daddy laugh and then there are the boys at school. Imagine what he could do with a stage and room full of strangers holding tickets to his one man show. The eff word has made him one of the most popular kiddos amongst his peers and I just don’t think he is willing to drop it for one Miss Sally, although he does really adore his teacher.

The eff word is here to stay ’cause boys will be boys ya know.

Thank you for farting my post. Er, I mean reading my post.

*~*kiwiamo
transracial international adoptive mom
bio mom

kiwiamo’s blog entries

Boys will be boys

frogWe decided not to try and influence our son about likes and dislikes. We weren’t going to encourage him to play sports, play with bugs, stomp in mud puddles, play with trucks unless he first showed interest. We just wanted him to be him whatever that was going to be.

How in the heck did he learn how to be a ALL BOY?

He naturally gravatates to mud, sticks, bugs, frogs, trucks, loves being dirty, I mean LOVES being dirty, he’s obsessed with the words poop and pee, he’s obsessed with the meaning of poop and pee and often uses it in dialogue. Every chance he gets. Somehow he developed a thing for baseball although he has never been to a baseball game. He wears his baseball hat all the time and even wants to sleep in it. If he wakes in the morning and we have removed his baseball cap from the bed, oh gawsh help us.

He loves his dirt so much that he fights about taking a bath.woods

Oh and get this. When he passes gas he announces it and laughs hysterically.

Great.

NOT.

He pines to be outdoors everyday regardless of weather. If it has rained and there are mudpuddles around we have to watch him closely. It’s one thing to punce a puddle at home in the back yard but when we’re in public we have to be very attentive because he will stomp in every puddle he can. It’s not so much fun when that happens at the beginning of our shopping excursions, on our way to school, headed to the doctor’s office nor is it fun when he stomps a big muddy that splatters mom.

We often reach our final destination on rainy days covered in mud.

pigeons So where do they get it? This natural gravation to all things boy leaves me wondering how natural instincts and nature affect adopted children. In respect to this whole nature vs. nurture thing, do children develop more so naturally or do they develop their natural instincts based on the nurturing in their environment? Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that children have natural tendancies and instincts inherited from their biological parents. How important is that to them? More specifically how important is that in their development of self? If Kiwi had natural tendancies toward mathmatics that weren’t nurtured by us would he still be mathematically inclined? Or would he develop in areas where we, his adoptive parents, are skilled?

It’s certainly interesting to think about and I think I will think about this some more. Nature vs. Nurture. Positive tendancies vs. negative tendancies. So much to think about and now is the time as he is growing like a weed and he is an intellectual sponge. He learns so quickly and thoroughly. It’s just amazing what a young child can absorb.

Rock on Kiwi with your buggy friends, muddy shoes and gassy explosions. Mommy loves you little boy.

*~*kiwiamo
transracial international adoptive mom
bio mom

kiwiamo’s blog entries

I want another child. No I don’t.

kiwieyesThere are alot of years between my two children. My oldest child is grown, my youngest is a toddler. When our son was visified and joined our family I was happier than I had ever been in my life however, I longed to have another child for his sake and mine. I wanted him to have a sibling close in age to grow up with and I wanted to experience the joy of having children close enough in age that they would be playmates and well, sibling rivals. “He touched me!”, “She won’t give my shoe back!”, “dummy head!”. All that stuff. Crazy. I know, but that’s what I wanted. Mostly I just wanted two kids close in age to love each other, support each other and be there when one needed a friend.

I thought “if only I could find a way to talk R into it”. I researched and researched and researched a way to make adoption fees more affordable thinking if money weren’t an issue then he couldn’t, WOULDN’T refuse! I was joyous with Kiwi in my life but still felt incomplete.

UNTIL,…

The perfect situation landed in front of me. It would not require anything more than court costs, it was another boy, they were of the same heritage and this would be a domestic adoption between two parents. His current adoptive family who were disrupting and our family.

He came to us and visited with our family for a week. The boys got along great but I knew there would be attachement issues. I went back to researching and read everything I could about attachement and decided that I was strong enough to provide what this boy would need. We visted several times thereafter.

Then something happened that I did not expect!

stopAfter two years of obsessing about how I could pull off adding to our family I felt threatened by it. Where the heck did that feeling come from?

This little boy as precious as he was would be a threat to the happy home that I shared with my family. I didn’t think we were complete but I then realized that we were. We were able to provide for Kiwi and give him everything that he needed and then some. I felt we would be taking away from Kiwi’s comfortable life if we were to take on the expense of another child and also that we would be distributing time and attention that we currently gave him. He is and always has been such a happy child and our little family unit is very close. Very happy. Suddenly, I didn’t want to risk losing any of that.

mommykissI realized through this experience that we WERE complete as a family of four. Who woulda thunk? For two years I resented my husband for not wanting another child when I thought I was so deseperate to add to our family. Two years wasted feeling something on the surface that I did not feel deep within. People are strange.

T ended up with the perfect family, by the way and is thriving in his new home with his new parents and older brothers. Everyone was blessed.

*~*kiwiamo
transracial international adoptive mom
bio mom

kiwiamo’s blog entries

More on the beginning

This was written on March 22, 2006..  (I will eventually write in current times, promise!)

Sunday (March 5th) I was in such a cranky mood. Finally resigned to the fact that she wouldn’t be here until Friday when B was going to be induced. I didn’t want to call B because I knew if I was in a mood, she’d have even more reason to be. What I didn’t know, is her labor had started.

Monday, at work, I was happy to have the distraction but they were still on my mind all day. I decided to head to Curves to workout with mom and then I’d call her (B) when I got home. I was on the street where Curves was, less than two minutes from there, when DH called my cell phone and said “Come home.” I said “Come home?” I had just hung up with him a minute earlier and told him that if a call came while I was at the gym to call me at the gym and tell me to come home. So he said “Yeah, come home!” So I asked him if he meant B called? I just needed to hear it. And he confirmed it. So I pulled into the parking lot and jumped out to tell mom I couldn’t work out with her.

We packed our last bag and picked up my best friend (Sarah) who has said all along she wants to come with us when the call comes. DH told me B had wanted me to call her so I called on the ride. She sounded in so much pain. They had given her something but it wasn’t doing much for her. She asked me if I would be terribly offended if she asked I not come to the delivery. She said she was in so much pain and already snappy, she didn’t want to yell at anyone and she wasn’t even sure she wanted K there with her. I told her not to worry about it. That we’d wait in the waiting room in case she changed her mind. This was probably at about 6:45 We got to the hospital at about 7:45. When we got there I introduced myself to the nurse handling her case and asked her to just let B know we were there. She asked me if I wanted to see her. I told her I would love to, but didn’t think it’d be a good idea since B asked me to not be there. The nurse said she’d check and came out and asked DH and I to come in.

So we went in, B was in a much better state, they had finally convinced her to get an epidural. When we got there she was 4 cm. When she called us she was only 2. She dilated pretty quickly. I left whenever they came in to examine her. At 11 ish when they came in to check I went in the hall and then the Dr. was paged and she started pushing. I didn’t want to go back in without her asking, so I stayed in the hall. The hospital was so great, they kept the baby warming station at the end of the room with the curtain open so we could see her as soon as she was born. They were so great to all of us. After the delivery, B said I could’ve come back in. I assured her I didn’t miss anything, and I am actually happy she had that private experience with her mom, K, and K’s sister. I think it will be a helpful memory for her in the future.

K didn’t want to hold her, but he did for a minute the night she was born. He had a very hard time and wasn’t really there for B much. I felt awful for her. I guess when she went home though he had bouquets of flowers in their bedroom and candles lit for her, so he does want to be there for her, I think he just doesn’t know how and probably can’t see around his own grief right now.

When it came to filling out the birth certificate, B sat me down and asked me if I’d consider KS instead of¬†KM. She explained to me that she knew a Mackenzie that hurt her very badly and it was a hurtful reminder of that experience and she knew her daughter wouldn’t be a bad person, but it was just a sensitive issue. I thought it was such a great idea, for them to give her a name, too.¬†Lovebug will grow up knowing that we all did this together for her, out of love. So we’re going to keep it KS.

I was able to spend the two nights in the room with B and lovebug. We had the most amazing bonding experience. (B and I) The first night we were pretty much numb. We didn’t really talk too much, or cry yet either. The next day we did a lot of talking. K’s mom, granma, and Aunt came to meet lovebug and to say goodbye. That was very difficult. I can’t explain it, I felt guilty but I knew it wasn’t my fault. You know? I was so happy to be involved in all of this. I took pictures of each of them with her that I’ll mail to them and I’ll put in lovebug’s book so she’ll know who was there and who everyone is. It was amazing. Oh, and K’s family brought me flowers! And an outfit for lovebug! My first flowers as a mom. ūüôā The vase will go in lovebug’s room.

That night, B’s mom came. She brought two cards and a book for B. The cards were extremely supportive. One told her congratulations on the first day of the rest of your life. The other said you are doing the right thing and here’s to healing well. The book was that poem, “If I Only Knew” (you know the one, If I only knew it would be the last time I’d see you… ) and she wrote on the cover of that to B “I love you more than all the flowers in the world.” Something told me, DH, and Sarah to leave. We didn’t even look at each other, but we all got up at about the same time and made up excuses to leave. We stayed out for at least an hour. Then DH and Sarah decided to go back to the hotel, so we all went back in so they could say goodnight. So now, it’s me, lovebug, B, and her mom. Her mom held her for awhile, then gave her to me, and went to say goodnight to B. Well. She ended up hugging her and rocking her while they both sobbed. It was awful. They were talking but I couldn’t hear them and I didn’t want to. I just hugged¬†lovebug and sat there worrying. B finally calmed down a bit and her mom went to leave. B told her that we’d be getting together after they sign the surrenders Saturday if she wanted to come say goodbye to the baby. Her mom said thanks, but no thanks, that she just did say goodbye to her and left crying. Sad. Then B told me what was said during their exchange.

When her mom went to leave she hugged B and B just started to cry a little bit. Her mom told her “Don’t do this.” B thought she meant don’t do the adoption. And it set her off. She asked her mom how could she say that? She knows it’s the right thing, etc. Her mom explained that wasn’t what she meant, she meant don’t make her cry. *exhale*

So, that night, B and I sat up crying together and talking so much. I told her I was sorry. And that it’s so bitter sweet because I feel like I’m watching one of my best friends suffer. She was so gracious. I told B I love her. She told me she loves me, too.

At one point she told me she was afraid¬†lovebug would think B didn’t love her. I told her I would always teach her how loving her birthparents are. I told her I fear that in teen years she’ll say she hates me and she wants her real mom. She told me to know if she says that to know it’s just out of hurt and anger and that she does really love me.

The next day was discharge day. It was emotional as well. She asked DH and Sarah to leave us alone for five minutes so we could talk. She told the baby she loves her. It was the first time she said it. That killed her. She made me promise to be good to her. I told her I promised to do my best.

DH came back in to help us bring the stuff out. She told him to love her and tell her he loves her because her dad never did. DH told her he grew up like that, too, and he’ll always tell lovebug he loves her.

So, we bundled her up, had a nurse check her, and had to run out of the hospital. K was on his way and did not want to see us. So we had to run to the car. That felt funny. Scandalous.

When we got to the hotel, everytime I closed my eyes I saw lovebug. B called that night to see how we were doing and told me that every time she closed her eyes she saw lovebug, and then me. I didn’t even tell her that I was seeing¬†lovebug when I closed my eyes, too. So weird, huh?

They signed the papers Saturday morning, as planned. There was a little last minute anxiety b/c they wanted the adoption finalized simultaneously and that would’ve taken weeks to work out, so they agreed to sign the surrenders trusting that if the post placement agreement is not approved by the court that we would still honor it out of respect. They were fearful that the judge would deny visits for them. SW explained to us that that has never happened, but I can’t blame B and K for being afraid at the last minute. They signed and all is well.

They came to the hotel right after they signed. They brought a beautiful flower arrangement and a thank you card for us. THEY thanked US! Can you even imagine? So they had an hour or so alone with her in our hotel room. B asked if they could have some time because they didn’t get to have that at the hospital. I know it is something that will help them heal. And I do think it gave them some closure. They were both much more collected during this visit. B didn’t really cry this visit, only got teary when we hugged goodbye. Her and I really bonded and I think that’s hard, too. We really have grown to love each other like family. It’s nice being home though. And having things signed. Now we can just have normal mom and dad anxiety. About coughs or stuffy noses, or anything else that might be nerve wracking.

So, that’s the scoop. She’s been a dream. Knock on wood. She only wakes at night to eat. So far anyway. She hasn’t had too many stomach aches I don’t think. I wonder if that will hit after awhile? I hope not. I hope she just tolerates her formula well.

OH! B pumped, too! So she brought bottles of breastmilk for us to give her on Saturday. I thought that was awesome. I was so happy she did that. I think that is helpful for B and for lovebug’s immune system. Made me so happy.

Did I share the story about the lactation consultant already? I can’t remember. The day she came in to teach B how to use the pump, we were all there. DH, Sarah, B, and I were all sitting there while the woman darted around the room getting her tasks done. She was very business like and encouraging about B bfeeding, made her feel able to do it, I think.

Before she left, she stopped and told us how her two children are adopted, and they are the light of her life. They are her world. And how lucky we are to have had the opportunity to have met our child’s bmom and to thank her in person, she was never able to. We were all sobbing. The whole bunch of us. It was like she was sent to our room for a reason, and what she said was so comforting and beautiful for all of us I think.

Lovebug’s such a beautiful little girl, surrounded by so much love, and bringing us more love than we ever thought possible.

Mamajewels.

Somewhere in MA

Can you hear me?

People say that God¬†answers prayers but not¬†usually in the way we ask,¬†and always in a way that is best for us.¬† I have¬†heard this from the first day of my Christian walk.¬† I remember sitting in church listening to people tell of amazing stories about how the Lord had answered their prayers in a way that they could have never hoped for themselves.¬† I¬†remember thinking that they were special to God, and that He must not love me the same way.¬† You see, I had always wanted to raise a daughter.¬† My whole life I dreamed of what it would be like to have a little girl to call my own.¬† I had 2 bio sons and then spent 6 months devoted to prayer through fasting,¬†and crying out to the Lord, begging him to allow me to have my daughter.¬† I found out I was pregnant and just knew it must¬†be the daughter I had dreamed of…¬†¬† Bugaboo¬†¬†

Reflecting on Stan’s effect on our family

 

It has been raining all day today, something I used to enjoy especially on weekends as I found the sound of rain calming. It made for a relaxing weekend to listen to the rain, relax and veg.

Now I cringe and enter a state of anything but relaxation. Rain nowreminds me of a devastating event in our lives. The loss of my son’s birthmother.

Hurricane Stan left many hundreds of people dead in Guatemala in 2005. The actual number will never be known because many of these people were indigenous and had no official documentation of their birth. Without
papers to make a claim the people would not be counted among the deceased.Suffice it to say that the ‚Äúofficial‚ÄĚ numbers are not a true reflection of this devastation.

 

Stan caused a wave of mudslides that claimed the lives of the poorest of the poor. One of the lives it claimed was that of Kiwi’s birth mother. I had always planned to be in touch with her on some level and for Kiwi to know her. We planned to visit her over the years and hopefully meet his birth sibling who is fostered by an extended family member in Guatemala. Now she is deceased and we don’t know if the extended family ever knew she was pregnant. Not only did we lose her but we lost any information that would lead us to Kiwi’s other birth family members. We lost everything except a copied black and white photo that we received in Kiwi’s DNA results and a few blurbs about his mother in his court report. We don’t even know if his birth sibling is a boy or girl.

I’m sure he will want to know about his birth family one day and I already hurt for him at the lack of information I will be able to provide. He will have her picture, the old fuzzy photocopied image where he can’t see her face clearly. He will have Guatemala and information about his heritage as a spanish/mayan in general but nothing specific about him. We don’t know who the birth father is, not even a name. The only hope we have is that his birthmother did tell someone she was pregnant, (many Guatemalan women who relinquish do not tell anyone. Not a soul.) and that someone in the family will find a way to contact the woman who facilitated Kiwi’s adoption who will put them in touch with us. The chances of that happening, we know, are unlikely.

So now the rain has new meaning for me. It makes me reflect on that event of October 2005. Relaxation on a rainy day is a thing of the past. Now it brings sadness and a few more tears. Bless your heart Kiwi.

*~*kiwiamo
transracial international adoptive mom
bio mom

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