Is Adoption Worse than Death?

At the women’s empowerment group earlier this week one woman admitted she had an abortion earlier in the day. The previous week she expressed concern over her ex finding out she was expecting and trying to gain custody of their son and the unborn baby. She professed feeling more capable to be able to handle two kids on her own, after hearing some of the other single mom’s talk about it. But, circumstances changed or her fear became more realized and she decided to terminate the pregnancy. I will be honest, it was hard to hear. But, the hardest part to swallow was when she said, “And I guess I could have had my baby be adopted or whatever, but I could never do that to my child.” And so never giving them the option to live was a better choice than adoption in her mind. I know that sounds judgmental, but she was sitting in a room with a woman who found out at 44 years old she had been adopted and two adoptive mothers. Hearing her rate adoption as a worse fate than death felt judgmental to me. I am probably over-sensitive to this because I have a hard time accepting abortion, but her words stung. In my opinion, my children are not better off not being here than they are being adopted. Sure, things are not easy and yes, there are life-long ramifications for people who were adopted. But, does that mean it is better for them all to have not existed in the first place? Most likely this woman did not mean her statement to sound like it did. She was probably referring to what a hardship adoption can be on the adopted person specifically, as well as the mother making that decision. I’m sure she was also thinking of the child she has at home and how that might be a tough pill for the adopted child to swallow, since there really isn’t an easy way to explain to a child why one sibling was kept and one was adopted. I was glad her statement was made at the end of the group meeting because I didn’t have to sit an mull over it in front of the group. I had shared briefly about my infertility, but to be honest, this latest development makes me feel less like I want to share any more of my pain in never being able to be pregnant. Which is sad because my biggest revelation of the night was realizing that I was still angry about my infertility and that I had turned that anger into self-loathing and I probably over-eat as a way to punish myself.   

Invisible Grief

A fellow blogger posted about how so many women carry on with life while simultaneously miscarrying their pregnancy. She suggests the secrecy about miscarriage is partially to blame for the notion that a woman must “carry on” even while miscarrying. It made me think about how we as a society handle invisible grief. We have traditions and societal processes for when a loved one dies. The loss is evident, since that person is no longer present. But, when a loss is not visible to the naked eye, it seems the societal expectation is that the grief should be equally invisible.

 

I haven’t really thought about infertility much lately. But, her post made me think about how I grieved my loss when I didn’t actually, physically lose anything. I was never pregnant. Not once. So, I wasn’t mourning the loss of a pregnancy. But, I was still grieving a loss that was immensely personal and totally hidden from the world. It did not make the grief process easier to keep it to myself. It did not help me to come to terms with the fact that my body was not capable of performing it’s supposed biological purpose. In trying to keep my grief to myself, I found it poured out in ways I didn’t intend. On more than one occasion I sobbed going to and returning from a baby shower. I have never touched a pregnant belly for fear I would have an unsightly melt-down. At times I was snarky or impatient with friends or perfect strangers who would ask questions about my family planning or subject me to tales of their own. I can’t be sure, but I think keeping my infertility and my grief hidden made it harder for me to move through the process to healing. Loss is loss and it is never easy, even if what was lost was not something or someone tangible. I work with people who have lost their jobs and I see the same pains of grief etched in their faces. Loss is part of the human experience and we could all do with a little more understanding and a little less pressure and expectation that grief be manifest in the same way for each person and each situation. No one grieving should be expected to simply carry on as if nothing has happened. Everyone should have the space and time to mourn their loss in a healthy way that makes sense to them, without the side-eyes from anyone else or the pressure to “get over it.” Grief might be invisible but it weighs profoundly on the individual. At the end of the day, everyone is doing the very best they can do on this road called life.

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Women's Empowerment Group

At the recommendation of my therapist and the family therapist Primero and I see, I joined a five week-long Women’s Empowerment Group. We had our first meeting Tuesday night and there are seven of us in the group. I am one of the youngest from what I can tell, but beside that one difference, there are many commonalities. There is another adoptive mom in the group, there is a woman who was adopted, there are several women who have been divorced and I think all the women have or are raising children. I was very emotional in the group, which I did not expect. We did an exercise telling ourselves we are enough and many of the other women felt like it spoke to them, they felt more content after the exercise, but I did not. And that made me so sad. I want to be enough, I want to feel like enough, but I do not feel like I am enough in most situations in my life. Before we did the exercise we talked about how we deserve to be happy or content. I want to be happy and content, but deserve? Do I deserve it? I’m not so sure. My logical brain says I do, but my emotional being points to all the reasons I might not be worthy or deserving. A few of the women commented on how strong I am and I acknowledged their compliments, but being strong is all I know. And I am tired. And I am lonely. And I want to be more than strong. We were encouraged to start small, one small thing to move us in the right direction. So, I bought a chai tea and iced coffee on my way home to surprise Primero. And I took a warm bath with Epsom salt to relax. Only, Love Bug would not go to bed and he ended up getting in the tub with me. He thought it was great fun but my bath was less relaxing than I thought it would be. I will be returning to the group again next week, but I am nervous about being so emotional again. Hopefully, I can keep it together. 

Brief Family Vacation

We took a brief family trip to Virginia Beach last week. The impetus that generated our trip was my friend renewing her vows with her husband on their 30^th wedding anniversary. I’m not sure why they chose to go so far from home, but a lot of their family and friends made the five hour trek. I was so grateful we had a vehicle that could get us there safely and reliably. Not only that, but it was comfortable too (I cannot tell you how much I love having AC in the van after years with just the windows down). The kids surprised me with how well they behaved in the van. Love Bug only asked six times if we were there yet (or he would ask what state we were in, since we were in 4 total). We only had to stop once on our drive down, for a potty break. The highlight of the journey to the beach was the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel (it is both beautify and somewhat terrifying). Unfortunately, Chica Marie was asleep, but Love Bug was enthralled. Now every time we go under a tunnel he wants to know if we are under water. We had a nice time on the beach, but Primero was antsy and I think homesick. He had fun renting a motorized scooter and zipping around the town while the kids made friends in the waves and I tried to capture a picture of the military fighter jets zooming overhead. Love Bug made friends with a little girl and it was about the cutest thing on the beach that day. At one point he put his arm around her shoulders. They held hands to jump in the waves and I think he kissed her hand once. Adorbs!

 I attended the vow ceremony and reception alone, which made me feel lonely. I recommend taking a plus one to all marriage related events, even if it is just a friend. The mooring after the ceremony, I wanted to drive down to North Carolina to the Outer Banks or Kitty Hawk or some other attraction. Primero was not having it. We quarreled briefly but when the electricity went out in the hotel room, I was done with it all. We packed in the near-dark room and left in haste, still arguing over where we were headed. We had planned on stopping in with my sister on our ride home and Primero refused to head in any direction but towards home. So, we ended up going to the National Zoo in DC for a brief and sweaty visit. Primero really liked DC and the kids were really excited to see my sister’s house and play with my brother-in-law. They want to go back to sleep-over, so my sister and I are trying to work out a time when we can spend a weekend at their place. Our ride home was less-thrilling than our ride down to the beach, but Primero did some more driving, so I was ok with that. We had a nice time and I would really like to do more things like this, if it wasn’t so costly. Primero and I daydreamed of taking a cross-country road trip sometime, so now I have a new Pinterest board. It would be pretty awesome, and knowing that the kids did pretty good traveling is also encouraging. Who knows, maybe someday we will do it! I’m glad we made the trip, even if our time away was brief. I think it did us all some good to get away for a hot minute.  

A Family Affair

 

For the first time in memory, I attended a baby shower and stayed for the entire party. Not this past weekend, but the weekend before, Primero’s oldest brother, Mr. J, and his girlfriend held their baby shower. If you have never been to a Puerto Rican baby shower, they are more of a family affair than just a bunch of women ooo-ing and aaahh-ing over cute little onesies. Our entire family attended and my children were not the only children there. Primero’s cousin attended with her daughter, who Chica Marie adored and spent all her time being a big sister to her. And, Primero’s nephew (Hermano’s son) was also there as well as other relatives of the parents-to-be. The theme of the baby-shower was Harry Potter, so that definitely cut-down on the cutsie factor. The games they played were funny and the food was really good. Love Bug was glued to the side of the young woman who used to stay with us, so it gave me a break and it was an all-around enjoyable event. The momma-to-be is currently very uncomfortable and ready for her little bundle of joy to arrive, but she looked gorgeous and glowing at the baby shower. Until Primero’s cousin arrived with her little girl, Chica Marie was obsessively rubbing the pregnant belly asking if the baby was kicking.  On our way to the baby shower Primero drove. We had picked up his mom and I guess he didn’t want her to sit in the back, so I moved Chica Marie to the very back seat in the van and sat next to Love Bug. The little stinker held my hand for the short drive to the hotel where the shower was being held. When we left, Hermano’s ex-girlfriend (mother of Primero’s nephew) took Primero and his mom to the expectant couples place because his brother took a friend to the bus station in Philly (over an hour drive one-way). I was glad to be home and also incredibly glad that I did not get emotional at the baby shower.

Killer Pregnancy

Over the weekend I noticed Primero's uncle posted on Facebook, asking for prayers while he was at the hospital. I gathered, from the comment, that it had something to do with Primero's cousin, so I asked him if he knew what was going on. He said his cousin told him at his brother's baby shower that she was unexpectedly expecting. She had her tubes tied after her second child, but somehow became pregnant. She had just found out a few days before the shower and asked him not to share the news just yet. Unfortunately, the reason for the hospital visit and requested prayers was because the pregnancy was ectopic and she needed emergency surgery. I questioned Primero if his cousin wasn't freaking out having found out she was pregnant when she had thought she made that not possible. He shrugged and said she wasn't but I just could not understand how she would not be concerned. I would be calling my doctor right away. Maybe she doesn't think this way because she easily became pregnant and had relatively uneventful pregnancies. Perhaps she just thought a fertilized egg just slipped through. Oops! In any event, she is doing ok after the surgery and that is a good thing. I wish her a speedy recovery.


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I Get No Respect

I am a terrible mother. The evidence I use to support this claim is how my children behave. Never, not as a child, a teenager or now as an adult, never have I ever gone into my mother’s purse and taken anything. I would not dream of touching her purse, let alone digging in it and surreptitiously taking something from it. My mother’s purse always sat on a chair in the kitchen. No one ever went into her purse without her permission or instruction. My children do not respect me this same way and I do not understand why they do not. I don’t remember my mother ever telling me to not touch her purse. I never got in trouble because I dug out a piece of gum or played with her lipstick. Yet, I knew it was off-limits. My children have been told to not bother my purse and yet one of them scrounged in my purse two nights ago and ate an entire bag of candy. As I slept, they came into my room, took out the bag of candy they knew was in my purse because I had given them each two pieces earlier in the day. Then they shoved the candy wrappers and two remaining pieces of candy under my dresser.

 

This is the not the first time something like this has happened. My children have no respect for other people’s things or rules or anything like that. Is it just their “diagnosis” getting in the way or is it my poor parenting? I don’t know. I am tired of trying to guess. I am tired of trying to stay a half-step ahead of them. I want to be able to leave my purse sitting in my bedroom without thinking someone will go digging in it. I want my things to be respected. How do I get that?

Reformed Delete-er

I am an email hoarder. I just don’t delete my emails. Sometimes I read them and just let them go, floating in my inbox indefinitely. It’s helpful, sometimes, to find an email I need at a later date by paging through my inbox. Except, I hit my limit with space on my gmail account. I could no longer send or receive emails unless I purchased more space or deleted some old emails. When I finally faced my problem, I realized I had over 10,000 emails. I know that might make some avid email delete-er’s cringe. It made me cringe to have to delete almost all of them. I started with the obvious, by clearing out the spam folder and the trash. It took me days to get through all the emails in my inbox and save the few I wanted into designated folders. It was quite a project! And I am now a reformed email delete-er! No more unnecessary clutter in my inbox!

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Not Again

Yesterday, as I was finishing lunch, Chica Marie’s psychiatrist called me. She hasn’t been in the office last week when I called after our stint in the hospital. She understood where the hospital psychiatrist was coming from. She had noted, but not spoken to me, about the potential need for Chica Marie to try a mood stabilizer. She isn’t 100% certain she would diagnosis Chica Marie as bi-polar yet, but she does think there is more going on than just your run-of-the-mill ADHD. So, she promised to call in a script for a new medication. She warned me that the insurance might not cover the medication and they might require lab work, specifically fasting blood work. Lovely. When Chica Marie was younger she had an issue with lead and needed monthly or bi-monthly samples taken. Often times it took me, Primero and three nurses to get the blood drawn. Still, if it will help her, we will find a way to make it work. Not long after I ended the conversation with the doctor, the pharmacy called. They said the insurance was not willing to cover the medication. I guess the insurance company would rather pay for another hospital visit? The pharmacy said they were contacting the doctor to provide more information to the insurance company and suggested I contact the doctor’s office in a few days to follow up. The thought of having to fight the insurance company on top of everything else going on makes me both furious and even more stressed out.

 

Saturday evening Chica Marie was going to sleep-over at a friend’s house. We went to spend time with the family, who we met at baseball the past spring, who was hosting a bon fire and s’mores in their backyard. Love Bug and I left around 10:30. We picked up Primero and headed home. When Chica Maire had packed for the sleep-over I decided to not send along her medication. I thought she would stay up with her friend and then they would both crash together. I didn’t want the parents worrying about giving her pills or anything like that. I didn’t want her to have to explain to her friend. I honestly, stupidly thought it would not be a big deal. At 12:15 the friend’s mom called me. Chica Marie had been asked to settle down and go to sleep. She refused, telling the mom she needed pills to sleep. The mom said I didn’t give her any pills. So, Chica Marie asked to go home. I went to pick her up. I talked to her about her mentality around the pills. They are not sleeping pills, like Ambien or anything similar. They might help her feel a little more relaxed and ready to sleep but I worry about making it a habit so that she cannot sleep without taking pills. I did not give her the pills when we went home. She fell asleep in the van as we drove home. I want to try to work on a better get-ready-to-sleep routine and rely less on the medication. I worry about her mentality about the pills and it’s something I plan on discussing with her doctor.

 

Last night I had Primero watch the kids while I went to the chiropractor. I ended up having the wrong day, although I think the secretary got the schedule wrong, but even in the short amount of time I was sitting and waiting, Chica Marie began acting up. She had asked Primero for a peach and he had said no. When I got home she was having a total fit in her bedroom, thrashing about and screaming much like she had been the week before. I asked her to take a few deep breaths and if she could sit quietly at the table, I would let her have a peach. Ten minutes later she is still thrashing about. I had left the room to change and charge my phone. I told her I was going to make dinner and invited her to sit quietly at the table for a peach. After another 10 minutes of screaming and throwing things around her room, she came and flopped in a chair at the table. I asked her a question and she began screaming again, so I asked her to leave the table. She did this two more times before she was sitting quietly. I pealed a peach for her and she ate it and magically she was back to normal. This made my blood boil. I was furious. She could turn it off just like that? Forty-five minutes of screaming and throwing things and rolling around on the floor like an animal, just to get her way? I told her to go to bed. I was done.

 

She stayed in her room for about 30 minutes before she began whining and wanting to come out and watch TV. She apologized 3 times, thinking it would get her out of her room. I did not relent. When she started ramping up again, screaming and stomping around her room, I gave her the pills she claims she needs to sleep. She spent another 45 minutes screaming and trying to get my attention before she finally fell asleep. I feel like I have no patience left with Chica Maire. I don’t understand how she can be so inconsolable and acting irrationally, and then *poof* turn it off and be just fine. I don’t know if medication will help her, but we have an intake with the new family based team this week, so I am hoping they can help.

Lamest Party in the Land

Friday evening was Primero’s party. I left work early for an appointment. Primero has asked me to pick him up at his friend’s house. He spent the entire afternoon complaining about his friend’s friend and how the mom got mad that they were ignoring this other friend who came to visit from New York. He said the other friend was included, but she refused to participate, preferring to be on her phone playing games instead of interacting.

 

After my appointment, we loaded the van, got the kids and picked up the homemade Puerto Rican rice a co-worker made for the party. Then, we headed out to the venue, about 20 minutes outside the city. We set up and Primero started the fire to grill the hotdogs and hamburgers. The kids ran around and played in the grassy area around the pavilion. We were alone for about an hour before the first guests showed up. It was his aunt and uncle and one of his cousins. His uncle took over the grilling, as our sad little pile of charcoal wasn’t really getting the job done.

 

His uncle complained to me that we were too far from town, so most people couldn’t make it. And it was a Friday night, which didn’t work for the same “most people.” Then, he asked why I didn’t ask them to help, because they totally would have helped. I wanted to weep. This whole disaster of a party was just too much. Primero’s friend who helped me plan the party had not yet arrived. She was bringing the utensils, plates, napkins and cups. Fortunately, there was enough finger food to satiate the kids, but we really needed plates and whatnot to eat. His friend’s uber could not find the location, so I had to get her from the ranger’s station, just as a storm had rolled in. Primero’s other cousin showed up with a George Foreman grill to cook more hotdogs and hamburgers, since the rain doused the sad little charcoal fire.

 

I know Primero was upset that none of his friends showed up. I know he had a nice time with his aunt and uncle and cousins. We stayed until it got dark and the park ranger came to chase us off. He was very nice and even re-opened the bathroom for Love Bug, who really had to go number two. I was mostly glad it was over. And, in keeping with the not-helping theme, Primero did not help clean up any of the mess from his party. I spent the weekend doing nothing in order to recuperate.  

Changes

A few months ago a former co-worker came to the program at my current job. I have been in my current position for nearly 10 years, so I had not seen my co-worker from my previous job in that length of time. At first, she asked my name, but used my sister’s name so I was confused. Then, when she said where she met my sister, I realized she meant me. After the presentation I ended up meeting with her for the one-on-one portion. We exchanged niceties and then she said, “You look exactly the same! Everything, even your hair is the same!” I smiled and acknowledged what she meant as a compliment, but this has really struck a chord with me. I feel like I have changed so much in the last 10 years I am hardly the young woman she knew. I’m glad she thinks I am aging well, but this last decade has not been the most kind to me. When she knew me, I was newly married and only thinking about starting a family. I was settling into life after college and the Peace Corps and trying to find my way into a career I would enjoy and find fulfilling (so that still remains the same). I was much more naïve and unseasoned by life ten years ago than I am now. And my hair has had a lot of changes! It really shouldn’t bother me, she meant to compliment how young I still look, but her compliment back-fired and made me feel the need to show my growth. I lived and learned through infertility, divorce, and foster-adoption. These experiences have changed me in profound ways. I suppose the changes are just not as evident externally as they are internally. I suppose I should consider myself lucky that the pains etched into my heart are not visible on my body, or at least not to the casual observer. I don’t have the battle scars, like the dog bite scar on my leg from when I was in the Peace Corps, to show to the world what I have endured. Still, knowing how much I have changed, it really bothered me to hear someone suggest I was exactly the same.  I am not. I am forever changed.   

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Party Pooper

Late last month I got the bright idea to create a surprise graduation party for Primero because he told me he didn’t want a party after many months talking excitedly about it. I was bummed. When I talked to our family therapist about it she was very gung-go about me doing it as a surprise. I guess she thought he might be pleased to have a party despite his pervious refusal. So, I contacted his friend and we began planning. Only, then Love Bug was kicked out of daycare. And then things with Chica Marie got out of hand. I tried to keep up with the planning, but I struggled to find a place to host the party. Everywhere was just way out of budget. I was getting desperate, so I found a pavilion at a man-made lake nearby. Primero found out about the party from his friend not too long after we began planning. I asked him if he wanted us to cancel it before we really got rolling, but he said no. So, we continued.

 

 The next stress came with finding and making all the food and preparations. I figured, since he knew about it, Primero would lend a hand with some of the prep work. He refused. I was so stressed out last night, knowing I had to bake a cake and make macaroni salad after having the kids at a birthday party right after work. I managed to get all of the grocery shopping done with two very uncooperative kids. I had to pick Primero up at work, so I didn’t really have an opportunity to start baking and cooking until 9:30 last night. And I was already exhausted because Primero was out until midnight the night before and I only fell asleep after he was back home. In addition to the cooking, I also had to find serving containers and utensils and wash them, plus try to stick 6 bottles of soda in the full (and stupidly tiny) refrigerator. This is all after I get two grumpy children off to bed, of course. Primero got angry that I would ask him to adjust his plans to sleepover at his friend’s house. He refused, in fact. He felt that the party was supposed to be a surprise, so why should he have to help out? I felt like he was being ungrateful and I really didn’t even want to have the party anymore. He sleeps over at this friend’s house all the time. Like at least twice per week. Why couldn’t it be a different night? Stupidly, I didn’t give up so the cheesecake is made and the macaroni salad too. The back of the van is loaded with non-perishable items and I need to pick up the rest after work. But, I am over it.

 

I try too hard, I do too much. I should have just listened to him when he said he didn’t want a party. I thought he had changed his mind because of how things went at his graduation and how it seemed like the two sides of his family simply could not celebrate him together. I wanted to make a big deal of his graduation because I am proud of him and because I want to motivate him to keep moving forward. Instead, I am frustrated and resentful and all I want to do is get a good night’s sleep.