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?