On Saturday, my hubby and I attended a parents-only dinner party. We won tickets to the event when I submitted a pathetic (and entirely true!!) story of a negligent baby-sitter, leg lacerations, and antibiotics. Our prize was a fabulous night out at Yaletown's V Lounge, hosted by morning hosts Nat and Drew of Virgin Radio 95.3.
As expected, our group of parents couldn't help but talk about the little darlings whose shenanigans earned their respective parents a night of reprieve. We went around our corner of the table and learned that those near us had two or three children.
When it was our turn, we beamed about our almost four year old son. Someone asked if we were planning for more, and we gave our standard responses. My husband vehemently denied the possibility, and I smiled and said something stupid and non-committal.
The truth is, adding to an adoptive family is not the same as growing a family biologically. Unlike those families lucky enough to be Fertile Myrtles who can get pregnant easily, most adoptions involve a great deal of patience and trust that things will work out and a match will happen eventually.
Sure, there can be surprise adoptions, if a family is lucky enough to get the sibling call. And sometimes matches are made as soon as the ink is dry on an updated adoption homestudy. But most of us wait.... sometimes forever, for a secondary match.
Still others, like us, don't feel it's quite the right time to be tossing our names into the adoption pool again. We know growing our family again is a probability. We don't feel like we want to be "one and done" but the timing just isn't right yet.
So I gave my stupid smiley response and waited for the topic to shift. Except it didn't.
Another parent commented very sincerely and respectfully how common one-child families are becoming these days. Another parent (of two) speculated it was financially driven. I had to step in and say my spiel about adoption. I had to explain that it's not like flipping a light switch, and it takes a momentous decision to refile that application and put yourselves and your families "out there" again.
I wanted people to know it's not about money. It's not about a conscious decision to have the smallest number of offspring possible. For us at least, it's about balancing the right time and realizing and ACCEPTING that so very much of it is out of control.
One mother commented that she had her babies 15 months apart because she wanted to be finished with diapers as soon as possible. I sat and smiled and reminded myself that our next child might already be DONE with diapers by the time he or she (OR THEY!) come home.
Another advised that it was best to have a girl first and then a boy. I closed my eyes briefly and imagined what girl on earth would want our son as a baby brother.... only the luckiest one, of course. :) And who knows... maybe our son will have an older sister. Someday, sooner or later. When we're ready.
For now we'll just keep on doing what we do best... smiling stupidly when all else fails!
Growing up, I appreciated the refrigerator. By some defiance of the laws of physics, the standard 'family fridge' managed to sustain our super-sized family. I likened it to an overstuffed clown car, except our appliance housed an incredible amount of food instead of circus performers. I wouldn't have been surprised, though, if a clown was buried back behind the pickle jar.
Sometimes, I worried that the fridge would explode, and we'd spend our afternoon scraping margarine and appliance shrapnel off the ceiling. But we assured ourselves that if the fridge didn't implode or collapse when we closed the door, it was probably safe for at least one more day.
Somehow, our fridge stored the required two gallons of milk (one is just foolish; it wouldn't last a day in our home), Costco-sized bricks of cheese and vats of ketchup stuffed in alongside the standard leftovers, baby foods, heads of lettuce for tomorrow night's dinner, etc, etc.
I miss those days. I miss seeing an overstuffed fridge, and all the other 'squishing' that goes along with a big family. I miss fighting over spots on the couch, and a comfy seat at the dinner table.
I suppose it's a direct result of growing up in a sea of children. Before I was thrown from the nest in my early 20's, I had never, ever, ever, ever come home to an empty house. The door was never locked, the lights were never out. There was always someone lurking, or lounging around to keep me company (or keep me annoyed!)
When I moved out of the family home, I got used to the weird phenomenon of coming home to... silence! I heard - for the first time - the hum of the refrigerator makes.
I actually called my mother long distance from residence in a panic. "The fridge! There's something wrong with the fridge!"
"Is it leaking?"
"No."
"Is it on?"
"Yes!"
"Is the food still good?"
"Um. Mom. I live in res. There's three litres of pop, leftover Kraft dinner, and a jug of milk."
"Smell the milk and call me back."
..... (Ring).....
"Hi Sarah."
"Hi Mom. The milk smells okay, but it expired last Tuesday." Hmm. Okay, what's the fridge doing."
"It's humming."
.......
"Mom? Are you there?"
"Yes! I'm listening to my fridge. It's humming, too!"
We both marvelled at the sound.
I miss those days, being part of a huge adoptive family. Somehow, hearing the appliances groan and complain is less comforting then the noise of children. I'd take a house full of noise over silence any day.
Under BC law, birth mothers are entitled to revoke consent to their child's adoption any time within thirty days of their child's birth.
I thought I had good insight into how difficult those thirty days must be. I've supported adoptive families and spoken with birth parents and birth grandparents who've been on either side of the thirty day mountain.
After thirty days with my international students, however, I cannot fathom how hard it must be for everyone involved during those thirty days of adoption uncertainty.
I KNEW my kids' stay was temporary. I took comfort in the fact that 'my' two teenage children had a safe and stable home to return to, half a world away. I prepared myself mentally (and I THOUGHT, emotionally) for the separation that would occur exactly thirty days after their arrival. And I STILL ended up crying into my Cheerios the morning my big kids climbed onto the school bus and headed to the airport to fly home to Korea.
So, adoptive parents, how do you do it? Does every ring of the telephone strike fear into your hearts? Do you survive on adrenaline for thirty sleepless nights, fighting your inner urge to bond!bond!bond! with your new babe? Do you intentionally hold just a little back in case the call comes? Or do you give all your rapidly-growing heart can muster, so that your child knows love and nothing else even though uncertainty hovers, clouding the minds and thoughts of the adults involved?
Birth families, do you count down the days, too? Do you wish they passed more quickly or slowly? How do you recognize day thirty when it finally arrives? What can family and friends do to support you during this month, and beyond?
I tip my hats to everyone who climbs the thirty day mountain. This adoptive mother can't imagine making that climb. But I congratulate all who do, for the sake of the child you all love.
It was fun and games as usual at our household last night. My homestay son and daughter had been outdoors two nights before, and gotten more than their share of mosquito bites.
Last night, I bought them calamine lotion for their old bites and OFF spray to prevent new ones, and sent them out for an evening walk.
When they returned my son had enormous welts covering more than half his body. These weren't just mosquito bites, this was an all-out allergic reaction. They covered his entire back, both arms, his belly, his legs, and were sprouting up on his neck and face.
So off we went to the emergency room at 9:30pm. First I had to rouse my not-quite-sleeping three year old (who was MORE than happy for a middle of the night adventure!) and pile all the kids in the truck.
My husband met us in the parking lot to take our little guy home, which left me and my two teenagers at the doorsteps of the local hospital.
The admissions clerk was frustrated because I didn't have a Care Card for my student. I kept referring to him as my son (force of habit at the ER, I suppose, from the many occasions with Noah), and I gave them my local address, therefore he must be a Canadian citizen, or at least a BC resident covered under MSP, right?
Next she couldn't understand that the kids COULD speak English (but not perfectly), and that I could NOT speak Korean.... and that somehow between these two languages, we still couldn't determine if there were any possible allergies that - so far, during his one month stay - had not been disclosed.
The nursing staff was great, getting him set up with an IV and antihistamines, finding warm blankets for his sister as we waited, watched, and waited some more for the swelling go down.
The doctor arrived and wondered who on earth I was, and how everyone was related. The phone at the nurses station kept ringing because the homestay coordinator kept calling the hospital for updates. (How he got that direct line, I may never know!)
I felt like I was being Punked when the doctor came back and insisted we refer my son to see an allergist in Japan. "Korea," we smiled.
In the end we were sent home in the wee hours of the morning, with extra anti-histamines and instructions to come back if there were any problems breathing. Ahhh, such a comfort!
I must say, however, that the experience really endeared me to my big kids.... I've heard many a social worker advise new adoptive parents: "When you get your kids, pray that they get sick. Not a big sick, but a little one... so you can baby them and take care of them."
That was certainly true last night. In all the hustle and bustle of the busy ER, I felt a stronger bond growing between me and my teenage son and daughter. Funny how a few dozen giant welts can endear you to someone, isn't it?
