Abacus and Quill

I don’t know the real story behind what happened in Tennessee and I honestly don’t expect to. I listened to an adoptive mother on the radio today who said that she could understand the emotions that led to the woman putting her son on that plane to Russia and I was conflicted. I have described the experience of adopting/becoming a mother as “setting your family on fire”, so yeah, it’s hard. I get it too. But what she did with her emotions, and the choices she made from that point are unfathomable to me, and unforgivable.

Approximately 1% of all adoptions are disrupted. That is to say, ended, annulled, undone. For whatever reason, the parent(s) decided they could not continue to parent the child.

Let me be clear. Children do not disrupt adoptions. Their behavior, disability, habits, previous trauma – or anything else they say or do – does not make them unparentable or unlovable. The parents could not continue to parent. Whatever the circumstance, it is an avoidable tragedy. A child, who through no fault of their own and who has already lost ties to one family, is again set adrift.

And let me be clear on this.As the adult in the parent/child relationship, it is our duty to provide this. It’s what we sign up for, in whatever way we become parents.

That being said, nobody can fully prepare for what happens when you bring a child into your world, whether by birth or adoption. Every mom I know did her best to prepare. From “What to Expect when You’re Expecting” to “Toddler Adoption

Every child deserves a loving home and a caring family surrounding him or her. Period.

: A Weaver’s Craft”, from Lamaze to pre-adoption counseling, we sought out information to help us transition.

The reality of parenting is that you are, in the simplest relationship scenario, an adult and a child coming together with two temperaments, personalities, preferences and experiences. This is as true with a newborn as it is for a child of any age. This is why second children/second adoptions seem only incrementally easier. Nothing is different but our expectations.

Human relationships are complex and fluid, and all relationships take work and take time. That is the message we need to be sure that all first time parents get. That and the reminder that the parent is the adult in the relationship and the burden of making the relationship work is on you.

That is what I would like to say to the woman who pretended to be Artyom’s mother. That, and SHAME ON YOU. YOU WERE THE ONE WHO HAD OPTIONS, INFORMATION AND CHOICES.

The truth of the matter is that I never imagined myself the mother of a child with a diagnosis on the autism spectrum, and on my road to parenthood I imagined – and let go of – quite a few alternate futures.

The first future that never came to be was the one with the growing belly and the glowing face, the swollen ankles and the saltine crackers. After two years of ‘trying’ I found that I could not, would not become pregnant without medical intervention. After surprisingly little discussion, my husband and I decided to build our family through adoption rather than by birth.

The second future that came and went involved a birth-mom and a hospital, a newborn baby with tiny, beautiful features and a delicate beating heart. There were booties and midnight feedings and very little sleep in this vision. And after meeting with the local adoption professionals, my husband and I quickly said good-bye to this version of our future because it also included a 1-800 line, ads in college newspapers and a great deal of uncertainty.

There were more options, of course, but soon enough China, with its burdensome little girls, came to our attention. And when the agency director said to me, in her imperfect English, “What you want with newborn baby? Like loaf of bread!” a new future opened up to me. And I had tons of help imagining it, because the ’net was full of moms-to-be (and a few dads) imagining a future that looked a lot like mine. Yet, in all the months of waiting and imagining, I never came close to imagining who my daughter really would be – not even after I had her photo in my hands.

The child I met screamed when she was placed in my arms. My daughter was inconsolable, and she did not want a thing to do with the other ten babies she had spent her first months with. “She’s mourning the loss of her nanny,” my husband and I told each other. “It’s a good thing. It’s so obvious that she bonded with a caregiver at the orphanage, so she’ll bond with us so much easier.”

Not as easy to explain was why she would only relax while being held over a shoulder and rocked from side to side. But still, we congratulated ourselves on being such good parents and figuring out what our new daughter needed.

To soon, baby became toddler and I no longer had time to imagine the future. As anyone who has spent time with a two-year-old can attest, the future is NOW and you’d better be in it. And I was, and I was happy. And I was confused, resentful and sad. My baby was whip smart, fast on her feet and seemed to be thriving, but she couldn’t handle the separation of two hours at pre-school, once per week. She could not manage the singing and dancing required in Chinese class. Waking unexpectedly from a sound sleep often involved two hours of holding and calming. Fourth of July was a nightmare. Playgroups were overwhelming for her. And her favorite activity was jumping off the ottoman onto a beanbag chair, over and over and over again.

But thank goodness for the mom’s I knew, who threw me an amazing baby shower, met us at the airport with signs, and held my hands and cried with me while I tried to figure it all out. And thanks so very much to my friends on the ‘net, a core group of 15 or 20 of us, all with children of a similar age and similar background, and most of us parents for roughly the same amount of time. Once we had all returned from our trips to China, we had each other to hang on to. “Does your baby do this? Have you ever seen that? What do you do when X happens or when Y doesn’t?”

When I posted with news of her diagnosis (almost two years into parenting her), I got lots of love and understanding in return. Those friends, from California to Colorado to Arizona to Michigan to Finland of all places, were with me all the way, and they helped me to imagine a new future with the daughter I had.

So while I could have spent time imagining myself as a mother of a child with a very big problem, I chose not to. From that moment forward, I imagined myself as the mother of my child, who would reveal herself to me in each moment of every day.

And like every other child on the planet, she has.

And so without any fanfare or photographic evidence, tonight we ate the first harvest of the year from the garden in our pasta salad. There were some green onions, some cut-and-come-again lettuce and the first of our asparagus harvest.

The onions and the lettuce were fresh but otherwise unremarkable. The onions are a perennial, and we’ve had them for years. This is a big year for lettuce for us, so more on that when there’s more than six leaves. The asparagus was pretty tasty. All one stalk of it. That took two years to grow. Certainly I’ve never eaten any fresher, and you can taste that subtle difference, the one that comes from having harvested it just a few hours ago, from a healthy soil and no pesticides.

I can’t wait for the next one.

Last night we went out for dinner at De Peper with some friends. It’s in a building that used to be the film academy. The building itself was rescued from being torn down and made into a bicycle path by squatters who now own the building and for all intents and purposes have turned it into an independently run youth and culture center. There are actually a few restaurants like this and I think we’re in for a run of checking them out.

It takes a bit of planning to eat there, as they don’t serve dinner every night and you must make reservations. But in return you get a tasty vegan meal for cheap. Everyone gets the same thing, a soup and a main course, and you’re asked to pay between EUR 7 – 10, plus extra for your drinks and dessert.

Last night’s dinner was Jerusalem artichoke tempura, a vegetable curry and black beans on short grained rice, and a bit of sliced beet and lettuce salad. It was well executed and filling, but just a bit boring. It will be worth a try again.

Then on to the entertainment. Tuesdays are ping pong night. There’s a well lit open room with two tables where they were playing some trance, and there are paddles and balls and you just go at it for a bit and then let the next guy have a chance. In the other room it’s darker, and there’s a bar. There’s one table in this room and they were playing a big group game. It went thusly: everyone has a paddle and stands all around the table. The first person serves the ball across the table and then steps to the right. On the other side of the table they try to return to ball and then step to the right. This gives you a large group of people moving around the table in a big circle, each hitting the ball in turn. You miss and you’re out. As the numbers dwindle it gets a bit hectic. The last two play a five point game to decide the winner. And of course you can stand around and drink a beer and watch if you’re not going to play.

We’ll do it again for sure.