Life is a Banquet

Swim Lessons

You know that whole "throw them in the deep water" school of teaching kids how to swim?  The one method that is guaranteed to make a non-swimmer?  Yeah, that one.  Adoption training can feel like being tossed in the deep waters of negativity.  At our adoption orientation meeting,  we learned that there are two schools of thought regarding adoption training: Cram everything into one 14 hour weekend, or a series of 6-8 weeks of classes.  The two hour adoption orientation meeting was enough to make us feel like we were floundering in the deep water, and so, we have decided to pursue the long, "relaxed" version of classes.*  We still very much like "our" agency, but we're going to pursue the next segment of training with DHS directly, then return to our agency.   We learned a lot about ourselves last night:

• We are so lucky to live in this state, with its pioneering attitude on adoption/foster-adopt/and case planning.  It is not perfect, but we are so much more impressed than with the Midwest state we come from.
• We are the annoying tag-team question asking duo all other adoptive parents love to hate.  (This is a major reason why we are opting out of this weekend.  Spend a full weekend with us, with our hands in the air, and you might need something stronger than the bottles of water and quaker oats bars which are offered).
• I have an almost unlimited capacity to be snarky about the process. 
• Foster-adopt is heavily weighted towards experienced parents. Our trainer focused on integrating children with existing children, and seemed to assume that most people were not first timers like us.   
• Nearly half of all placements are sibling groups.  We didn't realize how unprepared we are for a sibling group until we learned this. 
• The vast majority of placements are not anywhere close to our target age range. 
• Stretching is a major theme in foster-adopt.  We're not sure how far we can stretch beyond what we currently think we can handle. 
• When others warn you that training focuses on the negative, they are not kidding.  I was wreck last night and Freak wasn't much better. 
• We absorb information slowly.  As individuals, we are voracious readers and fast learners, so this was a big surprise.  But, our couple style means that we need small bits of information to talk over and not overwhelm us.  I had a great conversation this morning with a coordinator, and I no longer feel guilty about admitting that the fast-track, intensive process is not for us.  It doesn't mean we want to be parents any less, but we need to deal with each facet of the process individually.   
• We are a small lake apart on openness right now.  Not miles or oceans, but we need time to refine our mutual concept of a situation that will meet everyone's needs.   
• Surprise, surprise, the dual program may actually turn out to be our best bet.  The coordinator likes our willingness to work with DHS diversions and other higher-than-average risk infant placements and felt like we would be a good fit for dual listing, with a concentration on special situations that meet both criteria.   

So, we're actually slowing the good ship adoption down a bit, taking small deliberate steps as we learn more about the whole process and about us in the process. This slow-route to project kid feels right, which is strange for my type-A, full-steam ahead persona to be saying, but it really does. I need time to focus on the important work I am doing towards healing my depression issues (more on that later), we need more time to work out a financial plan, and we want time to discuss each possible special need in depth together, as we learn to swim in the murky waters of foster-adopt.

*I'm not dissing this intensive method for others, and indeed it might fit our needs later.    

Yours, Mine, and Ours

I was reading some birth mother and adoption blogs today in my surfing, and then I had this profound thought, "He/she will always be someone else's child too."  This sounds so simple, I hesitate to even write it.  But up until now, I have been focusing on how to feel the *most* like a "real" family and which way is best for us. I admit, hearing birth moms refer to "my daughter" or "my son," was a little grating at first, but I am so glad that I got past my initial discomfort and challenged why I felt that way.  I didn't WANT to acknowledge the simple truth of these labels.  So I hid my head in research instead.  But, I think, I was merely skirting around this profound truth:  No matter how we adopt--foster, domestic, international (country a, b, c, or z), our child will ALWAYS be a shared child.  For the rest of their lives, our kids will also be some one else's kids.  Whether their first family misses them deeply or not at all, has regrets or peace, keeps contact or is never found, all of these kids are also someone else's.  They will always have at least two families, even if they never meet them. 

Realizing this, I feel a woosh of anxiety over our decision leaving.  So much adoption seems wrapped up in ownership and belonging--making sure the child feels like they belong to your family, and making sure that you feel like this is "really" your child.  Which is true, you have integrate the child into your family, and you want to feel like the parents.  But, when you make this absolute goal for yourself of being the *only* family they need/want/have or of being the *only* parent, I think perhaps you are setting yourself up for a lot of the reasons why adoptions close, why parents discount the presence of primal wound, and why parents fear openness.

Admitting that there is always another family doesn't feel like a negative thing at all.  In fact, it feels like a gift.  Like, wow, how much love could this child potentially receive, how many positive relationships could they have, how many connections affirming who they are. Looking at the birthday box Kim.Kim made for her daughter, I think, "how could I not want this for my daughter?"  She should be so lucky. I thought about how amazing it would be to get that box, and open it with her, listen to her make the thank-you call, and I felt my heart open wide to this idea of multiple families.  Even if the birth family chooses not to/is unable/is simply unknown, acknowledging the presence of that other family feels right.  We will be the second family, which doesn't make us any less of a family or any less legitimate. I think of all the amazing ways that families get formed--marriage, choice, partnership, adoption, birth, community. 

The question no longer seems like what is best for US, but rather what is best for *this* child, and how can we best celebrate, accept, and deal with their multiple families.