We're adopting our first child. And we're terrified. But, adoption is where our hearts are. This site is an attempt to share this crazy journey and make connections with other adoptive families.
There’s this thing that happens when you cross the line from filling out paper work to being a waiting parent in adoption. There’s no word for it (unless you’ve invented one- please do tell). It’s just a thing that happens. To your heart.
And I’ve avoided this. I think I’m avoiding it now, maybe. Stuffing it. Because it feels stupid. And at the very same time it feels very real.
Our adoption is ultimately about our someday child and what is best and good for him or her. It is about lovingly and willingly providing a home and a family for a child who will grow up into an adult and function as a part of society. Maybe get a degree and start a family.
But, it is also about us. I can’t deny that at this moment my arms feel terribly empty. That I am sad.
And I am so thankful- so so thankful for the people in our life. Because, you have been loving and understanding. You’ve helped us raise money and read our blog and prayed for us. You’ve given sacrificially. And we’ve sat together dumbfounded at your support. It seems like almost every evening, I have a thank you note to write to someone who has loved us more than we deserve.
So know that I am thankful. But, tonight I’m also sad. After chatting with a few girlfriends this evening, I walked by our “extra room” a few times- avoiding it. The lump in my throat was already there and I knew if I opened the door, I’d wilt.
But I did. And I did.
I inhaled and surveyed what few things we have ready for our baby; a white dresser adorned with baby shoes (given generously by friends whose children have outgrown them), a few baby books (our Christmas present this year from my aunt Pam), a few stuffed animals (all mine from childhood except for the little sheep that Chris bought when we were in Africa this summer) and the little side-snap tee-shirts by gerber (from my mom). My exhale left in sobs.
Unwrapping a few baby blankets, the tears pooled. And as they fell- the little hooded duck towel, white and trimmed in orange, made me smile.
I cozied myself in the rocking chair and opened one of our baby books- Let’s Play In The Snow. The tears dried as I read through, imagining the late-night giggles we’ll have reading through this book with our little one. And as I neared the heart-wrenching you-belong-to-me-and-are-my-favorite-thing-in-the-world ending that we can all count on in children’s books, my eyes warmed with tears again.
I know I’m not lacking anything at this moment by not being a mother. I know Chris and I are wonderful- just the two of us. We’re happy, in-love, never bored together and enjoy our life. But, there’s something about waiting. It’s just this thing that happens.
His high-school saxaphone sits beside the changing table, dust-covered, and I’m reminded of where we’ve come from. We were two decently messed up kids when we met. Our marriage almost fell apart less than 24 months of it’s birth. Yet, here we are and only by the grace of God in our lives.
It will be through that same grace and mercy that the Lord brings us a baby to love. Until then, my heart will ache and I’ll find a way to be patient, pursuing the One who created us both. The One who saved our marriage and is knitting our sweet spectacular child together.
A couple of weeks ago, I revealed one of our adoption confessions: Our fear of letting a birth-family into our lives. I wrote about all the reasons we were afraid and how we evaded dealing with it. The longer we’re on this journey the more we see that experiences in our lives have given us a unique perspective into the life of the child who comes to our family through adoption.
Honestly, I’ve been afraid to say some of these things on a public forum like this. Through the encouragement of sweet friends (who’ve planted bravery in me with their your-story-is-yours-to-tell pep-talks) I am realizing the importance of sharing this. For myself. For others. For children who are adopted. For children who aren’t.
In the last year or two we’ve heard the same things over and over from professionals and adoptees about the grief that an adopted child will experience at some point in their life. As we listened to their voices release the often misunderstood truth of their experiences, my ear drums would ring and throb as I’d feel the blood in my body drain out and rush back. It all sounded too familiar.
At some point, our child may experience grief over an entire family they don’t know (siblings, aunts, uncles, grandparents etc.), over not looking like Chris and I, over unknown medical or family history and a long list of other little things. It would be ignorant to think that Chris and I would ever be able to fill in all the gaps or totally make up for these losses in their life. Because it’s not just one loss- it’s a million little losses that they’ll encounter as they get older. When I wrapped my mind around this aspect of adoption- that’s when all the blood drained out.
“okay class…take home this paper and bring it back with a drawing of your family tree. Then, we’re going to talk about it…” This was a project that caused a great deal of anxiety in my sixth grade mind. I ultimately took an F on this one. To me, that was better than standing in front of my classmates and explaining that I didn’t know who my biological dad was.
Then there was the time a favorite high school teacher made (what he thought was) a joke about “bastard children” in front of the whole class. He didn’t understand the weight in his words. I know that now.
I didn’t meet my biological dad until I was eighteen years old. Until then, the not-knowing left a blank space that I let the world and my imagination, fill in. Ultimately, I just knew I wasn’t wanted. None of the details of how or why he wasn’t around would change that underlying truth that became the foundation of my self image. You see, when there’s blank spaces in our lives- when we don’t understand something- we make a way for it to become understandable. We make an effort to put the pieces together. Children are the center of their own universe (as they should be) and so I made sense of my reality- with myself as the center cause of all events as any child does. Over the years, my imagination filled in all the gaps that were left blank. Some of it was terrible and sad. Some of it grandiose and idealistic. But, little of it was truth. So, when I was eighteen and met the stranger who was my dad- my entire reality began to shift. You see, I’d already created who I wanted him to be and I’d written that imaginary man letters, folded them into tight little squares and hidden them away in a shoebox. I’d already decided he wouldn’t be interested in knowing me. Now, I had to shift all those pieces around. Even my own face became something new to me. I saw him and the next time I looked in the mirror- I almost didn’t recognize myself. And it was all really really really difficult. So difficult that I couldn’t manage our relationship and ultimately had to step back from it entirely. That was in 2003.
Fast forward to 2008 when I made contact with my siblings (thank goodness for social networking). One of the greatest things that has ever happened to me, was meeting my siblings and their mom. They’re wonderful, talented, creative and funny. I have been able to see the best parts of myself more clearly, because of them. My little sister is by far one of my favorite people on the planet.
But, it’s more complicated than that.
Knowing my siblings has also brought me much closer to the pain of never knowing my dad. His absence finds new ways to twist and ache almost every time I’m with them. And the longer I know my siblings, the more I grieve the years we never had together. Every childhood story they share, breaks my heart (and how do you work that into the conversation?)
I have grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins who I’ve never met. Who I don’t know if I’m ready to meet.
When we began this journey of adoption, we viewed it as uncharted territory- and much of it is. But one day we looked down and saw some familiar footprints where we were walking and they were ours.
A friend of mine who fought a battle with cancer, recalled in her book, that she knew she had it before a doctor told her she did because someone at her insurance company accidentally signed her up for extended cancer coverage. Oh, and she really really trusts that God is in control of her life. So she just knew. And she was right.
I just can’t help but believe that God is in control of this and that he signed us up for extended coverage long before we fully understood how much we’d need it. I’ve never been thankful that I didn’t know my biological dad, until now.
The worst thing we could do is not make a huge effort to understand the loss from our child’s perspective. To not allow them to express-honestly- how they feel about it as they grow up. To not answer their questions. To not at least consider that it might be beneficial to stay in touch with their birth family.
There is so much grief in the not-knowing, that even the most painful truth, is best. We cannot be threatened by our child’s truth, by where they came from- what message will that send?
Don’t get me wrong; we want to protect our child from anything that could truly be harmful and we want them to have a voice in these decisions. I do know that not every situation or circumstance will lend itself to an open relationship with our birth family. We have no idea what our child’s story will be. But, we want to have all the information we can to fill in the gaps with truth-even if it’s painful.
We don’t have a clue what this will look like. But, this is the story of how God changed our attitude towards having some form of ongoing contact with our child’s birth family.
We got some great news regarding our adoption last week. And we kinda want to throw a party.
But, since we still have some funds to save and raise, we’re postponing the par-tay and celebrating by digging for change. Our couch, junk drawer, washing machine and the bottom of my purse have all made surprisingly fabulous contributions!
If you’d like to do some change-diving yourself, we’d love to bring a baby bottle to you for your family to fill.
So far, this fundraiser has been a big hit with the little ones. Who knew finding and adding change could be so entertaining?! It has also started some very sweet conversations regarding adoption…
“This is for Chris and Erin. Put the change in there.”
“Why?”
“So they can adopt a baby.”
“Why?”
“Because they want to be a mommy and daddy and some babies need a mommy and daddy.”
“Why?”
You see where this is going.
If you’re interested in getting a baby bottle, contact us using the info below or leave a comment (with your email address).
We and our friends, Elora and Russell recently ran a little contest for a 1 year membership to Just Love Coffee’s Coffee Club to raise money for our adoption processes. The last five days, Chris Michael Photo through in an incentive for a free photo shoot. Thank you all, so much, for participating. We’re so glad that organizations like Just Love Coffee exist. Not only do they offer us an opportunity to talk about adoption but they also sell a great product! Their coffee is dang good and it’s fair-trade.
Without much further ado, Here are the winners (and sweet people who helped us raise money for our adoption processes):
Thanks so much to all of our friends who purchased or asked others to purchase coffee on our behalf. We appreciate you so much. And I’m sure by now, you are all hooked on Just Love’s coffee. Have no fear! We and the Ramirezes will have our store fronts “open for business” as long as we have adoption expenses to pay. So buy coffee to your heart’s content.
Truly, I tell you. I feel like my heart has been split open- all its contents laid out on the ground.
As day one of the Empowered to Connect conference came to a close, we zombie-walked to the car feeling raw and tired.
(Right now, I’m questioning if I’m brave enough to write this post in its entirety for you all to read. Honestly, I’m not sure that I can. I have even deleted and retyped that last sentence about five times.)
I have been waiting to hear Dr. Karen Purvis speak since Chris and I missed her at the Together For Adoption Conference a couple of years back. We’ve been anxiously awaiting this day since September. We were thirty minutes early. In Dallas morning traffic. (I know, we shocked ourselves too) We took full advantage of this new arriving-somewhere-early-experience and strolled leisurely into the building sipping our coffee. I must have stepped into some kind of waiting-adoptive-parent-vortex the moment my boots crossed the threshold because the very second my body was in that building the tears came.
Y’all.
We weren’t even at the registration table. Seriously? I thought.
Every time I saw Dr. Purvis, I wanted to hurdle the auditorium chairs, wrap my arms around her neck, kiss her cheek and bawl like a baby out of admiration and gratitude.
Dr. Karen Purvis doesn’t know who the heck I am. But, she’s changing my life. Our life. She also happens to have my dream job and is spectacular at it. Through Dr. Purvis, God is putting together some major pieces in mine and Chris’ life, answering our cries (very specifically) and laying a tremendous foundation for our future children that we are overwhelmed with gratitude to receive.
“It’s human being at it’s most sacred” -Dr. Karen Purvis on the connected environment
But. This has been a long hard day. Honestly, my concern for what other people think of me is the thing that kept me from coming completely unraveled at this conference today. I wiped the tears away, attempting to leave the eyeshadow, mascara and powder untouched and wondered if everyone in the room was doing the same thing I was.
Are we all breathing slow deep breaths, quickly wiping tears and swallowing the lumps in our throats to avoid lookin’ a hot mess and snotting all over one another?
I’m sure the ones with children already in their homes had to feel like falling apart at the seams. I’m sure.
I apologize if this doesn’t make sense to you. I have plans to come back and more fully explain the things we’re learning. In the meantime, here’s a few bullet points from the day:
When you {remove the violence}, organic (child/brain) development will begin.
When a child feels {safe and connected} they are able to use their words. When they don’t feel safe and connected they are not able to use their words (this has been physiologically proven).
There are two stages that MUST be reached/attained before a child can successfully self-regulate their emotions and behaviors. (1) Parent provides external regulation (meaning the child IS NOT responsible and SHOULD NOT be held responsible for regulating their emotions). This means if your child needs something, even if it is to be held, you say ‘yes’. (2) The parent and child co-regulate the child’s emotions and behaviors.
The “trajectory” of mental illness begins when a child’s needs are not met the first few years of life.
Enter: TBRI or Trust Based Relational Intervention. TBRI involves the mind (correcting), body (empowering) and soul (connecting) and if you are not connecting to your child- NO intervention matters. Nothing will work or help your child until you are connecting with them.
The last two hours of the day, we moved into “Adopting From The Inside Out”. And this was kind-of the beginning of the end for me today.
Making sense of your past and being realistic about the future, you can be freed to be fully present in each and every moment to help your children heal and become all that God has created them to be. -I don’t remember who said this and I didn’t write it down.
They discussed how very important it is to look back at your big and little traumas. Not to dwell. To address it (no, like, for real). Stare it in the face. Make sense of it.
You cannot lead your child to a place of healing if you do not know the way yourself. – Karen Purvis
We discussed the attachment dance between parents and their children, discovering a little bit about where we might fall in our parenting styles (Authoritarian, Neglectful, Permissive or Authoritative). After Dr. Purvis covered the four successful skills to relationships (things we need to be able to model that then become the goals for our children) she ended with some videos of some activities she did with some girls living in residential treatment for self mutilation.
Oh their scars. And my heart officially cracked open and spilled out.
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