Answers to your parenting questions.
Search Results: Summer 2013
Doing your homework helps you feel comfortable with your selection. How can you find that same comfort level when you hire an adoption professional? You probably have not done that before, and you may not know anyone else who has, either. You may not know what to ask for or how to get what you need.
My first Mother's Day took me from Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, to Chicago. It was the day I was baptized into motherhood.
Even after we turned in our paperwork, I wasn't 100-percent certain I was ready to adopt. But when the time was right, I knew.
Our "adoption journey" was not an easy one. No, our road was bumpy and dark and full of unmarked turns that were gently referred to by our social workers as failed matches or changes of heart. With every disappointment we endured, I struggled with what I call the both/and—holding two conflicting feelings at once.
When we first considered adoption, my husband and I discussed how much contact we were willing to have with the birth mother. We didn't realize how close we'd become to the whole birth family.
In June of 2004, while flying with my family to China, I wondered what our new family would be like. Would our two boys, our biological sons, treat their new sister differently? Our oldest, Dakota, was four at the time of our trip, and Cole was almost three.
An amazing transformation occurred in our family when we brought our newly adopted baby girl home to our two biological sons, then seven and nine. Like other boys their ages, my sons thought mostly about sports, food, Star Wars, playing with their friends, and, occasionally, about school.
For many parents who adopted children internationally, a birth mother relationship is uncharted territory.
We try to teach our daughter Mariah gratitude. But I know we're doing something right when she takes us for granted.
Last September, after a Saturday morning of shopping with my mother, we stopped for a frozen yogurt. Around 12:15 P.M. I got a call from Kelly Jacobson, a contact at our agency. I presumed it was something volunteer related, as I had been helping out at the agency, so I calmly answered the phone.
In our newly created transracial family, my husband's and son's matching blue hats was a tangible link. Something that said: We belong together.
After 10 years, my husband and I were starting to doubt we'd ever be parents. But when the phone rang, I knew it was "The Call."
So Tiana moved into our bed. As time went on, she began to awaken, startled, reaching her little hand toward my side of the big bed. As soon as she felt me beside her, she would fall back asleep. By her third or fourth month home, Tiana was waking up every 10 minutes to make sure I was beside her. Her panic was palpable.
I think I finally get it. This, what I feel now, is what being a mummy is supposed to feel like. I had wondered if I would immediately fall in love with my child; I thought I would be certain that he was "the one." But I didn't.
I always knew I wanted to grow my family through adoption.
Adoption can be an unpredictable journey. We never realized just how unpredictable.
When my grandmother handed me her precious quilt and said, "I'm counting on you to have a girl," I knew I wouldn't let her down.
At 10, Julia is fully attached to my husband and me. We are a solid forever family, the three of us. But our daughter is still reticent about investing passion elsewhere. There are no posters of Justin Bieber in her room. There is no friend from school she calls her BFF. Not one thing that really, really matters.
The most terrifying part of adoption was having to prepare for two conflicting futures.