# 69: STAYING CONNECTED TO BABY'S BIRTHMOTHER (REVISED POST)

PAGE # 69
Wednesday

12/21/11
Morning

I got up feeling refreshed after a pretty decent night's sleep.  Baby Lily woke for feedings after generous blocks of time--at least 4 hours--and Tom and I split the work 50/50.  She was the easiest baby we ever had.

I couldn't wait to write Kendra, but when I sat down at my computer that morning, I felt immobilized.  What was okay/not okay to write to Lily's birthmother? Ultimately, I followed the recommended adoption etiquette by adhering to the social worker's script for "chatting with your baby's birthmother."  At exactly 10:10 am, I sent this email to Kendra:

Baby Lily continues to do great!  She is an awesome eater and drinks her formula like a champion.  She is pretty sleepy much of the time--the pediatrician said to expect a lot more sleep with formula.  The Dr. was very pleased that she got the colostrum too.  Her color continues to look great--with her rosy and fair complexion, she totally blends in with all of us.  She is a great baby!

I hope your OBGYN appointment went well, and that your breast infection is getting better fast.  Did they start you on the antibiotics?

All the best,

Jennifer :)

I checked my email constantly until a response arrived from Kendra at 11:09 am.  Her note was upbeat and thankful, and she expressed only positive sentiments.  It was filled with all good news:

1)  Her breast infection was much improved.
2)  Her in-laws called to invite her along on their Christmas vacation.  She accepted and would be traveling in a few days.
3)  She expressed deep gratitude and thanks toward Tom and I (Shelley too) and was pleased with how everything had turned out, including that she remained connected to us.

My reaction to Kendra's letter was a happy one, but I was also surprised that Kendra would be traveling soon.  Johnny had planned to cancel the annual holiday with his parents; apparently, he had not.  Although the in-laws ended up inviting Kendra along (the original plan did not include Kendra and meant she would be spending Christmas alone without her husband, either of her two boys, or her just relinquished newborn), I considered this a defeat for Kendra.  In the hospital, before her husband had agreed to cancel the trip altogether, Kendra had shared that she didn't want to travel, even if she were to be invited along:

"His family is super fancy.  They go to restaurants where we have to get all dressed up.  I wouldn't be feeling up to that even if I were invited.  I'm exhausted.  I just don't want to be without my boys for Christmas."

Now, Kendra would be packing for a trip less than a week after giving birth!  With a breast infection on top of it all!  After giving away her baby!

I thought it was all too much.

But...the last two paragraphs of Kendra's email were reassuring and comforting.  I felt good after reading them.  Now, I wonder whether Kendra was getting any coaching from the attorney and/or social worker on her end.  Maybe someone had given her some instruction on "how to talk to your baby's prospective adoptive parents after relinquishment!" 

Or...perhaps Kendra was trying to please us, trying to remain a "good" birthmother lest we cut off all contact with her?

As the day progressed, I reread Kendra's email--to myself, to Tom, to my mother, to various friends.  Kendra's words rolled easily off my tongue:

"I hope everything continues to go well!"

Things would not.



To Be Continued...
  

# 68: MY BLOGGING PROBLEM...

PAGE # 68
Monday
3/11/13
Right Now!

Dear Reader,

I recently updated my blog only to take down my latest post.  Some people have tried to click a link to it, only to find the new post is gone.  Moreover, I haven't updated further because I am stuck pondering an ethical issue (and a potentially legal one).

I had initially published one of "Kendra's" emails to me.  It didn't feel right, however, sharing her exact words; moreover, I'm not sure it's even legally okay to reproduce someone's personal email message on a blog.  So--I took the post down.

But...now I am struggling with how to proceed.  Obviously, I could simply paraphrase Kendra's emails in future posts.  On the other hand, there are parts of those emails where her wording is important to the story.  So, I am unsure how to go on.

Any advice?  Feedback on legal/ethical issues?  Please feel free to offer suggestions/knowledge.

Thanks for reading,
Jennifer 

# 67: THE DIARY OF AN ADOPTION ATTORNEY

PAGE # 67
Tuesday

12/20/11
Evening

When I imagine the private life of the adoption attorney, it's hard to picture her with any true friends or loved ones.  I see instead a perfect sociopath--not the kind that relishes in the physical mutilation of others--but the kind that enjoys manipulating people for nothing more than the exercise of power and control.  And adoption is a perfect arena for the execution of such a pathological disposition:  all the involved players are likely in some degree of despair, whether in the form of a crisis pregnancy or infertility.  Tom and I were in neither of these fragile predicaments, and this afforded us some strength against Shelley's evil, but the attorney would play with us nonetheless.  

What was the attorney doing this evening of December 20th, 2011?  

One can only imagine.  But if she maintained any sort of diary or personal journal, I imagine the entry from that night reads something like this:

Dear Diary,

I was successful in getting Jennifer and Tom to write a $1500 check for Kendra.  But it was not without effort.  These people are so self-righteous and concerned about what is ethical and fair and other nonsense.  I had to really guilt the husband and plead total and utter desperation on Kendra's behalf!  Sure, she needs the money for her car and all.  But!  More importantly:  I needed to up the adoptive couple's investment in fighting for this baby.  The greater the money spent on this baby, the more time spent with this baby--well, that will improve chances that the couple will behave according to my plan.

Tomorrow I will tell them about the putative father registry.  The biological father did indeed sign it--it is one of the most important steps toward him establishing his paternity and is a necessary one to contest this adoption.  

In fact, he signed the registry a full 8 days prior to the baby's birth!  When I tell Jennifer and Tom tomorrow, it will be a total of 13 days since he signed the registry.  Almost two full weeks!  They may not have taken the baby home in the first place if they had known this little fact. 

I will tell them that I checked with the registry daily--that I've only just learned of this myself.  What choice will they have but to believe me?  They don't know how quickly (or in this case, slowly) things operate in the office of vital statistics!

Yes, tomorrow I will tell them.  And I will handle all their questions and concerns according to my plan.

Remember:  I've done over 2,000 adoptions!  I'm a nationally recognized leader in this industry!  I've made case law!

Cheers to me!

Love myself,
Shelley
December 20th, 2011

***

Although this journal entry is a construct of my imagination, and is arguably a paranoid take on things (I cannot prove that Shelley knew about the putative father registration earlier than she claimed to know about it), it feels like it captures the essence of what happened.

What was written for sure that same evening included the beginning of an email correspondence between myself and Kendra.  At exactly 6:01 pm, I sent Kendra the following:

Hi Kendra!

I set up this email account for us--before I write anything more, just confirm that I've got the right email for you and that you have received this message!

Thanks,
Jennifer :)

After pressing send, I checked the email account constantly.  Finally, I breathed a sigh of relief when Kendra wrote back at 6:54 pm:

Got it!

Her reply was only two words--two tiny words!--but I felt better immediately and actually started to break free from my ongoing state of derealization.  The promise of ongoing contact with Kendra enabled me to enjoy Baby Lily--finally! I was feeling less guilty about having Kendra's baby because I felt confident we could do this together.  I imagined future holidays where Lily's natural family would celebrate alongside us.  My fantasy never considered any potential difficulty in this; I did not consider myself the slightest bit presumptuous.  Instead, I started to feel confident in the whole adoption situation.

I went to sleep more easily that night, blissfully ignorant of what I would learn the following day.

To Be Continued...

# 66: HOW MUCH IS THAT BABY IN THE WINDOW?

PAGE # 66
Tuesday

12/20/11
Approximately 10:00 am


The cure for derealization (and weird sex dreams) is moral outrage.  

But that would come later.

First:  more cookies.  With coffee.  Sometimes milk.  Mostly gingerbread, but also the chocolate chip kind.  I gained another three pounds trying to eat myself into feeling more real, as if the added weight on my ass might help ground me.  Fat is one hell of an anchor.  

My mother watched me take down another frosted gingerbread man.

"You know I'm not one to talk, but you're eating way too many cookies," she said.  "We're not going to have any dessert left for Christmas."

"Do you feel like someone died?" I asked.

"WHAT?!"

"I don't know.  I keep thinking about Kendra and how her milk is in but she doesn't have a baby to feed."

My mother sighed.

I started to cry.

"Maybe this will all turn out okay.  Maybe Lily will just have two families and we'll all be at her wedding someday."

"That sounds crazy," my mom replied.  "Two families?  Wouldn't that be confusing for the child?"

"I don't think so.  Not if she grows up knowing her real family all along."

"I don't understand," my mom said.  "You are going to be her real family.  Isn't this baby going to belong to you?"

"It's not the same thing!  She will always have another family too."  I tried to rationalize things.  "You can't have too many people that love you.  Maybe TJ and Sara will end up being jealous.  Maybe it will be even better for Lily in the end."

"You're not making sense.  I don't understand this.  In my day, when you adopted a kid, it was your kid."

"What about Kendra?  Can you imagine her sitting all alone without her baby?"

"I don't want to think about that," my mom admitted.  "God, you're depressing!"

My mother looked more nervous than irritated.

"Nothing feels real," I said.  

"It's real!" my mother jumped up from the couch.  "I'm real!  You're real!  This baby girl is real!  You have a family to care for that is real!  Look, she's already fussing in there," my mother pointed to Lily in the bassinet.  "She's starting to show some personality!  I think she's waking up from her newborn slumber!"

"She needs a bouncy chair.  She needs to be able to look around."

And so, at exactly 10:12 am, I wrote Tom the following text message: 

If you guys can, go to Target and get Lily a baby bouncy chair.  She is waking up from her post delivery slumber!

Tom wrote back:

Sure.  We will do that.  Sara and TJ so cute together in class.  I cannot be happier. 

I could picture Tom seated at The Little Gym, trying to catch up on work email, but glancing up frequently to watch TJ help Sara across the balance beam.  Tom was so content!  He was so able to enjoy everything!  Why didn't he worry like I did?  

Just before leaving the house, he had grabbed Sara's diaper bag, then come over to kiss me goodbye.

"I love having three kids," he whispered in my ear.  "I feel like our family is so complete now."

He loved that baby girl so freely!  He didn't consider his own self-preservation.  It was sheer recklessness.

But Tom never got to Target for the bouncy chair.  Those plans were interrupted by Shelley, the attorney, who called soon after I texted Tom.  Her voice was urgent and commanding:

"Kendra needs money!  She's having a problem with her car and she just got a new job, but how can she get there if she can't drive there?  She needs $1500.  We'll just call it a Christmas present, but you need to do this today.  Either wire me the money or bring a check over right away."

I called Tom immediately.

"I don't like this," he said, his voice rising.  "We're going to be spending money on Lily for the rest of our lives--why should we have to pay for Kendra's car?"

"Shelley said it's a Christmas gift and that it is customary to give a birthmother money at Christmas."

"That's ridiculous!" Tom exploded.  "I wanted to give Kendra money for Christmas if she decided to keep the baby herself!  Why should we give her money if she's not keeping the baby?"

"Shelley said that it's customary to help a birthmother get back on her feet."

"This is bullshit," Tom said.  "And it's not that I don't feel bad for Kendra--it's the principle.  We shouldn't have to pay Kendra because she gave us her baby.  I'm not buying a baby!"  Tom paused to catch his breath.  "Look, I'm gonna call Shelley right now," he said.  "Don't worry about this--I'm taking care of it."

Later, I would ask Jim and Tracey about the money request.

"Is this normal?"

They laughed out loud.

"Are you kidding?  We gave Ricky's birth mom a lot more than $1500 for Christmas.  We gave her a college fund," Jim said.

"And Shelley would call us all the time and tell us what we had to do," Tracey added.  "We would take Ricky's birth mom to the mall shopping for clothes.  We took her out for meals.  Hell, we took her boyfriend out for meals!  Seriously, you guys are getting an easy adoption.  We had to take care of Ricky's birth mother during her pregnancy!  I had to talk to her every day!  I had to talk to her family!  It was crazy."

"Don't you still talk to her?"

"Not really.  In the beginning yeah, but you know, we all moved on.  Look, you're not going to be talking to Kendra all the time.  You'll see.  I mean, I remember when we gave Ricky's birth mom the college money, and she asked us if we'd come to her college graduation someday.  And of course we said yes.  But are we really going to do that someday?  Come on."

"I don't understand.  I thought you guys were having an open adoption?"

"Semi-open," Jim told me.  "It just means that she got to pick us and all, but we don't have a fully open adoption."

"But doesn't she want to see Ricky?" I asked.

"She asked to see him on Skype the last time we talked, maybe six months ago," Tracey said.  "But we told her no--that's a decision that needs to be in Ricky's hands someday.  He needs to be able to decide when and how he meets his birthmother someday.  It's got to be on his terms."

I did not agree with this approach; it made me feel like Ricky's birth mother was now cast aside and being punished.  I would discuss the issue of Ricky's birthmother with Tracey again--at a much later date--months after starting this blog even.  Despite it being none of my business, I'd share my thoughts with Tracey.  She took a moment to think and replied, "Well, maybe we should give Ricky's birth mother a call soon."

It was a small triumph for me--a sliver of redemption.  Because even though my heart was always in the right place--at least I do know that--I also believe that I failed Kendra miserably in the end.  I wish I had done one thing very differently.  But...that part comes later too.

To Be Continued...     

# 65: MY EROTIC NIGHTMARE or ADOPTION BRINGS HOME THE "OTHER WOMAN"

PAGE # 65
Tuesday

12/20/11
Approximately 3:00 am 

I was dreaming about sex.

I saw legs and arms.  Intertwined.  Bare skin.

There was no sound.

It must have been somewhat titillating, at least initially, because when I did finally wake, a layer of arousal was detectable beneath the crushing force of horror.

The sexual imagery, faint at first, had given way to a stark picture:  a man was penetrating a woman, with force, and when their heads turned, I saw Tom and Kendra.  I couldn't tell if they could see me or not; either way, they seemed too preoccupied to care.  

I woke up just after their faces were revealed to me.  

Baby Lily was still asleep--she slept for hours between bottles.  Tom was totally out too.  I could only blame my own brain for disturbing my slumber.  How rude!

I didn't move, my body paralyzed by competing needs:  I felt sexually frustrated on the one hand--my unconscious had teased me into a state of arousal--but had ultimately taunted me with this disturbing image of infidelity.  Tom and our baby's birthmother?

In total contrast to my physical state, was my cognitive one:  What the hell was that?

I could explain the physical response easily enough:  it's normal to have a sexual response to a sexual dream; on the other hand, I could not ignore the psychological implications of such a nightmare.

What did the dream mean?

My analysis then:

My brain was trying to explain the sudden appearance of a baby in our lives.  My body had not created this child, so how was she ours?  The dream, though primitive, created an explanation of how the baby could belong to us (at least to Tom) in an official, biological way.

A more disturbing element of the nightmare was the forcefulness Tom employed during his penetration of Kendra.  Although the dream did not indicate any protest from Kendra, there was an element of rape implicit in the nightmare.  For my unconscious, rape seemed to symbolize taking a baby away from its mother.     

My analysis now:

Although I never felt threatened by Kendra, I cannot ignore the obvious:  dreaming about one's husband with another woman is bound to be about jealousy, at least on some level.   

Since starting this blog, I have become a reader of other adoption related blogs.  I have now learned that many birthmothers, originally promised an open adoption, are later dumped by the adoptive family.  People often speculate that perhaps the adoptive parents are too intimidated by the birth mother; that they don't want to "share" their adopted child with the natural mother.

But, after rethinking this dream--this crazy dream--I offer a new explanation:  I think it is very likely that such adoptive mothers may not want their husbands around this other woman.  As an adoptive mother sees her husband grow to love their adopted child, I think it's entirely possible that she may also resent this other woman--likely younger, more attractive, more fertile--as a potential usurper of her own status as a wife.  I'm not suggesting this actually occurs on a conscious level (although that could also be possible in some cases), but I think it must be hard for an adoptive mother to "share" her husband.  It must be some territorial instinct to get away from this other woman.

Make no mistake:  I'm not condoning the behavior of adoptive parents who renege on their promise of an open adoption.  I think it is tragic for the child and the natural family.  I think it is downright selfish.  I'm merely using my own nightmare, and some analysis of it, to suggest a possible explanation for why some open adoptions turn otherwise.

Perhaps it's an entirely normal phenomenon for adoptive mothers to feel some jealousy toward the birth mother, even on a sexual level (after all, a baby does come from sex!); moreover, because such feelings are likely considered "taboo," it's probable that an adoptive mother never finds a safe place (i.e. good enough therapy) to acknowledge and work through any negative emotions one might be experiencing.  Instead, jealous rage gets acted out, open adoptions close, and birth mothers are denied any and all access to their biological children.

In the story of Baby Lily, our adoption experience ended before I experienced any conscious resentment of Kendra.  Maybe I never would have.  But the passage of time, coupled with the ambivalent nature of the human condition, and mixed in with the challenges inherent in any adoptive family--I'd bet jealously is a common experience in the adoption triad, albeit an unspoken one.

To Be Continued...

# 64: ADOPTION IS TO A FATAL ACCIDENT AS PREGNANCY/CHILDBIRTH IS TO A FATAL ILLNESS

PAGE # 64
Monday

12/19/11
8:30 pm

Relief is a short-lived emotion.  

Whatever comfort I felt from speaking to Kendra earlier--it had now evaporated.  My sense of reality was questionable and a feeling of derealization was again setting in.  My brain couldn't comprehend the sudden appearance of a baby in my arms; in turn, even the familiar objects in our home started to appear as if viewed from the inside of a floating bubble about to pop.  

At exactly 8:30 pm, I texted Tracey the following:

I talked to Kendra.  I think I'm having a little anxiety.  I feel a little bit of derealization too.  Like I'm in a dream or something.  Have I gone insane?  Is there really a baby in my house?  Maybe I've gone mad?!?!?!

I sat in my bed, waiting for Tracey, or anyone really, to rescue me from this onset of madness.  Baby Lily was asleep in the bassinet beside me.  I don't recall where Tom, TJ, Sara, or my mother were at the time.  Perhaps they had gone out for a bite to eat.  

I was also waiting for my friend Sadie to arrive.  She was eager to meet Lily, and when she finally came in, a little before 9 pm, she raced across the room to peer into the bassinet. 

"She's beautiful Jen!  Oh my God, she's perfect!"

"I know."

Sadie sat at the foot of my bed and we chatted for about an hour.  Lily slept through our conversation.

"I cannot believe you have a new baby!" Sadie said.

"I know."

"This is amazing!"

"I feel like I'm in a dream," I said.

"I know!  It's unbelievable!"

"No.  Really.  I feel like I'm in a dream.  Like nothing feels real," I explained.

Sadie listened.

"I kind of feel how I did back in college, when my friend Leslie died."

I explained how my close childhood friend had died at age 19, the summer just before our junior year of college.  There was a Woodstock revival that August, and Leslie and her boyfriend planned to ride bicycles there--all the way from just outside of Manhattan.  They got as far as Poughkeepsie when Leslie hit a bump in the road.  Her bike swerved in front of a truck.  She was run over from the waist down.  She did not die immediately; she bled to death.  In fact, she was conscious after the accident, coherent even, telling her boyfriend, "I can't feel my legs.  I can't feel my legs."  

Her death occurred five years after my father died in a car accident.  

"There is something so unbelievable about the sudden and final disappearance of someone," I said to Sadie, knowing she would understand.  

At age sixteen, Sadie and her younger cousin, who had been visiting from another country, were hit by a car while crossing the street.  Sadie survived; her cousin did not.  Sadie and I had discussed these losses before.  She already knew about Leslie and my father.  But I told her the same stories all over again.  Dear Sadie!  She listened quietly, nodding, just staying with me as I struggled to get to my point in retelling all this.

"So, I've decided that adoption is the flip-side of a sudden tragic death, as pregnancy is the flip-side of a long fatal illness," I concluded.  "Even though there is some shock when you give birth, you're also somewhat prepared after nine miserable months of physical suffering.  If someone's dying from an illness, there's still the surprise of total disappearance in the end, but there is also some degree of expectation for the surviving loved ones.  Childbirth and illness are like the yin and yang of life and death.  And I think adoption is like that too, only it's the flip side of a fatal accident.  This sudden materialization of a baby feels exactly the same as when someone suddenly dies.  I feel unreal and anxious and constantly on the edge of a full blown panic attack."

 I could not stop talking.  I probably sounded manic even.

"It really is the perfect analogy!" I went on.  "Pregnancy is the slow, biological creation of life.  Illness is the slow, biological destruction of life.  And when you adopt a baby--it's like a magic trick:  Poof!  A life out of nowhere!  Just like a tragic accident--Poof!  And you're gone!" 

I would repeat this analogy again and again over the next several weeks, to all my friends, probably more than once.  It was a coping skill, a way of constructing meaning out of the nonsensical; a measure of linguistic and cognitive structure erected precariously over the psychological abyss of disbelief.  It helped, thinking such thoughts and stating them aloud to witnesses.  And if my friends thought I sounded ridiculous, they were kind enough not to mention it.  They all listened with care and concern.

Thank you friends.  

To Be Continued...

# 63: ON BECOMING A PUPPET or THE SCRIPT FOR CHATTING WITH YOUR BABY'S BIRTHMOTHER...

PAGE # 63
Monday

12/19/11
Afternoon

When the phone started ringing, I grabbed it and ran out of the house for more privacy.  I had left Kendra a message a little earlier.  She was calling me back. Finally.  

What did I feel at that moment?

Relief, of course, because I was desperate to connect with Lily's natural mother.  I imagined that a sustained relationship with Kendra would make everyone feel better.  For the rest of our lives.

But there was something else--I don't think there is a precise enough word for it--as there is no one word to describe that first moment one speaks to a birth mother, the woman who no longer holds her own baby, but you do.  Meaning I do.  Or as is the case here:  I did.

And the fact of the matter is that there are no words to describe it because there are no useful words for the conversation itself.  For, what can one say to such a woman?  Thank you doesn't quite cut it.  How are you?--surely, she could not be feeling well!  And anyhow, I was feeling neither thankful nor well myself; in fact, I felt sad and unreal.  But I couldn't actually tell her that either:  

Hi ya Kendra!  Sure you're feeling like total shit, having just given away your baby and all, but guess what?  I feel like total shit too!  I feel sad for the baby and for you and even though I'm supposed to feel grateful and happy that you've picked us, I really think you ought to take back Lily--no, Holly!--because that seems to make the most sense.  

When Paula (the social worker) and I had spoken earlier that day, she had given me some advice:

"When you talk to Kendra, you need to utilize your therapist background.  You don't want to unload what you're going through onto her.  I'm here to help you with whatever hard feelings you may be having, but when you speak to Kendra, well, she's just done the hardest thing she will ever do in her entire life.  You need to support her.  You cannot put your own sadness upon her.  Jennifer, imagine you are working with a client.  You wouldn't dump your own issues on a client going through a hard time--you wouldn't make it about you.  Just put on your therapist hat when you speak with her--really, if every adoptive parent had your clinical background...well, it would be a lot easier.  It's been such a pleasure to work with you--someone from the same professional background."

As I listened to Paula, I felt my face grow hot with shame.

Was I really that selfish?  How could I even fantasize about having such a conversation with Kendra?  The woman had followed through on the hardest decision of her life--who was I to question that now?

I could hear Paula take a deep breath on the other end before giving me her instructions:

"You tell her concrete things about the baby.  You tell her how well the baby is eating.  You tell her how well the baby sleeps.  You tell her things like that.  Simple, concrete facts.  Not too much detail.  This is the time when a birth mother is suffering the greatest, missing the baby.  You need to help her through this.  You need to support her.  You can do this!  You are so personable!  So very likable!  Kendra is lucky to have found an adoptive mother like you.  Trust yourself, be yourself, but remember to keep it about how the baby is doing--eating and sleeping and pooping.  Birth mothers love to hear that their babies are good eaters.  Tell her how well the baby is eating.  She'll be pleased to hear it."

And now.  Right now.  This very moment as I type this blog entry.  I cannot deny what I feel right now:

Like an idiot, like a pawn, like someone who was made to doubt herself and instructed to act otherwise.  But I couldn't see it then--and honestly, I doubt the social worker intended to treat me as a puppet.  The attorney--yes--but the social worker?  No, it seems unbelievable to me.  She was so warm, so nice, so smiling (you could even hear her smile over the phone).  She surely was doing what she thought was in everyone's best interest.  Sociopathic traits are common in lawyers, but in a fellow therapist?  I would like to think that she gave me that "Script For Talking to Your Baby's Birthmother" because she truly believed in it.  

And what the hell can I presume to know about adoption, even now?  What would have happened if I answered the phone with Hi ya Kendra!  Guess what?  I think you should take the baby back?

I will never know.  Because I didn't do it.  Instead, I told Kendra what a great eater her baby was.  How she didn't even spit up.  She slept well.  She peed and pooped.  What a good little baby!   

And Kendra was, in fact, pleased.  "What can I say, I make great babies!" she told me.

She went on to share that she was suffering from a breast infection--mastitis--from too much breast milk and no baby to feed.  Her obstetrician put her on antibiotics that morning.  "It's so painful."

"That sounds painful," I said in return, reflecting words like a dull mirror that one glances at quickly without really seeing one's image.  A reflexive habit. 

Also, Kendra told me, she was upset with a close friend.  The friend had recently had an abortion.  When Kendra told the friend about the breast infection, the friend replied not with empathy but with an accusation, saying:

"I think this is God punishing you for what you just did.  For giving away your baby."

And Kendra had been indignant, "At least I didn't kill my baby!" she'd yelled back at the friend, who was suddenly, not a friend anymore.

And then there was me, a mindless mirror, trying to reflect everything back to Kendra--perfectly, with great empathy, trying to put myself in her shoes so I wouldn't say anything wrong or bad or God forbid accusatory!  

Because a birth mother, they will tell you, is very fragile.  Handle with care during that first conversation post-relinquishment!  Of course, earlier, they tell you that a birth mother is very strong--only the strong (the very opposite of weak or delicate) choose adoption over abortion.  Strong yet easily damaged!  They will say both these things about birthmothers--but never at the same point in time.  And it will feel kind of familiar--like other feminized contradictions--the virgin/whore for instance, and that familiarity will enable the dichotomy to work its way inside you.  And it will slide into your awareness with some ease, but not enough ease that you don't sense an odd bump (what the fuck was that?) as the paradox wedges deep inside your idea of reality.  But don't dare speak of it!  If you try to expose the paradox--for how can a birth mother be both the strongest and the most fragile at the same time?  Or wait--was it strong only before relinquishment and fragile afterward?  What obfuscation!  The adoption mythology will torment your intellect; there will be no logical way out.  Instead, it will melt around your brain, forming a hard stubborn surface, not unlike a helmet, adamant on keeping you from bleeding out the truth when it comes to adoption. 

And Kendra, just two days post-relinquishment, already suffering the downside of yet another birth mother paradox:  the selfless giver/selfish abandoner.  And what would the social worker suggest I say to that?  Forget your mean friend, Kendra!  Your baby just downed four ounces like a champion!

In reality, I tried to respond to Kendra as I would to a loved one, or close friend:  

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said.  "What a terrible thing for someone to say to you.  Sounds like she's just projecting her own guilt about her abortion onto you.  Perhaps she even envies your choice, the strength it took not to terminate an unwanted pregnancy.  I've never been through what you're going through Kendra, but I've had to give up some friends along the way too in this life.  It's not easy.  I think you need to surround yourself only with people who are able to love and support you right now.  And who knows, maybe your friend will even apologize someday."

But in saying this, even though I went with my heart and abandoned the social worker's script, I thought I sounded ridiculous.  And I could hear the effort in my tone of voice.  I could hear the hint of affectation as I struggled to communicate with Kendra.  For what was the purpose of my communication?  There is no band-aid for grief.  There are no words.  Just like when somebody dies.  Except in this case, someone hadn't died, at least not yet, and things could, in fact, still be reversed.

But I would not ask Kendra the question on my mind--Do you want her back?  We love her but we understand if you want her back.  

I didn't think I could.  I didn't think it would be fair to Kendra, who was, according to the social worker, "a grown woman who made a thoughtful decision, the most difficult one of her entire life, and to question it now would be disrespectful."

To Be Continued...

# 62: "YOU NEED TO CALL HER FROM A DISPOSABLE PHONE"

PAGE # 62
Monday

12/19/11
Morning hours

We sign in at the pediatrician's office.  When the receptionist sees our name, and then Baby Lily in our arms, she looks more confused than surprised.  

"We're adopting her," Tom says quickly.

There is too much to explain so I just stay quiet.

When Lily's name is called, our pediatrician, Dr. Shine, greets us with a hug. 

"I had no idea you guys were waiting to adopt!"

"We weren't," I say.  "It was kind of a sudden opportunity."

Dr. Shine examines Lily and the thought occurs to me:  Should I ask if she sees any signs of fetal alcohol syndrome?  But then Dr. Shine is all smiles, saying that Lily is perfect and good luck/congratulations/I'm so happy for you guys.

I'm relieved that Lily's appointment has gone well.  Tom didn't seem worried beforehand, so there's no sign of any subsequent relief on his face.  Actually, he's been occupied with the concrete task of Lily's health coverage--fighting with our insurance company--so he hasn't time to worry about Lily's actual health.  Our insurance doesn't want to cover Lily until she's officially adopted, but that will be at least another six months from now.

So, as we're driving home from the pediatrician's, Tom calls Shelley, our attorney.  He needs her help--some kind of document from her--so that we can prove to our insurance company that Lily is a real baby, in our care, in need of medical insurance, until she is legally adopted by our family.

But the conversation does not go as planned, because Shelley immediately informs Tom that Kendra is not doing so well.  You need to call her.

I take the phone from Tom.

"What's going on?  Is Kendra alright?"

And I'm thinking I knew it!  I knew it all along!  Of course Kendra isn't okay.  Of course Kendra wants her baby back!

But Shelley doesn't say that.

"Kendra is okay, and she's really happy with you guys," Shelley says.  "But she's having a hard time not knowing where the baby is, not knowing if the baby is okay, so you should probably call her.  Today."

I can call Kendra?  Kendra wants to talk to me?  To us?

This is great news.  I am thrilled when the attorney tells me she will email me Kendra's contact information.  But then she says:

"And make sure you are real nice to her.  You know, we want to keep her on our side."

Our side?  What is the attorney talking about?  

"And you should buy a prepaid phone to call her from.  Don't use your cell or home phone," she says.

As soon as Shelley hangs up, I hand Tom back his phone.  Then with my own cell, I dial the social worker's number.  When Paula answers, I tell her about my conversation with Shelley.  And I ask her opinion about the prepaid phone.

"Oh, I think you can call from your cell phone.  Kendra doesn't seem like she's going to bother you with a million calls all day long.  She really thought this adoption through.  I think it's fine to use your own phone."

I want to call Kendra immediately!  But Tom is holding a a finger up, a gesture indicating that I should wait.  He's back on the phone with Shelley, he called her  again as soon as I hung up, he still needs to work out the medical insurance problem.  I am looking through my emails to see if Shelley has sent me Kendra's contact info yet, which of course, she has not, because she is on the phone with Tom.

When Tom finally hangs up, I tell him what the social worker said, that we can call Kendra from our own phone, no worries.

But Tom shakes his head no.  Shelley reiterated to him that "we really should use a disposable prepaid phone."

This seems pretty insulting to me, insulting to Kendra, who did just give us her baby.

Tom points out that Kendra won't know that we're calling her from a prepaid disposable phone.  

"Look, Jen," he goes on.  "Shelley says it's important to retain our anonymity at this point.  If Kendra learns our identity through caller ID...that kind of info spreads quick.  And according to Shelley, if the birth father finds out who we are, there's no telling how he might respond.  Even if he's not interested in parenting Lily, he might be interested in bothering us, in trying to shake us down for some money."

"Okay, okay," I say.  "We'll buy the disposable phone."

To Be Continued...

# 61: CRIME SCENE INVESTIGATION

PAGE # 61
Sunday

12/18/11
Just After Sunset

I am guilty too.  

I am no better than Sam or Diana, for I too am prejudiced toward adopted persons.  In fact, I am far worse.  At least my in-laws would never have brought home some other person's baby in the first place.

I make this discovery about myself while seated in the living room.  I'm feeding Baby Lily, watching the sky turn a bright pink--no orange--until the outside is dark, dark dark!  There is nothing to watch through the window anymore; the night has come and forced me to look elsewhere.

I shift my gaze down to the baby on my lap--What a beautiful baby!--that's what all the neighbors have said.  Congratulations!  No, really, you guys deserve her--how lucky for your family!  

All these exclamatory remarks.  They are well-intended.  Our neighbors, our friends--they are so happy for us.  They are celebratory.

I am not.  

Instead, I catch myself studying Lily's face, inspecting her, looking for something.  A deformity?  Some sign that she is somehow damaged?  There must be something wrong with her. 

I wonder if she has fetal alcohol syndrome.  That must be it!  Perhaps Kendra, during the time she was separated from her husband and during the time she conceived Lily, perhaps she had been drinking and partying daily?  It seems plausible.  She'd been married young.  She'd already had two boys.  She missed out on all the inebriated fun that is youth in America.  So when she left her domesticated life, where did she go?  To bars?  Perhaps she started to drink.  And perhaps she kept drinking.  Non-stop alcohol consumption.  Then, upon discovering her pregnancy, thought:

 I can't keep her now.  

I throw this theory away almost as quickly as it forms in my mind, but I don't stop looking for some flaw, some defect.  I'm like a crime scene investigator looking at a dead person's body, trying to find clues.  Trying to find some evidence.  Trying to find a motive.  Except this is no lifeless body; no, this is the opposite of death.  This is life at the very beginning--infinite potential!--there is no corpse to bury.  But it feels very much like a death, like someone has died, and I cannot make sense of such incongruity.  My emotions do not match what one should feel when holding a sparkling brand new baby.

Of course, I cannot find anything wrong with Lily.  But maybe the flaw--the explanation--will show itself at some later date?  I don't want there to be anything wrong with Lily, but I cannot wrap my head around why?  I remember there were reasons.  Kendra had reasons.  But none of them really make sense anymore.  Usually, things make more sense in retrospect, not less!  This is so outrageous to me--it seems to fly in the face of the laws of physics.  I feel mocked, played with.  The universe is testing me.  Perhaps everything is mere illusion?

I'm looking down at this beautiful baby girl and I cannot fathom why her mother has given her to me.  My feelings of unreality are deepening.  I worry I might have a panic attack.  Nothing feels real.  

I wonder if Lily will do this too someday--look for defects.  I can already see her as a young girl, looking into a mirror, trying to find the hideous reason: why?

I might have cried then, thinking this, thinking about Lily's future psychological challenges, but the feeling of unreality has grasped me too hard.  There is numbness and there is shock and there is the fear of going crazy.  I feel like someone has died a terrible and shocking death.  Yes, this sense of unreality.  I have felt it before--in the past, when people close to me have died.  Especially suddenly. 

I find myself wanting to speak to Kendra.  I am desperate to speak with Kendra--as if my own sanity demands an immediate and secure connection with Lily's natural mother.

To Be Continued...

# 60: AIRING THE DIRTY LAUNDRY

PAGE # 60
Sunday

12/18/11
All Day Long

I did laundry all day long.

Our washing machine was still busted.  I had called for service the morning after the great flood, but was unable to schedule a repairman for days.  The piles of clothing accumulated at an unprecedented rate.  Fortunately, Jim and Tracey invited me to use their laundry room, but there was so much wash to do, I ended up lugging half of it down the street to Tom's brother's house.  In case I've failed to note the proximity of Tom's extended family members in previous posts, please note that my brother and sister-in-law, Sam and Diana, live only four houses away. 

There was something awkward about bringing my dirty clothes into the home of my in-laws.  This had less to do with the embarrassing odor of it all (it really had been left unwashed for too long), and more to do with the fact that neither Sam nor Diana had come to meet Lily yet.  The rest of my neighbors had and they weren't even family.  I was surprised by the extent of my anger over this.  I expected myself to be more understanding.  Ambivalence was twisting through my insides.  It was unpleasant to say the least.

Only a year and a half prior, Diana had been pregnant with twins following a round of IVF.  Her body had already naturally yielded one son, our nephew Max, but the rest of her reproductive history was punctuated by miscarriages.  A whopping total of six.  Diana could get pregnant easily; staying pregnant was another story.  IVF seemed superfluous given her ability to conceive, but Diana expressed her desire to have twins.  Sam was planning on a vasectomy as soon as they were able to have another child (he wanted to put all the years of reproductive angst behind them once and for all), but Diana dreamed of a much larger family.  IVF was their chance for more than one more baby, given the higher chance of multiples with reproductive technology.

Diana did indeed become pregnant with twins.  They had done gender selection also and this too worked according to plan:  Diana was pregnant with one boy and one girl.  Unfortunately, at 28 weeks gestation, one of the twins suffered a placental abruption.  This obstetrical emergency resulted in the death of their little girl, whom they named "O", and had to bury.  The other twin, a little boy they named Jack, was delivered a whole trimester early weighing a mere 1.5 pounds.  His health at the present time (he is currently about 2.5 years) remains challenged.  He does not eat or drink but is fed through two surgical feeding tubes, one that runs directly into his stomach, the other into his intestines.  He vomits regularly, despite the fact that nothing is ingested orally.  He does not walk.  He does not speak.  While no medical professional can give an absolute prognosis, it seems likely that Jack's future will forever be compromised by his tragic beginning.  We pray that time and therapeutic intervention will prove otherwise.  There is still hope.

So, I could understand why Sam and Diana did not come to meet the newest member of the family.  Perhaps they had become too damaged, too pained, too worn out, too bitter, too tired to come meet Lily.  It made sense.

Nevertheless, my heart pained for this little girl and her also tragic beginning.  I couldn't help but wonder if Sam and Diana considered Lily an inferior family member.  Perhaps they would force themselves to welcome a new baby if she were our biological child?

There was some historical evidence to support my interpretation of their neglect as discriminatory:

Upon meeting Ricky for the first time (Jim and Tracey's adopted son), Diana told them:

"Congratulations.  Good for you that you could adopt.  I would never want a baby that wasn't mine.  But good for you that you guys are the kind of people that do."

Jim and Tracey had been offended.  At that time, Diana had not yet suffered the dual tragedy of "O" and Jack.  There was no excuse.

I could not help but consider the possibility that Diana and Sam simply would never accept an adopted family member into their hearts.  And the more I thought about it, I recalled numerous other instances when I heard them each express negative sentiment toward adopted persons.  Their shared position was not anti-adoption due to a concern for biological family preservation; on the contrary, it was a point of view that lacked empathy for adoptees.  I've even witnessed Sam crack jokes about adopted persons--and under this guise of comedy, I believe, is a hostile and demeaning view of those not fortunate enough to reside with their genetic kin.  As if he is somehow better than them.  

Forgive my detour from the story for a moment, but it occurs to me that when people speak of marginalized sub-groups or disadvantaged populations, adopted persons are unlikely to come to mind.  But when I think about it now, adoptees are unfairly depicted in our popular media all the time.  If an adopted person commits a crime, it's often blamed on their adoptee status.  There is, I think, an undercurrent of devaluation toward adopted folk, as if their status as genetic outsiders somehow renders them less valuable than everyone else.  As if they are unworthy of love, having been rejected by their very mother in the first place.  I could cite a variety of examples from movies or television at this point, but I am not trying to prove an argument here.  I am merely trying to illustrate the possibility that some people are actually hostile in their deepest feelings toward adopted persons.  Whether unconscious or not.

I am reminded now of a story a close friend once shared with me.  She is the mother of three children:  two adopted, one biological.  But her relatives refuse to allow the adopted boys onto the official family tree.  "Only blood relations," they've told her.  

And so that day, watching the laundry spinning round and round, my thoughts existed in a parallel condition--messy, endlessly looping, all mixed-up.  I couldn't tell if I felt angry or sad toward my in-laws.  And I couldn't tell whether I was insane, over-sensitive, or on to something that resembled a dirtier truth:

Perhaps our extended family would never regard Baby Lily as a true family member?

When would they come to meet her?

Why hadn't they yet?

I was too afraid to ask.

To Be Continued...