Treading water

We just got back from a visit with Shelley's parents (Nonna & Nonno to Gus) in Florida. Gus was in hog heaven because not only do they live on the beach and have a pool, but several of his cousins live very close so he got to play with them, and some even brought their DOGS! This kid could not have been more thrilled. The mommies were also really impressed with what an adaptable little guy we have - no problems with jetlag or being shuffled from place to place. (We on the other hand were wrecked from our red-eye flight. Thankfully Shelley's parents have plenty of coffee!)
Gus swam everyday, multiple times a day. He and Shelley go to swim lessons at the Y every Saturday, so the kid has some skills. Nonna and Nonno got him a little thin life jacket-y thing, and he was excited to have such independence in the pool. It was great to see him enjoying himself so much. He spent hours dog-paddling around and treading water.
Treading water never felt like very much fun to me. Sometimes, though, it's just what we have to do. Maintain. Currently, we're navigating how to do that in our relationship with G's birthmom. I say our relationship because at almost 20 months, Gus doesn't really have a relationship with her yet. Right now, all the relationshippin' falls fully on us. And sometimes, often, it feels like treading water. Like we are staying in the same damn place no matter how much effort we exert.
Don't get me wrong, we are committed to having an open adoption for many reasons, (some of them I've talked about here and here), and we want Gus to be able to have a relationship with his birthmom because she is just that, the person who gave him life and had to make a really hard choice. But none of this is black and white, and some of the reasons that she made that choice are also the same reasons that sometimes maintaining a relationship with her isn't the easiest thing in the world.
But I have to remind myself, relationships are often hard. Especially, let's be honest, with relatives. And that's what K is, she is related to us through Gus. It feels, currently, like there is a great chasm of grief between us. There are a lot of uncomfortable feelings from all of us churning around in there. Nobody wants to swim in it, with the exception of maybe Gus, he'd swim in anything. But the water is a little too deep and treacherous for him right now, I think. So our job is to teach him and support him and hone his skills so that he's prepared to confidently dive in at some point. Because even though the job of maintaining the relationship is ours right now, it is and always will be, about and for him.

Love

Love. Love. Love. I feel sometimes like I might be swallowed up by all the hate out there in the world, but I have to remember the only way to fight back, the only way that will ever make a difference, is love. But it's difficult. When there are people saying things about my family? When they don't even know us?

I don't think Gus has a hateful bone in his body. He loves animals, and kids on the playground who hit him, and homeless people, and just about anyone who seems scared. Even when he was a tiny tiny baby, (like only days old still in the nursery at the hospital tiny) he seemed to tune in to other kids who were upset. I would hold him and whisper that he was okay, that it wasn't happening to him, that the other kid who was crying would be okay too, and he would settle down. Maybe (big possibility) I was projecting stuff onto him, but I don't know. He does seem to be empathic. He goes up to kids who are crying and comforts them. He puts his arm around kids in his swim class who are scared. 

Gus, on the other hand, doesn't seem to fear much of anything. He got 4 shots at his 18 month appointment and didn't even flinch. He goes down the big slide by himself at the park. Sometimes he falls because it's so fast - but he hops right up and starts climbing the stairs, ready to go again. He's been okay being dunked under water (at swim class) since he was about 7 months old. He goes to sleep at night in a completely dark room all by himself (that's new and we are sooo proud!).  Maybe there is a connection between his fearlessness and his big-heartedness?

I do think there's some lesson in there. Because hate is driven by fear. So the best response would seemingly be to show the haters love. But, damn, that is hard. Especially when they are hatin' on me just for being myself. I think I may be too old and cynical to be able to respond with love. The best I can do is walk away. But Gus, I think, could be a little ambassador of love. I think kids often are. I know many stories about icy relationships melting once kids are involved. But it doesn't seem fair to him, to be put in that position. Then again, he has to live in this world. Hate and fear are taught. So is love I guess. I'm not sure. All I know is that I want to do my best to encourage him to continue to be confident, to be fearless where it counts: to love.

Connections

I've been struggling with how to write this post for a while now. I can't seem to come up with a metaphor that does justice to this part of our journey. Maybe there just isn't one. I've been thinking a lot about connection. In a myriad of ways, really. I am kind of a neuroscience geek and love reading about the brain. And the brain is all about connection. In fact, there are more possible connections between the neurons in your brain than there are atoms in the universe! That is absolutely mind-boggling and utterly fascinating to me. The thing about connections, though, both in your brain and in your life, is that you must maintain them. Sure, we all have a few close friends that we can go for months and months or perhaps longer without interacting with and then just "pick up where we left off" with them, but generally, those connections have to be nurtured. It takes work. It takes time. Sometimes we don't feel like doing it. Sometimes there are connections we'd be better off pruning. But, for the most part, when we have connections we are committed to, we're going to have to pull our weight.  Why the heck am I going on and on about this, you ask? Well, dear reader, I'll tell you.

We are matched! We have made a connection with a brave young woman who is committed to an adoption plan. We spent the month of June getting to know K over email, Facebook, phone and Skype.  And now, she has moved down to SF so that we can build an even stronger connection. We are excited. We are nervous. We are unbelievably busy! But most of all, we are committed to building and maintaining this connection with K for the sake of the kidoodle that's on its way.

Shelley's mom was adopted back in the "baby scoop era", when it was believed that cutting all ties between adoptees and their birthfamilies was the best thing for everyone. But there are fundamental, evolutionary reasons that humans desire to know their roots, where they come from, who they look like - and it is no longer believed that cutting those ties is healthy for anyone. Open adoption, though not perfect, is a way of maintaining those ties - that biological, fundamental connection.

It will be difficult at times, I'm sure. K will have to choose again to follow through with her adoption plan after giving birth, which will be excruciatingly hard. She may decide to parent, which is absolutely her choice, and one in which we will support her, but that, of course, would be difficult for us. This thing we're doing is not easy, and often daunting, but we have to stay committed and focused on why we are doing it:

This tiny human - he is the reason.

Swimming with Sharks

When Shelley and I were in the Galapagos last summer, we had the opportunity to swim with sharks. Now, I'm not a super phobic type person, I have no problem with spiders and heights and flying and such things that many people fear. I've done some daring, risky things in my youth. But sharks freak me out. In fact, the thought of them is always in the back of my mind when swimming or snorkeling in the ocean. I have no idea why, but there it is.

A few days after the last post, we missed another call. Then, the bat phone rang again and this time... We answered it! We talked, then skyped, then flew down to southern California and met the couple on the other end of the phone. They told us they wanted us to be their baby's parents! We got excited. And anxious. And a whole lot of other things.

Something I fear more than sharks, though, is missing out on a rare opportunity. I absolutely can't stand the thought of being really close to doing something cool and then not going through with it. So I got on the panga (motorized raft) that was taking us out to the shark-infested snorkeling site. These were not Great White Sharks. They were Hammerheads and Reef Sharks and Galapagos Sharks. They are well-fed because people are not allowed to over-fish their habitat. They would not even notice us, the guides assured us. At this point, I was really freaked out and was wondering why in the heck I was on this boat.

After being matched for 3 weeks, the couple decided they didn't like the agency format and chose to go a different way - without us. This is absolutely their choice - and that choice is one of the fundamental tenets of real open adoption - but it made us really sad. And frustrated. And disappointed. And a whole lot of other things.

When we got to the site, there was a tunnel through two huge rocks that was too narrow for the panga to go in; it would have to meet us on the other side. There would be no turning back - if I jumped off the boat, I'd have to swim through this dark, narrow, shark-infested tunnel.

And that's it, isn't it? One of the great truths of life: The only way out, is through. We have jumped into the cold waters of waiting and now we are stuck in the tunnel. It's freakin' scary in here! We thought we could see the light at the end, and now the waves have dragged us back in, crashing us up against the rocks. It feels like we will never get out, like we'll spend the rest of our lives caught in a riptide with sharks circling underneath us. 

I actually have no idea how I made myself jump off the panga into the water. I remember being pretty terrified. I remember Shelley telling me it was going to be okay. And then I was in the (very cold) water and into the tunnel and the guides were pointing out sharks and I was struggling to see them. And then there they were, about ten feet below me! The guides were right, the sharks had no idea we were even there. They were just going on with their lives as usual.

And I went from being completely afraid and freaked out to completely awed in a matter of seconds.

Everything about this experience of waiting to be chosen, of waiting to be parents, feels just as terrifying and impossible as jumping into that water and swimming through that freezing cold, dark tunnel full of sharks. But I have to trust that once we're on the other side, it will feel every bit as awesome, too. 

Missed connection...?

So... The bat phone rang on Saturday. Shelley was parking the car and couldn't grab it in time and has now convinced herself that this was the one and only contact we will ever get and because she didn't answer the phone in time we have lost out on our chance to be parents. Did I mention my wonderful spouse can be a *bit* of a drama queen?

This incident led to a conversation about how we each were handling (or not handling) this whole waiting thing. I don't know what it is, maybe I figure somewhere deep down that we can't both be losing it at the same time. Maybe the thought of actually getting the call freaks me out almost as much as not getting it. Maybe I'm dumping all my anxious, angsty energy into making stuff. But for some reason, I'm pretty content in the knowledge that this will happen when and how it's supposed to and there's not much I can do to control it one way or the other in the meantime. At least I am right now. Today.

Suffice it to say, that is NOT how Shelley is feeling about the whole thing. And I would hazard a guess that my weird zen-ness is probably irritating to her.  It's not an easy thing to do, this letting go of control. I definitely have areas in my life where I am not good at it. At all. I do think pouring my anxiety about this, or anything frankly, into my artsy-craftsy-creativey pursuits probably is one of the major ways that I am dealing with this right now. It's basically how I deal with most of my feelings - good or bad - so why not this, too? And it makes me feel like I'm *doing* something to prepare for this ambiguous kid that will someday, hopefully, be ours.

Only problem is, I'm running out of room in my studio for all the mobiles I've been making. Is there such a thing as a nursery with too much art?

Bouncy balls

So, we are officially in circulation. Waiting. (I don't think we are very good at waiting.) On the one hand it feels really exciting, to finally be "on the books" and knowing we could become parents at any time. On the other hand, knowing we could become parents at any time is crazy scary! And then there's the whole not-really-knowing-anything thing (which is more a not-being-in-control-of-anything thing). Balancing the fact that we could get a call anytime with the fact that it could be years and years and years is not an easy task. We're basically all over the place. Like one of those bouncy balls you get from a quarter machine at the grocery store. It's bright, it's colorful, it's fun and bouncy. It's also super unpredictable and goes wherever the heck it wants to. Lots of fun, until it bounces out into the parking lot and under a car, or into some bushes or something.

So, somedays, we're all about embracing the excitement, thinking about the future, planning for a kid. Until, suddenly, we're not. (Okay, I'll confess, mostly that's me. The one who gets overwhelmed by the whole planning thing in general.) Here's an example:

Me: Hey, do you want to go to the furniture store and look at rockers or gliders for the nursery?
Shelley: Sure. Let's go.
A little while later, after walking around a very large furniture store and finally making our way to the floor with the kids' stuff...
Shelley: What about this one. I like it.
Me: Nah. I don't like that one.
Shelley: Really? What's wrong with it?
Me: I don't know. Can we go? I can't do this right now.
Shelley: What? This was your idea.
Me: I know. Can we just go?

In my defense, I'm not the only one acting a little cray-cray about all this, either. Shelley has somehow convinced herself that the Universe will not see fit to add to our family until our house is clean! I'm not making this up - she said some version of this to me just the other day.

Mostly, we are trying to focus on the exciting, fun stuff about becoming parents. We have bought some things for the nursery, and I've made some arty stuff for it too. I don't actually know what it was about the rocker/glider that day, but on pretty much all things I am the procrastinator in the relationship, so maybe I was just playing my role. I don't know. I do know that our difference in personality in regards to planning is one reason Shelley and I work so well together. She "speeds me up" and I "slow her down" and we *mostly* achieve a nice balance on things. (We're also lucky to have some helpful "Guides" in our life that remind us to focus on that balance, among other things.)

But for now, until we get the hang of this waiting thing, it seems we're just going to be a little goofy - stress-eating leftover Halloween candy, furiously cleaning the house to appease the Universe, slowly edging towards (and then away from and then towards again) getting a nursery ready. Basically, I think we're probably going to just keep bouncing all over the place for a while!

Diving in

It took me a long time to learn to dive off the diving board. I didn't have a problem diving into the water from the side of the pool, but something about that extra 3 feet really freaked me out. I'm pretty sure I may have climbed back down and given up at least the first time I tried. I distinctly remember a series of jumps from the board where I lost my nerve at the last minute. I can still remember the feeling, though, of standing out on the edge of the diving board, looking down at the water, and being momentarily paralyzed.

I don't know what it was about the diving board that freaked me out. Perhaps it was the fact that the water was so deep. I wasn't (still not) the world's strongest swimmer, so maybe I feared something would go wrong and I'd drown. Maybe it was a fear of "doing it wrong" while others were watching. Or just that I really wanted to get it right the first time.

We are about to "go in the pool" for the adoption - meaning, all our paperwork will be checked off and we will be "waiting" for someone to choose us to parent their child. I feel like I'm on the edge of that diving board again now, looking down at the water, paralyzed.

Except this time, I'm acutely aware of all the things that are freaking me out: the water is deep, maybe I'll drown, I want to get it right.

As a kid, I couldn't stand on that diving board forever - there was a line behind me, waiting their turn, after all. So, finally, I took a deep breath and dove in. It wasn't pretty. I made a loud smack. It hurt. But, then, I came up for air. Swam over to the ladder. And got out to do it again.