Road trip! (Open-adoption style)

Over Easter/Passover weekend back in April, we went on a road trip to visit Gus' birthparents. As hard as I try to understand what it must be like for Gus to be adopted, I will never truly know. We chose open adoption, as we've discussed on this blog in the past, because we wanted to be able to provide Gus with biological ties. We are his parents, but so are they. And so, we are in contact with both of his birthparents. As of our visit, they were living together in Oregon. Gus had a great time playing with them in the park, sharing his food with them at lunch and then hanging out with them at the Hands-On Science Museum the next day. He is such a social kid and so comfortable with everyone, but it is touching to see him walk up and grab the hand of one of his birthparents.

Feeding lorikeets at Turtle Bay in Redding, CA

We do not talk about adoption everyday, but we do discuss it often. When reading a book that talks about babies, we talk about his birth story - about how he came out of birthmom K's tummy, about how Mommom was there to cut the cord and how I was in the waiting room and I KNEW the moment he entered the world. We talk about Gus' birthparents. He has a picture of them in his room. Now that he is getting older, we let him take the lead more in the discussions. Sometimes, he says he doesn't want to talk about it. Sometimes he just incorporates talking and thinking about them into his play. (After our trip, Gus was playing with magnet blocks on the floor. He was fitting them together and then pointed to different parts, telling me,  "This is Gussie, this is Mommom. Here's Mama, and here's K." So adorable, and lovely to see him working it out for himself.) I try to just sit back and let it happen. I think our job is to be available to answer his questions, provide him with access to his birthparents, and give him space to feel whatever he feels in any given moment.

It's not always easy though. This being mindful and aware of my kid's feelings. Let's face it, I'm not always aware of my own feelings. And on top of that, toddlers have lots of BIG feels. Their amygdala is pretty much running the show.  But if I can be quiet and still enough and not jump in when he's working to process, or ask, or tell me something, then it is really amazing. On the second day of our visit, as we drove from the hotel to meet up with his birthparents, he said, unprompted, "I'm feeling frazzled today." After we picked our jaws up off the floor, Shelley said, "It's okay to feel frazzled. There is a lot going on." I do not know exactly what his experience was during that trip, but frazzled seems like a pretty appropriate descriptor.

Bubbles!

 I try particularly hard when he is processing through imaginative play not to contradict what he has to say. For example: a week or so after our trip, Gus and I were walking to daycare. He had decided to take a little stuffed monster friend with him. He'd been carrying it, but decided to stick it in the pocket of my hoodie. He grabbed my hand and said, "You are K and I am D and this is baby Gus." There are probably a million ways to respond to that. I think because I have tried so hard the whole time I've been parenting Gus to reflect things back to him, without even thinking I just repeated what he said. "I am K and you are D and this is Gus." And we just continued walking to daycare. I have no idea what was actually going on in his head at that moment. I just know that it was a way he was working things out, and I hope what I was able to offer is what he needed. Sometimes it will be and sometimes it won't, I suppose.

I really don't know how we got so lucky. Gus is the world's sweetest kid. And funny. And just so high on life. All kids' believe they are the center of the universe. That's just how it is. But Gus has this way of seeming to appreciate it. He does this thing where if friends or family are around and hanging out with him, he gathers us all into a giant hug. "These are my people" is what it seems to say. He did the same with K & D on the first day as we left the park. He was past nap time and needed a little help following directions, so I was carrying him. K was walking behind me and he reached out to her. She took him and then he looked around and said, "Where's D?" and then pulled them both in for big bear hug.

Because he's two and haggling with us is kind of his job, he will often brush off our attempts at affection. "No kisses! No kisses!" I try not to be intrusive, so I back off when he says this. The fact that I know he will come around and instigate a very sweet moment of snuggles and kisses helps me to give him that space, I guess. We talk about body autonomy with him - if you say stop to tickles or kisses, that's your prerogative and we will respect it. You get to say what happens to your body. Because our kiddo is so freakin' smart, he decided to use it against us when we were washing and combing his hair. "That's my hair. I don't want you to do that. It's my body." Nice try, Kid! I think we are going to have our work cut out for us when he's a teenager!

Birthparent hugs

Playing Catch-Up

When you are two, a lot happens in half a year. It is amazing to me how much Gus has grown and changed in what feels like just a blip in time. Where do I even begin?

Well, since I last blogged, there is a lot more talking. A LOT. Gus basically narrates every moment - what he's doing, what he's feeling (more on that later). And of course, he is full of questions. All kinds of questions. He has the cutest way of asking them, too. His voice goes way up high at the end. Which is how we indicate a question in speech, but the way he does it is so exaggerated. I have to work really hard not to crack up!

He has started going to daycare a few days a week and loves having other kids to pal around with. And now, unbelievably, we are into the preschool application process. I'd much rather deal with tantrums and the like than this type of logistics. But I think we've found a place that is a great fit for him and hopefully it will work out. He has to be out of diapers to go there, so we are working on that, with pretty good success.

Hmmm. Well, he wears them the "proper" way too!

On top of these developmental milestones, it is so cool to see Gus's understanding of complex concepts grow. He seems to really be working out the nuances of being adopted and what that means. We talk about it openly, and he asks questions. We've had some friends have babies recently, so he's been very interested in pregnancy/birth and talks about how he came out of his birthmom K's tummy. And earlier this month when I asked him to whom we should send Valentines, he said "Um... D & K!"

He's definitely working out the similarities and differences he experiences around him. He asks a lot about differing body parts. We talk specifically about who has what, but not about girls vs. boys. His concept of family is 2 moms, (When we see a "Mama" bulldozer and a "Baby" bulldozer at a construction site, he wants to know the whereabouts of the "Mommom" bulldozer), but he knows other types of families exist.  These distinctions are all matter of fact and "normal" to him. Because we teach kids to take issue with differences, to try to fit everything into a box with respect to families, gender, race. They aren't born with any preconceived notions about what is "normal" or "right".

Another really great thing about Gus is his awareness of feelings - his and others'. He is obviously a toddler, so he isn't always completely in control or aware of all of his emotions, but he definitely has a grasp of the concept. We talk a lot about feelings - how there are all kinds, how you can have one or more at a time, how they change. We have always tried to parent and teach by acknowledging the feelings behind behaviors, but I still think it's pretty amazing how well he seems to understand. For example, yesterday he and I were walking down the sidewalk. He ran into a store that I had asked him not to go in, so I had to carry him out. He was less than thrilled about this arrangement, and was pretty upset. But as I carried him back to the car, through his tears and snuffles, he said, "I'm very frustrated. I want to go in there." Crazy, right?! And when gauging others' emotions, he doesn't always pick up the specific feeling, but he generally gets within the right "category" (positive or negative).

One thing that has not changed is Gus's exuberance. He remains joyous, funny, friendly, and gung ho about life. We just went on vacation to Maui. Although he was a little hesitant about the very big waves in the ocean, he still went in (and had a blast). He wasn't sure about putting his face in the water (in the ocean. he has no qualms about this in the pool) but he tried it. We went on a boat trip (poor kid got a little sea-sick at first, but can't stop talking about Captain Casey and how much fun it was to see whales). He went skinny-dipping under a waterfall. He took a surf lesson in which he went out into the huge Hawaiian waves with his instructor. And even caught a few!!! It seems his mostly fearless, willing to try anything, adaptable temperament remains intact. In addition to doing all of that, he also had fun making friends with kids at the beach and in the pool. Some older, some younger, some his own age. He's such a little social butterfly!

I feel so fortunate that we get to parent such a carefree, hilarious, big-hearted, fun kid.

    Gus was very into non-alcoholic pina coladas. After his surf lesson, he ran down the beach yelling, "Where's my virgin?!!"

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.

Who's Adopted?

Gus is obsessed with books. This high-energy, full force blur of a toddler will not stop for much, but he will sit still on my lap for book after book. He's been this way since very early on. When he was about 4 or 5 months old, he'd happily allow me to read him half a dozen to a dozen books at a time. As an introverted bookworm, I of course love this (except that it makes it hard for me to hold boundaries sometimes when he is asking me to read another book. Who wants to say "No" to that?) Also, it has been helpful when we need to get a concept across to him. Tails Are Not for Pulling is a popular one around here, and much appreciated by the cats! 

His favorite books when he was wee (he still loves them though he's begun to add others to the repertoire) were Todd Parr books. I think all the bright colors really captured his attention when he was really tiny. Many of Todd's books talk about differences; being unique, different types of families, and adoption. And we always add commentary while reading ("our family has two moms", "you're adopted"). So now, when we get to a line in a book about adoption ("it's okay to be adopted", "some families adopt children"), Gus points to himself! (The first time he did this with Shelley, he pointed to himself and then gave her a huge hug!) I'm not entirely sure he understands exactly what being adopted means, but he knows he is. And he feels that it's a positive thing.

We have a bunch of friends who also have adopted kids, so I think Gus may have gotten a little bit confused about it once we started telling him that Malcolm is adopted, and Baby Ben is adopted, and Baby Vaughan is adopted, because then he started pointing at his baby doll and saying "adopted", so I suspect he might think that all children are adopted. But I'm not sure. All I know is that it feels pretty great that he knows. Even if the concept isn't entirely clear, we're laying the groundwork. We talk to him about his birthmom and his birth/adoption story. We strive for openness in all things in our family. 

The other thing I'm pretty sure he knows, that I hope he knows, is that he is LOVED. I don't believe that love is enough to erase all the pain he may one day feel about being adopted. It's complicated, and his feelings about it are bound to be too. But I do hope that if he is secure in our love for him he will be able to one day talk about and explore the feelings that he has surrounding the loss of his biological family. And I hope, for now, being accepted, and being loved, and knowing he is adopted (whatever that might mean for him in his toddler brain at the moment) will be enough. I feel like it's a good start. 

Applause!

So I mentioned before that when he was learning to walk, Gus would clap for himself if no one was around to give him the props he felt he deserved. It's pretty heartwarming to see how proud he is of himself. For everything. He has taken to regularly clapping for himself when he accomplishes something or gets something "right".

We have been working on boundaries and limits (yes, it is going to be a theme for a while I hear). One of the things we've been working on the hardest is the way Gus treats the cats. He loves them. He gets super excited to see them. (read: you-are-so-cool-i-want-to-pull-your-tail-and-swat-at-you-because-i-am-so-excited) They are confusing because they do not react predictably, and the black cat, Indie, is the most ambivalent animal on the planet. He wants to be in the room with Gus. He even wants to play with Gus. Until he doesn't. But instead of leaving (like Neville), he stays there in the room. Sometimes he scratches Gus. Sometimes he ignores him. I'm sure it is very confounding for Gus. Anyway, to make a long story short, we are working on not pulling on the cats (mostly tails, mostly Indie). When Gus gets it right, when he snuggles Indie and gently pats him without pulling, he turns around to check with me and then, he applauds. That kid gives himself a freakin' standing ovation!

And here's the real kicker. He's started doing it for us too. He is pretty adept at communicating his needs these days, but sometimes (mostly in the middle of the night, mostly when the mommies are really out of it) we don't get it right away. Of course, he keeps insisting that there is something to be done and we keep trying. And when we figure it out...? He claps! He applauds our effort and the fact that we figured out what he needed. I mean, damn! How awesome would it be if everyone in our lives clapped joyfully for us when we helped to meet their needs? Or respected a boundary? Or, when we sang a goofy song and did a silly dance? (Yeah, he claps then too) Well, I'll tell you this. When I'm exhausted and up against the wall and wondering what I was thinking with this whole parenting thing, it's pretty flippin' awesome to hear that applause. To know that sometimes, at least according to him, I get some stuff right.

can you handle the cute? 'cause i can't

Expectations

I've been thinking a lot about expectations (cause I'm a nerdy introvert who sits around and thinks about all kinds of weird shit. all. the. time.) People have all kinds of expectations about pretty much everything (or at least I do). And that's a giant set up for disappointment, in my opinion. As adoptive parents, I think we, by necessity in some ways, have less expectations about our kid than a biological parent might. Or, at least, we try to expect less. Or, rather, be open to more. Because we have less knowledge about the genetic things that may come into play. Our kid isn't necessarily going to look like us or stick out his tongue while concentrating like I do. But I'd be kidding myself if I said there weren't certain other expectations we had - about parenthood, and about open adoption. I don't think we expected an open adoption relationship to be easy - we weren't that naive. But I do think we expected it to be hard in different ways than it is, maybe.

One of the things I struggle with in thinking about our open adoption relationship - one of the ways it is not what I expected - is that it's not the rosy picture painted when we started down this path. It is not the relationship that other families we know have. In short, I am disappointed that it isn't this amazing, happy "we're all family" experience. I know that it is okay that it's not. I know that relationships can be hard and can be different at different times, and things can change. But I wish it could be easier. I wish I was less frustrated and triggered. I wish K (Gus's birthmom) seemed more interested in Gus, the person. And I don't know - I just don't know - what really is best for Gus right now. He is one. He is happy. He loves everybody he meets. Right now, will it matter to Gus when and where and whether he sees K? I honestly can't answer that. Separating out what is best and works for us from what is best and works for K from - most importantly - what is best and works for Gus is really difficult. There are a lot of feelings to maneuver. And also having to think about whether what might be best or work for all/some/any of those people now vs. what might be best for them in the future is a difficult task. Because, let's face it, I'm no Kreskin.

I know that I will feel guilty if we can't make a visit happen soon. I know that before he was born we made a commitment that was about him. I know that fear comes into play. I know that, frankly, we are overwhelmed and inconvenienced thinking about one more possible trip this year, one more thing on an impossibly long to-do list. I know that despite her seeming lack of interest in Gus over the past year, K is grieving and I imagine it is a very difficult thing for her to live each day knowing she is unable to raise this awesome kid she gave birth to. I know that the biological connection is strong and important, and that there is a reason we chose open adoption. I know that no matter what, the focus here, the most important person in all of this, is Gus.

But, of course, with all that I do know, there is even more that I don't. I don't know how to make Gus stop wanting to eat sand at the park or climb into the stream at the Discovery Museum. How to explain to him that he can't swim with the fish in the aquarium at the Academy of Sciences. I don't know where the heck he gets all this energy that allows him to go full throttle from sun-up to sun-down. And I don't yet know how we will handle negotiating this ongoing open adoption relationship.

Being a parent is hard. Navigating the day-in/day-out of it plus thinking about how what you are doing or are not doing will affect this tiny human in the future? Phew. It's like standing at the top of a zipline looking down into a ravine, hoping the rope is going to hold you and then - stepping the fuck off. And zipping at an impossible speed toward a sheer rock face. Over and over again, several times a day. Incredibly scary. But, sometimes, if you remember to breathe, open your eyes, and just let go, it can be a lot of fun, too! Terrifying, nauseating fun.

Full. Throttle.

This was after he tried to crawl in, but before he started
lapping up the water. Like a dog.

525,600 minutes...

I've written a ton of blog posts this past year. In my head. But i think it's time to put more of it out there. We celebrated Gus's first birthday yesterday and I thought I really should update the blog. So here it goes:
Quick summary: We finalized Gus's adoption. We got LEGALLY married, under a tree outside City Hall with our kid playing in the grass beside us (how cool is that?!). We began the journey of learning how to parent this really cool kid. (also - diapers, formula, teething, tummy time, crawling, smiling, solid food, walking!)
It's been an amazing year. A hard year. A shorter than short year and the longest year ever. The thing they neglect to tell you in those cute diaper and baby food ads is that even though kids are adorable (and mine is the most adorbz of all, of course), parenting is hard freakin' work. Taking care of an infant, taking care of yourself, maintaining a relationship with your spouse, maintaining friendships, staying sane - it's some of the hardest shit you'll ever do. I want to say that all the giggles and big slobbery open-mouth kisses and first steps and that way he twirls his curly blond hair when he's tired and the way the light catches in his eyes when he's full-on beaming at me makes it all worth it. I want to. And many days, even most days, it does. But I won't pretend that there aren't days where I wonder "what was i thinking?" Where I think I am definitely on the wrong side of mental health and on the way to crazy-town.
Some things have gotten easier over the past year. Other things have gotten harder. Finding balance as a stay-at-home-parent (me) is a challenge. So is finding balance as a working parent (Shelley). But what's life without challenge, right? It's adventure we signed up for and that's definitely what we're getting.
The adoption component of Gus's first year is something i'll write about later. I don't think it has necessarily made any of this harder than normal. I just think that once people are through this adjustment period, they forget what this kind of exhaustion feels like. They just look back at the pictures and hold onto the happy stuff. (at least i really, really hope that's the case!)
There's more in my head. So much more. I'll stop for now, though. Hopefully I'll have the time and wherewithal to continue with this.

Adoption Finalization Day

He's here!

As hard as it is for us to fathom, our wait is over! He's here! It feels surreal, so utterly natural and right on the one hand, and unbelievable on the other. Birthmom K has signed relinquishments, and they've been acknowledged by the state. There are a few more hurdles to get through before he's officially, officially a member of our family, but we're pretty confident, and he's felt like our kid for a while now.

But the adventure isn't over. In many ways it's only just beginning. Maintaining an open relationship with K, watching him grow, making tough parenting decisions - it's all ahead of us. For now, however, we're going to revel in this awesome, quiet moment before the ride starts up again.

So without further ado...

Welcome to the world Shaylor Augusten Asher Saraniti (aka Gus)
Born 5:09 pm on 8/8/12 - 8 lbs 20 inches

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.

Amusement ride?

The awesome 10 year old that I get to hang out with most mornings and afternoons each week visited the Santa Cruz Boardwalk last weekend. She rode the Giant Dipper for the first time (the famed roller coaster featured in the great '80s vampire flick - before vampires were as trendy as they are now - The Lost Boys). Anyway, she was quite proud of herself for this accomplishment because, as she told me, she's "not really a roller coaster person."

And I realized, I'm not really a roller coaster person either. At least not of the emotional variety that we've been on lately. I used to really like them - the unexpected twists and turns, not being able to see what comes next at the top of the hill, the heart-pounding, stomach dropping into your feet adrenaline rush of it all. They never lasted long enough. I always wanted to go again. Now, I just feel like stop-the-dang-thing-I'm-going-to-puke-I've-had-enough-of-this-let-me-off-let-me-off-let-me-off! 

Listen, I know what you are thinking. The roller coaster metaphor is overdone when it comes to adoption and specifically waiting for placement. I once thought that too. Come on, how bad can it really be? Roller coasters are fun! I get it. I know. But believe me, there's a reason people use this example over and over again. Because a roller coaster is exactly what it feels like. You're up, you're down, you're all around. One day, you think you could have a baby soon. Then, it's Mother's Day and it feels like you'll never be a mother. Then, you get a call from the agency and there may be someone who might pick you. Or not. It's like the longest roller coaster ever and you're stuck on it for the foreseeable future with absolutely no sign the ride will ever end and the adrenaline rush is no longer fun but just makes you feel all anxious and panicky and exhausted.  At least that's how it makes me feel. 

I think I may have misrepresented the truth in one of my earlier blog posts. I may have made it sound like Shelley was the only one with control issues, the one having a hard time with this whole waiting thing. I don't think I meant to lie. I actually think I was okay. I think my Calvinist upbringing (I was raised Presbyterian) had me convinced that things would happen a certain way because they were predestined to. Huh, that was total autopilot. Now that I've stopped to examine it, I'm not so sure.

I am no longer amused by the "fun park" we seem locked in. I'm over all the merry-go-rounds, ferris wheels, and roller coasters. I feel old. I feel tired. I feel frustrated. I feel like I'm searching for someone in a crushing crowd of revelers - sometimes I think I catch a glimpse of them disappearing around the corner over by the corndog stand so I pick up the pace, dodging around the folks lined up for cotton candy, the happy couples strolling along holding hands, the over-tired toddlers in mid-meltdown - but then once I catch up I realize, nope, not who I thought it was. And I have to start looking all over again. Frankly, it's exhausting.

But what I have to remember, and this isn't always easy, is that my life - our life- is pretty freakin' great. We live in an amazing place. I have a "job" that allows me to spend time with one of the most creative, intuitive, funny kids I've ever met. We have friends, resources, access to healthcare, a yummy Indian restaurant that delivers on a Friday night when we don't feel like cooking. We are not making the unfathomably difficult choice to have someone else parent our child. And, not only do Shelley and I love each other, but after almost a dozen years together, we still dig each other. In fact, there is no one I'd rather have beside me on the thrill ride of life. But for now I'm going to hope it's more like a slow kiddie train than a roller coaster.

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?

Messages from the Universe?

Mostly, I don't like running. I do it to stay in shape, to stay sane. A lot of times, the things I encounter when I'm out running annoy me (careless drivers who almost hit me, unaware people who almost trip me with their ginormous strollers, etc). But sometimes, sometimes I kind of love it. Of course the endorphin high is awesome, and when the weather here in SF is gorgeous and sunny and just the right temperature it's very pleasant to be outside, and the feeling of accomplishing a goal, no matter how small, is nice.  But that's not it. What I love somedays - and believe me, I know this sounds so totally hippy-dippy, wheatgrass-drinkin', drum-circlin', well, California - are the messages I get from the Universe (or whatever you want to call it) while I'm out there running. Like this:

Really think about that one for a minute. What does it mean - for you - to Occupy Your Heart? What does it mean for me? What would it mean for all of us? And not just in relation to the Occupy movement, but to life itself - adoption, parenting, work, creating art, relating to others - everything. All. the. time. If nothing else, I think it's a really good place to start. So thanks, Universe (or people on San Jose Ave that posted this in your window). 

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!

Open heartedness

It seems like I've been getting a lot of messages about open-heartedness recently. My dad is facing open-heart surgery, a literal opening of the heart to repair it. So this has me thinking a lot about the figurative implications of opening the heart. It's really only in western traditions that we believe these two are separate. Many traditions believe that the "figurative" healing leads to actual, physical healing. Beyond that, though, it feels really important to open my heart during this adoption process. Obviously I want to open my heart to a child, but also to potential birthparents who are struggling with an extremely difficult decision. I need my heart to be open to whatever possibilities lie ahead, be they painful or jubilant. We are too often taught, I think, to keep our hearts closed, for fear they will get bruised or broken. But it seems that just as in a procedure for physical repair, our hearts have to be opened to heal; to let the good stuff in and the bad stuff out.  I'm not saying it's easy - it's not. But if we allow ourselves to be open, to let our hearts break and get put back together again, over and over, then each time we can make more and more space in between the cracks for openness. For love. And isn't that what it's all about?

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.

Cut & Paste

For someone who would much rather spend her time actually cutting and pasting - spreading a big sheet of paper out on a table and physically manipulating things to fit into the space, trying them here, trying them there, cutting them apart with scissors and then pasting them back together with glue - all the time I've had to spend on Photoshop working on our Dear Birthparent Letter has, let's face it, not been the highlight of the adoption process for me. I get it: technically, what I'm doing on Photoshop is the same thing. Technically. But sliding a mouse around and striking keys to manipulate the pieces is just not as satisfying to my brain somehow.

And that's not even getting into the real difficulty of it all. Distilling our lives, our relationship, our love for one another, the love that we have to share, into four pages. That's, of course, the real kicker. How do we pick the 12-15 photos that perfectly embody everything we want to convey? (And who documents their life that faithfully, anyway? I mean, I'm a photographer and we don't seem to have enough photos of us engaging in our favorite activities, hanging out casually with our friends, visiting with our families.) How do we find the words that tell everything we want to about ourselves?

The real answer, I guess, is that we don't. I mean, really, how can we? It's impossible. So, we do the best we can. We give a good enough summary that a potential BP wants to learn more. Like the blurb on the back of a book jacket, the teaser for a news story, a movie trailer. And then, I guess, we hope it's enough.

Two words

If you start to follow this blog, you will quickly realize I'm a bit of a word nerd. I can get caught up in the meanings and implications and connotations of words, but I'm slowly learning that this is not always a wise tactic. Sometimes there is not an underlying meaning, sometimes people are just grappling to communicate with the vocabulary available to them. And that's okay.

That said, I do want to explore the definitions of two words that are significant to this blog and significant to the journey upon which my partner and I are embarking - the path to parenthood through domestic open adoption. I'm writing this entry before we are actually completely done with all of our paperwork and "in circulation" - though we are really, really close. (The mix of stress, anxiety, and excitement we are feeling is another entry for another day). I probably won't actually publish this post until we are approved and up and running, so to speak, at which point I'll introduce myself a little better. But for now, permit me to geek out...

o*pen [oh-puh n]

-adjective

1. accessible, as to apeals, ideas, or offers

2. unreserved, candid, or frank

-verb

1. to set in action, begin, start, or commence

2. to uncover, lay bare, or expose to view

There are many other definitions for the word open, but to me, these are the ones that best convey what open adoption is about, what it is we are trying to do with this blog, and how we try to live our lives in general.

The next word is one of my favorites. It is what we named this blog and what we really feel our life together is. And if I understand at all the intensity that is to come both in the act of building our family and then in raising a kid, I think it is just about the only word that could do the whole thing justice.

ad*ven*ture [ad-ven-cher]

-noun

1. a bold, usually risky undertaking; hazardous action of uncertain outcome

2. an exciting or unusual experience

-verb

1. to risk; to take the chance of; dare

Hazardous action of uncertain outcome? That's pretty much the definition of life, isn't it? So here we go...