Just A Note
Monday, November 7, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Monday, September 26, 2011
Unfinished Feminism: Live and Learn
Unfinished Feminism: Live and Learn: Having hit my teen years and early adulthood in a time when the idea that girls/women could want "more than just being a wife and mother" ha...
Monday, September 12, 2011
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Friday, June 10, 2011
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Monday, May 23, 2011
LISA'S COLLECTION: My Writing Identity-Crisis, Part One
LISA'S COLLECTION: My Writing Identity-Crisis, Part One: "I've been in the middle of a big 'writing-identity' crisis since I first signed up to write online because the 'person-me' enjoys writing. ..."
Saturday, May 21, 2011
LISA'S COLLECTION: Pondering in the Wee Hours of Thursday Morning
LISA'S COLLECTION: Pondering in the Wee Hours of Thursday Morning: "It's 3:25 a.m., and I've been sitting here, staring at this monitor screen, for a few hours now. Why? I don't know. Well, I know, but I'm..."
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Speedy Delivery
In keeping with the "how I came by my children theme", the following is the story of my younger son's speedy (and early) delilvery:
My son was born in the era of Mr. Rogers; and anyone familiar with the beloved Mr. Rogers is also familiar with his neighborhood postman, "Mr. McFeely (played by David Newell), who accompanied his drop-offs to Mr. Rogers with the catch phrase, "Speedy Delivery". Well, that is the story of my son's arrival into the world. Whenever I would hear Mr. McFeely call, "Speedy Delivery!", it would remind me of the little boy watching Mr. Rogers and waiting to see what Mr. McFeely had brought.
My son didn't just have a "speedy" arrival. He arrived six weeks before "estimated time of delivery". To further complicate the matter, he arrived upside down - unbeknownst to the doctor, who had announced, "Your baby is bald as an eagle," only to later see that my baby had lots of dark gold hair that stood on end (the way Charles Schultz's "Woodstock's" does). My 4 lb, 8 oz son also arrived with one fierce capacity to scream, but I digress from the delivery story:
It all began on a dreary Monday in November, when, for some reason I never knew, my husband just didn't go to work. He hadn't announced any need for taking a "mental health day". Instead, he just kind of sat at the breakfast table, talking to me, and not getting up to go to work. As late morning set in we began to discuss going out in the afternoon to buy the baby a car seat. We didn't think it was any emergency, but since he had taken the day off it seemed like a good day to go baby-store browsing. The plan was to head out in the afternoon, although we didn't actually leave until close to 5:00. Since I hadn't eaten anything that day (for some reason that I don't know, because I usually ate), we decided to stop at a little muffin and sandwich shop on the way to the baby store. Our five-year-old son would be coming along, so we thought it would be nice for the three of us to eat out together.
Since I wasn't in the mood to eat much (now I know why, but I didn't at that time), I ordered an egg sandwich on toast. I had just taken two bites (I remember that - two bites) when I was shocked to have my water break. I think it may be every expectant mother's fear that the water will break somewhere like a restaurant; and there I was, dealing with the restaurant chair and a soaked-through coat that left few options but to announce to the waitress what had happened. Wearing the coat, I didn't look very pregnant, which is why the waitress seemed to have trouble "getting" what I was trying to say discreetly. This meant, of course, that I had to follow my first explanation with a repeat explanation; and it wasn't until I said what had happened a few times that she really understood what my problem was. I guess the trouble with trying to be discreet is that the low voice we usually use with attempts at discretion is often not heard.
I awkwardly used a bunch of paper napkins to try to deal with the "problem", but then I was stuck with a bunch of amniotic-fluid napkins I didn't know what to do with. I don't recall what I did do with them (although, knowing me, I would not have handed them to the waitress - that much I know for sure). I do recall her saying, "That's ok. Don't worry about the chair." With that (and with much guilt for walking away from such a "disaster". we got ready to leave.
My five-year-old was as baffled and clueless as the waitress when I told him we had to leave. Again, I tried to be discreet. Again, I had to just say it good and loud and clear, because he was confused and questioning about why we had to leave so soon. When I said, "I'm having the baby" my otherwise intelligent five-year-old finally "got it". He suddenly seemed as knowing and on-the-ball as someone thirty years old, as he exclaimed, "Oh," and grabbed his coat. My husband swooped up our son in his arms, as we headed quickly through the expansive parking lot to the car. Since I'm someone who often finds one reason or another to wipe off restaurant seats and tables with napkins, I suppose my son didn't think much of it. Besides, although he knew I would be having "a little brother" (because he "knew" the baby would be a boy), I had intentionally neglected to tell him some of the gory details of childbirth.
We returned home. I called the doctor, who said, "See what happens, and if nothing happens overnight come in to the office tomorrow." I got my son's clothes and toys together, so he could stay with my mother for the night. I waited through the night, and nothing happened. The next day when I called the doctor's office I was told to come in after noon. Well, by this time, I was starting to realize that "this labor thing" was pretty much a long, drawn-out, affair; so I decided to get a few things done before heading off to the doctor's office.
We needed to get our mail from the Post Office, so I asked my husband to stop along the way to the doctor's office. I waited in the car. It was a small Post Office and parking lot, and we had to wait for quite a while after my husband returned to the car, because someone had parked in a non-space and blocked our car. Although I did have the urge to mention to this selfish individual that I was probably on my way to have a baby, I wasn't really too worried. For me, the "big event" had been the water breaking at the restaurant. After that, "this labor thing" was pretty uneventful and boring.
When the doctor told me to go to the hospital he also said to stop and tell his nurse what was going on. I waited my turn to talk to her, and when I tried to tell her to let the hospital know I was going there the nurse was as clueless as the Mug-N-Muffin waitress AND my five-year-old had been. I had to repeat to the clueless and confused nurse that I was going to have the baby. After she kind of of "got it" she pulled open my coat in disbelief. Even after "getting it", she was incredulous as she said, "Oh, you don't look like you're ready to have the baby." Was I the only one who could figure out that I was having a baby? This whole thing was "so not like" the way things go on television. There wasn't a shred of urgency in anyone, and even I was kind of bored with the whole thing by this time.
We got to the admitting area at that hospital. I was, however, pretty hungry because I hadn't eaten, at that point, for two days. As my husband and I waited to talk to someone I kept saying how I'd like to get a cup of tea before being admitted. When we finally talked to the woman and asked about "maybe first getting a cup of tea" all of sudden, and for the first time, I saw a sense of urgency. The woman said emphatically, "I think you had better go right upstairs." (I thought, "Rats - no tea.")
Well, I can't make this long labor story shorter at this point, but take heart - the delivery story can be told in a few lines. It was about 3:30 when I got the labor area and about 3:45 when I saw my own childbirth class (for which I'd only attended the first session) come parading through on its tour of the labor area. Sitting comfortably and bored on the edge of the bed, I pulled the curtain in order to keep my classmates from seeing me.
Finally, at 4:00 I felt something that actually felt like labor. Finally, I knew it was real. Between 4:00 and 4:15 I had "cramps", but I'd had worse in my life. At 4:15 the pain was getting nasty. Since I'd read that first deliveries can take hours and hours, I calmly commented to my husband, "This is pretty bad. I can't really picture having this for - like - 10 hours." At 4:45 a nurse told me that I had been in transition and was ready to push.
All of a sudden, that sense of urgency I hadn't noticed in anyone started to show up - and show up "big" - in everyone anywhere near me. My husband was instructed to hurry up and get his gown and hat on. People were looking asking where the doctor was and if anyone had seen him. My husband disappeared. Nurses seemed to be running around. Someone started pushing me through the hall at high speed. It was as if - all of a sudden - everyone finally "got it" that I was having a baby!
People were moving fast and talking loud and asking about who was where. Where was the doctor? Where was my husband? "This baby is coming now!" seemed to be the general consensus. The doctor came bursting through the door first. Soon after my husband came bursting through the door. Withing minutes (and a very few minutes at that), my upside-down, screaming, baby boy was born at exactly 5:00. Everyone who was supposed to be there had gotten there just in time. There was lots of talk about how close it had all been, and about how fast it had all happened. People were happily re-hashing what they knew was happening when, and who wasn't there. There was teasing of the doctor, who had announced that my breech baby was "bald as an eagle" (plenty of teasing).
As for me, I had learned that labor and delivery aren't always the way the books say they'll be. I had also learned never to skip eating on any day that falls within six weeks of delivery. One important thing I learned is that a restaurant chair full of amniotic fluid actually DOES mean that a real, live, baby is soon to follow. (Until I actually held my tiny and long-lashed little son I don't think I "got it" any more than some of those other people.)
Oh - and one more lesson: I learned to never stop at the Post Office on the way to having a baby. One never knows when one will be happily surprised with "Speedy Delivery!"
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
The Finalization of One Adoption, A Personal Story and Quiet Celebration
This is the "companion piece" to the adoption story posted a little earlier. It's my happy ending, so I thought it seemed fitting to include it here.
The Finalization of One Adoption, A Personal Story and Quiet Celebration
The Finalization of One Adoption, A Personal Story and Quiet Celebration
That Thing I Need to Write
There's something I need to write, and I only partly know what it is. Something seems to have some kind of grip on that thing I need to write, and that "something" is preventing me from writing it. I thought that, maybe, if I stare at a blank page long enough, or often enough, writing ideas will start to follow - and maybe I'll eventually manage to loosen that grip, and be able to finally write that thing I need to write.
Although this isn't really that thing I need to write, I think I'm going to start working on a book or two in conjunction with any thoughts I post on here. I'll let you know how it's coming along (and if you don't see any posts about it you'll know I'm still trying to get my brain up and running.
Although this isn't really that thing I need to write, I think I'm going to start working on a book or two in conjunction with any thoughts I post on here. I'll let you know how it's coming along (and if you don't see any posts about it you'll know I'm still trying to get my brain up and running.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
In the "Memories" Category: Adopting My Son (A Part of My Personal History/Story That Plays a Role in My Writing Interests)
Adopting My Son
"The Beginning of the End of "Corporate Life" (Or Maybe I Should Call This Part of My Story, "Where Things Began to Get More Complicated"
During the couple of/few years toward the end of my full-time employment I had been going through the adoption process. I'd gone out with the same guy for years, and both of us wanted a family in the future. One problem was that if we threw a marriage into the mix it might complicate the adoption process, so I was never quite sure about whether it would be better to continue pursuing the adoption before getting married, or whether the chances of the adoption going through would be improved by being a married couple.
Eventually, we reached a point where my future husband was past thirty, and I was getting closer to it. I asked one of the social workers who had been on the adoption case since it became an adoption case for advice about what would be viewed as "better" by anyone working on the case. This individual said we should "just do what we would otherwise do anyway". Things were a lot of different then when it came to single-person adoptions, and since we knew we'd be getting married and having more children eventually, it seemed less "desirable" (in the eyes of "adoption people", anyway) for me to try to go through the process single while "everyone" knew I wouldn't be remaining single "forever". In other words, my being single wasn't a permanent situation that would amount to "long-term stability". At the same time, our getting married would include a certain amount of stability (there are never any guarantees when it comes to a marriage), but the marriage would be a new one (not exactly something adoption people view as the most ideal situation).
By the time my son was two years old I loved him enough that I would have been more than willing to postpone marriage if necessary; and even though I knew that if I wanted to have more children I didn't have "all the time in the world", I would have been willing to postpone that as well. It was, however, because I did love him and was confident in my belief that a big part of the idea behind adopting him was also to give him what is healthy, nice, and normal in any child's life - which, to me (us), meant giving him a loving family (complete with siblings).
When you're mature enough to be a mother, it isn't just about how attached you are to a child; and it really isn't about what that child can or can't bring to your life. It's about being grown-up enough to make decisions based on what you believe will, in the long term, be best for that child.
So, we decided to take that social worker's advice and "do what we would otherwise do anyway" (if not for being involved in a long-running adoption case, but also because we were). In the end, I guess just asking the social worker worked in our favor. Correction, not "guess". She told me that it was because we'd asked that she saw us favorably.
My future husband and I put together a "quickie" wedding because I'd never wanted a big wedding; and after having lost my father ("which ruined everything when it came to a formal wedding anyway", as far as I was concerned), I'd ruled out a formal wedding completely. We had an immediate-family and friends kind of church wedding, with the informal reception outside at my mother's house. I had the gown and the flowers and all that, and our not-quite-legally-ours little son wore his Size Two Toddler three-piece suit.
Because we'd only given the priest a couple of months notice, he had a little trouble scheduling a date that we could have for the wedding. He seemed to like that we were adopting a little boy, so he found a couple of dates from which we could choose. He also broke a couple of church rules about x number weeks spent in pre-marriage counseling. After our initial conversation with him about the date and our plans, he reduced the "x number of weeks" to "0 number of weeks". He did mention that he wasn't really "all that concerned" because we'd been together for as many years as we'd been, and we weren't in our teens or early twenties.
So, my new husband and I decided to go hook, line, and sinker, into the whole marriage/family thing; and buy a house for that family. Even after our son was living with us in the home that had become our family home, there was no reading on how long, exactly, the whole adoption process would take to complete. Getting married hadn't turned out to hurt the process, but it had turned out to slow it down because the whole picture had changed. A new home-study process, and a new prospective father, would mean the whole business would start from close-to-scratch.
(A couple of adoption workers had quit at one time or another, and we privately joked that they may have quit because our case had been such a challenge to them.)
If you have at least one child you can probably understand that bond that had grown between my son and me when he had grown from infancy to close to two/close to three years old. I'd had to let that bond become established because every child needs that kind of bond, and I'd known that even if the adoption weren't to go my way, he'd still need that kind of bond in those first, all important, few years of life. Without having the right kind of bond, my son could likely end up with attachment and/or other developmental problems or disadvantages. With it, the risk to him was that if the adoption didn't go through he'd go through being separated from the one and only family he had. Because of the type of adoption it was, there hadn't been the option of his just being placed with a pre-approved adoptive mother/couple from birth and there being little risk that the adoption wouldn't work out.
This particular child hadn't been cleared for adoption until he was a year old; even though it was known from the beginning that he would, in fact, be placed for adoption. So, while who would or could adopt him remained uncertain, here was this infant who was in "limbo" and in need of the same kind of bonding that every baby needs. Leaving this child without that kind of bonding in her first years wasn't an option as far as I was concerned. If nothing else, I could offer him that much (and, to me, that was no small thing to be able to offer him). For the person with maternal instinct, bonding with a child she's with all the time (or most of the time) is about as natural as can be.
I knew that I was putting my own heart on the line, but I couldn't worry about my own heart at the time. If nothing else, I would have been given the unexpected chance to make a big difference in the life of one little baby who had gotten off to a rough start. Not everyone gets the chance to make that kind of difference in a child's life. Besides, this beautiful, sweet, good natured, baby was easy to love and fun to be with.
I say I couldn't worry about my own heart, but the truth is I was terrified for myself, as well as terrified for my son, that the process would go on so long he'd get older and older; only to then be wrenched away from the only family he knew and placed with strangers. Here was this perfectly healthy baby who, since before becoming a year old, had been slated for adoption; and who could potentially become considered a "harder to place child" by virtue of already having grown beyond two years old (and if "limbo" went on too long, by virtue of, perhaps, his being four or five years old). The tension of fear of imagining this happening to a child I'd loved for this long were something I had to put in the back of my mind (most of the time). So was that second-largest reason for tension and fear, my own heart.
In any case, anyone who has raised a child from infancy to two or three years old can probably imagine the ongoing backdrop against which my own emotions were, in so many ways, "running on high" for a very long time.
The adoption case involved a parade of social workers, as well as a couple of psychologists, in different capacities along the way. First, there were those involved with essentially only the child and any prospects for him. Then there were "general-adoption" people who focused both on the child and his perspective parent(s). Then there were a few involved with the decision about with whom the child would be placed. After the placement decision had been made, one new worker was assigned, but some of the "old" workers remained on the case as well (but in a limited way). A woman for whom I worked once remarked that my case may have become the parade of workers it had because it was actually a very easy case. She suggested that because it was, in spite of how complicated it might seem on paper, as easy a case as it really was some workers may have actually preferred to focus on it, as opposed to some of the more challenging (and less positive) cases there were to deal with.
As time had gone on, and my son (and my attachment to him) continued to grow, the adoption had become such a big, stressful, part of my life that what once had seemed to be simply a decision based on loving someone seemed to turn more into a fight for what was right for my son, but also for us. Life was going on as usual, but there's no question that the longer the adoption process took, the more and more I began to see it as first a "cause" and then almost an "obsession". I wasn't even only acting on my son's behalf and my husband's and my behalf. I was also acting on behalf of our whole extended family, all of whom absolutely adored this child and would be heartbroken to see him separated from any of us.
Ironically, as things dragged on and more time went on, I had increasing confidence that all would go well while, at the same time, I had increasing fear that the dragging-on was a sign that it wouldn't. With a young marriage and all the dreams for a future that go with it, it did seem important to make sure we went ahead with pursuing all that "life-building" we planned to pursue. Besides feeling that we "weren't getting any younger", and besides knowing that our plans were plans that would create a nice home, family, and normal life for our son, the looming fear that we'd be separated from him made it seem that (maybe more than ever) it was important for us not to put our plans on hold because of the adoption. Having already been with my son by (then) just about three years, I thought it was nice that he'd had undivided attention for that long. I assumed that when we decided to try to have another child it could take up to a year before one were one the way. We didn't want too much spacing beyond, maybe, five years. In any case, if we were try to have more children soon after being married, our son would be just about four years old before a second child would be born. That seemed perfect, and if it turned out he were five (or even six) that would be fine too.
As we seemed more and more permanently established as our little family of three, and as own confidence that all would go well increased; so, too, increased my awareness that this heart of mine was also being placed at more and more risk of a loss that could be impossible to ever get over. Aside from the fact that one reason we'd decided to get married was to "do the house and kids thing", it seemed increasingly risky to put off trying to have another child for too long. Besides feeling (as so many young women in their late twenties do) that I was getting a little too close to "high-risk pregnancy age", I had it in my mind that if I postponed trying to have more children for too long, and if the adoption were not to work out; not only would I be left in unimaginable grief, but I could be left without any children at all (or with fewer than I otherwise would have had time to have).
In any event, still without definite word about what might or might happen with the adoption, I was mentally exhausted enough, and even getting a little frustrated and fed up enough, to again go with that advice to "do whatever we were going to otherwise do". There were times when I worried that that advice was that one social worker's way of encouraging us to go ahead with life in view of some fact I'd imagined about her not thinking all would go well. In a way, it could sometimes be very much like what young, teen, girls do when they like a boy and keep looking for all possible signs that the boy may like them back. That, of course, essentially means trying to read signs into stuff that just isn't a sign of anything.
Once when I was in the middle of my work day (and sitting in my cubicle, with cubicles known for not offering any privacy), I received a phone call from the latest social worker (who, by the way, was one who seemed none to warmed up to either my husband or me; although that could have been his overall aloof and somewhat arrogant personality). Either way, my phone rang, and this individual said who he was and announced that he had a question he needed to ask me. I was happy to be ready to cooperate on anything that would move the process along more quickly. That is, until immediately after telling me he had a question to ask, the social worker asked for details about "any contraceptives" we were, or weren't using. Not only was I floored by the question, but the lack of privacy I had for answering it, after it had so suddenly been sprung on me made me really resent the call. I thought for a minute, scanned my mind for what to do (in view of the fact that I couldn't answer the question from where I was even if I'd wanted to), and said in what I know was an odd or cryptic voice, "Um... That's not something I'm really able to discuss right now? I'm at work?" The social worker said he understood, and the question was never again asked by anyone.
There was another element to the incident of that call, though, and that was that I had finally reached a point where I could be angered (secretly, anyway) by the long-term, multi-level, grilling process that had gone on for so long. Do you know how there are the those things that the coolest-headed among us tend to imagine saying to someone whose opinion of us matters, but won't say because, in fact, his opinion of us DOES matter? Well, here's what I'd been pushed to imagined saying to this young man who, as far as I knew, was a brand new, childless, social worker: "Look, Buddy,.." (I never say "buddy" in my real life, but for some reason when I'm imagining "letting someone 'have it' I always imagine the "look-Buddy" introduction, but I digress.)
Anyway, starting again: "Look, Buddy, you people have been putting us through the ringer, non-stop, and in ways that - really - were not called for, for years now. You know what kind of people we are. You know what our background is. You know what grades we got on our report cards in elementary school, and you what kind of income we have. You know about our family. You know we're not eighteen years old. You know we have no criminal records anywhere. You also know that the reason we're trying to adopt has nothing to do with not being able to have children ourselves (as far as we know) AND you know how much we love this little boy and he loves us (not to mention the whole rest of the family who also absolutely adores him). So, Buddy, cut the crap and do something to get this whole process finished up so that we aren't living with it hanging over our heads for another three years!
AND, you know what, Buddy? At this point, even if I were someone who didn't have a problem being called at work and asked about my personal business, I wouldn't be offering you any reassurance that we won't be having any more children for x number of years (that you do or don't approve of), because - you know what, Buddy? - I'm scared to death that if I don't go ahead and just plan to have at least one other child myself, there's the chance I'll lend up with NO children and a biological clock that puts any babies I might have at a higher risk of problems!!"
I didn't say any of that, of course. Or, at least, I didn't say it to that one guy. I pretty much said it to everyone else I knew who wasn't involved with approving the adoption.
Not long after that I got a call from a new worker. She said that guy had "quit" (whether he quit or was fired, I'll never know; but he wasn't one to have the best people skills in the world). The new worker said she wanted to meet with us, so we set up an appointment to meet with her in her Boston office. I was, as always, nervous as heck about it.
The day before the appointment I knew I had to get out and get some fresh air, so I brought my son to an amusement park. As I watched this adorable and innocent little boy enjoying the rides designed for only the youngest of children, I can't really say I was nervous as I stood there in blinding sun. With every ride that I watched him take, all the sounds of everyone and everything else in the park (all the adults, all the kids, all the music, all the hubbub) kind of went far into the background. All I could think about was what might happen to this little boy, and the only thing I felt was an incredible, deep, sadness. Each time I'd take him from a ride, his happy chatter and face would break the sadness. Each time I stood and watched yet another ride, the sadness would return.
I kept going back and forth in my head what I would and wouldn't say to the new social worker the next day.
The appointment for the following day was at 11:00 a.m. For some reason, that's one of those details I seem to remember all these years later. My husband and I made our way up to one of top floors in the Boston office building, and the closed up, dreary, office of the social worker was suffocating. It turned out this meeting wasn't one for which there were yet more plans to ask us yet more of the same questions. This meeting was the one during which it would be the social worker who did most of the talking. In my head I was still going over and over what I should or shouldn't say, in the event I were invited to say something or asked a question. Nothing the social worker was saying was much more than a re-hash of who had done what, when; why, and "where we are now". (Here's another one of those things that I imagined saying but never would: "Well, thanks for re-hash about everything that has already gone on in the past, but I'm pretty much familiar with it; particularly in view of the fact that I'm the only one who has been in on all this from very beginning, when you people have all been coming and going for whatever reasons you've coming and going." ) Again, I'd never say such a thing, of course. Boy, did I ever feel like, though. In that hot, stuff, gray, office this lady was killing me with her long re-hash of what was essentially "nothing". Someone toward the end of it all, and in all the otherwise seemingly mundane or redundant remarks, this woman slipped in the words, "So, we've decided to place him."
At first I was panicked because I wasn't sure she meant "place him" with us, and I wasn't even sure what "place him" meant, since he had been (as far as I could see) "placed" with us long before that. I kept listening to what she was saying so I could get a clue as to whether "place him" meant "permanently, and without question, with us" or whether it meant "place him with someone else permanently and without question". I guess "place" means different things to different social workers at different stages of the process, but I sure wished someone had thought up several different words that could be used instead of "place", because to those of us not working in the adoption field, "place" pretty much only means one thing. We were told that a new social worker, who handled pre-finalization adoptions (but post-approval-process ones), would be in touch with us.
After waiting an unbearable amount of time to hear something that could, in not way, mean anything other than "place with us permanently and without question", I eventually heard enough words to feel a little more reassured. It might have nice if, at the end of the meeting, this woman had said something like, "So, congratulations! He will forever be your son!" She didn't, though. She remained cool and business-like, and even on the highway ride back home I kept hoping I had actually interpreted her words correctly.
In fairness to her, I suppose, with all the investigating that had been going on, there was the chance she knew something about me that I hadn't volunteered: That day, as I sat in that stuff, sickening, office and listened to the re-hash of the whole story and process, one thing I hadn't been able to make myself volunteer was that I was experiencing some morning sickness. Whether or not she knew that I was in the early stages of pregnancy, I'll never know. Maybe she, or someone else who worked with her, had (as I had) decided that no good was likely to come of raising the issue of this new wrinkle.
All was, I suppose, for the best because a little more than three months after the meeting I would be told there was no fetal heartbeat; and at twenty weeks the matter of my being pregnant was no longer an issue, at least as far as the adoption went. Several months later the adoption would be finalized - finally.
"The Beginning of the End of "Corporate Life" (Or Maybe I Should Call This Part of My Story, "Where Things Began to Get More Complicated"
During the couple of/few years toward the end of my full-time employment I had been going through the adoption process. I'd gone out with the same guy for years, and both of us wanted a family in the future. One problem was that if we threw a marriage into the mix it might complicate the adoption process, so I was never quite sure about whether it would be better to continue pursuing the adoption before getting married, or whether the chances of the adoption going through would be improved by being a married couple.
Eventually, we reached a point where my future husband was past thirty, and I was getting closer to it. I asked one of the social workers who had been on the adoption case since it became an adoption case for advice about what would be viewed as "better" by anyone working on the case. This individual said we should "just do what we would otherwise do anyway". Things were a lot of different then when it came to single-person adoptions, and since we knew we'd be getting married and having more children eventually, it seemed less "desirable" (in the eyes of "adoption people", anyway) for me to try to go through the process single while "everyone" knew I wouldn't be remaining single "forever". In other words, my being single wasn't a permanent situation that would amount to "long-term stability". At the same time, our getting married would include a certain amount of stability (there are never any guarantees when it comes to a marriage), but the marriage would be a new one (not exactly something adoption people view as the most ideal situation).
By the time my son was two years old I loved him enough that I would have been more than willing to postpone marriage if necessary; and even though I knew that if I wanted to have more children I didn't have "all the time in the world", I would have been willing to postpone that as well. It was, however, because I did love him and was confident in my belief that a big part of the idea behind adopting him was also to give him what is healthy, nice, and normal in any child's life - which, to me (us), meant giving him a loving family (complete with siblings).
When you're mature enough to be a mother, it isn't just about how attached you are to a child; and it really isn't about what that child can or can't bring to your life. It's about being grown-up enough to make decisions based on what you believe will, in the long term, be best for that child.
So, we decided to take that social worker's advice and "do what we would otherwise do anyway" (if not for being involved in a long-running adoption case, but also because we were). In the end, I guess just asking the social worker worked in our favor. Correction, not "guess". She told me that it was because we'd asked that she saw us favorably.
My future husband and I put together a "quickie" wedding because I'd never wanted a big wedding; and after having lost my father ("which ruined everything when it came to a formal wedding anyway", as far as I was concerned), I'd ruled out a formal wedding completely. We had an immediate-family and friends kind of church wedding, with the informal reception outside at my mother's house. I had the gown and the flowers and all that, and our not-quite-legally-ours little son wore his Size Two Toddler three-piece suit.
Because we'd only given the priest a couple of months notice, he had a little trouble scheduling a date that we could have for the wedding. He seemed to like that we were adopting a little boy, so he found a couple of dates from which we could choose. He also broke a couple of church rules about x number weeks spent in pre-marriage counseling. After our initial conversation with him about the date and our plans, he reduced the "x number of weeks" to "0 number of weeks". He did mention that he wasn't really "all that concerned" because we'd been together for as many years as we'd been, and we weren't in our teens or early twenties.
So, my new husband and I decided to go hook, line, and sinker, into the whole marriage/family thing; and buy a house for that family. Even after our son was living with us in the home that had become our family home, there was no reading on how long, exactly, the whole adoption process would take to complete. Getting married hadn't turned out to hurt the process, but it had turned out to slow it down because the whole picture had changed. A new home-study process, and a new prospective father, would mean the whole business would start from close-to-scratch.
(A couple of adoption workers had quit at one time or another, and we privately joked that they may have quit because our case had been such a challenge to them.)
If you have at least one child you can probably understand that bond that had grown between my son and me when he had grown from infancy to close to two/close to three years old. I'd had to let that bond become established because every child needs that kind of bond, and I'd known that even if the adoption weren't to go my way, he'd still need that kind of bond in those first, all important, few years of life. Without having the right kind of bond, my son could likely end up with attachment and/or other developmental problems or disadvantages. With it, the risk to him was that if the adoption didn't go through he'd go through being separated from the one and only family he had. Because of the type of adoption it was, there hadn't been the option of his just being placed with a pre-approved adoptive mother/couple from birth and there being little risk that the adoption wouldn't work out.
This particular child hadn't been cleared for adoption until he was a year old; even though it was known from the beginning that he would, in fact, be placed for adoption. So, while who would or could adopt him remained uncertain, here was this infant who was in "limbo" and in need of the same kind of bonding that every baby needs. Leaving this child without that kind of bonding in her first years wasn't an option as far as I was concerned. If nothing else, I could offer him that much (and, to me, that was no small thing to be able to offer him). For the person with maternal instinct, bonding with a child she's with all the time (or most of the time) is about as natural as can be.
I knew that I was putting my own heart on the line, but I couldn't worry about my own heart at the time. If nothing else, I would have been given the unexpected chance to make a big difference in the life of one little baby who had gotten off to a rough start. Not everyone gets the chance to make that kind of difference in a child's life. Besides, this beautiful, sweet, good natured, baby was easy to love and fun to be with.
I say I couldn't worry about my own heart, but the truth is I was terrified for myself, as well as terrified for my son, that the process would go on so long he'd get older and older; only to then be wrenched away from the only family he knew and placed with strangers. Here was this perfectly healthy baby who, since before becoming a year old, had been slated for adoption; and who could potentially become considered a "harder to place child" by virtue of already having grown beyond two years old (and if "limbo" went on too long, by virtue of, perhaps, his being four or five years old). The tension of fear of imagining this happening to a child I'd loved for this long were something I had to put in the back of my mind (most of the time). So was that second-largest reason for tension and fear, my own heart.
In any case, anyone who has raised a child from infancy to two or three years old can probably imagine the ongoing backdrop against which my own emotions were, in so many ways, "running on high" for a very long time.
The adoption case involved a parade of social workers, as well as a couple of psychologists, in different capacities along the way. First, there were those involved with essentially only the child and any prospects for him. Then there were "general-adoption" people who focused both on the child and his perspective parent(s). Then there were a few involved with the decision about with whom the child would be placed. After the placement decision had been made, one new worker was assigned, but some of the "old" workers remained on the case as well (but in a limited way). A woman for whom I worked once remarked that my case may have become the parade of workers it had because it was actually a very easy case. She suggested that because it was, in spite of how complicated it might seem on paper, as easy a case as it really was some workers may have actually preferred to focus on it, as opposed to some of the more challenging (and less positive) cases there were to deal with.
As time had gone on, and my son (and my attachment to him) continued to grow, the adoption had become such a big, stressful, part of my life that what once had seemed to be simply a decision based on loving someone seemed to turn more into a fight for what was right for my son, but also for us. Life was going on as usual, but there's no question that the longer the adoption process took, the more and more I began to see it as first a "cause" and then almost an "obsession". I wasn't even only acting on my son's behalf and my husband's and my behalf. I was also acting on behalf of our whole extended family, all of whom absolutely adored this child and would be heartbroken to see him separated from any of us.
Ironically, as things dragged on and more time went on, I had increasing confidence that all would go well while, at the same time, I had increasing fear that the dragging-on was a sign that it wouldn't. With a young marriage and all the dreams for a future that go with it, it did seem important to make sure we went ahead with pursuing all that "life-building" we planned to pursue. Besides feeling that we "weren't getting any younger", and besides knowing that our plans were plans that would create a nice home, family, and normal life for our son, the looming fear that we'd be separated from him made it seem that (maybe more than ever) it was important for us not to put our plans on hold because of the adoption. Having already been with my son by (then) just about three years, I thought it was nice that he'd had undivided attention for that long. I assumed that when we decided to try to have another child it could take up to a year before one were one the way. We didn't want too much spacing beyond, maybe, five years. In any case, if we were try to have more children soon after being married, our son would be just about four years old before a second child would be born. That seemed perfect, and if it turned out he were five (or even six) that would be fine too.
As we seemed more and more permanently established as our little family of three, and as own confidence that all would go well increased; so, too, increased my awareness that this heart of mine was also being placed at more and more risk of a loss that could be impossible to ever get over. Aside from the fact that one reason we'd decided to get married was to "do the house and kids thing", it seemed increasingly risky to put off trying to have another child for too long. Besides feeling (as so many young women in their late twenties do) that I was getting a little too close to "high-risk pregnancy age", I had it in my mind that if I postponed trying to have more children for too long, and if the adoption were not to work out; not only would I be left in unimaginable grief, but I could be left without any children at all (or with fewer than I otherwise would have had time to have).
In any event, still without definite word about what might or might happen with the adoption, I was mentally exhausted enough, and even getting a little frustrated and fed up enough, to again go with that advice to "do whatever we were going to otherwise do". There were times when I worried that that advice was that one social worker's way of encouraging us to go ahead with life in view of some fact I'd imagined about her not thinking all would go well. In a way, it could sometimes be very much like what young, teen, girls do when they like a boy and keep looking for all possible signs that the boy may like them back. That, of course, essentially means trying to read signs into stuff that just isn't a sign of anything.
Once when I was in the middle of my work day (and sitting in my cubicle, with cubicles known for not offering any privacy), I received a phone call from the latest social worker (who, by the way, was one who seemed none to warmed up to either my husband or me; although that could have been his overall aloof and somewhat arrogant personality). Either way, my phone rang, and this individual said who he was and announced that he had a question he needed to ask me. I was happy to be ready to cooperate on anything that would move the process along more quickly. That is, until immediately after telling me he had a question to ask, the social worker asked for details about "any contraceptives" we were, or weren't using. Not only was I floored by the question, but the lack of privacy I had for answering it, after it had so suddenly been sprung on me made me really resent the call. I thought for a minute, scanned my mind for what to do (in view of the fact that I couldn't answer the question from where I was even if I'd wanted to), and said in what I know was an odd or cryptic voice, "Um... That's not something I'm really able to discuss right now? I'm at work?" The social worker said he understood, and the question was never again asked by anyone.
There was another element to the incident of that call, though, and that was that I had finally reached a point where I could be angered (secretly, anyway) by the long-term, multi-level, grilling process that had gone on for so long. Do you know how there are the those things that the coolest-headed among us tend to imagine saying to someone whose opinion of us matters, but won't say because, in fact, his opinion of us DOES matter? Well, here's what I'd been pushed to imagined saying to this young man who, as far as I knew, was a brand new, childless, social worker: "Look, Buddy,.." (I never say "buddy" in my real life, but for some reason when I'm imagining "letting someone 'have it' I always imagine the "look-Buddy" introduction, but I digress.)
Anyway, starting again: "Look, Buddy, you people have been putting us through the ringer, non-stop, and in ways that - really - were not called for, for years now. You know what kind of people we are. You know what our background is. You know what grades we got on our report cards in elementary school, and you what kind of income we have. You know about our family. You know we're not eighteen years old. You know we have no criminal records anywhere. You also know that the reason we're trying to adopt has nothing to do with not being able to have children ourselves (as far as we know) AND you know how much we love this little boy and he loves us (not to mention the whole rest of the family who also absolutely adores him). So, Buddy, cut the crap and do something to get this whole process finished up so that we aren't living with it hanging over our heads for another three years!
AND, you know what, Buddy? At this point, even if I were someone who didn't have a problem being called at work and asked about my personal business, I wouldn't be offering you any reassurance that we won't be having any more children for x number of years (that you do or don't approve of), because - you know what, Buddy? - I'm scared to death that if I don't go ahead and just plan to have at least one other child myself, there's the chance I'll lend up with NO children and a biological clock that puts any babies I might have at a higher risk of problems!!"
I didn't say any of that, of course. Or, at least, I didn't say it to that one guy. I pretty much said it to everyone else I knew who wasn't involved with approving the adoption.
Not long after that I got a call from a new worker. She said that guy had "quit" (whether he quit or was fired, I'll never know; but he wasn't one to have the best people skills in the world). The new worker said she wanted to meet with us, so we set up an appointment to meet with her in her Boston office. I was, as always, nervous as heck about it.
The day before the appointment I knew I had to get out and get some fresh air, so I brought my son to an amusement park. As I watched this adorable and innocent little boy enjoying the rides designed for only the youngest of children, I can't really say I was nervous as I stood there in blinding sun. With every ride that I watched him take, all the sounds of everyone and everything else in the park (all the adults, all the kids, all the music, all the hubbub) kind of went far into the background. All I could think about was what might happen to this little boy, and the only thing I felt was an incredible, deep, sadness. Each time I'd take him from a ride, his happy chatter and face would break the sadness. Each time I stood and watched yet another ride, the sadness would return.
I kept going back and forth in my head what I would and wouldn't say to the new social worker the next day.
The appointment for the following day was at 11:00 a.m. For some reason, that's one of those details I seem to remember all these years later. My husband and I made our way up to one of top floors in the Boston office building, and the closed up, dreary, office of the social worker was suffocating. It turned out this meeting wasn't one for which there were yet more plans to ask us yet more of the same questions. This meeting was the one during which it would be the social worker who did most of the talking. In my head I was still going over and over what I should or shouldn't say, in the event I were invited to say something or asked a question. Nothing the social worker was saying was much more than a re-hash of who had done what, when; why, and "where we are now". (Here's another one of those things that I imagined saying but never would: "Well, thanks for re-hash about everything that has already gone on in the past, but I'm pretty much familiar with it; particularly in view of the fact that I'm the only one who has been in on all this from very beginning, when you people have all been coming and going for whatever reasons you've coming and going." ) Again, I'd never say such a thing, of course. Boy, did I ever feel like, though. In that hot, stuff, gray, office this lady was killing me with her long re-hash of what was essentially "nothing". Someone toward the end of it all, and in all the otherwise seemingly mundane or redundant remarks, this woman slipped in the words, "So, we've decided to place him."
At first I was panicked because I wasn't sure she meant "place him" with us, and I wasn't even sure what "place him" meant, since he had been (as far as I could see) "placed" with us long before that. I kept listening to what she was saying so I could get a clue as to whether "place him" meant "permanently, and without question, with us" or whether it meant "place him with someone else permanently and without question". I guess "place" means different things to different social workers at different stages of the process, but I sure wished someone had thought up several different words that could be used instead of "place", because to those of us not working in the adoption field, "place" pretty much only means one thing. We were told that a new social worker, who handled pre-finalization adoptions (but post-approval-process ones), would be in touch with us.
After waiting an unbearable amount of time to hear something that could, in not way, mean anything other than "place with us permanently and without question", I eventually heard enough words to feel a little more reassured. It might have nice if, at the end of the meeting, this woman had said something like, "So, congratulations! He will forever be your son!" She didn't, though. She remained cool and business-like, and even on the highway ride back home I kept hoping I had actually interpreted her words correctly.
In fairness to her, I suppose, with all the investigating that had been going on, there was the chance she knew something about me that I hadn't volunteered: That day, as I sat in that stuff, sickening, office and listened to the re-hash of the whole story and process, one thing I hadn't been able to make myself volunteer was that I was experiencing some morning sickness. Whether or not she knew that I was in the early stages of pregnancy, I'll never know. Maybe she, or someone else who worked with her, had (as I had) decided that no good was likely to come of raising the issue of this new wrinkle.
All was, I suppose, for the best because a little more than three months after the meeting I would be told there was no fetal heartbeat; and at twenty weeks the matter of my being pregnant was no longer an issue, at least as far as the adoption went. Several months later the adoption would be finalized - finally.
All the Latest Changes for Internet Writers
As someone who both writes on a freelance basis and on a spare-time basis, all the recent changes that have taken place with Internet writing pretty much have be not really knowing what I ought to be doing or not doing. Because I've always kind of straddled a fence between one kind of writing and another (and not always all that well, by the way), I've had a kind of "writer identity-crisis" going since long before the changes. It's just that they have highlighted some things. Maybe it's more appropriate to say, instead, that they've kind of pushed me to think more about what's always been bothering me about writing online anyway.
I'm in the middle of putting together a whole little site that's devoted to just me, my writing, and defining (if only for myself) exactly who and what I am, as an Internet writer. There's a lot left to be added to that site, so I suppose the site shouldn't even be online. It is what it is, though, and I think a lot of that "writer identity-crisis" I mentioned might clear up if I find a way to stop straddling writing fences, define both sides of all fences, and then choose which side I'm writing on, at any given time.
This is a link to "Adapting to a Changing Internet Climate - My Way":
https://sites.google.com/site/lisahwarren/adapting-to-a-changing-internet-climate
I'm in the middle of putting together a whole little site that's devoted to just me, my writing, and defining (if only for myself) exactly who and what I am, as an Internet writer. There's a lot left to be added to that site, so I suppose the site shouldn't even be online. It is what it is, though, and I think a lot of that "writer identity-crisis" I mentioned might clear up if I find a way to stop straddling writing fences, define both sides of all fences, and then choose which side I'm writing on, at any given time.
This is a link to "Adapting to a Changing Internet Climate - My Way":
https://sites.google.com/site/lisahwarren/adapting-to-a-changing-internet-climate
An Update After Noticing How Little I've Done On This Site For Quite Awhile
I've been shifting around, and updating, some fairly old writing, blogs, etc. Of all the blogs I have going (or sort of going, if slowly), this is one of the most neglected. When I came back to update and re-organize (etc) I noticed the old post about cats and shrimp. It was kind of bittersweet (well, out-and-out sad, I guess) because it was only five months ago.
I sort of hate that so much of writing is about being frazzled, or else is about stuff that's out-and-out depressing; but those kind of things are all part of life. One of the reasons I write is to write about life. I don't want to "sterilize" and sugar-coat some of the realities of life, or the things I actually have had on my mind at one time or another. In any case, when I returned to this blog and saw the old post I went to HubPages and found a Hub I wrote shortly after losing the cat. (While I was at HubPages I ran into some Hubs that I thought might be a good way to freshen up this site.)
I sort of hate that so much of writing is about being frazzled, or else is about stuff that's out-and-out depressing; but those kind of things are all part of life. One of the reasons I write is to write about life. I don't want to "sterilize" and sugar-coat some of the realities of life, or the things I actually have had on my mind at one time or another. In any case, when I returned to this blog and saw the old post I went to HubPages and found a Hub I wrote shortly after losing the cat. (While I was at HubPages I ran into some Hubs that I thought might be a good way to freshen up this site.)
A Hidden Kind of "Rat Race"
When I had trouble finding full-time work after a complicated divorce, and in an economy that was about as bad it could get, I thought that the bright side to that otherwise dreary scenario was that working from home meant not being involved in the "rat race". That was true enough; and although there are things about the rat race that I've always kind of liked, there are a lot of things that are great about not having to be involved in it on a daily basis.
It's been years, now, since I've been away from the rat race. I've discovered something, though. It turns out that working from home (and especially if any of that work involves being online very much) can be its own kind of rat race.
The difference between the outside rat race and the more hidden kind that can seem to seep into the cozy environment of a home office (and, believe me, it isn't an "office" as much as it is a desk) (besides the commuter traffic factor) is that the rat race involved in working from home can be disguised as "not a rat race" but can still feel like one.
In any case (and ironically, I suppose, in view of the fact that blogs are online activities), this blog is my attempt to get away from all forms of rat races - and just write what I feel like writing.
It's been years, now, since I've been away from the rat race. I've discovered something, though. It turns out that working from home (and especially if any of that work involves being online very much) can be its own kind of rat race.
The difference between the outside rat race and the more hidden kind that can seem to seep into the cozy environment of a home office (and, believe me, it isn't an "office" as much as it is a desk) (besides the commuter traffic factor) is that the rat race involved in working from home can be disguised as "not a rat race" but can still feel like one.
In any case (and ironically, I suppose, in view of the fact that blogs are online activities), this blog is my attempt to get away from all forms of rat races - and just write what I feel like writing.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
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