Months have passed since my last post about our adoption process. I blame this lapse on the death of our fantasy child.
If you’re a parent, then you know about the fantasy child. No matter how your children came to you, via fingerprints or shooting straight down the birth canal, the anticipation, the hope for what that child will be like as a person is the same. This child, this perfect mail-order child resides in our imaginations, a sort of mental hologram blend of the best parts of ourselves.
Actually, we had two fantasy children. Twins. A boy and a girl, age 6. He liked climbing and triathlons and she liked reading and writing. They both had smiles that smashed our hearts to pieces, were well-behaved, and overflowed with intellectual potential. He liked to organize his collections and she spent time in her head reflecting, daydreaming, comfortably. Both could completely dismantle us with humor, both were even-tempered. Both devoured affection, curling into our sides all soap-scented and soft as we read them to sleep. They were –
perfect.
And now they are gone.
One of the requirements of the special needs adoption process is to attend a special needs adoption class. I feel like even this mere reference to it should appear in bold, on its own line, sedentary in its gravity.
SPECIAL. NEEDS. ADOPTION. CLASS.
We attended our class over two Saturdays last June. We met in a conference room with four other couples and one instructor for a total of 16 hours. It was, perhaps, the singlemost sobering educational experience of our lives.
Our instructor –who, by the way, had adopted over a dozen of the most severely disabled children on the planet, thereby making us feel like total heels in comparison as we pictured our one or two mild to moderate-needs kids waiting for us to scoop them up from foster care into our loving, storybook family, but I digress – our instructor told us from the start that her job was “to scare the stuffings out of you. ” She said it again and again, charmingly, scoldingly, musically, dramatically — any way she thought we needed to hear it to really hear it.
We were the only gay couple in the class, as well as the only couple without children already in our care. Two of the couples were fostering nieces and nephews and two of the couples were fostering through the state. We entered with the blankest slate in the room yet, somehow, wound up feeling more uncertain about what we’re getting into than anyone else there.
It’s not that the information surprised us. Jenn and I both have master’s degrees in counseling; Jenn has 11 years as a school counselor under her belt and I’m working with abused and neglected kids. It strikes you differently when you’re thinking about your own kids, the small people who will grow into tall people who, over a long period of time, will ask you for rides to the mall, emotional support, and for things we can’t even imagine this early on. It really strikes you differently when you think about how, someday, these small-to-tall people will have to take you in after your hip replacement surgery or, God forbid, bathe you.
Most of the kids in the foster care system have experienced some degree of abuse and/or neglect. In the class, we talked at great length about attachment disorders, ADHD, and even psychosis. We learned about how these diagnoses might play out in the classroom, at family gatherings, and at home. We learned that behavior is communication and that any diagnosis is merely a frame to help us understand our children.
We learned about the foster care system in our state. In particular, there was a flow chart in our handbook depicting the system. It was five pages long. There, in simple black and white boxes and arrows, we saw our children bounce from bio parents to foster parents, from home to home to home, back and forth, and round and round. Not until page five were their best interests even considered. Until page five, all that mattered were the bio parents’ rights.
The system alone is enough to traumatize a child.
We left our classes feeling deflated.
Still totally committed to the process, we reassessed the “specs” we’d chosen for our future kids. We started out being open to kids age 0-10, up to three siblings with moderate emotional behavioral needs. Following our class and, especially, following the change in our financial plan when I didn’t get that job, we narrowed our preference to kids age 0-6, up to two siblings with mild to moderate emotional behavioral needs. After consulting with my clinical supervisor, a therapist highly experienced in working with kids in foster care, we revised our preference one last time to one kid, an infant, with or without one sibling up to age 4, mild to moderate emotional behavioral needs.
Basically, we want a baby. If a slightly older sibling is part of the deal, okay.
The guilt over this gradual decision engulfed us at first. We wanted to be different. We didn’t want to be another cookie-cutter couple seeking the Gerber baby. But, really, the more we learned, the more we accepted how much we’re willing and able to welcome into our lives. We know enough about attachment and abuse to know that the younger the child, the better chance we have of undoing the damage they’ve endured. We know the time and expense required to undo such damage. And we know that this commitment is forever. This is not a pair of jeans we wear once and return. This is our family. We want to give it a chance.
Our adoption worker emailed us a few weeks ago to let us know that she plans to finish our home study report in early November, at which point we sign it, she sends it out to the counties we’ve specified, and we wait.
It could be a week. It could be a month. We don’t know.
Eventually, our phone will ring and our hearts will pound and we’ll hold hands all the way to the first meeting where our kid(s) will be waiting to dispel all of our preconceived notions, the fantasies, the realities, the flow charts and, stuffings or no stuffings, we’ll become a family –
alive and well together.
11 Comments
October 13, 2009 at 5:13 pm
You’ll both be excellent parents. I think one of the best parts of being a parent is not knowing what to expect – they’ll surprise you every day (in good ways and bad). They’ll make you feel like a fool and like a hero, and sometimes when they’re 3 years old, they might pour soda down the back of your pants because you were wearing low-rise jeans and your crack was showing. Lesson learned – I never made that fashion faux-pas again!
October 13, 2009 at 7:36 pm
Love it: “all behavior is communication…” you WERE at a special needs meeting!
For what it’s worth, we’ve learned to be as skeptical of the “mythical parent” script as we are of the “mythical child.” We’ve accepted the fact that we are parents who won’t have children caring for us as we age–certainly we’re not the first ones to do it. (And I’m not sure I want my kid washing me anyway!)
The dynamic we could never conceive of bf our son came along is that he would tap into this wellspring inside of us and introduce us to our *capacity.* We didn’t think we “had what it took” but now we know the truth is that all of us have “what it takes.” We aren’t better parents or people than anyone else, don’t have special genes or superpowers—just have love that helps us put one foot in front of the other during the more challenging times. Our son keeps teaching us that there are more variables on the range of “normal” than humans can ever dream. He also keeps teaching us that this isn’t a test of how well we can do it alone–he gave us so many new friends walking the same walk as us who have became new family.
You and Jenn already have everything it takes—parenting skills, gifts, dynamics and love that noone can ever imagine are just waiting to be tapped. And this lucky, blessed soul who is coming—such a clever soul for choosing you two! We’re sending a virtual gift basket of blessings your way!
Oh, and in case you need some reasons to consider the tribe we belong to, that exclusive, members-only, T-21 club:
http://www.dsagc.com/programs_adoption.asp Also know of sites w/ plenty of international children w/ Down syndrome who need families now.
Most gorgeous babies on the planet, if you ask me.
October 13, 2009 at 7:38 pm
Don’t worry if your stuffings come out. You can get more stuffings. All parents get their stuffings scared out of them sometimes. It’s part of the deal. I look forward to reading more stories about your family.
October 13, 2009 at 9:32 pm
Wow. That was beautiful. And true. I’m glad you’re still going for it.
For what its worth, even after all that trauma the kids in foster situations can go through, they’re still small kids who just want to be loved by someone tall.
I wish there was a way to scoop them all up before the real damage gets done.
Best of luck to you on starting your family.
October 14, 2009 at 7:04 am
Erika…your writing talent is incredible. Write a book…seriously. You’re really good. I deeply appreciate that you are sharing your life so openly. The child that is meant for you both will have a very rich life and you will be great parents.
October 14, 2009 at 7:06 am
That sounds like the most impossibly tough decision to make in the world.
October 15, 2009 at 1:27 pm
Thank you for sharing this. You gals are awesome. And I know your child(ren) will be, too.
October 25, 2009 at 3:08 pm
I will be hoping you both get the family that you want and deserve. All the best.
October 27, 2009 at 6:24 pm
So glad to hear more about your process … feeling my way along with your story as you go. You and Jenn are going to be such kick-ass parents! That class sounds so sobering and scary, but I’m glad it didn’t scare you away.
November 5, 2009 at 9:34 pm
Oh, I hope and hope that this comes very soon. Ring phone. Sending supportive, phone ringing, child loving thoughts.
November 6, 2009 at 9:29 pm
I wish you luck.