[blessedbybug]

From Bromanchik:

But I am going to talk about my pain here because too little that is honest is ever said about the pain experienced by adoptive parents. And what we don't talk about twists our hearts in ugly knots. It turns us into neurotic animals driven by jealousy.

I love both of my children to distraction. And there is a part of my heart that wishes, very deeply, that there was no challenge to my "motherness." That part of me wants to be the only mother. My biggest loss in adoption is the loss of singularity as a mother. I cannot regret the loss of genetically related children; how could I in the face of my two, beautiful children? But I will never be the "one and only" mother for them.

My daughter Desiree is now just three and a half. She professes no understanding of her adoptive status, and we are, at this point, lacking contact with her first family, which would help her in her understanding. Now, it is not that she isn't getting it all; I believe that she is. But she is rejecting her adoptive status out of hand, and utterly rejecting the idea of the "other mother." No, Jack might have two mothers, but she does not:

"You are my only mama," she says with great confidence. When I assure her that she does indeed, just like Jackie, have another mother. "No. I have only one mama," shaking her head firmly.

And as she says this, that part, that possessive dark part of my heart leaps with joy. Finally, my own baby, not shared, just mine... I overstate this, state this at all, because I want people to understand that the knife of adoption slashes at everybody. And we all have to understand our pain if we are going to make this strange situation work. I puzzle over how to make it work a lot. Is it possible?

This struck a chord with me and describes the sadness I feel to the core of it, in words I've never been able to express. I wish that there was no challenge to my "motherness". Every day I wish that, but every day it is challenged. And often, the greatest challenger is... me.

I have always wanted to be a mother, and that is what sent me on this journey. Who knew the joy of being Mom to Bug and Roo would have so much pain intermingled with it. It definitely was not what I ever expected. I never expected to feel so insecure, not in my ability to parent or to care for and love my two babies deeply, wholly, unrelentingly, but in my "role" as their mother, to be called a mother when I know I wouldn't be one were it not for someone else. Who deserves that? No one. Therefore, how can it be?

And how can we make it work because it does happen? In the cases of my kids, it needed to happen as their lives would have been chaotic at best, short-lived at worst had they been through some of the difficulties their birth families have suffered since we've known them.

People say to me "well they're better off with you... they're so lucky to have you". Well... I don't feel that way at times. Mostly, because I know they have lost. Even if their lives are easier and more with us, they have lost the whole relationship that you can only have with those you are related to. I mean, I even see this in my marriage... DH and I have separate relnships with our families of origin that neither of us understand. I don't understand how he can put up with so much from them, and likewise, he can't understand how my family works. Would this be the same with bio families? I don't know... maybe I'm reading too much into all these feelings, but I want desperately to give my kids (there I said it!!!!) all that they need to be all that they are put on earth to be.

So I work hard, HARD, at keeping threads of communication open with birth families who really aren't able and/or willing to have a relationship with us. What else can I do? They are a part of us.

Well... there it is, it's out there. Don't know if anyone will read it, but I feel better for admitting it. Now to do the hard work of making these relationships work... for us, for them, but most of all, for my precious Bug and Roo.

Most sensible people now acknowledge these statements as lies. So, we just tell each other the truth, right? Is that the way out of this? Well, yes, of course, the truth is always a good place to start. But we need something beyond that. We need acknowledgement, among ourselves, that however necessary it was to use the subtle knife of adoption, that there is great pain associated with its use for everybody.

I acknowledge this... wholeheartedly. Really, we're all in this together...

And as we reconnect birth and adoptive families and the two mothers come face to face, we must also acknowledge that our differences make telling the truth difficult sometimes. Our ages, the families that raised us, what we do, our ethnicities, where we live...the list of our differences could go on and on.
But Jack's birthmom and I share something that reaches beyond all of those differences. We share the desire for our shared child to be happy, to be able to be more than either of us could ever be. Each of us carries half of his "motherness" in us. Neither of us is fully complete without the connection to the other. The subtle knife of adoption has cut Jack's "motherness" into two pieces. And what it really comes down to is this: his birthmom and I can allow these two pieces to remain separate, or we can bring them together for him, so he can have both.

All I can say is WOW. That is alot o' hard work. It takes two sides. What do you do when the other won't/can't participate in bringing the two together. I get no acknowledgement, for the most part, of my communication with them. What happens then???