I have my grandfather’s nose.

I have my dad’s teeth and his smile.

I have my mom’s hands (and knees as you already know).

They are identifying genetic factors that have been passed down in our family from generation to generation —they tie us together. 

And today I can easily say what I couldn’t say then…..

Part of the reason that made it so hard for me to jump from infertility treatments to adoption was all about looks.

Now for those reading who instantly want to tell me to stop being so vain you can go right ahead.

I knew it and that was part of my struggle. 

I was embarrassed that this was the way I was feeling because it shouldn’t matter.  It’s not what being a parent is all about.

I had a hard time expressing my fears —because I was terrified of being judged for it.

I was sad that by not having a biological child that he or she wouldn’t have my eyes, Kipp’s nose, my mother’s hands or my dad’s and my smile.

But sometimes you just can’t help how you feel.

And if you stop and think for a moment about how the first thing most people do when they see a baby is say, “Does he/she look more like you or your husband?” —then maybe you’ll understand where I am coming from.

And since then I’ve grown.

I remember once (long ago before I ever tried to have children) I told a friend that her son was 100% her husband….she almost burst in to tears right then and there.

I didn’t mean to hurt her.

I felt terrible and there was nothing I could do to take it back.

But her son really was the spitting image of her husband—and it bothered her that his face showed no visual presence of her genes.

So long story short— I came to terms with the fact that our child might not look like either one of us and that that would be ok.

Because our story wasn’t going to be in our looks.

Our story was going to be in the journey.

So when The Boy’s birth mother told me that she looked like she could be my sister I laughed…..really?

And when I met her I was amazed—she really did look like me –our features were very similar.  

I never expected it to work out this way.

And then there’s the boy…..I’ll never forget the time that I was walking down the street with him a couple of years ago and a random woman stopped me.

“He’s all you and he’s gorgeous.” She said.

“Thank you.” I said as I laughed to myself.

“I hope your husband’s ok with that.” She added as she walked away.

And there you have it—even strangers are compelled to compare a child’s looks to his or her parents. 

And now, when people tell me that The Boy has my smile, I simply say thank you.

I know that he has his birthmother’s smile (and someday he will too).

However…… I just might be the reason he smiles so much.

Love much,

xob

Yesterday it took me not one, not two but THREE Tries to get all the proper “proof of residence” paperwork to The Boy’s school in order to register him for Kindergarten this fall.

Admittedly, I had an off morning.

But in my defense I did speak to someone regarding this matter two weeks ago.

Clearly I did not ask the right questions.

I was ill informed……

Apparently so was she.

I missed my workout with the Linebacker (because I had to stand in line three times)  and the security guard at the school thinks I’m a nut but The Boy is registered.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, later that morning, I was one of the library mom’s at his school.  It wasn’t until I was on the bus home from an afternoon meeting that I realized I had called the other library mom by the wrong name the entire time we were together.

MORTIFIED. MORTIFIED. MORTIFIED.

I emailed her to apologize — and she was very nice about it.

She shares her last name with a friend of mine in Philadelphia—it was an honest mistake.

An embarrassing one, but an honest one.

I really need my brain back.

The Girl is sleeping through the night.

I suppose it’s only a matter of time.

Love much,

Xob 

One of my chic, uber-hip friends who makes me cooler for just knowing her is coming to meet Brooke.

It will not be an easy visit for her…..

And  it won’t be easy for me because I have been in her shoes (sort of)….and I will never forget.

You see, my uber-hip friend is suffering from secondary infertility.

What does that mean?

In her case it means that with her first child it was so easy.

She got pregnant immediately, had an easy pregnancy, even an easy delivery (20 minutes) and had a baby that slept through the night at 7 weeks.

Life was good.

And life is still good it’s just more challenging for her these days.

It pains me.  It seems like when one of us leaves the “struggling team” another one gets up to bat.

If my memory serves me correctly she tried for almost a year before she became pregnant again…..

Only to suffer a miscarriage.

And then another.

And another.

I’ve heard people say things like “well at least she has one, she should count her blessings.”

And that is not fair.

It is true she has a child to love and hold but her pain is valid and her pain is real.

I know our visit will be a tearful one….

Tears of sadness and joy…..

Joy for The Girl FINALLY arriving….

And sadness for my friend’s struggle.

But my friend needs to know how brave I think she is.

“Just keep telling me I’ll get there…” she said in one of her emails.

You’ll get there my friend.

And I am here for you.

I must say it on a daily basis…..

Becoming a parent is not easy…..

No matter what path you take….

And some journeys are harder than others.

I will be glad when the day comes that instead of leaning on each other for support as we struggle to become mothers we can simply set up play dates with our kids.

Unfortunately with 7.3 million infertile American’s a year—-that day might never come.

Love much,

xob

Friday is show and tell for The Boy.

I should know that by now.

Every week they study a different letter and on Friday they bring in something that starts with it.

But I didn’t go through the school papers yesterday.

And this morning it totally slipped my mind—

Perhaps I was distracted by the fact that Farrah got sick all over the apartment last night and Kipp and I were rolling up our living room rug this morning and taking it to the trash room—lots of fun.

I was reminded of show and tell when I dropped The Boy off at school and the other kids were talking about what they brought.

The Boy looked at me with eyes that said “MOM!!!!!!!”

I remembered from earlier in the week that this week’s letter was F.

“Good thing your last name is Fawcett.  You brought yourself!” I said with a huge smile.

And his face lit up.

He loved it….

“Hey guys….I’m a Fawcett. I brought myself to show and tell.”

All his friends started laughing.

Crisis averted.

I really need to get some sleep.

Love much,

xob

When we adopted The Boy I couldn’t bear to travel with the baby equipment. 

What if it didn’t work out?

It was more  than I could think about it.

So I traveled with nothing and had it all shipped once he was officially ours.

But this time it was different.

The Girl’s early arrival threw every one for a loop and thanks to the flexibility of the airlines – the papers were signed before we got to Texas. 

So I traveled with everything….

Including an empty car seat and stroller.

First stop in our “Texas Adventure” as The Boy called it was check in at the airport.

It will probably come as no surprise that my luggage exceeded the weight limit.

Now there are two reasons for this:

      a) It’s me we’re talking about

b)      When you travel with children you have limited hands so you really do need to cram as much into a suitcase as humanly possible. 

Before the man at curbside check in opened his mouth, I volunteered “Sir, please forgive me for this luggage.  I am certain that we have exceeded all of your weight limits.  So just charge me what you need to.  You see we are on our way to adopt our baby girl!” Clearly I was beaming.

Kipp was of course mortified at my wordy explanation and just wanted to pay the fees and be done with it. 

But I was hoping for kindness.

And kindness is exactly what I got.

“So you’re a big brother now?” The guy said to Jake.

“Yes.  We’re going to adopt my baby sister.” He said while jumping up and down.

The guy smiled.

“No extra charge today m’am.  Have a safe trip and congratulations.”

I expected kindness, what I got was the Magic of adoption.

Even I was surprised.

It had already started.

Next stop was security and as we passed the first check person she peered in the stroller and said “Who do we have here?”

“Oh. It’s empty.” I said with a smile.  “We’re on our way to adopt our baby girl.”

“Oh… then don’t stand in that line.  Here come with me. A baby girl…..now that’s exciting.” And she took my arm.

She took us to the front.

I turned around to shoot Kipp a smile and he just laughed…..I know I sometimes drive him crazy because I talk to everyone…. but he wasn’t going to start complaining now.  He was thrilled to skip the line.

Everyone wanted to help us……

Which after a two and a half year up hill battle to adopt this baby was a pleasant turn of events.

And as I finally settled into my seat on the plane it was as if I could feel The Girl in my arms.

I was almost there.

Almost.

Love much,

xob

Two days later my social worker told me that the birthmother wanted to talk again at 8:00 pm.

At 8:00 when the phone rang I was ready.

My heart was beating uncontrollably but I was ready.

“Hello” I said.

“I just wanted to call to say that we pick you.  We want you to parent this little girl.”  She said before I had a chance to say anything else.

There is no way to adequately describe the emotion surrounding these words—for either one of us.

“Thank you.” I cried into the phone.  “You have no idea how happy we are.”

Then she cried.

Looking back on this moment I can only speculate (I can not speak for her) that we were both in great pain. 

This decision, in one fell swoop, had given both of us a glimpse of peace and hope for the future.

Our individual pains are completely different and unique in their own right and in no way shape or form can be or should be compared.

Both should be recognized for what they are.

And no matter how different our pain we shared one commonality:  We had both found ourselves in unexpected situations and needed help finding our way through them. 

She was pregnant and carrying a little girl she deeply loved, and I was infertile and overwhelmed with gratitude for the opportunity to love her too.

She was due December 7^th.

Thank you to my new found friend……

You are forever in my heart.

Love much,

xob

I must admit that prior to the call I was a little pessimistic—call it self preservation.

This particular birth mother liked three families.

How could you like all three?

Were we similar?

How could we be?

Wasn’t there anything about us that stood out from the rest?

I convinced myself that there was just no way we could compete in this pool of prospective adoptive parents. The fact that we lived in NYC was proving much harder to match with Texas birthmothers than I ever anticipated.  My gut told me that the City just didn’t translate well to people who didn’t live here—-but what did I know.

I took a deep breath and made the call.

On the third ring she answered. 

…….45 minutes later I said goodbye to my new found friend.

I went into The Boy’s room where he and Kipp were playing trains.

“I think we’re done.” I said, as I looked Kipp in the eye.

He shook his head and told me not to do this to myself again.

“Don’t set yourself up for disappointment again Snyds.” (pronounces Snides—short for my maiden name of Snyder).

“Kipp, I hear you but I haven’t had a call like this since The Boy.”

Now I had his attention.

“So what was the difference? Did she say she liked us best?”

“She said I was different.  She said I talked to her as a friend, with a different tone in my voice than the others.  She said I talked about “her” as a piece of our family.  No one else did. She said the others seemed hesitant and a little scared.  But I get it—we’ve done this before.  I shared with her how we were scared of the “birthparent scenario” the first time ‘round and she laughed.  ‘I’m just a regular person’ she said.  I laughed back and told her that we were just regular people too.  I told her I knew some of what she was going through–I’d been through it with the Boy’s birthmother.  I can sympathize with how hard it is for her.  I know the difficulty of this decision. I also told her I know how brave and generous she is and that the little girl that she is carrying is going to know that too.  I told her about Jake’s Box in my closet and how I’ll start one for The Girl if she picks us.  And get this…..she loves Jake, she loves the Ladies and she loves that we live in NY! Hard to believe right? But she grew up on the East Coast—it’s a sign.”

He started to believe me and asked “and what made her different?”

“She didn’t ask me judgmental questions that have nothing to do with motherhood—like who did I vote for in the last election, would I love this child if she was a “Wicken” (yes, I’ve been asked that) and why do I think working fulltime is a good idea with children (uhhhh because the bills don’t pay themselves)? She asked me what I love best about being a mom. She wanted to know about our life with The Boy—what we all do together.  She asked me why I wanted another child.  She wasn’t looking for a reason to hate me.”

“And what did you tell her?”

At this point I was crying.

“I told her I love everything.  But I especially love the simple things.  Like the first time he hugged me.  The first time he held my hand.  The first time he gave me a kiss without me asking for one.  I told her I never imagined that I would ever love my child this much and I wanted another to grow our family to do it all again and especially to give them each other. “

“And what did she say?”

“She said she will talk to her social worker on Monday and get back to us.”

“And what did you say?”

“I said great. Talk to you soon.  I couldn’t help myself…it was as if I was getting off the phone with L.”

And if I was wrong?

Well then I’d just deal with that then. 

But for now I was going to be cautiously optimistic. 

Monday was two days away.

Love much,

xob

July 30, 2009—Philadelphia

Jake was in the pool, because that is where he’d spent the better part of the week. 

I was sitting out and taking a break while Kipp took a turn trying to teach The Boy to put his face in the water.

 My phone rang, which of course brought some judgmental stares from the other pool goers since there is a strict “no cell phone” policy.

 But as I reached into my bag to silence it, I noticed the number calling and knew I had to answer.

It was Texas.

Our book had gone out the week before to birthparents who were very early in the process and to be honest with you I thought it was too early and that they would just keep looking at books because they had the time. 

So I hadn’t really given it much thought. 

“They’ve picked three families and you are one of them.” Said my social worker.

“What does that mean?” I asked

“The birthmother would like to talk to all three and then make her decision.”

Ughhhhhh I thought to myself. 

It was my experience that these were the birthmothers who weren’t 100% secure in their decision to place their babies. 

These were the birthmothers who kept looking at books and having phone calls, while they looked for something to push them in one direction or another. 

I had been through this one too many times this past year but I guess that’s just part of the deal, so I said:    “Okay.  When is the call?”

“She’d like to talk to you tonight at 8:00, your time.”

Crap.

We were having dinner with some of our best friends (one of Jake’s Godmothers) who we never see, and tonight was the only night they could do it.  So I did the unthinkable.  “I am really sorry but that won’t work.”

“Really?” My social worker said with a surprise.

“Yes, really.  Can we make it another night?” I knew if Kipp was in earshot, he would think I was nuts. He would tell me to cancel dinner. But all I could think of was how I had put so much of my life on hold the past two years and how we had cancelled so many things for a “wild goose chase” and quite frankly, I was done.

If this situation was meant to be, then it would work out—but in the meantime I wanted to see our friends. I had been looking forward to it all week.

It didn’t cross my mind for a minute that this was foolish.

If this birthmother really wanted to talk to us, then what’s one or two more days.

“Okay let me check with her social worker but what about Saturday night at 8:00 your time?”

“Perfect. We can do that.” I replied.

 Saturday was two days away.

Love Much,

xob

With reality.

At all.

The tree is still up and we’re listening to Christmas music in the office….

I’m going to stay in la-la land a little longer…

love much,

xob

For 28 months I fought for The Girl on a daily basis (or so it seemed to me).

And now she’s here.

I stare at her everyday in disbelief.

I am in awe and I am so grateful.

Friends and family all say, “now you can relax.”

But I can’t.

I’m still angry.

Something’s gotta give.

Why did it take so long?

Why is this process so difficult?

Why are there so many rules?

And at the same time why aren’t there enough rules?

Why do adoptive parents have to sign away all their rights for any agency or lawyer to represent them?

Why does it seem as if only the adoptive parents are accountable for anything?

Why do adoptive parents assume all the financial responsibility and all the risk?

And why oh why does it cost so much?

 I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again— I do not expect adoption professionals to work for free but the costs as they stand now are just prohibitive for most.

Would anyone like to answer these questions for me?

And please don’t say “that’s just the way it is.”

That’s just not an acceptable answer.

Because here’s the reality: If the cost of adoption continues to skyrocket then fewer American’s will be able to adopt—-and what will that mean for the children who need to be adopted?  

It means they won’t be….and then what?

Love much,

xob