World Adoption Day

I think a lot about adoption and I’m very pro-adoption. In the similar manner that I’m pro-adoption, I’m also pro-life. However, I saw a sign the other day that said, “Adoption is the loving choice to abortion” and I gotta admit, it really made me think. Not because I don’t think adoption is loving. But because I think this is one of those signs that make us feel good to proclaim, but we really don’t know what we’re saying.

Let me explain what I mean. Adoption can be a loving option if you’re pregnant and know you’re unable to parent. These adoptions are typically done privately and without any state involvement. There’s a plan in place, parents are chosen, and you begin to walk the journey together.

However, on the flip side, we tend to praise the birth moms represented in our house for choosing life, but they did more than that. They also wanted, and chose, to parent. Now granted, their parenting was sometimes dysfunctional and often dangerous, but they never went through 9 months of pregnancy with the intention of having their child call another woman mom. No matter how they showed it…..they wanted their children.

I think we have this fairytale idea of adoption that is just not there.

I’ve said it before and I will say it again: Adoption is necessary and can be amazing. But it will never be perfect. We are very open in our house about adoption and that means we are very open about the loss. The other day one of my kids made the comment about how it will be sad when Henry realizes he’s adopted. One of the older kids piped up and asked why and she simply said…..because he will miss his mom.

That is the reality of national adoption month.

The birth moms represented in our home chose life the same way my mom chose life. The same way I chose life with Trey and Addison. These moms were excited to be pregnant. They were excited to have a child. They didn’t choose adoption. There was nothing loving in their mind about their child being adopted.

Adoption is hard. Messy. Scary. Sad. Happy. Beautiful. Loving. All rolled into one. And typically adoption, much like abortion, is rooted in pain and hurt.

I’m pro-adoption. I’m pro-life. Let’s spend November celebrating these kids and raising the need for awareness. Especially for sibling groups and older teens. We should not live in a country where a child ever ages out of foster care. Period. We should not live in a country where sibling groups are split up and separated when they are adopted. Period. We should not live in a country where women can’t afford to feed their children so they have them removed. Period.

Let’s celebrate moms who chose to carry their baby for 9 months only to hand them off to another woman. I cannot imagine how that would feel. But, let’s also have some sympathy for the moms who chose life and desperately wanted to parent. A mom recently told me that when she was in the throes of addiction she couldn’t understand why she wasn’t allowed to parent her children. She told me she felt like they were kidnapped.

That probably didn’t feel too loving.

I’m convinced that if we work together to change the stigma and narrative of adoption, we can change the direction for adoptees. They can be open about their loss. Open about their pain. They can sit at the dinner table and talk about feeling sad. They can tell me they miss their mom but don’t really know why. They can be open about making sure we are never going to leave them. They can be angry and jealous without fear of judgement.

Adoption is amazing and can be a very loving choice. Children waiting for homes should know they are seen and heard. However, they should also know we see all of them. We see the pain, the hurt, and the ugly it brings. We should be willing to have the hard discussions and engage in hard talks about policy change.

Honestly, I’m thankful my girls didn’t read that sign when we drove past it. Not because I completely disagree. But because I don’t want them to ever feel like a project or simply a slogan on a sign. They are worth so much more.

Your hair smells good….

A few weeks ago I was sitting in the chair with one of my kids and they commented on my hair smelling good. I didn’t think too much about it and just said thanks and moved on. Then, a few days later, I was laying in bed with another child and she commented on my face smelling great. She wanted to know what kind of lotion I had on. Fast forward to a third child commenting on my hair and I wondered what in the world had changed. I was using the same shampoo and in fact, actually showering less than before Covid hit.

Honestly, I was quite proud that I had trained my hair to go longer between washes by not washing it as often. It certainly couldn’t have been smelling good then. Had I changed dry shampoo? I didn’t think so. My face lotion was the same Mary Kay I had been using for months. Why were they suddenly enamored with my smell?

Then, it hit me. We’ve never had this much time together before. They had never spent this much time sitting beside me reading or watching tv. Or this much time laying with me in bed talking while I pretended to nap. Or stayed in my bathroom while I was getting ready and pilfered through my makeup and browsed my jewelry. Before we were all home together things looked very different. My mornings were spent getting ready in solitude before anyone was awake. My nights were spent running in the door from 15 different activities and shoveling whatever was in the crockpot onto their plates. Typically at this point I was yelling about homework that needed to be done, notebooks that needed signed, and pajamas that needed put on.

I doubt my mom even knows this, but one of my favorite memories is being in her bathroom while she got dressed. Being a mom myself now, I realize she probably didn’t love the lack of privacy but she never said a word. My memories of this time are very random. I remember her always putting on a robe and then the smell of the lotion she would put on. She always had new makeup I wanted to see and some new hair gadget I wanted to try. It was typically a new round brush, velcro rollers, sponge rollers, or something else of the sort. I would sit on the clothes hamper and watch her dry her hair and put on makeup.

It’s so sad to me that it has taken a pandemic for my kids to smell my hair.

Don’t get me wrong: I miss our activities. In fact, I’m so ready to head back to church, swim with friends, and go out to dinner on a whim. My kids are missing friends and are already looking forward to the fall. Especially Grace who needs interaction and face to face friendships. But, I hope I don’t miss the lesson in this time of stillness.

I tell my kids all the time not to qualify their apologies. Don’t say, “I’m sorry for yelling, but it’s because you’re mean.” Or, “I’m sorry for hitting you, but you made me.” I hope I don’t look back and qualify this time in our home. I hope we look back and the kids remember sitting on my tub while I put on makeup. Or sitting in the chair with me watching Shark Tank or Ninja Warrior. Or laying in my bed while I try to convince them I’m sleeping.

I hope they look back and remember what I smelled like. And it makes them smile the same way it makes me smile picturing my mom in her robe patiently listening to me talk.