vacantuterus

Sigh.

Yesterday, when I wrote the previous post, I was upset.  I was working through my emotions, processing how I felt about some things.  I did that here on my blog because here is where I do a lot of my processing.  I think out loud.  I bounce my ideas off of you.  I have always felt like this is my safe space.  And I know I need to grow thicker skin if I'm going to grow my readership but I have to be honest, I'm not a saint.  Sometimes ugly stuff is going to wind up on this screen. 

I appreciated the constructive comments; those along the lines of "she probably didn't say it with the intent to be malicious" and "it's sometimes hard to know what to say."  That is so very true.  After I'd written the post, walked away and taken some time to think about it, I realized that was the case here.  And while I still think it's important to educate people about open adoption, I'm no longer in the space I was when I wrote what I did.  In fact, I moved out of that space pretty quickly because I was able to write it out and be done with it. 

I did not appreciate being told that I'm not focused enough on Sam but after I took some time away to think about it I realized that this is a fundamental problem with blogging.  None of you get to see me in my day-to-day life so you wouldn't really have any idea about how engaged I am as Sam's mom.  Because I haven't had much time to blog and the time I have had has been spent letting off steam (again, processing so that I can let it go and be present with Sam when I'm away from the computer) it looks to some of you like I'm not embracing my role as Sam's mom.  Blogs are wonderful in their own way but also limiting: you see only what I choose to write.  So no, I haven't written a ton about me and Sam because I'm busy spending time off-screen enjoying him.  Lately, I've only used my blog to process the excess so that when I pick him up after a nap, I'm refreshed and ready to be a happy mommy again.  If this looks like disengagement, there's not a lot I can do about that.  I don't mean that to sound angry because at this point I'm truly not. 

After I read all the comments, I went to Sarge and asked him if he thought I was angry and bitter and not embracing my role as Sam's mom.  He knows me the best of anyone and he's never been afraid to tell me the truth about myself.  I think that's the thing I appreciate most about him.  He looked at me like I had two heads and said "Uh, no."  I asked my father the same thing, just for good measure.  He replied: "I think that picture of you wearing your glasses with Sam in the baby sling kind of says it all."  (BTW, the sling is moby wrap, for all who asked.  We heart it!)  So I felt like those who knew me the best and would give me the most accurate picture of myself, did.  And that picture didn't reflect a mom who was trying so hard to be okay with open adoption that she was keeping herself from falling totally in love with her son.  Nothing could be further from the truth.

I have plenty to say about Sam and how wonderful he is and how much I love him.  I want to tell you about our trip to the pediatrician and how much he's grown and how my heart stopped when we were nearly hit by a Jeep towing a boat on Sunday and why his reflux makes me want to whimper.  I want to tell you all about the way his eyes seem to be settling into blue and how he's got these amazingly huge hands and the fact that we think he's going to be a TANK and why we've started calling him the Gerbil Baby. 

Right now though, I just feel so crappy about being in blogland.  I'm going to take a break.  See you next week(ish.) 

No, I will not shut up about adoption activism!

I haven't talked much about Sam's first family here on Ye Olde Blogge for a number of reasons.  Part of it is because his story belongs to him and I want to hold it in trust for him and give it to him in pieces as he grows, so that he hears it from us and not from random strangers.  It doesn't seem fair that the whole world should know his life's history before he does.  I also feel pretty strongly that T. & E. deserve their privacy, something that I'm finding a lot of people in my day-to-day life don't really understand.

I know that their desire to know more about Sam's first parents isn't necessarily motivated by malice.  And I know that the stereotyping they do is because they are uneducated about adoption and because they think if they diminish T. & E., they increase my role as Sam's "forever mother."  But I just can't let it go.  I feel protective of T. & E.  I want to sheild them from people's inquiries and I know it's aggravating for folks (heck, I'm pissing a lot of people off these days!) but honestly?  It's none of their business.  T. & E. chose to place their son into our care, yes.  They didn't choose to be stereotyped and have their personal lives exposed along with it and I won't be a party to that.

Case in point: we were at a gathering a week or two ago.  An older friend came over to coo at Sam and rejoice with us that our long wait was over.  I mentioned that we'd been having some trouble finding a formula that he liked and we'd recently switched to a specific brand on the advice of Sam's firstmom.  T. had said it worked like a charm for Sam's brother.  Our friend looked at me and barely missing a beat said: "Oh!  Did she give that one away too?"

What?

I took a moment to breathe and looked at my son as possible answers flitted through my mind.  I was really and truly angry.  Did she give that one away too?  Well, we prefer to think that T. & E. didn't "give Sam away" either.  They made the decision to allow us to parent him due to a complicated set of circumstances.  It wasn't like they carelessly handed him off to us.  An image of E. flashed through my mind, clutching Sam's brother for dear life, reaching out a finger to stroke Sam's head.  He didn't say anything but I saw the tears pool in his eyes.  Everyone told me that E. wouldn't communicate much but I thought he said plenty that day in the hospital.  And T...."I hope he doesn't resent me.  I hope he understands why."  Did she give him away?  No.  No, our son was not given away.

In any case, Sam belongs to himself and to God and to no one else.  In six months the courts may say that he belongs to us but what that means is that Sarge and I have the privilege of raising him.  Not that he's our property, not that he's ours to own.  He's not a valuable to be traded or sold.  He's a human being.  Did she give that one away?  No.  He can't be given away.  He has inalienable rights, including the right to himself.

And then there's the idea that T. & E. exist solely as firstparents, that their entire lives are defined by the one act of adoption.  Never mind that T. is a daughter, a mother and a friend.  Does she like her eggs scrambled or over easy?  Does she prefer sweatpants or chinos?  Will Ferrel or Jane Austen?  Why should her private life be up for discussion just because she made this decision?  Why should she be stereotyped as irresponsible, possibly abusive, naive, young and poor simply because she chose to place Sam in our care?  And what about E.?  Why is he so often discounted, left out of the equation as though he doesn't matter?  As though he doesn't love Sam every bit as much as T. does even though he isn't the mother?  They are two people who have suffered tremendous loss.  They had lives before Sam and continue to have lives after Sam.  They aren't "birthparents."  They are T. and E.  They are as complex as you and me and every bit as deserving of respect and privacy as we are.  I refuse to pigeonhole them.

I paused long enough for our friend to realize she'd said something very wrong.  I soflty replied that T. & E. had chosen to parent Sam's brother.  I put my emphasis on the words "chosen to parent" stressing the idea that no one was given away.  Awkwardly my friend started excaliming how cute Sam is.  And he is. 

He gets that from T. & E. 

AAARGH!

Okay, so TypePad is giving me grief about posting pictures.  I'm going to have to do this in a series of posts.  It's already taken me two days to get this far!

The lovely washcloths in the last photo of the previous entry were from AuntieBea, all the way from Singapore!  I love getting packages from far away like that!

From Auntie Fisher Queen, who is now PWP.  She said her Bear loved looking at this when he was sick.  I hope it helps Sam feel better, too.

  This one came anon but Sam loves it!  He's fascinated by all the things it can do.

And speaking of the man, here are some of the pictures that you've all been asking for.

Dudes, which way to the beach?

  Look at my bright eyes!

I love, love, love holding him this way!

A much-belated thank you post!

So, packages are still arriving in the mail.  Sarge and I eagerly run to the mailbox every day, wondering what will arrive and from where.  You guys are the best!

Some of the packages arrive with a sweet message from the sender.  But some arrive with an anonymous well-wish and no other identifying detail.  I've been at kind of a loss as to how to tag the photos and thank yous here.  I've been going all anon so far in my thank yous so that if anyone meant to attach their name to a message and didn't, they wouldn't feel left out.  But then it occured to me that those who DID attach their name might be feeling slighted.  The etiquette started to blow my mind.  So this is what I decided to do: if it came anon, I'm posting it anon.  If it came with a name, I'm linking the blogger.  And I hope no one gets left out.  I have serious anxiety about that!

Without further ado:

Sleep Sheep (makes four different sounds to help Sam sleep) and some lovely organic cotton burp cloths.

A pirate mobile from Auntie Kath!

A diapee and wipee pod from Aunt Thalia!

Having a baby means everyone will tell you what to do.

My in-laws came for a visit this weekend.  They were here less than 24 hours and the destruction they left behind them is total.  I am exhausted.

We have Sam on a flexible schedule.  He eats at specific times of day, followed by diaper change, awake time and then nap time.  I'm not really interested in a discussion about whether or not scheduling babies or letting babies eat on demand is best.  This is what we're doing for Sam and it works.  And we think that if you come to visit us and our baby, you should respect our parenting style and abide by the rules we have set down. 

My in-laws seem to think differently.  According to my MIL we:

1. Don't hold the baby enough.
2. Don't feed him enough.
3. Let him cry an excessive amount. (anything over .0003 seconds)
4. Spent years waiting for this child; why won't we love on him?
5. What is the difference if he sleeps in her arms or in his bassinet?

LISTEN.  We hold Sam plenty.  We hold him tons.  There is photographic evidence of us holding him morning, noon and night, in the Moby wrap, in our arms, on the couch, in the bed, on our head...it's practically a Dr. Seuss book.  This child is not lacking for love.

As for being fed, he downs three ounces in ten minutes every two and half to three hours.  I quote our pediatrician at his appointment last week: "Nice weight gain!" Said with a thumbs up and a grin in our direction.  He's FINE.

Every time he cries, he does NOT NEED TO EAT.  Sometimes he cries because he's wet.  Sometimes he cries because he's tired.  Sometimes he cries for the hell of it.  Yes, we let him cry it out.  No, we don't lock him in a room for 40 minutes at a time.  We check on him every few minutes, make sure he's okay, pat and resettle him and he eventually puts himself to sleep.  Unimpeded by my in-laws, this process takes maybe 30 minutes.  But my MIL thinks she needs to be in his face with every little noise he makes.  Grunting?  She's over by the pack-n-play, cooing and patting him.  Sighing? Doing the same thing.  Crying?  Forget it, she's got him up and she's holding him.  He wound up so overstimulated by her that he cried for forty minutes straight this afternoon.  I finally made Sarge take his parents out somewhere so Sam could cry it out in my bedroom.  He was so tired, he slept through his two afternoon feedings, barely waking up to suck and burp and then falling right back asleep. 

"I never let my babies cry." said MIL at one point.  Sarge snorted as we looked at each other.  This is the woman that was nicknamed Nazi Mom by her children and who LAUGHS ABOUT IT.  The same woman who told a five-year-old Sarge, after he threw up in the bathroom, to walk to the school bus stop, it would make him feel better.  Yeah, I'm SURE she didn't let her kids cry. 

Listen, this may sound conceited but I have confidence in myself as a mom.  I feel sure that what we are doing for Sam is the right thing.  We might have a kid some time down the line who will take a totally different style of parenting but this kid, this time?  This is what he needs.  And I'll be damned if I let Nazi Mom tell me what to do. 

When Sarge and his parents came back from being out, MIL huffily informed me that they were going to go home.  They didn't want to be stuck in traffic and since they couldn't hold the baby anyway, they might as well leave.  I told her she could feel free to hold him in two hours when he woke up to eat but if they felt they wanted to beat the traffic I understood.  I looked her right in the eye as I said it so that she could see that I didn't feel even one iota of guilt.  I'm not sorry I'm making this choice for Sam.  I don't care that she thinks my house is messy or that I'm a cruel mother.  I'm not on her economy and I refuse to be judged by her.  She can like or not but I'll tell you this...we won't be doing this again.  She'll respect my authority as a mom or she won't be visiting.  It's as simple as that.

The essence of faith

The day we found out Sam was coming, my coworker Robert hugged me and said in his slightly southern drawl: "Well, you kept your faith, Flicka!  You kept your faith and it happened for you.  Congratulations!"  I smiled and nodded a happy yes but inside I felt like such a liar.

I was behind on blogging the week we found out Sam was coming, as I usually am.  There was a post inside my head but work was busy and I was tired and it didn't get posted.  So when the news came that Sam was on his way, it looked as though I was the vindicated acolyte, reaping the reward of years of faithful prayer. 

Nothing could be further from the truth.

What I was going to post that week, what I had been telling everyone I knew in real life was that I was done.  Done with this baby business, done with the waiting, just done.  I told Real Live Infertile that I was giving up on the wait.  I knew we'd never get picked, never get pregnant and I was tired of putting my life on hold because there might be a baby.  I'd put off going for a master's degree for five years because we'd been trying to get pregnant and then we'd been trying to adopt both embryos AND a full-term infant.  I'd waffled over every mission trip opportunity, hesitating to plan anything six months in advance because hey, I might be pregnant!  I might have a baby! 

But I was done with all of that.  My exact words to Real Live Infertile were this: "I am going for my master's degree.  I'm going to India in January because I know I won't be pregnant, I know there won't be a baby and it's ridiculous of me to even be thinking that way after so many years.  I'm going on with my life and God can show up if He wants to."

"God can show up if He wants to."  That's exactly what I said.

I wasn't full of faith.  I didn't have any faith.  I had faith that God was alive, sure.  That He loved me?  Meh.  That He'd show up?  Nope.  I was done.  I was making my own plans.  People, that is not faith.  That is despair.  I, who had always had faith no matter what, had none left.  My friends were worried.

And then God decided to take me up on my offer; He showed up.  And there was Sam and the whole amazing experience of his birth.  Suddenly all the grief that I had been carrying for all those years was shed.  I felt like an old woman for so long; now I was young again.  Every lost year was restored in the single instant I held my son for the first time.

It's a powerful lesson in love: God doesn't reward me for my faith in Him.  Faith doesn't earn me points for use toward what I want.  Faith is a gift God gives me when I ask for it.  I can't generate it on my own.  I can't believe hard enough to make something happen.  But most importantly, God's love is not dependant on my love for Him.  I stopped loving Him, stopped believing He was good, stopped believing He even heard me.  But He still loved me anyway. 

Each time I see Sam, I am humbled.  He reminds me that God gives because He loves and for no other reason.  He reminds me that God's love is without condition; I do not have to earn it and it will never stop even if mine does.  Sam reminds me that I cannot sustain myself daily unless I have God.

I have my faith again.  But it's not because I'm so great.  It's because God showed up when I thought He'd walked away for good. 

Between dreams and waking

I keep dreaming that I can breastfeed.  Last night I dreamed that we were waiting around somewhere.  It was part of a sequence that I can't remember clearly upon waking; we might have been hostages, I might have been smuggling a child out of danger at some point but I don't remember clearly.  What I do remember is sitting in a chair in what looked like a waiting room, thinking that Sam needed to eat.  I pulled down my shirt, put a bottle underneath my nipple and milk started gush forth into the mouth of the bottle.  It was messy, the milk didn't all make it in but most of it did.  I could feel the tingling in my breasts, the feeling of letdown and I smiled with satisfaction.  I was doing it, I was making food for my baby.  Everyone had said I was too damaged, too full of scar tissue but my ravaged breasts were actually producing milk. 

I could still feel them tingling when I woke up to Sam's cry, my right arm crooked around a stuffed animal, totally numb.  That's another thing I've been doing, waking up with a numb right arm, carefully holding what I think is my baby away from the suffocating confines of the bedclothes.  It takes me a moment to realize that whatever I am holding is not him and that he is safe in his bassinet like always. 

It was always there, this motherhood, lurking below the surface.  The strength of it now, fully realized even in my sleep, is undeniable.  I thought I was strong before.  That was nothing compared to what I feel now. 

Blogging one handed

Never thought I'd enjoy it so much!

Swing vote

Oh Internets.  Dear, wonderful, amazing Internets.  Thank you, thank you, thank you for the swing you sent.  I hope you could feel the love I was sending out to each and every one of you at 3 AM this morning.

The day before yesterday we decided to transition the Peapod Baby off the formula the hospital gave us and onto the formula we plan on using which, incidentally, is powdered.  I thought he might have a little bit of an upset stomach but not much and not for long. 

Hah.

My poor baby did not poop for AT ALL for a whole day.  This from a kid who pooped with every meal for the first five days of his life.  And I KNOW the pediatrician told us he might just be changing his stooling pattern and I KNOW they told us to expect this with the change over.  But our poor little Peapod morphed into his alter ego, the Screaming Pirate Monkey.  Pirate Monkey wanted NONE of this no poopy business.  Pirate Monkey was in pain and wanted everyone to know this.  Pirate Moneky's mother was a mess of tears as she pleaded with God to please, oh please just let my baby poooooop!

We called the after-hours nurses line and they told us to put his little buns in a bath of warm water and baking soda for ten minutes.  And after that, to give him the rectal thermometer.  Both of those things made him angry (especially the rectal thermometer) but they did help some of the gas pockets move around.  And he'd worn himself out with screaming all evening so he fell asleep for four hours between 11 and 2:30. 

But after I'd fed him at 2:30 he was awake enough to realize that he was uncomfortable and he started fussing again.  Worn out, knowing he was in pain, I remembered my mom describing what my father used to do when I was a baby and had gas: "Your father would hold you with your head in his hand and your legs in his elbow and just fling you up and down!  It's the only time you were silent!"  The nurse's voice floated into my head: "Sometimes if you keep them moving, it helps the gas settle.  Try walking the floor or a car ride."

So I took the Pirate Monkey downstairs and bundled him into the swing you all sent.  I set it to swing as hard as it could and held my breath.  I watched in amazement as the Pirate Monkey morphed back into my sweet little Peapod and fell right asleep.  I laid down on the floor next to him and zonked out myself, thinking nice thoughts about all of you.  And that's where 6 AM found us, when it was time for his next feeding.

So thank you.  Thank you a thousand times.  You helped my baby to stop hurting.  That is the best gift I could ever have gotten.

Sam in happier, daylit times.

Just a quick update

We are home!  We've had the most incredible experience.  I want to tell you all about in depth but the Peapod is going to wake up hungry soon and I want to give you some pictures.  But to tell you briefly, the hopsital let us have a room so that we could stay with Sam.  We got to have him with us almost always, to feed him during the night and change his diapers and cuddle and hold him pretty much whenever we wanted.  T. was staying down the hall and she insisted that we have full access to him at all times. 

There is so much I want to say about Sam's first family, too.  They are amazing and wonderful and we were in love with them before we met them and are even more so now.  We got to spend a lot of time together and truly, I feel like I have grafted on a new branch of family.  We love them all.  I can't wait to tell Sam about them.  He is so loved by so many people.

I haven't had internet access for the past few days so if you've sent me mail and I haven't responded, mea culpa.  It's not that the computer wasn't working, it's just that I haven't had time.  Now that we're home, I'm going to try to catch up.  While I'm doing that, enjoy some pictures!

Never been so tired, never been so happy!

Daddy has this bottle thing down!

 At one day old, Sam can hold his pacie in all by himself.  Genius child!

Little Peapod baby, all wrapped up asleep.

More lovely prezzies from the Internets!

 Look how ADORABLE!  I can't wait to put that jean jacket on him!

This is so perfect, I can't even tell you.  The Peapod loves music!

Hooray!  Just what we needed!

There's more but a certain little boy needs attention...back later!  Thank you so much EVERYONE for all your lovely comments and presents and warm wishes.