My Funny Valentine, part 1

On Friday, February 13, 1981, I was walking home from school just like I would on any other Friday afternoon. I had my "valentine mailbox" under my arm (for some reason, I even remember that it was my left arm) because we'd just done our valentine card exchange in my 3rd grade class. I always liked making my 'mailbox' and seeing what others had done. Mine was never the cutest or cleverest (is that a word?) but it was fun anyway. I just came around the corner of the schoolyard when I saw the family car pull out of the driveway (we lived 3 houses away from the school -- it was a really short walk) and head down the street toward me. I thought, Oh, we must be going to the store. I fully expected the car to stop and pick me up. It did. What I didn't expect was that the whole family -- Dad, Mom, Brother and Sister -- would be in the car. They were.

That was the moment when I learned that I was about to become a big sister. (Actually, I was already a big sister x3, but I didn't know it.) This baby was to be the first (and only) child after me in my adoptive family -- and I was 8 (almost 9) years old! I'd love to say that I was thrilled and excited because that would make this a really great story. I wasn't. I was mad!

How DARE they get another baby? I'M the baby! How dare they not tell me until we were ON OUR WAY to another state (albeit a nearby state) to GET the new baby? How DARE they not ask me if it was okay with me? Let me assure you...it was NOT okay with me!

Well, happy or not, I was on my way (family in tow) to 'get' a new little brother or sister -- we didn't know which yet. Literally, we were ON the trip from the moment they intercepted me on my short walk home from school. *sigh* Oh brother!

It took us about a day-and-a-half to get where we were going. Some of these details I knew at the time and some I've learned since then. I can't really remember which is which anymore. We had to get 'there' as soon as possible because 'the baby' was due to be born the next day, on Saturday, Feb. 14th -- Valentine's Day -- and we had to be ready to pick 'the baby' up one day later. Well, we arrived early on the 15th (as best I can remember) and 'the baby' decided not to make an appearance until Tuesday, Feb. 17th sometime in the evening. I don't remember much about those two days of waiting except I do remember that we stayed in a hotel room (and I have vague memories of the hotel room itself -- dingy, yellow curtains) and that we took a few "day trips" to various places of interest around where we were staying. I have to say, though, that the term "of interest" is relative. Even though I haven't said exactly where we went, here are some pictures of the 'waiting' days -- I have a feeling you'll be able to figure it out, more or less.

The house belonged to a friend of DadUtah, his best friend actually, who lived there at the time. The other picture is of the LDS temple in the area. The only thing I remember about that particular visit is that the home didn't have a lawn (too hot) but a paved/bricked 'courtyard' instead (I don't actually remember going inside the house or seeing DadUtah's friend at all) and that my older brother picked a grapefruit right from the tree in the garden outside the temple. And yes, that is my older sister dumping her soda on my head. Nah...I wasn't picked on at all!

Other than that, I remember a lot of 'down time' in the hotel room, some of which was just the three of us kids -- our parents were elsewhere. I think I know where they were but I've never had it confirmed.

After all the waiting...and waiting...and waiting, we all went to the hospital together on Feb. 18th and I saw my new little sister, Harley Mama, for the first time. I'd like to say that I fell in love instantly and that I was enthralled, enraptured, ecstatic...whatever. I didn't -- and I wasn't. I was utterly underwhelmed. I remember that one of my first thoughts as I stared at this little black-haired, black-eyed creature (I had very little experience with babies up to that point) was, She's really 'dark'. Everyone is gonna know she's adopted. Cool! It hadn't actually occurred to me at the time that everyone would also know that she was adopted because 1) our mother had not been pregnant the last 9 months and 2) our mother was closer to 50 than 30, if you know what I mean. No, those thoughts did not enter my 8-and-a-half year old brain...just that she looked nothing like either of our parents...or any of the rest of us, for that matter (even though we don't look much like each other, either).

February 19th found us packing up the car, collecting 'the baby' from the hospital, and heading for home. I don't know exactly how long it took to make the return drive but it felt like a really, really....REALLY long trip. If you asked me what it FELT like, I'd say about a week. (I'm sure it wasn't actually that long.) Here's what I remember about the trip home. Somewhere along the way, our parents (I think it was them...I certainly wasn't included) decided to name her 'Felicia'. Just so you know, I didn't just 'out' my sister's name after all these months of calling everyone by catchy nicknames. They changed their minds later. But, for a few days at least, she was Felicia. I also remember that (keep in mind there were no car seat laws in 1981) for the entire trip home I was never allowed to hold her. (grrrr!) If I'm going to be forced to deal with a little sister (blech!) you should at least let me TRY to get to know her! (That was 8-year-old me thinking to myself...) I wasn't allowed to hold her even when we WEREN'T in the car!

Overall, this trip was not one of my favorites, so far. Other than that, the trip home was pretty much a blur for me. I remember one other thing...my older sister, age 13 at the time, was taking Spanish in junior high. She kept saying words to the baby in Spanish that I didn't understand. That was when SHE got to hold her -- both in the car and out -- sheesh!

Here are a couple more pictures from the trip home. Notice who ISN'T holding the baby in any of the pictures...okay, maybe I'm still a little bitter about it. (Hang in there, though. The story actually does get better.) :-)

To be honest, things are a little 'fuzzy' in my memory regarding the first few days (does a year or so count as 'days'?) after we brought Harley Mama home. I remember that some of the neighbors gave MomUtah a baby shower -- I was at least in my 20s before I knew that mom's usually only get a baby shower for a first baby...unless there's an 'unexpected' baby after a many-years 'gap'. That's what happened in this case. Yes, strange as it seems when you actually say it (or write it) there is such a thing as an 'unexpected' adoption -- Harley Mama is living proof. I also remember taking a trip one state to the North to introduce our newest addition to the grandparents. I vaguely remember trying to 'dupe' DadUtah's mother into thinking MomUtah had given birth to her. It was more of a practical joke thing (as was customary between DadUtah and his mom) as I don't think anyone really believed she'd fall for it -- but I remember something about stuffing pillows in MomUtah's shirt...how weird. Did they actually NOT tell their own parents they were adopting again? I can't even fathom it.

Well, this blog post is getting really, really long...and I haven't even got to the 'good stuff' yet. So, I've decided I'll make it a series, rather than one long post. I was inspired to write some of this down because of a comment MomEast made to me a while ago, wondering what it's like to grow up adopted...having a family but not MY family...not my natural family. And because I've been thinking about Harley Mama a lot lately (more than usual...which is a lot anyway). And, because I've been thinking about adoption a lot lately (not about adopting, but about adoption as a social construct, if that makes sense). It's funny, I've never experienced having a mother be pregnant and 9 months (or however long, after a child learns of his/her mother's pregnancy) of anticipating a new baby. Usually, only youngest children can say that. My 'anticipating' all took place in a matter of 3 days. I never really thought about how 'different' that is in the big picture...because it was the only 'normal' I knew.

I'll end this 'episode' with this thought. I DID eventually fall head-over-heels in love with this little stranger that 'invaded' my world. I think I was pretty much on board and 'over' the bitterness by the time we got home from picking her up. I don't recall any negative feelings once we were back into our routine (as much as one can be 'back' when a new baby comes home). But, I did fall in LOVE with her. Yes, indeed.

How could I not?

To be continued...

Tuesday Musing

Hi again.

NOTICE: ***If you are looking for a cheerful post, skip this one.***

You've been warned.

Today I'm thinking about my MOMS...yes, Mom"s", plural. I have more than most people do, by a lot.

I have one Mom that gave me life. I have one Mom that raised me up. I have one Mom that took care of me for a few weeks before I met my "new" Mom -- I haven't met this Mom in my adulthood, although I hope that might someday be a possibility. I have a Mom that took care of my sweet husband, the Zombie, until I could 'take over'. (Tee hee) I have a Mom who is married to my Dad (the Dad the contributed 1/2 of my DNA). I haven't met this last Mom, either... and, I don't really know if she'd think of herself as a "mom" to me at all (which is fine) but she is married to my Dad, so I include her.

As you may have guessed, if you don't know me well or aren't one of the above-mentioned people, I am an adoptee. I was born on one side of this nation and adopted (nearly) on the other.

I'm thinking (and therefore writing) about this because I belong to a few different online support groups relating to adoption. I've been looking for a 'live' one, but haven't found any within a reasonable area with the 'feel' that I'm looking for. I'll keep looking.

Anyway, one of my groups is for adoptees only. I like all of my groups (for varying reasons) but that one is probably my favorite -- or at least in the top 3. Every single person there has a different story and a different experience and yet we all have many, many things in common. We ALL were born to a set of parents (or, for some, just a mother) and raised by a different set of parents (or, sometimes, just one).

I reunited with my Mom in 2004 -- just about 4 years ago next month. I reunited with my Dad in 2005 (3 years ago this week). Now, here's one of the things that is interesting about adoption -- and specifically about BEING adopted. There is not one, single standard for what it means to be "reunited". This has been a topic of conversation in all of my groups at one time or another. So, here's what I mean: two-way contact. Both parties (me, the adoptee, and whoever I'm 'reunited' with) know who the other is and have received and responded to communication from the other.

Some adoption reunions continue indefinitely (I hope all of mine are like this) and some don't. Some people meet in person and some never do -- I have 'one of each' on this count. Some adoptees are looking for answers, history, information...in a nutshell, closure. Some are looking for relationships. And then, these relationships take all sorts of different forms, too.

Well, I've gotten a little off track, here... I'm never 'bored' with the topic of adoption. (Just ask the Zombie... *grimace* Sorry, honey.) But, I started this 'musing' post because I'm thinking about my Moms.

What got me thinking about them was several of the topics that have come up in my groups lately. The question of who is a "real" parent^. The question of "language" as it pertains to adoption (i.e. what we call ourselves, what we call other members of the 'triad', how we refer to *being* an adoptee -- "am adopted" or "was adopted", etc.), how we feel about adoption in general and our OWN adoption (no matter which 'position' we hold in adoption), and so on.

^Any of the typical topics that we (adoptees and/or triad members) talk about regarding moms can also be applied to dads. I always wondered about my dad, too. Dads don't come up as much in general conversations about adoption, though. That makes me sad, too.

These kinds of discussions always get me in a really reflective mood. And, I suppose, they bring out the tender-hearted side of my nature (some might call it "raw" or "sensitive"). I get frustrated sometimes, and I get sad sometimes and I get really, really lonely sometimes. (Just in case you're wondering, THAT'S what good belonging to a group of adoptees does me -- having someone to talk to who's been there and IS there.)

So, I was just thinking about who's "real". Sometimes I get kinda mad at some of the things people say in one specific (to remain nameless) group, and sometimes I respond with a little more 'spice' because of it. It drives me CRAZY when people say, "The people who pay the bills, come to the games, wipe the noses, hold you when you're sick, worry when you're out, etc. etc. THOSE are your 'real' parents." Now, don't get me wrong...they ARE my real parents. What 'gets' me --deep down -- is how dismissive it is of my FIRST parents. THEY ARE REAL, TOO! Very real.

Today, I didn't get mad, I got sad. So, I didn't respond 'over there' -- I retreated to 'my own' place to say my peace.

All of my parents are real. Even the ones I haven't met (yet, God willing.) None is any less 'real' than any other. I love ALL of them. And, as far as I can tell, they all love me. What's wrong with that? Why does it have to be either/or? Why are people so defensive? (Especially, I've noticed in a few cases, when it has NOTHING to do with them.) Nothing about my parents' parenthood is negated by anyone else. My Mom didn't become NOT a Mom when she surrendered me for adoption. My Mom isn't less my Mom because she didn't give birth to me. My Dad is my Dad whether or not he's ever seen my face in person, or I his. There are a lot of things about me that are ALL DAD -- even some we haven't really talked about. My Dad is my Dad even though we don't share any DNA, and (Bless him!) we don't have much in common.

Anybody have any trouble telling which is which or who I'm talking about? Didn't think so.

Why does it have to be such a big deal? Why? It hurts my heart.

Okay, I'm done.