August 19, 1970

She made sure that her 7 year old daughter was on vacation with her sister for a couple of weeks. Luckily the timing worked out for this yearly trip. Her father drove her to the hospital that morning, after she told him that she was having surgery and he would need to pick her up in a couple of days. Even though they lived together, they were not a close family and he didn't question what the surgery was for. And then she was alone. I don't know if a nurse stayed with her or held her hand, or if they knew that she was planning on "giving away the baby" did they make things harder on her? Netting out their own punishment for her transgression? At 3:15 that afternoon it was over. I was born. I don't know if she saw me, or held me. She did write on a slip of paper the time I was born and my weight. She kept that slip of paper in her hope chest for 30 years, knowing that some day I might come looking for it.

Most kids love to hear the story of their birth. Or whether their mother craved pickles when she was pregnant with them, but ice cream when she was pregnant with their little brother. How did they get to the hospital? Was it a slow orderly procession or a mad dash in a cab? And then they get to hear about the first time they were held, how their mother gazed down at them in awe, counted fingers and toes and they bonded in the moonlight. Retelling the story helps the bonds grow deeper, the connections to stay strong. You are reminded of your very beginning, how you came into existence.

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Andy is the contributing editor for the Adoptee Perspective. She is also a mother through adoption. She writes daily at Today's the Day.

Disruption - A Failed Mom's Look Back

I've chickened out on this post for over two weeks. I even posted that I was going to post it in an attempt to dare myself into hitting publish and still it sat in my drafts list, taunting me. I've rewritten and deleted these introductory paragraphs endlessly. I've tried to explain or justify some of the things I wrote, to soften them, to give background, out of fear that some one reading who is unfamiliar with 'attachment related behaviors' will not understand and will label me cruel. Fear that some one will think she didn't love enough, she was too strict, too soft, too whatever, they should have known what they were getting into, they should have (fill in the blank). I've heard it all. Maybe it doesn't matter what you know about the subject, maybe I am cruel, strict, soft, naive, cold, take your pick.

This is actually an essay that I submitted to my favorite parenting magazine, Brain, Child. They didn't reject it and asked if they could hold it for a while, but I haven't heard from them in months. My carefully controlled excitement (wild joy) has dissolved into mild disappointment (I'm crushed). Yes, I would have liked to become a published author, especially in a medium that I respect so much. What I really would have loved is to reach out to such a large audience on the issue of adoption disruption because I know that there are other mothers out there struggling with this decision or the emotional aftermath and I know how alone and judged they feel.

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Stacey is one of the contributing editors for International Adoption. She writes daily at Is There Any Mommy Out There? where she discusses life with her adoptive, multiracial family.

First

J and I recently made the conscious decision to stop calling K's firstmom his "birthmom". J didn't like the term in general, due to the negative connotation that it tends to have here in the U.S.; I also felt like it doesn't accurately reflect her role in his life. I'll call K's firstmom T. T did not just give her child life, an amazing gift in and of itself, but birthmom felt like a term that would relegate her role to that level. She is a woman who raised her son for almost a year, most of that as a single parent after K's firstdad passed away. She is a woman who was very obviously grieving very hard when we met her--grief transcends language. She is a woman who made an incredibly hard decision for her little boy, one she will have to live with for the rest of her life, in a culture that absolutely loves children. "Birthmom" didn't seem like it could even come close to demonstrating her role in his life.

Recently, I was reading a blog (not one of my usual ones) written by an adoptive mom about her child. She was going on about how much she felt she had missed, how sad she was that her child was not with her for several months before bringing the child home. It was obviously written with love and desire to have spent more time with her child. And it made me wonder if most adoptive parents feel that way.

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Erin is one of the contributing editors for International Adoption. She writes daily at PCOS Baby where she chronicles life with her children and parenting after adoption from Ethiopia.

Two Tastes

These two posts go together...

Seek First to Understand

My hope is that some of the pain in Adoption World could be healed if people with a nemesis could really imagine walking in the shoes of their nemesis.

I'm on boards that are exclusively for adoptive parents, and it's disappointing how little compassion and respect there is for firstparents (on occasion). I'm aware that there are boards for birth parents who (occasionally) express disdain and disrespect for adoptive parents. And adult adoptees also have their private places to vent about parents of all sorts.

These entrenched perspectives just dig people in further to their misery. And some people dig that, thrive on that, get their raison d'être from that.

But for others who want to move through, the only lasting way, I believe, is to see the Other as a reflection of Self.

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It's a Matter of Perspective

Remember when I wrote about the Drama Wheel? The short play where one person is the villain, the victim and the hero?

Well, there are other examples, as I'm finding, of stories in which two opposing parties are forced to see from the other's viewpoint.

Here are two movies my kids have been watching lately. Check out the general theme of "seeing a situation from multiple perspectives."

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Lori is the contributing editor for Domestic Adoption. She writes daily at her main blog, Weebles Wobblog. She records her family's adoption story at Drama 2B Mama and reviews products at All Thumbs Reviews.

Alex's Birth

The nurse poked her head into the pastel waiting room at MV Hospital, “Are you with the young lady having a C-section? Yes? Well I just heard a very healthy cry from that delivery room.” I sat stunned and completely overwhelmed, my son Alex had just been born.

When we first began trying to get pregnant, my husband Dave and I talked about the possibility of adopting should nature fail to take its course. In the beginning, we didn’t believe we would require this parental contingency plan. However, the next four years were an emotional and physical roller coaster of basal temperatures, ovulation predictor kits, blood tests, sperm counts, miscarriages, Clomid and intrauterine insemination.

During our final try with our infertility specialist for a ‘high tech’ baby, Dave and I had a heavy, deep and real talk about parenting. We had all our financial and personal ducks in a row, but no duckling. What was important to us was becoming parents and raising a happy and healthy child. How we formed our family was not the main concern. We decided to adopt.

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The Good Enough Witch is a guest blogger for Bridges.

Musical Triggers

Music has always been a big emotional trigger for me. Certain songs can instantly transport me back to a time or a place in my life, to the point that I re-experience actual sensations. I cannot listen to U2's "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" without feeling cold and damp (long story). Any song from Elton John's "Live In Australia" will make we want to curl up with a blanket and go to sleep, except for "I need you to Turn to" which just reduces me to tears. When I hear Meatloaf's "Paradise by the Dashboard Lights" I can close my eyes and see Patti and Paul acting out the chorus in our living room on MacDonell St. in a drunken stupor.

There are 2 songs that are adoption triggers for me. I've been listening to both of these since I was a little girl. As (bad) luck would have it today, both of them played on my Yahoo Music feed while I was at work this morning. I'm already having a rough week when it comes to the emotions surrounding my own adoption, so hearing these songs, nearly back to back, was almost enough to push me over the edge.

The first song is Bobby Vee singing "Take Good Care of My Baby".

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Andy is the contributing editor for the Adoptee Perspective. She is also a mother through adoption. She writes daily at Today's the Day.

The Truth Behind the First Month at Home

Having K--it's really, really, REALLY hard sometimes. There are so many complicating factors right now, and there's really no way to talk about just a part of it--so that's my way of warning you that this is probably going to be a really long post, and not always PC. I'll probably try to split it up, maybe when I just get tired (it's almost 11:30 on Saturday night and P had a friend sleep over last night, so no one got much sleep).

I hardly know where to begin. Part of me wishes that I'd documented more of our first month home through my blog or other writing; another part of me knows that was just asking too much on top of actually being home with K; and a third part of me doesn't particularly want to think about a whole lot of it.

As it turned out, the times when I did see friends, K seemed perfectly happy. I was constantly getting comments--from family, from friends, even from his pediatrician--about how attached he already seemed to be. I agreed a lot at first, until I realized what it was...then I kept agreeing because I didn't know how to admit what was really going on.

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Erin is one of the contributing editors for International Adoption. She writes daily at PCOS Baby where she chronicles life with her children and parenting after adoption from Ethiopia.

How I Feel About Adoption

If I had been asked before my son was born, my response would have been that it wasn't something I ever really thought about.

I knew my dad's cousin and wife had adopted after their sons were born - twins (brother and sister) from Africa and a Malaysian girl - but it was never something that was discussed. When I was 17 I found out an old school friend had been adopted but I wasn't that curious as I knew she had contact with her natural mother.

At 19, the reality of adoption hit me hard when I was forced to surrender my son. There was no good reason for it to happen. My parents just didn't want me raising my son as I was single and there was no way his father and I would marry. We had split on bad terms and neither of us wanted to get back together. Plus I knew he would never accept his child as his.

I completely retreated into myself and I had no support from anyone. I was lied to, not just by my parents but also by the adoption agency. Had the agency told me my rights, I would have been able to get the support to keep my son. Eventually I was told it was too late to stop the adoption.

For 23 years I refused to talk about my son -- even to my husband -- as my family had made it quite clear that it was in the past and to get on with my life. Even the adoption agency told me I would forget about my son, get on with my life, would have more children. They said I would never be allowed to search and my son would be too happy to with his adoptive family to search for me. So I suffered in silence and wouldn't let anybody get too close to me emotionally as I was so scared of losing grip on my emotions. I felt like a complete freak as what I was feeling wasn't what I was told would happen.

I never forgot my son, but I got on with my life because I had to for my own sanity. I could have searched eventually as the law changed but I believed what I was told -- that he was too happy to want to find me.

I didn't have more children unfortunately and my son DID decide to search. He found my family in 1999, but they basically lied to him for years. Then I found him through Genes Reunited in 2004.

Reunion unleashed all the emotions that I had locked away for so many years. The intensity was such that I sometimes thought I wouldn't endure it. I went through anger to the point of fury, shame, guilt, pain, sadness even loneliness but what helped me through was the joy of finding my son alive and well. I didn't know I could love someone so much that it almost hurt.

Reunion isn't easy by any measure and probably one of the hardest things a person can go through. I don't ever regret finding my son but I do regret that he was adopted in the first place. I cannot turn the clock back so I have had to learn to move on.

Pip, who lives near London in the UK, is a birthmother to a 27 year-old son and has been in reunion since 2004. This post was written for especially for Bridges. She also writes at My Rambling Thoughts, Pip's Journal and Relinquishing and Reunion.

But They Can’t Have Blue Eyes!

An original post for Bridges

One of the best things that my parents did for me as a child was to be open about the fact that I was adopted and to share what limited knowledge they had with me. I have no conscious memory of finding out that I was adopted, I just always knew. This was pretty advanced for the early 1970’s, a time which was known for secrecy and lies in adoption.

One thing that I’ve never understood is when parents try to hide the adoption from their child. Like any secret, it will eventually be found out. And from the adoptees that I’ve talked to or blogs that I have read, where they don’t find out until later in life, it has been devastating. All trust of their parents is lost. And in the cases where they don’t find out until after their parents have died, a lot of time all information is lost too.

I can’t imagine what would have happened in my grade 9 science class if I hadn’t known that I was adopted.

We were studying recessive genes as they relate to eye colour. We had to fill out a Punnett Square based on our parents eye colour to show the probability of what our own eye colour could be.^*

Both of my adoptive parents have blue eyes, which is recessive. I however have brown eyes, which is dominant. Using what we learned in that science class, my eye colour was not a possibility from my parents. As it were, I was a bit of a smart ass in high school. I knew full well going into the assignment that our family was genetically impossible. But luckily for me I knew why. Because my teacher did not handle it well at all. When he was handing back the assignments he pulled mine from the pack and used it as an example of work that was obviously wrong. When I smugly told him that it was indeed correct, he went off on a tangent about how my blue eyed parents could not have possibly me, a brown eyed baby. A few kids in the class were shocked, snickering jokes about the milk man and other wild guesses as to how I came to be. And the whole time, my teacher just kept going on, looking at my eyes, “but they can’t have blue eyes! They can’t!”

Eventually I spilled the beans. “Of course my parents can have blue eyes! I’m not genetically related to them. And this is a stupid assignment! I’m adopted, so what does it matter what colour eyes my parents have?”

I wish I could say that my teacher was contrite or apologetic, but he was not. He was smug in the knowledge that he was right. 2 blue eyed parents could not and did not produce this brown eyed kid.

I have shared this story with many people over the years, including adoptive parents who had not yet told their kids that they had adopted them. And still these folks were not spurred into action. They continued to live and perpetuate a lie, focusing their energies not on sharing the truth, but on covering their tracks and spinning the web of deceit wider and wider. Their solution to the school project dilemma? Tell the teacher that the child is adopted and doesn’t know and request alternative assignments for the class. I’ve lost touch with this family over the years, so I don’t know what eventually happened. One of the kids also had a variety of medical problems, so I can’t imagine that they could hide the truth from him forever.

Kids are a lot tougher then most adults. Growing up knowing we are adopted is in no way as scarring or damaging as finding out when we are a teen or and adult. The first time I told my son his adoption story he was 4 hours old. He was bundled up in a pile of hospital blankets and I was pacing the hallway with him. And he’s been told it many, many times since then. There are enough other secrets in my own adoption that I don’t need to make new ones.

^* Science has since shown that eye colour is not so simple. You can check it out here.

Andy is the contributing editor for the Adoptee Perspective. She is also a mother through adoption. She writes daily at Today's the Day.

Tummy Mommy

We have started to talk about it recently and it inspires in me a dark, deep-down fear. Your brother looks at the picture on this blog and chirps brightly, with grave knowledge, "That Darrett. That's Darrett in Momma's tummy."

"And Saige," you chitter, "and Saige in your tummy."

Garrett nods gravely. You do every thing together. It is all you know. You are far too innocent and unsullied by our boring world to look at each other's skin and question that it was not always so. That the bond does not stretch back to that quiet water-filled place. Unlike those we meet every day, the jaded masses who know in a glance that you didn't sip from the same uterine cup.

"No babies," I correct again, "not Saige. Saige grew in her tummy mommy's belly, in Haiti." I wish to just say yes, to keep it simple for you for a short time, while you are simple, but I'll never lie to you about this for my own comfort. Not even once. As I speak, my heart clenches in dread for the questions that will follow. Not today. Not yet. But someday. Soon.

Where is she now? I don't know. Why did she take me to an orphanage? She didn't have any way to feed you and she loved you beyond words and thought, way too much to let you starve.

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Stacey is one of the contributing editors for International Adoption. She writes daily at Is There Any Mommy Out There? where she discusses life with her adoptive, multiracial family.

I Don't Have a Right to Know?

Today whilst reading a lovely first mums blog, I came across a link to an adoptees blog who had written this post "Adoptees Listen Up", I started to write a comment but realized it was going to be a long one, and that I really felt that I needed a blog post about it on my own blog to say "I have to say I don't agree."

But as one poster commented , whilst there may not be a *legal* right which of course is right, there is a moral right. That I do believe.

When you choose a path that is going to ultimately hurt someone that is a part of you, and their life course change forever, whether you were a willingly participant in that hurt and and change or not, (ie the BSE mums were not WILLING but my Mother was.) Then you absolutely do have a responsibility to tell that person why...why..their life was changed.

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Adopted Jane is a guest blogger on Bridges.

Compassion...Mama's Ongoing Project

One of Mama's many life lessons she wanted to instill in me was compassion:

A profound and positive human emotion prompted by the pain of others. More vigorous than empathy, the feeling commonly gives rise to an active desire to alleviate another's suffering...

During a 2 day training course with the county, Matt and I did a mock trial of a mom losing her child to the system to get a glimpse of what all goes on. It was based on a true case and was a real eye opener, to say the least. Each table was assigned a task. Table 1 was "Tonya" and her lawyers.

Ours, Table 2, was the treatment team that gave the court recommendations of what we thought needed to happen before we would allow her to gain custody of her daughter (with the help of a real social worker because hey, we had no idea what we were doing).

Table 3 was the foster home and Table 4 other was the judge.

One of the goals of the exercise was to see the birth mom's side. "Tonya" begged and pleaded for her child back and had every excuse in the book for why she was unable to complete her requirements (no ride to get her urine tested, 18 interviews but no job offer, everyone was against her, etc). They were flimsy excuses at best and you know judges and social workers hear the same ones all day every day. She started out doing okay but as time went on, she slowly fell apart. Every 90 days when her review came up you could see her starting the slow spiral out of control. In the end, she cried as she relinquished her parental rights and both Matt and I were in tears (as were most of the group). A true story and that plays out every day in courts across the nation.. just heartbreaking.

Surprisingly, Matt and I found it easy to have compassion for the addicted birth parent. Prior to meeting each other , both of us were in relationships with people who had had substance abuse problems. Have you heard someone say, ".. but they're totally great when they're clean and sober" and you roll your eyes? We actually lived it and, by golly, it's true.

Our exes both had children from a previous marriage, and were very devoted to them. Neither had custody (for obvious reasons) and lived for the time they got to spend with their children. Unfortunately, their drug of choice was so much more powerful than they were. Almost every time their kids visited, they would go off on a binge. It's just astounding what complete control the drug has and how it's a wrecking ball through everyone's lives. It's constant drama, to put it lightly.

Although kind of an odd thing to have in common (having an ex as an addict), it is one of the many things that brought Matt and me together. We both tried to "save someone" and found out the hard way it's impossible to do. We both relish the calmness of being regular Joe Shmoe Homebodies, as we've seen the wild side and have no interest in revisiting that side of the tracks. We did learn, however, that under the horrible and downright mean things an addict does, lies a person who would do anything to quit. The person is not the monster but is totally controlled by one.

I remember in the midst of the crazy that was once my life crying out to God, "WHY?!?" and feeling utter hopelessness. Sitting at that table in training with tears in my eyes as "Tonya" begged for her kids back was an, "Ah Ha! Moment," when another of my life's little puzzle pieces fell into place. Compassion had kicked in and both of us got it. Had I known back then what I know now it would have made perfect sense. The 6 years of what seemed like endless drama was leading me to that table in the basement of a church for those 2 days of intense training. The Good Lord (and Mama) didn't want me looking down my nose from my high horse at the addicted parent who couldn't provide basic needs but to take pity and have compassion. That was "Why".

We may deal with a real "Tonya" sometime soon and I had better keep that shoe and other foot handy.

Melissa will soon occupy two positions in the adoption triad. She found out as an adult that she had been adopted. And now, she is pursuing Foster/Adoption in Colorado. She blogs at Full Circle and the entry below comes from this post on her blog. In her training to become a foster parent, she attempts to see through the eyes of the third member of the adoption triad.

Obits and Phone Books

My adoption was closed, as was the norm in the early ‘70s. One nugget of information that I did have however was the name I was given at birth, presumably by my mother. Colleen Wilson. It’s nothing like my name today, and I can’t “picture” myself as a Colleen but it is a name that will always be special to me.

I was able to know what my name was because it was on the official Adoption Decree form from the courts that finalized my adoption. One little line at the bottom stated “…and the child known as Colleen Wilson will be adopted by Mr. and Mrs. SoandSo and will hence forth be named Andrea SoandSo.” Or something along those lines.

Throughout my childhood I clung to that name. It, along with a few lines of non-id’ing info that my mom wrote down as the SW read from a file the day they picked me up were the only links I had to who I was and where I came from.

Unfortunately Wilson is a pretty common last name; 8th most popular English surname in North America. If I had had a name like Shrapnel, or Doodyman I might have had an easier time searching for family members. But as a kid I didn’t know that Wilson was common, after all I didn’t know anyone with it. I decided that my mother’s first name must be Colleen and that she named me after her to make it easier for me to find her. So I was on the hunt for Colleen Wilson.

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Andy is the contributing editor for the Adoptee Perspective. She is also a mother through adoption. She writes daily at Today's the Day.

Andy's Story

Andy is the contributing editor for the Adoptee Perspective. She is also a mother through adoption. She writes daily at Today's the Day.

I was born in 1970. It was a time when there was a stigma to being a single mother and expectant women were often sent away in order to avoid the shame that their pregnant bellies would bring to their family. And this is what I grew up assuming was the story of my beginnings. A young girl, pregnant, with limited resources and support placed me for adoption so that she could get on with her life. Turns out that this wasn't quite what happened.

After 10 years of searching on and off, I was finally "reunited" with my mother, with a Children's Aid social worker acting as our go between. After all the obstacles that I overcame to find her - sealed records, lengthy wait times to have my file even looked at - I was finally going to have my questions answered. Who did I look like? Why didn't she keep me? Alas, there was one more obstacle to overcome. She didn't want to meet me or have any further communication, so please don't ever call, thank you very much, have a nice life.

Crap. Now what?

Growing up as an adoptee in the era of closed adoptions has given me an insight into adoption, loss, relationships and family that really, no one should ever have to have. Knowing what I know now, there was no "real" reason for me being placed for adoption. I wasn't in danger, my mother wasn't the homeless crack-whore that the made-for-TV movies want you to believe all first mothers are. She was a single mom with a seven year old daughter. She owned a house and worked full time. But society being what it was at the time made her feel that we would all be better off if she chose adoption for me. Did I end up "better off"? Not really. My life ended up different then then one I started out with, but not better or worse, just different.

And here I am now. I will always have the label of "adoptee". I can now add the title of "reunited adoptee" since my mother eventually overcame some of her fears and that has allowed us to have contact and to get to know each other. I am also a mom through adoption. I am re-navigating the emotions of growing up as an adoptee as my six year old son begins his own journey of awareness and understanding.

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 shield 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?

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Vacant Uterus is a guest blogger at Bridges.

What Kind of Woman Does This?

When we first brought Tessa home, my grandma was quite disturbed in meeting Crystal, Tessa's firstmom.

Now, I love my Grandma, and she was an amazing woman. Almost 90 years old, she had seen space shuttles and the internet replace horse & buggies and telegrams.

But she was stuck in an absolutely incorrect view of birthmothers.

She was both grateful to Crystal for making me a mom, and contemptuous of her for "giving up her child." Indeed, most mothers -- by birth or adoption -- have trouble imagining the unimaginable. Grandma couldn't get over, "what kind of woman does this?"

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Lori is the contributing editor for Domestic Adoption. She writes daily at her main blog, Weebles Wobblog. She records her family's adoption story at Drama 2B Mama and reviews products at All Thumbs Reviews.

Must Not Feel Overwhelmed

Keep repeating that, Erin, or you may end up running, screaming, through the neighborhood while wearing only your penguin slippers.

We've been mired in adoption paperwork and plans lately. Sunday was the first part of the adoption preparation seminars. It was a lot of fun--we met another couple who's adopting a toddler from Ethiopia, as well as a lot of other nice people. We didn't take a whole lot away from it since it was mostly geared towards first-time parents. This was a little ironic, since there was only one first-time parent couple who was there. The rest of us all had at least one child already, some biologically and some through adoption. Most of it was about not trying to shoehorn your child into a specific role and being flexible. Since J and I have always tried to read P's signals and adjust as needed, we're already used to being flexible. I think we'll get more out of next week, when it focuses on transracial parenting.

We've got most of our paperwork close to done for the homestudy. I feel like we've really made a lot of progress. Our first appointment with our social worker is this afternoon. I'm excited and nervous. I can't imagine why we would fail a homestudy, but it still kept me up worrying for part of last night. Naturally, I'll update you all.

We've also got the next packet of information from our adoption agency, and it includes how to get started on our dossier. We can't officially do it until our homestudy is approved, but we can start collecting documents and paperwork now. J's got a notary at his office (he can't notarize his own forms), so that part will be easy and free. We can get our photos taken and do a lot of the paperwork. And, since we got our application in early enough, we avoided the $1000 increase in Ethiopia program fees that our agency is implementing!

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Erin is one of the contributing editors for International Adoption. She writes daily at PCOS Baby where she chronicles life with her children and parenting after adoption from Ethiopia.

Erin's Story

Erin is one of the contributing editors for International Adoption. She writes daily at PCOS Baby where she chronicles life with her children and parenting after adoption from Ethiopia.

I'm 30 years old and the mother of two. P was born in 2003 after primary infertility, a diagnosis of PCOS, and successful treatment with metformin. After thinking that it was actually pretty easy to conceive when on the right medicine, we started TTC#2 with metformin when P was 11 months old. After two more years of that, Clomid, Femara, and several IUIs, all unsuccessful, we decided to stop treatment at the end of 2006 and move onto international adoption.

When we first thought about adopting, I thought we'd adopt a baby and we were deciding between Ethiopia and Vietnam. After several more months of conscious non-decision making, we both realized that Ethiopia felt right, and that we really didn't want to adopt a baby. A toddler boy felt like the right choice for our family. We started filling out paperwork in February of 2007 and completed our homestudy at the end of May. Our dossier was complete, including USCIS approval, in September and was in Ethiopia by October.

Right before Thanksgiving, we received our first referral for a beautiful little 2 1/2 year old boy. After much rejoicing and telling simply everyone, we were on the verge of sending back the acceptance paperwork when we found that he had cerebral palsy, a condition that we simply weren't prepared to parent. Heartbrokenly, we declined his referral. It was one of the most painful experiences of my life.

On P's 4th birthday, we received the referral of another beautiful little boy. He was 2 weeks past his first birthday and named K. He was malnourished but otherwise healthy. We accepted his referral in early December 2007. We passed court in Ethiopia at the end of January 2008 and traveled to get K in February of 2008, almost a year to the day after beginning our paperwork. He is a wonderful child, an amazing addition to our family, and we are incredibly fortunate that he is here. With luck, our family will grow again in the future--we would like two more children and hope that at least one of those will be another child from Ethiopia.

Building Our Bridge

An original post for Bridges:

I remember well the day my daughter was going to go home with her family.

Tessa had been born early in the morning the day before. So I had already spent a day and a half with this beautiful, wonderful being. My baby girl. She was so small and precious.

With all the love in me, I knew that she was going to have a chance because of the decision I was making.

I barely knew Lori and Rob. We had met once at the agency, once over dinner (my 4 year-old son joined us), and once at a get-together of my family. All that in about 10 days' time.

In my heart, I knew they were gonna be the best parents ever.

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Crystal is the contributing editor for the Birth/Firstparent Perspective. She parents a pre-teen son and has an open adoption with her daughter's family. She writes at Crystal's Way.

Crystal's Story

Crystal is the contributing editor for the Birth/Firstparent Perspective. She parents a pre-teen son and has an open adoption with her daughter's family. She writes at Crystal's Way.

I've been a mom since 1997. I was17 when my son was born. Four years later, I was pregnant again. But for various reasons I wasn't in a position to parent another child.

I weighed all my options and thought long and hard about what I wanted for my baby. Long story short, I chose adoption.

The parents I picked for my daughter have remained in an open adoption with me. None of us knew at the time what this would look like, but I am pleased to say that we have created a warm relationship based on love and respect rather than on obligation. Placing my child was extremely difficult (I won't lie), but I have not had any regrets.

My daughter's mom (I know that sounds strange) and I work together to help others create successful open adoptions. Teaching it means that we've had to analyze what we accidentally figured out. I think it mostly comes down to trust and love. Trust in ourselves and in each other. And love for a little girl that overflows so much we all swim in it.

Our families are bound together. And I am so happy about that.