A Touchy Subject

A very close friend called the other day. The kind of friend where your heart leaps with happiness when you see the caller ID. She is in her thirties, trying to get pregnant and just got some terrible news about her chances of conceiving. She is devastated. I listened. I cried with her. I heard terms that felt familiar from less immediate sources, but took on a new looming significance. High FSH. Low egg viability. We talked about treatments and possibilities.

After a while, she asked me gingerly, probing a newly sore spot in her heart, 'Did you always want to adopt?'

'Yes,' I answered honestly, 'I really did.'

After a pause, 'Is it the same?'

I fumbled, I had so much to say, but the phone was an unwilling receptacle. So, here, I try again.

Is it the same? A question with so many layers. I sensed some of what she sought. Will adoption be what I want? Will it take away the pain of infertility? Will I love as much? Will something always be missing? As a fertile adoptive mom, I just don't know. I can't begin to say. I think the more apt questions are how will adoption be different and how will it be the same. Because, it is different, and yet, the same.

Will she miss something if she adopts a baby? Of course. She will miss pregnancy and pregnancy is amazing and soul-altering and humbling and fulfilling. Each time, I bonded with the life inside of me from the moment I knew it existed. We grew and changed together. Over nine months, you become a mother, not in general, but to this baby that is nurtured in your body. She will also miss the experience of giving birth. Giving birth to a child defies every description. It is shattering and immediate and empowering and nourishing. It is being completely and utterly immersed in that moment.

She might miss other intimacies of infancy, breastfeeding perhaps. Even the first few months of your baby's life are sometimes not yours in adoption or are yours only in pictures. Then again, there are no guarantees for any mother. Some biological moms miss out on the childbirth they wanted or breastfeeding or early bonding, for many, many reasons. Some adoptive moms get to be there for their baby's first breath, some lactate easily and get the chance to breastfeed. Each mother's story is different. Each child's story is different.

No one who wants them should be denied these experiences. My heart aches for her loss - the loss of the ability to grow or birth or nourish a child. It is something to grieve for as long as necessary.

Is adoption less? No. Not less, different. The bonding happens outside of you. It's not internalized, like a pregnancy, a secret between you and the baby in your womb. It is more vulnerable, less private. As you get to know each other, you and your child are exposed to the world and that feels a little raw. For my daughter and I, that took time. Human emotions are not always instant. When a child comes to you through adoption, even after waiting and planning for what seems like forever, it feels sudden. The need for time to bond, for real love (as opposed to the dream you have loved from the beginning) to grow, seems awkward with the little person already a part of your life. The secrets whisper between your heart and the heart of a woman out there somewhere in the world who can not, for some reason, poverty, youth, illness, fathom the joy of this child.

Adopting and birthing children reminds me of the essay Welcome to Holland by Emily Perl Kingsley. She compares having a baby with Downs Syndrome to leaving on a long anticipated trip to Italy and finding yourself unexpectedly in Holland. If you focus on what Italy would be like, she points out, you will never see the beauty of Holland. Stealing her beautiful analogy, I would say that adoption is like planning a trip to Italy on the QEII, but at embarkation, you find that the ship is full and your tickets are for a luxury yacht. Everyone else is boarding the famous cruise ship. It looms at the dock, all consuming, overshadowing all the smaller boats.

You are all going the same place, but your journey is different than most. Your windows have different views, your crew is different, you meet different people, make different friends, find unexpected joys. Some experiences you might miss out on - no denying that the QEII is fabulous. Some things are better. They miss out too, on that huge ocean liner. Yachts can travel slower, can enter smaller ports. The people who choose to travel this alternative way are more aware, more deliberate about their trip. Remember, too, no matter how rough the crossing, at the end of the voyage, every one is in Italy together.

Will one journey assuage the loss of the other? I don't think so. Loss is loss. But, spending your time focused on what you are missing would be tragic, because then you would miss your own trip.

Is it the same? It's the road less travelled. It can be rougher and rockier and longer. That bonding time is a part of the journey. You are still sailing right up to that incredible moment, whenever it occurs, when you look at your child and think only mine. Once you are there, though, from that moment when you arrive as a mother to a child, yes, my friend, it is the same. All of my children are fiercely mine. Inseparably woven into my heart. Each time, the pattern changes. Each time, the threads are different.

If I haven't exhausted my tired comparison quota for the day then I will say this: That is what makes our tapestry so beautiful.