The Wait Is Not Over

Since my last adoption update, our birth mother gave birth a little early. I got the call while I was at work on a Monday morning that she gave birth. Because it was so close to Christmas holidays, I chose to keep working. There wasn't much I could do while waiting for the baby to be released from the hospital and I felt like I should keep my mind distracted. Let me tell you, it's a truly bizarre feeling to know "your" child is born, but you are not there to hear his cries or comfort him.

The social worker told me to expect to receive the baby sometime in the afternoon the next day, so I went into work that morning. My co-workers were truly amazing and surprised me with a gift card and a deluxe baby bath. It was really heart-warming how they came together on such short notice to support me. I left work that afternoon with them wishing me well and hoping everything goes smoothly.

I went home for lunch and got a call from the social worker. "There's been a delay...and some changes...."
There are always curve balls in adoption, I think. You just have to roll with it. Originally, our social worker was going to deliver him to our house. That changed and they asked us to go to the hospital.

My sister had arrived by then (she lives in another province), and I knew there was potential to wait more at the hospital, so I decided it was best if Hubby and the Little Man wait at home, and I drove to the hospital with my sister.

We got there and waited. And waited. And waited. We browsed in the gift shop. And wandered. And sat. And waited. Finally the social worker told us to wait outside the elevators, they were coming down. So we waited in the hospital hall. Very anti-climatic. Very odd. To think this is THE MOMENT you get to see your child and we're standing in the middle of a hospital.

So with that, three social workers come out, mine carrying our baby and in the middle of the hall, they hand him to me. But just like when I gave birth, when you set your eyes on your baby, for a few minutes the world stops turning and no one else exists. You have no pain, no fears, no worries. You feel love and protection. It doesn't matter if you're lying in a hospital bed or standing in a hospital hall, you see your baby and it's wonderful.

And with that, we pile into the car - me, my sister, our social worker and the Tiny Man - and we drive home. We walk in the door and present the new baby to Hubby and the Little Man. The Little Man is so proud and declares we're, "a real family now." The social worker stays with us for the first hour to make sure we're settled in and with that, our new family is formed.

From there, we had to get past the 30-day wait period - the time that the biological family can request the baby back. This was not as nerve-racking as I thought it would be. I did not guard my heart just in case. As far as I was concerned, this was my child for however long I have him and I will love him because that's what he needs.

We have had him two months now and it feels like he was always supposed to be with us. The Little Man tells everyone he can about his baby brother. He is so happy.

But the waiting is not over.

We have to wait for our day in court for the Order of Placement, which transfers guardianship of the Tiny Man from child protective services to us. Then after that, we have to wait for the finalized adoption. Again, like every other aspect of adoption we've experienced so far, there's no clue how long we'll wait. So the wait is not over!

In the meantime, we just keep living and enjoying our little family.

~ To Be Continued ~

Being Mixed Race in Japan

    

I take it for granted a lot of the time that my own mixed-race experience was not all that bad. It didn't cause me identity crises or confidence issues. I might have had other issues, but they were not caused by race. My father got at least this part right - he told me never to worry about what people think of my appearance. He said how a person looks doesn't matter, and I, luckily, believed that as well.

When it came to my peers, there was a mix of confusion and curiosity. I was not the only mixed person in my elementary school, so that helped. Some wanted to know exactly which race I was. Some did not want to play with me when they found out I was half black.

In high school the racism became more overt, with groups taking sides; the whites against the blacks in gym class, for example. I was once told to just stand in the middle of the field. I was also called things like, "zebra," "oreo," and "honger."

Having recently visited Japan, I can say it's a very homogenous society. They were at least outwardly polite. Despite my lack of Japanese, I found them extremely friendly, helpful and gracious. I do not believe I was treated unfairly or badly because of my race (in fact, I was not treated badly in any way at all!). But growing up there must be a different thing. I know they have very strict laws against foreigners buying property or residing too long.

I find other people's interracial experiences fascinating and I will be checking out this Japanese documentary as soon as it's available.

Go Cheerios!

Cheerios had to disable comments on this video/commercial because all the bigots in the world came out in full force with outrage over an interracial family.

Cheerios wins the day though by telling Gawker: "At Cheerios, we know there are many kinds of families and we celebrate them all."

Thanks Cheerios! We'd still eat you if my interracial family weren't all gluten free. 

I'm Not The Babysitter - Really

It happened.

Someone thought I was the babysitter today at the playgroup. When I said, "I'm not babysitting, this is my son!" she said, "oh, he looks like his father then." Has she seen his father? No.

Forget the fact Baby has my eyes, my nose, my lips and my ears, he's just a different colour, that's all! And I should probably take it as a compliment that I am right back down to my pre-pregnancy weight; I don't look like someone who just gave birth four months ago. Still, that's no reason to assume I'm not the mommy.

The good thing that came out of it was as it was my first time there, I didn't realize the group seemed to be divided into two cliques: the real mommies and the babysitters. After I yelled out in indignation that Baby was my son, the real mommies started talking to me. Baby made a new girlfriend with a nine month old (he likes older chicks) who was half Japanese, half white (seems a taste for the mixed girls runs in the family). She showered him with sloppy kisses while he smiled like crazy.

I knew it would happen eventually though.

I am of mixed heritage myself. My father is Barbadian and my mother is French-Canadian. As she was a white woman, walking around with two little black babies, people would ask her from where we were adopted from or if she was babysitting and so on. I remember it used to make her cry sometimes. Not out in public, but she would get tears in her eyes replaying the conversation at home. I'm not sure she ever got over the fact her children don't really look like her. (Which is not totally true - my sister looks quite a bit like her. The colour is wrong, yes, but the features are there. You just have to LOOK BEYOND colour.)

I married a white Canadian, of German and Irish heritage, so our child is only 1/4 black. Of course I knew people might be confused when they see me and my son together. I told my mom and she laughed, saying she thought people would have changed by now, but I guess they haven't.

I was a little surprised, but I'm not upset. I do not mind that I don't have the same colour as my son. I know he is mine and he knows I'm his, so that's all that matters. What is probably most comforting to me is that growing up and hearing those ignorant comments from total strangers telling my mom I must be adopted never made me doubt where I came from. Kids don't see colour. I loved my mom regardless and I thought the strangers were total crazies. And I hope my baby thinks exactly like I do.