Last week, while balancing my three-year-old on one knee, and restraining my four-year-old from pressing the “stop requested” button on the crowded cross-town bus, I caught myself in the middle of a fantasy. That got me thinking about how our fantasies change throughout our lives. I mean, how many of us still fall asleep dreaming of a future as The World Famous Cheerleading Ballerina: Mrs. Shaun Cassidy? Yet I never imagined I’d find myself lost in thought over a woman who lives half a world away.
Long story short, my husband and I endured a combined three years of “trying” and invasive infertility treatments only to be categorized as a couple with “Unexplained Infertility.” Our doctor was eager to move ahead with in vitro fertilization, but by then we strongly believed our children were somewhere out there, and it was time to go find them.
The adoption experts tell us that most adoptees fantasize about their birthparents (the birthmother in particular), but I never expected that of myself.
I think of my children’s birthmother frequently. I imagine her childhood. I wonder what her dreams were, and if she was happy. I try to picture her pregnant, and hope people were kind to her, or at least not cruel. I imagine her getting on with her life. Perhaps going back to school or securing a job where she’d wear smart professional clothes or a stylish uniform like I saw on so many women in Seoul when my husband and I traveled to Korea to meet our son and daughter.
Upon the advice of our adoption agency, we were encouraged to tell our children their birth story from day one. That way (without the pressure of getting it right) we could stumble and search for the appropriate words before they understood exactly what we were saying to them. What appealed to me was that the kids would always have known they were born from another woman and came to be our children through adoption. This openness would keep us all grounded in reality, without putting the birthparents on a pedestal or alternately making the topic taboo. Of course “Aha!” moments will occur as they mature which will warrant discussion, but I’m grateful I don’t have to dread when, where, and how “THE TALK” will take place.
