Sister Star

My daughter has a star she watches in the south western sky. It's very bright, and she calls it her "sister star".
We've had a few discussions about it. She says when she sees it, she wonders if her birth mother is seeing it too. (Is it okay to admit that my earthly mama heart hurts a little when she says this?)
Tonight she and I were driving to pick up Pizza Hut for the boys, who were busily trying to finish framing the basement.
We were listening to music that was soothing and sweet and that tugged a little on the heart strings (thank you Mindy Gledhill). A song came on that was particularly touching. The volume was at a comfortable level, but the silence was deafening. I looked over at my daughter and noticed a tear spill out of the corner of her eye. I saw that her eyes were turned toward her star. I sucked back my own tears, swallowed hard and said, "Whatcha thinkin' about, Sis?"
She blinked a few times, then just let the tears come.
We launched into a conversation about her birth mother, the choice she had to make, what some of the possibilities would be had she not made that decision, and what a miracle our family is.
I wanted so much for it to be enough for her.
I want to be enough for her.
I've learned I have to be careful how I word things....I have to find a balance between letting her ask the questions she needs to ask, and answering them appropriately-but briefly, so I don't plant any seeds for her fragile, emotionally immature, and hormonally confused mind to go wild with. (does that make sense? I feel like I have to keep my answers light and cheery, I guess)
As we pulled into the parking space at Pizza Hut, she was ready for the conversation to be over. "Look Mom....I was crying just a second ago, and now I'm over it! Ha! Let's go get our pizza!"
I made a few mental notes:
1. Keep things light but honest
2. I Love her and that is enough
3. Embrace the star
4. Possibly ban Mindy Gledhill from our family ;)

Where did I go?

W and I are in the process of applying for our second adoption. One of the last things we have to do is write the "Pick us!!" letter to the birth parents. We are using the old one--because it is good and in the three years since we wrote it Jooj has made my brain hurt a lot-but updating it to reflect our current situations. (Like the part that says "We will never spank." Oh, the laughter when I re-read that part!) The format we used was: I wrote a paragraph introducing W, he wrote one for me, and then I wrote the rest about our belief systems, etc. It worked.

When W wrote the paragraph about me the last time it was all "Jen is so educated!" and "Masters!" and "Smart" and "Hot!" (Not really, but I read between the lines) and "Strong and Capable!" and "REALLY smart!".

He just emailed me the update and here is what it says now: "Good mother!" "Preschool and Playgroup!" "Takes kid to soccer!" "Mom!" and "Jooj's Mom!"

Apparently I have vanished in three years.

I don't know where I went (I certainly haven't gotten any smaller physically) and I don't know when it happened. There was a point where I desperately wanted to be someone's mom--anyone's mom! And it is not like I want to go back to that place (although I am often tempted) but there has got to be a place where "Mom" and "Me" co-exist.

Have you found that place? Where is it? How did you get there?

Brace Yourself

I took Sissy G. to get her braces off today.
We've been waiting for this day for 20 days shy of 2 years.
I knew we'd both be wowed, but I wasn't prepared for this:

She opened her mouth into a slick, smooth, shiny white smile.
Tears welled up in my eyes and I took in a quick deep breath.......
She looks exactly like her Birth Mother.

In that instant, I was taken back to a hotter summer day in 1996. Hoss and I had made the drive to the hometown of the woman who gave her birth.
We met our attorney in the hotel lobby and drove to her parents' home, where she lived.
We pulled up and she was leaning on the car of a new boy friend's. She glanced at us and went back to finishing up her conversation. Eventually, making her way over to us.

The hours, events, and emotions that followed over the next 24 hours came rushing back to me today. Sissy G.'s was the only Birth Mother we met of our three children. It was also the most difficult adoption experience of the three. On one hand, especially after meeting and seeing what could have been the rest of her life, we KNEW it was right. She was meant to be with us. No question. But, at the end of that 24 hour period......taking her from the arms of the beautiful soul who created and grew her....also felt criminal.
I stared at her for as long as I could. Long enough that I could remember her features, but not so long that I creeped her out.

Today.....I stared at that face again.

It was bittersweet. Because, if I'm being honest, I forget that I didn't grow and give birth to my children. I get caught up in the birth stories my friends tell and always have to stop myself from jumping in......
Comforted by our Temple sealings, I know-- without shadow of doubt--that this was God's plan.
I would not have it any other way........my children are my children no matter how they came. But for a brief moment(s) in time......I wish someone else's heart didn't have to be broken. It's a feeling I can't really put well with words, I dunno.

I guess what I'm saying is.......wherever she is, I pray that Heavenly Father will whisper to her today, tell her how thankful I am.....how beautiful they both are......and that her choice was perfect.

Last night being a good mommy was incredibly hard. We talked, for the first time, about how she is adopted. It came about pretty naturally: We were talking about temples. I told her how she went to the temple with us when she was a baby, so that we could be her parents forever.

"Baby Jooj go to temple?"
"Yes."
"Baby Nora (her cousin) go to temple?"
"Well, no."
"Why?"

So we talked about how Baby Nora came out of Tia Amy's belly, so they didn't have to go to the temple. And Baby Jooj didn't come out of mommy's belly, so...

"Baby Jooj in you belly."
"No, Mami can't get babies in her belly. Mami's belly is broken."
"No! Baby Jooj go in YOU belly."
"No, honey, Mami's belly is broken, so Heavenly Father put Baby Jooj in Diana's belly. Then Diana brought you to us, because Mami and Papi and Jooj are a family."
"No, I go in YOU belly. No Diana."
"I wish you were in my belly, Jooj, but Mami's belly is broken."
"You belly need batteries?"
"Yes, Mami's belly needs special batteries."
"Oh. Es Ok?"
"Oh yes, Mami is ok. And Jooj is my baby forever."

And it was so hard.

I love my daughter, I love my family, and I love that, through adoption, I am able to have her with me. And I know that telling her about adoption is important--it is not like we can hide it and she can meet her twin at summer camp and switch places in order to reconnect her father and I in love and marriage and groovy guitar songs. But I didn't expect it to hurt my heart to tell her.

I so wanted to say "You came from my belly--you and me have been together, even as little tiny cells inside Grammy Su, forever. I felt you kick, I loved you every second of the day. I fed you with my every heart beat, and I pushed you out and held you the instant you were born. You are mine and will never feel the need to seek out another mother, another person who shares your cells."

But I couldn't. Because it isn't true.

I know that she loves me. I know she is MINE. But our talk last night was the start of my biggest fear--that she will not feel like she is mine entirely, any longer. I know we will talk about it again and again, and I worry that, each time, she will feel drawn to another woman, another family, another set of siblings. Maybe she won't--maybe we are enough for her. But the fear is there.