I’m proposing something that may seem radical here: the women who approach adoption determined to make the right choices for their child are the SAME women who would be determined to make the right choices while parenting said child; in most cases if they had just a little support and encouragement.

I could barely drag myself out of bed this morning but if you know me (or recently met me) you know that I am certainly not a morning person. The BlogHer Conference was a 7th …

I am, quite frankly, sick and tired of the adoption industry pretending to protect me and other birthmothers. Every time I lobby or speak to a legislator about sealed adoptee records, they ALWAYS have the same concern; ” the poor birthmother who doesn’t want to be found” In truth, the average percentage of American Birthmothers who do not desire contact is 0.993471.

Dear Expectant Mother Considering Adoption,
I was once in a similar position as you are now. I was pregnant and broke, trapped in a terrible relationship that was, regrettably, only going to get worse as time …

Why would God “guide” some children to loving adoptive homes and other, equally innocent, children to abusive adoptive homes? Really, that seems pretty careless to be God’s doing. Wouldn’t you think He would do a better background check? He is omniscient, after all.

An adoptive mother who lives in Australia writes about her American born son’s birth father in Filling in the Blanks from the Growing Family.
Blogger Amy Anderson writes about her birth family search at LA Moms. …

I’m not a big country fan but I have a big heart for Rodney Atkins who was adopted at birth.
Happy Father’s Day to all the Dad out there.

Gabriel’s birthfather lives in Texas.  I am sure of that.  As a matter of fact, I have his full contact info, should I want to contact him.  And something about holidays, especially Father’s Day, always …

My sister is adopted, have I mentioned that before?

She was adopted through a private adoption, arranged before her birth, by my dad and step mom. That was the summer of 1993. I wasn’t 18 yet.
I …

I spin in my own mental circles worrying myself over everything and wondering what to do next; half the time so paralyzed with fear for doing the wrong thing that I do nothing at all, except bite off more than I can chew and spread myself too thin. I had such high hopes. I had such dreams, but now, it’s kind of fizzely. Is that a word? I don’t know, but now.. I feel stuck, confused, lost again…mother, not mother what does it all mean?