You say “Gotcha” and my mind races back to those days….with no regard to what it might be like, was like, is like. There is no room in the word “gotcha” for me. And while I can understand the feelings of joy my son’s parents had…heck, I comforted myself with the fantasy of what it was like for them..to balance it out, to give the pain some meaning, some purpose besides myself…I like to think that they did think of me..wondered too..if I was sad and feeling alone, empty. Like I thought of them..full of joy..loving my child

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?

Shown already at both the Toronto International Film Festival and Sundance, “movie” reviews hail the performances of the main characters played by Annette Bening, Naomi Watts, and Kerri Washington as both Oscar Worthy and also sang praises for Garica who was both writer and director. I, however, do not pretend to be a true film critic, but rather look upon anything adoption related for it’s true views and media portrayals of adoption. It was with my birthmother “adoption eyes” that I viewed the Screening of “Mother and Child” at the Sony Private screening room in NYC this past Monday evening.

Adoption Search Facebook Style!
I watched a miracle happen on Facebook.  Just now. It was amazing.
A friend of mine, who is an adoptee, put together a Facebook group asking for help finding her birth family. Yesterday.
By …

Perfectly written in all 360 degrees of adoption. Adoptive parents were played out in a glowing positive light. I can’t make myself watch it again to pull out the quotes, so you’ll have to take my word on it I just fail to see why it is truly that horrible to adoptive parents to watch the show. Why be up in arms? How does the implied choice of name “Find My Family” imply a devaluation of the adoptive family?

I am birth mother and Mother’s Day is hardly a celebration of what we have, but what we have lost. And while he calls you mom and you acknowledge how lucky you are to be able to share that title, you have to admit that yes, a card would be nice, but there will be no expecting, only more hoping.

I need some help from you. Simple steps really, but often even more important because I can tell you that most politicians are sympathetic to the issues of adoptees, but they are even more concerned about unsetting the birthparents, and often they care allot about the adoptive parents feelings, too. If they hear the support from adoptive parents in numbers, they are likely to listen.

All Adoptive parents need to be a voice in this issue just by caring enough to spread the word and speaking out.

When I began this journey into adoption research and becoming part of this community, I was just as clueless and full of topical stereotypes and societal teachings as the nest person in line. My first postings at adoption forums back in 2001(?) were honestly full of pride for being a birthmother and I enjoyed, still, being told how strong and selfless I was.

I was dressed, showered, and ready, but sitting in the rocking chair having my final moments with my baby. I know that I did not feel that I could physically manage to do it. I had no clue on how I was going to be able to walk out of that room and away from my baby. I think I said something to that effect. I doubted if I really could. We took some last photos, and I knew that they were all waiting for me to do it. There were people watching, but they were trying to let me find the moment and strength. Finally, one of the nurses got the bassinette for me and brought it in. I am thinking she was kind of pushy and brightly insistent on my putting him in. I held him and I cried now. No longer strong, no longer brave, just broken. And somehow, I walked over to the bassinette and placed him in. Somehow, I communicated that they could walk him out. And somehow I stayed within the confines of my body and managed to hold myself upright as she pushed him out and closed the door.

The Central theme in the BSE, is the use of shame, lies, and outright fraud used by most religious or charitable maternity homes of Post War America. Bottom line was that if you were a blue collar or above, white “nice” girl from the shiny new suburbs, and you got yourself pregnant, then either you were getting married real fast and might never live it down, or you went away. In 1970, for instance, 80% of the infants born to single mothers were placed for adoption and it’s not because these girls wanted to.