Not long ago, at the urging of several readers, I published a post called "Adopting ‘Problem’ Children." The article discussed the "dark side" of adopting children who have been exposed to abuse, neglect, and institutional living.
After reading that post, Ninette, the mom of three children adopted from foster care, volunteered to contribute a guest column about the bright side of adopting foster children.
Ninette told me that while there are problems, diagnoses, and trips to therapist, these things can happen with any child—whether you birth them or adopt them domestically or internationally. She says, “I love my children. Sometimes they make me crazy, but they have brought so much more to my life then frustration, medication, and violence.”
Ninette and her husband, Chris, who live in Northern California, are the parents of Monika, Alex, and Bobby, who arrived in their family at ages 4, 6, and 8. Their adoption was final in May of 07. The children are currently 7, 9, and 11.
I’m delighted to share Ninette’s thoughts with you today.
“Sometimes you have to wait for your moment to come.”
We didn’t get the “Aww” moment. You know the one I’m talking about; when you see your new child for the first time, whether it be in an airport, hospital, or orphanage. Once the child is in your arms the heavens open, the sun shines, and angels sing. We didn’t get one of those.
When you fost-adopt, “getting” your kids is a whirlwind of pictures, meetings, discussions, and home visits. Before you can blink an eye, they are at your door with possessions, or in our case the van to our front door. That was almost three years ago.
Even after we got our sibling group of three (ages 4,6, and 8 upon arrival), I still read all the adoption stories. I didn’t realize it, but I was looking for a story that matched my own. They were difficult to find.
So I came to terms with the fact that those beautiful moments that parents in adoption magazines and online glowed about was not going to happen for us. Fost-adoption was just too crazy. I felt a bit cheated—like I did with most things that had to do with bringing our kids home. No baby shower, no celebrations, just assimilation. Welcome to the family; there will be a test on the names of your new aunts and uncles at the end of the week.
Then, it happened: basketball season. Our daughter, the oldest, asked Dad if he would coach her basketball team. I can tell you, there was little doubt that he would say yes. It became a family affair, my husband Chris coaching the 9-to-11-year-olds, Alex on the 7-8 year old team, Bobby on the 5-6 team, and Mom cheering on the side lines. We spent a good part of our Saturdays at the courts watching and participating in the games.
One of the things I noticed in all of the stories was that this “moment” tends to catch you by surprise. All the families talk about how overwhelming it was to see their baby, how they just KNEW that it was a perfect fit, that they had done the right thing.
Well, they got that part right. My moment happened on picture day at the Y. I knew that Chris had asked the photographers to take a picture of him with the kids even though they weren’t on the same team, but when I opened the package and took out the picture, the heavens opened, the sun was shining, and angels were singing. There they were: my crew, my life, my love.
It might have taken almost two years but I got my moment and it was as sweet as any other. So like most “new” moms, I went around with the pictures to show everyone, “Have you seen this?”, or “Look at the picture the kids and Chris took.” I was beaming and mushy, but it was my moment. I just had to wait for it.
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