The Main Differences Between Embryo Adoption and Domestic Adoption

 

 

As I look back on our family, and how God's hands are all over it, I think about every person who may read this blog and may be at a fork in the road.  We have one child through domestic infant adoption.  We have another child through embryo adoption.  And, we have yet another child through IVF.  And, truth be told, God willing, we may not be done.  Our heartstrings are still tugged at adopting through foster care, many years from now. 

 

So, what if you are at that fork in the road and you are open to adoption, and are wrestling between embryo adoption and domestic infant adoption?

 

Well, I want to share with you the "Top 5 Differences and Similarities With Embryo Adoption and Domestic Adoption (In My Experience)"

 

5. Each costs a good chunk of change.  However, domestic infant adoption is significantly more expensive.  Yet, with certain tax credits, it cuts down that cost quite a bit.  In 2008, our adoption of Brae cost us over $22,000.  But, we also got about half of that back in taxes.  In 2011, our adoption of Sienna cost just over $5,000.  There were no tax credits.

 

4. With domestic infant adoption, you are guaranteed to bring a child home, eventually.  With embryo adoption, sadly, that just is not always the case.

 

3. The wait for each is unbearable, even if it is not that long.  With Brae, we were on the list, officially, for 7 months before we were chosen.  Yet, in that time, we went through about 10 "failed leads." It was heartbreaking each and every time.  With Sienna, from the time we turned in our paperwork to the time we had a transfer, it was 9 months.  Things definitely always felt like they were moving with embryo adoption; there was not a lot of down time.  There were tests, papers to fill out, genetic families to go through, etc.  With Brae, there just felt like a lot of waiting, with not a lot to do to occupy your mind.

 

2.  In domestic infant adoption, the birth parent chooses you.  And you just pray that she doesn't change her mind.  With embryo adoption, you first choose the genetic family, and then they choose you back (in an open adoption).  It feels like you are each mutually "on board" with the decision.  Although we have a remarkable birth story with Brae, and a phenomenal birth mom, I know many adoptive parents who did not experience that with their birth family. 

 

1. With each, I can say that hands down, unequivocally, there is absolutely NO difference in how you feel about that child.  You love that child as if it were genetically connected to you in every way.  You will be surprised at your heart's capacity to grow beyond your understanding.  I feel not an ounce different as a mother to Brae than I do to Sienna, or than I do to Graem, for that matter.  To each, I am simply, "Mommy."

 

And that has always been my heart's desire.

 

This is my last post for an unknown period of time.  It truly has been an honor to share our life story with you. 

 

God bless you in your journey.

 

And I leave you with our family photos, 2015.

 

xoxo

 

Britney

 

 

 

Not at peace.

A dear friend recently asked me, "Do you feel at peace with your infertility journey?"

The question verberated within my soul for hours before I could finally answer.  And this was my email response back to her (in a nutshell):

"Probably not.  Of course, I'm grateful, ultimately, for where it brought me, and the three children that were born out of that painful path.  But, it has left deep-rooted scars in its wake.  I'm a different person entirely because of the last 7-8 years.  Mostly, in a good way.  I have a ton more empathy for others; it has given me a platform to talk about with other women who are struggling; and I grew more dependent on God, and consequently closer to God, than I had ever been.

But, there is still a lot of resentment, bitterness, and jealousy that has remained. I'm resentful of women who get pregnant so easily and take it for granted.  I'm bitter that we had to go through everything we did to grow our family.  I'm jealous of women who are living the dreams I had as a little girl - just get pregnant, no problem, and grow a big, beautiful family without a care in the world. 

I remember, during the pit of our struggle, a dear friend had gotten pregnant, and aborted.  I remember, months after she told me, we got into a  vicious fight.  I can't even remember what the fight was ostensibly about.  But, I knew what it was really about.  I was angry  - livid, really - that she had gotten pregnant and destroyed the one thing I was fighting so hard for.

So, no, I don't think I am at peace with our infertility journey.  I may never be.  It scorched my soul and left me raw.  And, that just takes a really long time to heal."

The Accusation.

Brae started going to our current daycare/preschool when he was just 3 months old.  He went there for nearly 6 years until he graduated last summer.

Sienna started going there at just 3.5 months old.  She is now in their preschool program.

And Graem started going there when he was 6 months old, and is in their daycare program. 

We have loved our daycare/preschool.  It is a small, neighborhood, Spanish-immersion program.  It is run by a husband and wife, each native Spanish speakers.  She has her Masters' in Education.  The providers there are all native speakers.  There is absolutely no technology.  The kids sing, dance, play outside, do arts and crafts, and learn Spanish.   

The community of parents there is united and strong.  There is no fancy bus to take kids on field trips.  The parents volunteer.  There are no fancy toys to play with; most of them are donated from parents.  The summer that Sienna was born, the parents got together to re-vamp the front yard.  We showed up early on a Saturday morning, garden tools in tow, and weeded and planted.

And, just this last week, after a particularly tough several days, a group of parents showed up again early on a Saturday morning, care package in hand.

They did that because of an accusation.  An ugly, viscous accusation made by a en ex-employee.  A disgruntled ex-employee, as it turns out. 

To better understand the reason for the care package, I need to rewind to two weeks ago.  Tygh came home with the kids one evening, confused.  The owners had pulled him aside, and crying and in broken English, told them that someone had filed a complaint with the Department of Human Services.  The best that Tygh could make out, someone had accused the male owner of inappropriately touching children.  They handed Tygh a piece of paper with the caseworker's name on it.  The male owner's license was being suspended while DHS investigated.

I took the piece of paper from Tygh, and immediately started calling my parent friends.  I think I received 60 text messages that night. 

I wish I could say that the first thought that popped into my head was, "That's ridiculous.  Who could possibly say such a thing?", but it wasn't.  And not because I ever believed it to be true, but because when there is an accusation like that, I think the natural reaction from any parent is to just stop.  And think.  To comb your memory bank for even the smallest indication that maybe, just maybe, could there be even a shred of truth?

And I came up empty.  And so did the other parents.  We just did. not. believe. it.  Not the owner that we knew.  Not the owner that our kids adored.

And so, we rallied.  We left messages for the caseworker that night.  She called us back the next morning, overwhelmed by the outpouring of support. 

She confirmed (kind of) that the accusation was from an ex-employee.  But we had the accusation wrong. 

We aren't sure what happened, but something clearly had gotten lost in translation (perhaps literally) between the caseworker and the owners.  The accusation had nothing to do with inappropriate touching, at least not of a sexual nature. 

The accusation was that the male owner had slapped the forearm of a child, one in particular, in discipline.

We were again taken aback by this accusation.  And, again, I think each of the parents stopped.  Again, we mined our memory banks for anything we had witnessed, or thought we had witnessed, that would lead us to believe that this accusation was true.

And, again, nothing.  We just did not believe it.  Our children had never, not once, come home and mentioned that this male owner had ever inappropriately touched them (sexually or in discipline).

Over the next several days, numerous parents were interviewed (including me).  The caseworker confirmed that not one parent voiced any concern, including the parent of the child who had allegedly been hit. 

The caseworker said that, unfortunately, these sorts of accusations are made regularly.  Each has to be investigated (as well they should be!), and each has to go through the paces.  This would be no different.  She said that if she continued to find no evidence to support the allegation, it should be resolved in a couple weeks, and the male owner could return with his license in tact.

But, the damage has been done.  You can see it on the faces of the staff, and the owners.  They have been destroyed.  Their reputation, their life's work, their intentions, their love for these kids, has all been questioned. 

And it makes me sad. 

It makes me sad for the ex-employee who felt she needed to do this. It makes me sad for resources that could have been spent on a legitimate claim.  It makes me sad for our little community. 

I am not naïve.  If I thought, for even a moment, that this accusation had merit, we would seriously consider pulling our kids out and going elsewhere. 

We do not.  That said, I am all in favor of a full investigation that will ultimately clear them.  I am all in favor of any kind of education or teaching that may come out of this that will remind and reinforce to the owners and providers that in our daycare/preschool settings, we do not touch kids.  Period.

But, I'm still very sad.

These are words you cannot take back.  The accusation has been made.  And, for some, that will be all they care about and remember.

Losing Brae.

Over the last few weeks, since we returned from Disney World, since Brae started kindergarten up again, and since I went back to work, something almost imperceptible has changed.

But I have noticed it.

And it makes me so very, very sad.

And, a little bit proud.

We are slowly losing Brae.

He is growing up.  Our grip on him has loosened.  He's coming into his own.  He is a boy.  A school-aged kid.

He has his own ideas, opinions, and interests, and he articulates them like an adult.

He has manners (when he chooses to use them) that rivals most colleagues of mine.

He has sleepovers.  At other people's houses.  And he packs his own bag.

He picks out his clothes, knows the way he wants to wear his hair, and can make himself his favorite snack.

But, it's not just these things.  If it was just these things, I may feel only a little sad.

But I feel very sad.

And the thing that makes me the most sad is that, when I pick him up from a long day at school, he climbs in the back of the car, and is silent the whole way home.  No more jibberish about his days at day care, or his days in preschool.  Those days are gone.  Instead, he gazes tiredly out the back of the window, watching the world go by.  He's exhausted from a big day of learning, playing, and navigating social norms with kids of all ages.  Fatigued by making new friends and keeping the old.  Labored by mounting homework, school expectations, and little boy responsibilities.  He looks worn from the weight of the world on his tiny, kindergarten shoulders.

This makes me sad because he is experiencing real, grown-up emotions, and doesn't feel the need to seek me out for comfort.  Instead, he just wants to sit with his feelings, and figure them out.

This also makes me a little proud because I feel we have done a good job, so far, of equipping him for the world.  He is independent, smart, personable, appropriately cautious, and curious.  And yet, if we are to fully complete our job in preparing him, we need to allow him to feel those uncomfortable, unavoidable life feelings, and figure out how to deal with them.

But, he's also still just a little six-year-old boy, that I see still as my six-month-old firstborn.  And, I'm sad that I cannot protect him from uncomfortable feelings, and even sadder that he doesn't expect me to.

 

 

 

 

Back to Work.

A few weeks ago, I started back to work.

Although this was my third maternity leave, and actually a much longer leave than I had with Brae or Sienna, it was still excruciating to return.

I love my job, and I love the people I work with.  But they cannot compete with the sweet boy's face that I would snuggle with each morning.

I am grateful that I had the extended leave with Graem, especially after his sudden (and scary) entry into this world.  I am grateful that I was able to be at home when Brae started kindergarten, and I could walk him to the school bus.  I am grateful that I was able to keep Sienna home from preschool on certain days, and just have "girl dates" with her. 

I am grateful that I got to watch summer turn to fall, and fall turn to winter, each from my home window.  I am grateful that in a season of tremendous transition for our family, I was able to be at home for many months. 

The first day back was chaos.  I was prepared - or so I thought - for it.  What I was not prepared for, however, was who would be the source of the chaos. 

Brae.  It was going to be his first day in morning extended care at his school.  Up until then, he had been able to take the bus to kindergarten.  Well, since his bus doesn't come until 8:45, and I need to leave for work before then, the plan was for me to drop him off around 8. 

He did not support that plan.  The first day, he ran around the exterior of the school, as I'm lugging Graem, and trying to keep track of Sienna.  Brae was crying hysterically, refusing to go in.  Eventually, the teacher came out, and coaxed him in.  My heart broke.

The drop off for Sienna and Graem went much more smoothly.  Sienna took comfort in the fact she now got to watch over her little brother, and Graem, well let's face it, the kid is just easy.  I called his daycare a couple times for the first few days, and then stopped.  I kept getting the same report - he doesn't cry, he's a great sleeper, etc.  That mended my heart a little.

Being back in the office itself has been a bit shocking.  Kind of like jumping into an ice cold pool.  Eventually, you warm up, but it takes a while.

There were four of us coworkers who all had babies (boys!) at the same time, and so were all on maternity leave at the same time.  One gal decided to not come back at all.  Another gal, and a dear friend of mine, took a different job.  Then there were two.

It is hard being a working mom.  But, it's also hard to be a stay-at-home mom, I'm sure.  As a sweet friend told me, she considers me a "working stay-at-home mom."  I like that.  My heart is definitely at home, and when I am home, my time is invested in my kids.  I feel very involved, and I'm grateful that I have a profession, and a job, that allows me to do that.

And I just pray that my kids come to understand, and respect that decision. 

Graem's 6 month check up

Graem is now "officially" 6 months old.  Yet, with his prematurity, the doctor still considers him more like 5 months.

A silver lining to having a premature baby is that I really do feel like I've gotten to experience the "baby" phase perhaps longer than others.

That said, I find myself vacillating between wanting him to start scooting around, and relishing in his immobility.  I find myself thankful that he seems to be slowly weaning off nursing, and yet grimacing that these precious days are at their sunset. 

I will him to be a "normal" 6-month-old baby, and yet scared to death for him to be so, because I know physically he is not ready. 

His 6-month-appointment was typical.  He's 75th percentile for height (over 27 inches) and 25th percentile for weight (16.8 lbs).  He can roll over from his tummy to his back, although not consistently.  He has not rolled from his back to his tummy.  His only real method of moving around is that he "shimmies" on his back, to and fro, using his heels as traction to propel his little body backwards and sideways. 

He loves food, any kind of food.  He has yet to turn his nose at any fruit or vegetable I've given him.  For that reason, he is easily distracted when nursing, and really doesn't care for a bottle.  But he starts panting the moment he sees the food come his way. 

Apparently, the doctor says this is a good thing. 

His eyes have remained a dark blue.  Since neither Tygh nor I have blue eyes (each green), this must be the recessive genes coming through (both our moms have blue eyes).  The doctor says it is unlikely the color will change at this point, but I'm less optimistic.  Brae had blue eyes still at 6 months, and now they are hazel.  Sienna also had dark blue eyes at this time, and strangely, hers lightened to a sky blue/grey. 

He remains the easiest, most chill baby ever.  We are constantly getting comments like, "Is he always like this?"

Yes.  Since he was about 2-3 months old, he's been like this.  He takes after his dad. 

In fact, the only evidence that he belongs to my gene pool is his ears.  They are small. 

That's about it.  Everything else is all his daddy. 

He and Brae have a very special, unique bond.  Brae is the only person that, to this day, can get him to really belly laugh. 

He and Sienna also share a remarkable relationship, but I'd say it is more like pet and owner than brother and sister.  Sienna notices him occasionally, pets his head, and moves on, as he gazes longingly after her. 

I went back to work last week and Graem also did superb.  In fact, I stopped calling the daycare after the second day because I kept getting the same report.  "El es muy tranquilo.  No llora.  Muy facil."  (He's very calm.  Doesn't cry.  Very easy.).

Yup, that's just Graem.

We've come along way since the NICU.

 

Graem and Sienna at his check up.  Sienna helped console him after his shots. 

Afraid of 2015.

As dawn breaks on the start of a new year, the fear of the unknown can be very sobering.

I remember like it was yesterday being in the throws of infertility, and the bittersweet taste of what a new year could bring.

There was hope, sure.  But there was also the fear that all hope was lost.

There was anticipation, definitely.  But there was also the pit in my stomach that grew with the thought that I was only to be anticipating more disappointment.

And there was excitement, of course. But there was also an overwhelming shroud of anxiety that my excitement would give way to agony.

As we step into this new year, I have two dear friends, unknown to each other, but linked by infertility.  One just discovered she is pregnant with twins.  The other is still, well, just still waiting for that other dark line to appear.

Although I'd like to say that infertility is behind me, it has left some very real and tangible scars in its wake.  The blessing of those scars is that the experience of infertility has given me a platform.  I can talk with others who are going through it without just pretending or speculating.  I've been there, and I can relate to every single emotion they are feeling.  And, because the worst of it is over for me, I can also share with others the hope that can come when this season is over.

For some, the season will turn with the birth of a child.  For others, the season will turn with the adoption of a child.  For others, the season will turn when they are consumed by contentment with their present circumstances, whatever they may be.

I am grateful for the three little blessings God has given my family.  And yet, there is still mourning over how those blessings came about.  But, that mourning does not last for long.  Because, those blessings could only come about in the way that they did. 

When I start to dwell on the fantasy children that I could have had, I stop almost immediately.  Because those fantasy children were never going to come.  God had planned, since the beginning of time, for these three children to be mine.  There are no others, at least not here on earth.  And, in His amazing providence, these three children were destined to come about in the way that they did.

So, as dawn breaks on the start of this new year, I remember being afraid of so many other new years, and what untold secrets they held.  And, right now, as I hear the first bird of a new year greet the morning with singing outside my doors , I close my eyes in gratitude that those fears are behind me, and look up to heaven in awe of the blessings bestowed.