Recently, someone started a conversation with me in this manner:
Ummmm….I’m not really sure how to ask this, or even if I should….
My thought process: Oh sh*t, what are you going to say about adoption or loss? (Given there circumstances I knew they weren’t pregnant, so I didn’t have to worry about that). Please just don’t ask me questions about the colour of his skin or his time in utero, I’m so over those conversations and I don’t have the energy for it right now.
My actual answer: What is it? I’ll answer it if I’m comfortable answering.
Friend: Well, we are just wondering, when will Little MPB know about his adoption? We just don’t want to say the wrong thing as he’s growing up.
MBP’s: For us, the fact he is adopted is just a fact of life, and is definitely not a secrete. The best comparison I can think of is that just like your child will always know who is parents are, Little MPB will always know who all his parents are too – there’s just a few more of us in his life then in your child’s life. We don’t envision sitting down with him when he’s 10 or 16 or 21 to explain that he’s adopted. Instead, he’ll just always know and we’ll answer questions and talk about it when and however he wants to.
Friend: Oh, okay! We had no idea.
MPB’s: We are always happy to answer questions about adoption, if you have any. If you ask something we aren’t comfortable sharing, we’ll just tell we aren’t comfortable sharing. For example, we don’t discuss the choices we made when we were filling in our child desired form. And, we don’t discuss very personal things about Little MPB’s birth family, as we want to let him share one day if he chooses to.
Friend: Oh, that’s good to know. We just want to make sure we are saying the right thing. We usually say biological parent, is that okay terminology? And, what if he asks us questions about adoption as he grows up?
MPB’s: Yup. We usually say birth parent. But, biological parent is totally okay too. As for him asking questions one day, we’ve been told most adopted children do ask questions and do want to talk about their birth parents usually between the ages of 3 and 6. We figure we’ll let him lead those conversations and we’ll just answer everything truthfully, age appropriate of course. And, if he asks you questions or talks to you about it, we’d hope you’d be willing to chat with him about it too. The last thing we ever want is for him to feel like he cannot talk about his family dynamics and his adoption with others.
From there we went into a discussion about the adoption process and the difference between open adoption and closed adoption.
Honestly, it was a great conversation. I really appreciated their willingness to ask questions, to use appropriate language and to want to know how to best support our son as he grows up. Seriously, no-one else has ever asked us how they can best speak with and support our son in regards to his adoption!! I was shocked by the questions, but it was such a good shock! And I also loved that they asked us, not just me. No-one ever asks adoption related questions when Mr. MPB is around, it seems to be something that they only ask me. (We are told this is a common gender stereotype within the adoption world – people usually only ask questions to mom’s when the dad isn’t present).
These friends are truly amazing individuals and I am so glad that they are part of our lives.
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First, let me state that Mr. MPB caved on day 4 of the silent treatment and started talking me again. Since I’m a talker, the silent treatment just slowly kills me. We still have not a “real” discussion about the situation, but I’ll take what I can get at the moment.
Honestly, I think I know what the root of our recent problems are, or at least I know what I think the root of the problems are from my perspective. And I’ve decided to sort through my side of it all, here in blog land. Maybe, not my best decision since Mr. MPB tends to read this. But I figure that I need to sort out what going on in my brain, because I know at some point we will talk about all of this, because that’s just what we do. Which is a bit ironic, since I think this current lack of talking is actually the result of a few months of not talking enough about the things that really matter.
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Honestly, I think it all started shortly after we got home from our Iceland trip. We had an argument about my blog. It was a weird argument in that he didn’t like a draft of something I had written about our trip, and he thought I should change it. But he couldn’t give me any constructive advice on how to change it. I have no problem with constructive criticism, but I don’t take well to plain old criticism. Anyways, he finally gave me some constructive advice, but he also stopped reading my blog because apparently he didn’t like how bothered I was by his opinion. Now, he’s read every single word I’ve ever written on here. That’s not a small feat because as of today I’ve written 926 post! Plain and simple, I was incredibly hurt that he stopped reading. And his lack of reading also meant we stopped discussing what I was writing about, and what others were commenting on. This blog has become part of our daily lives, and I felt so hurt that he didn’t want to be part of that. Anyways, eventually he started reading again, but the hurt has lingered.
And then, the night I was really sick, the night I went to the hospital, he was uncharacteristically unsupportive. I suggested early in the evening that I think I needed to go to the hospital because I felt so incredibly ill. And from my perspective, even though I’d voiced just how sick I was, he couldn’t even be bothered to check on my from time to time. In fact, I had to send him texts asking for water since I couldn’t physically get myself off the bathroom floor. In that moment it just didn’t feel like I had the caring and compassionate husband I’m used to. And then throughout not eating much for the next month, I struggled with even the basic of daily chores. I clearly wasn’t doing my part around the house (which I can only assume annoyed Mr. MPB, and rightfully so). Yet, I know I kept trying my absolute best – I made meals for him and little MPB even though I couldn’t eat them, I did all the laundry, I tried to keep the house clean, I continued to work full time to pay the bills, etc. It wasn’t perfect but I was trying, and yet I don’t think it was ever acknowledged or even appreciated just how hard I was trying.
And so, I think as a result of these things combined with my pure exhaustion, I stopped communicating my needs and wants. For better or worse, I didn’t feel like he’d really been there for me on a few major things so I started to withdraw (which is something I am known to do when I’m upset, which isn’t a good thing, but it is what it is). And so I stopped talking about the important stuff and somewhere along the line I felt like we just weren’t in sync like we normally are. It was as though we were dancing to different rhythms. And that’s never a good thing, as least as far as I can tell.
And then all the sudden we started talking on our drive last week and I tried to say all of this. But instead I was just a big giant jerk, which clearly got us no-where.
So, I guess, what I’m trying to say, is that I think a few months of dancing to different rhythms just caught up to us. And, while things suck right now, I know that this is all probably necessary to force us to find the same tune again.
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My Perfect Breakdown 