Category: Adoption

Dear Dierks Bentley

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Dear Dierks Bentley,

Three years ago, my husband and I were waiting to adopt. We had been chosen by an expectant mother and six days before this photo, we got a phone call that a baby had been born.

That mother decided to parent, and while I found peace that we were not meant to parent that child, I struggled with the fact that our years of infertility and inability to grow our family continued.

We went right back to waiting, but driving to work on Monday was painful. I thought we should be driving to see a baby, not the same old drive to work.

I saw that you were playing in Columbia, Missouri that Friday. That was a couple hour drive, but I decided my husband and I needed something to distract ourselves. So I bought the tickets. Second row. I splurged. I needed to let the music drown my pain that night.

Then you came out and put on an amazing show. That could have been enough. But then as you walked back to the stage, you stopped for a selfie. I nervously fumbled around trying to take a picture with my new phone, and you started walking away. I kind of squealed as I realized I hadn’t even taken a photo, and you turned around, came back, and took another photo. I couldn’t believe you took the time to come back.

My husband and I walked out of that concert with the same thought. “THIS is exactly where we were supposed to be tonight.” We felt peace. It was as much of a sign as we could find to say, “Hold on, your time is coming.”

And these lyrics ran through my head over and over:

“I’m a riser.

I’m a get up off the ground, don’t run and hider

Pushing comes a-shovin’

Hey I’m a fighter

When darkness comes to town, I’m a lighter

A get out aliver, out of the fire

Survivor”

Then one week later, we got another phone call. We had been chosen by another expectant mother. A baby boy. And three weeks later, we welcomed that baby boy into our family.

You’ll never remember this moment, but I’ll never forget it. The moment I let go of the control I was trying to desperately hold onto in the wait to become a family. The moment my husband and I looked into each other’s eyes and knew we were right where we needed to be.

Thank you for taking time for this moment. Thank you for putting your whole self into that show. You made a bigger impression than you probably ever knew.

Some of your biggest fans,

Marcus and Betsy

Finalization Day: Forever Yours

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Dear No One,

Two years ago we finalized our son’s adoption.

We had to do six post placement visits with a social worker after bringing him home, so he was seven months before his adoption was finalized. All the paperwork had been completed and signed, and we sat in front of a judge and promised to love and support our son.

The judge’s words, “yours forever” are burnt into my memory. In that moment, I felt myself release a breath of tension I had been holding in from the day we decided to adopt. No more paperwork. No more trying to convince a total stranger that we were fit to raise our son. He would have a birth certificate with our last name. We could get him a social security number. He was legally ours.

Ours. And in that same moment, I saw his first mom’s face. I saw a part of my son’s life close. In a moment I had longed for, I recognized the loss for my son and his birth family.

We are in an open adoption, and I tell his first mom about pretty much everything. His milestones, his sense of humor, his behaviors (good and bad). I want her to know him and his personality. Yet for the first time, I didn’t send her pictures. I didn’t say anything about his finalization because I knew that us officially “gaining” another family member was also a loss for her.

I’ve heard this day called “gotcha day.” From what I have read from some adoptees, though, is that name does not do it justice. It does not allow an adoptee to feel the range of emotions that comes from this moment. There is joy and pain and loss.

Last night, Daxon woke up in the middle of the night and begged for snuggles. We pulled him into our bed for the first time since he was a baby. I held him, rubbed his head, and listened to his breath slow next to me. A huge part of my heart laid there next to me, and I felt so grateful that he is my son.

His first mom chose me to care for our son. She chose me to snuggle him at night. She chose me to read to him, feed him, potty train him, raise him in every way. She trusted me to love him forever.

So today, we are not celebrating big. We are loving big. We are showing our son that no matter what he feels towards this day or his adoption, we will always be there for him. Through the tough conversations and range of emotions, we will love him forever. We are his family. Forever.

So today is our forever family day. Full of love. And joy. And honest conversations. And pain. And sadness.

Daxon, you are a huge part of my heart living outside of my body, and I will love you forever. No matter what. You are my son, and I am your mom. There is no greater joy in my life than to watch you grow up. I love you Bugs. Today and always.

All my love,

Betsy

This Is Me

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Dear No One,

This is me, and I have anxiety.

What do you see when you look at me?

Do you see a woman crying in bed, not able to breathe, shutting down with exhaustion?

I have always led with my emotions. And those emotions can be big and bold.

It wasn’t until I was dating my now husband, that I even figured out that some of those emotions are led by anxiety.

In one of my many moments of feeling anxious, Marcus said, “I think you’re having a panic attack.”

Which I responded with, “No. My chest is just tight.”

Cue the eye roll. “Betsy. That’s anxiety.”

And then a rewind of some standout moments and memories flashed through my mind, and I realized in that moment this wasn’t a new thing.

Yet, after realizing that, I made no changes and continued to wonder why I was having these anxiety attacks and constantly sick and tired.

No, anxiety doesn’t just affect your mind. It can affect anything and everything.

After getting married, I dealt with anxiety about moving to a new state and city where I knew no one. Fun fact: I’m not really a social butterfly. New situations and people are often a source of anxiety for me.

So I’m alone. In a new state. My husband was in residency and working a lot (A LOT)!!!! Then we decided to grow our family. First comes marriage, then comes infertility. Then the journey of adoption and raising our first son. Then moving back to Iowa (after finally making some amazing friends). Then starting IVF. Then pregnancy. Then postpartum anxiety (my anxiety multiplied by a thousand).

That one paragraph of one thing piled on top of another was over six years. Six years of not taking care of myself and my mental health.

This isn’t easy to write or admit because there is still such a huge stigma around mental health. But after multiple, major panic attacks after the birth of our second son, my husband (an obgyn) nudged me ever so gently to start medication.

I feel like I am finally coming out of a fog. An at least six year fog. My entire marriage. My entire time as a mother.

I can see. I can see what my anxiety looks like, what triggers it, and some ways to manage it. And I don’t say heal or conquer my anxiety because it is me.

This is me.

It is a huge part of who I am. My big emotions. My empathy. My emotional intelligence. Those are big, beautiful parts of myself that I’m proud of, but I think they are directly linked to my anxiety.

I share this today because:

1) May is Mental Health Awareness Month

2) Sharing my story may make it easier for another person to get the help they need.

3) And honestly, what don’t I share with you?!?

Mental health disorders are so common. Yet we keep it hidden. I don’t want people to see or judge my unshowered self struggling to find joy in motherhood that I begged for publicly for years.

But if we don’t step forward and share our stories, how will we make any type of advancement?

So, friends, (cue The Greatest Showman) THIS IS ME. I have anxiety. It is not all of me. It is not breaking me. It is just a part of me. And I am only at the beginning of learning to manage it.

And if you have or even think you have a mental illness, please get help. Work to manage it. Whatever that looks like for you.

It is part of you, but it does not have to control you. And as always, you are not alone.

All my love,

Betsy

How To Support Your Friends’ Infertility Journeys (when you’ve never experienced infertility)

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by Megan Boettcher

I am generally a pretty happy-go-lucky kind of gal. I tend to look on the sunny side of things, but when things go wrong I rarely know the right thing to say or do. I am awkward and unsure. So you can only imagine my inability to react well the first time a friend shared the news that she’d had a miscarriage. I offered my condolences, but then I did my best to avoid her. I was about 30 weeks pregnant at the time and felt like a GIANT (literal and figurative) reminder of what she’d just lost.

It was my first pregnancy. And the first time I’d personally crossed paths with someone in the midst of an infertility journey. And frankly, I didn’t know what to do.

Since then, I’ve been well educated. Sometimes I joke about my keen ability to attract friends with unique motherhood stories. My friends have suffered losses. My friends have had multiples. My friends have had egg donors. My friends have adopted. My friends have children with special needs. My friends have had secondary infertility. My friends have gone through many, many rounds of IVF.

These fantastic women have put their heart and bodies through the emotional trenches to build their families, and I’m over here like fertile myrtle who thinks about having a kid and a few months later… here comes baby. I’ve often wondered, and I’m guessing you have too, how can you be supportive of your friends’ infertility journey when you’ve never experienced it yourself? Here are my best tips to be an infertility support person.

  1. There’s No Right Answer

You can’t fix this. There are no words that will make the situation all better. There’s no thoughtful gift that will take away their pain. Your job isn’t to fix it. Your job is be there and listen. Somedays they will feel like talking. Let them share all their worries and fears and anger and frustrations. Don’t fix. Listen.

Somedays they won’t want to talk at all. Bring them coffee and sit with them. Give them a distraction for a moment. Plan a girls’ night out, go to a movie, grab a pedicure together, take a spin class together. They are constantly consumed with thoughts of infertility and the desire to have a family. When they are open to it, a fun distraction can be a helpful way to shine a little light into a rough week.

  1. Respect Their “No Thanks”

Social gatherings can be especially difficult. They’re suddenly bombarded with dozens of people saying things like: “When are YOU gonna have a baby? You just need to relax. Did you hear so-and-so is pregnant?” And even if no one says anything to them, they will be overwhelmed by the sight of pregnant bellies and adorable toddlers running around. It’s too much!  If they RSVP “no,” that’s ok. Don’t guilt them into coming. They know when they need to preserve their mental health by avoiding certain situations. Respect that. And plan something that’s just the two of you for another day.

If you do have your own baby news to share, know that they are 100% elated for you! But every pregnancy announcement just reminds them how hard their journey is to build a family. Take a moment to let them know the news personally so they aren’t surprised by a Facebook announcement. And if they send a gift to your baby shower but don’t attend it’s not because they’re upset with you. They love you and don’t want to spoil your big day by running to the bathroom in tears if the day becomes too emotionally overwhelming.

  1. Take a Back Seat

Even if this person is your very best friend, you aren’t going to be their go-to person for everything in their infertility journey. You just aren’t. They will share an instantaneous connection with others who are walking the path of infertility. {The Sisterhood of Infertility} They speak the same language. They share similar feelings and emotions that you can appreciate, but will never actually experience.

Be their best friend by supporting their new friendships. Thank new friends for supporting and sharing insights with your friend that you can’t provide since you’ve never been through it all. They are better equipped with a strong support system. You are one important part of that system—not the entire thing.

  1. Educate Yourself

Learn the lingo. If your friend is going through IVF treatments, familiarize yourself with the steps so that you know what she means when she says it’s “embryo transfer day.” (FYI, that’s a pretty huge day. You should send flowers!)

But you’ll also learn things like why it’s so important to take injections at a specific time. And why they may insist on doing dinner early so they can be home in time to take the shot in privacy instead of trying to manage it in a restaurant bathroom.

The same is true for adoption. It’s a long, arduous process that is mentally and emotionally exhausting. But there are plenty of ways to be supportive. Help her clean up before a home visit or take her out to celebrate each milestone along the way. Paper work submitted? Celebrate! They are “live” to be matched with an adoption opportunity? Celebrate!

It doesn’t take a lot of effort to learn about the journey. Follow infertility and adoption bloggers through social media and you’ll get a window into their world, and a common vocabulary so you can be a part of the conversation. Through social media you may also read how your friend is feeling but can’t articulate. A lot of the infertility mom blogs discuss their journey in retrospect and are able to name their emotions in a way that your friend, who is going through it all, may not be able to fully process yet. But when you hear from real-people’s experiences you begin to understand the devastation they feel. And that will make you a better support person.

  1. Just Love Them

Infertility is an all-consuming experience that is mentally and physically difficult. Even if they have children, every step of the process is tough. Nothing is ever easy. The best thing you can do is just to be there for them. Check in with them regularly. Be prepared for long tearful conversations as well as one-word text responses. Be whatever they need that day.

And remember, you are friends for a reason. You like hanging out together. You probably share the same silly sense of humor and can quote the same movie lines. It’s ok to have some fun. Be the unexpected delight in their day. Send them funny memes. Surprise them with this hilariously sarcastic coloring book about IVF and a Starbucks gift card. If you’re as awkward as I am, let Emily McDowell’s series of awkward sympathy cards help you find the words you need. You know your friend. Maybe all they need from you is to binge watch Grey’s Anatomy with a bag of Lay’s wavy potato chips and some party dip.

Where Are You God?

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Dear No One,

I’m going to get a little personal. And vulnerable. Bear with me here folks.

My two boys got baptized today. Daxon is two and Pacyn is three months.

GAH!! They are the cutest, right?! I thought you’d think so.

Anyway, you may wonder why we didn’t baptize Dax earlier and here’s the truth.

One of the biggest things I lost during the worst times of our infertility journey was my faith.

Infertility can strip you of so many things, and I’m embarrassed to admit that I let it control my life for too long. Rather than turn to God, I blamed Him. I drank. I cried. I fought with my husband. The only thing I thought I knew for sure in my life was that I was made to be a mother. And then He was going to keep me from that?!??! “Screw you, God.”

Yea. I know. It’s bad. But that’s where I was.

Fast forward to bringing Dax home in December 2016, and I wanted to sing God’s praises at the Christmas service that year. But as time slipped away, I found myself still questioning everything. When asked about baptism by family, I made excuses. “His adoption isn’t finalized. We’re moving. We just moved and need to get settled.” Etc.

But the truth was I was not ready to stand before God and my family and proclaim to raise my child in His church. That seemed too big of a promise when I wasn’t in a good place with my faith.

Time has continued on, and we have found a church we love. I found a group of women that show me love and grace as I continue to grow in my faith. I still question a lot. I still find myself turning away when things get…too churchy…if that makes sense at all.

But I can’t deny that two little boys became my sons in two miraculously beautiful ways. I know God played a huge part in that. And today, I’m thankful for that love. That after turning my back from the church and my faith, it has welcomed me back…no questions asked.

This isn’t me trying to preach at you. This is me being brutally honest and sharing one of the deepest parts of my heart with you.

And to say to anyone struggling with their faith, no matter why, that it’s okay. It’s okay to not be okay. Its okay to questions things. How would you continue to grow and learn without questioning and pushing for answers? It’s okay to struggle. Just know that you don’t have to struggle alone. Whether you find your strength through friends or family or faith, you do not and should not walk through this life alone.

I know now that I didn’t walk through my darkest days in the best way, and I know it’s easy for me to sit here and speak of what to do now that I have my two blessings. But believe me that just because I have hit this point in my journey, I still have hard days. I still struggle. I still question most things.

Growing our family comes with deep, long discussions. And time. And money. And sometimes feeling as though we are “playing God” when deciding when and how to grow our family. Infertility is still a part of our life. It always will be.

Although I still struggle, I choose to wake up and thank God every day for two of the biggest blessings in my life. And when I forget, my two year old reminds me when he tells me to pray at every meal. I’m choosing today to lean on my faith, lean on my husband, lean on my friends and family as I walk through this crazy life.

I’m not perfect, and I’m guessing you aren’t either but show yourself some patience and grace as you continue to grow. There will be dark days. There will be bright, beautiful days. Choose to love yourself through them all. You’re worth it.

Today I was proud and humbled to see both my boys baptized, and I will do my best to stand by the promises I made to both my boys and God.

What a bright, beautiful day in my life. I thank God not only for this day but for the darkest days that led me to this bright one. And I pray you find the support you need (faith, family, whatever you want) to get through your worst days.

All my love,

Betsy

Adoption Language

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Dear No One,

Let’s talk about adoption language. This is not to criticize anyone who says or has said any of these things to me. It is simply informative, so we can all continue to grow and learn as the modern day families are changing. Believe me, I’m continuing to learn more about adoption every day.

The best thing anyone can do if they feel uncomfortable about what to say is to ask me. I will answer (the best I can) with absolutely no judgment.

First, this may sound like an easy one, but I get it a lot. Marcus is Daxon’s Daddy. I am his Mommy. He also has a birth mom and birth dad, but even they call Marcus and I mom and dad. If you are talking about his “real parents” that is Marcus and me. If you are talking about who he shares genetics with or who carried him for nine months, those are his birth parents.

Why is this important? This is not to spare my feelings. This is for Dax. How confusing would it be to have people asking about your mom but they aren’t talking about me? Or his “real parents?” To him, we are his parents. Just like every kid at school, he lives with and is taken care of by his “real parents.” This does not take away from his birth mom. He is and always will be her son.

In the same respect, Daxon is our son too. He is not our adopted son. He is just as much our son as our biological son. And even though they don’t look alike, they are brothers.

This second thing is what I want to stress the most, though. Daxon was NOT GIVEN UP. He was placed for adoption. His birth mom, stronger and braver and more loving than she knows, CHOSE adoption for her son. Again, what does that say if Daxon hears he was “given up?” And what does that tell a birth mom who may struggle the rest of her life thinking her child thought he was given up because he wasn’t loved?

“Given up” is negative. Placing a child for adoption, although complicated and difficult, is a positive decision. Choosing to parent is also a positive decision. And until that woman or family decides to place a child for adoption, they are simply that parents child. They are not a birth mom or birth dad.

This is hard when you are prospective adoptive parents. You want to instantly think of the child as yours, but they aren’t yours until the parents decide to place them for adoption and they have gone through all the legal processes.

Does all this sound a little confusing and messy? It is. Adoption is difficult and messy and beautiful and challenging.

Why am I writing this post? When I was in the hospital after delivering our second son, I was given a bunch of paperwork to fill out. On the back of the paper, I saw question 26…

First, I cried. Then I got mad.

I put myself in the shoes of a parent considering adoption. The weight I felt in my heart was indescribable. Yet countless women make the most difficult, selfless, decision in the next couple days to place their child for adoption. Hormones raging, babies bonding, recovering from a physically and mentally draining experience.

After delivering Pace, I instantly felt even closer to Daxon’s birth mom. I got to experience the same journey and pain and hormones you experience during pregnancy, labor, and hours after. But I didn’t have the added stress of considering adoption and talking to a social worker and meeting random people that could potentially adopt your child. I just can’t imagine the pain or stress that brings. And then as they are filling out and signing discharge papers, they have to say they are “giving up” the child?

I understand someone slipping up and saying this. I don’t understand it being on paperwork. In the hospital. Filled out by a new mother considering adoption. I. Don’t. Understand.

You may think I’m overreacting. You may think it doesn’t sound like a big deal, but if you are any person within the adoption triad, it is.

If you support adoption, (which why wouldn’t you??) we need to support everyone within the triad. That means the birth parents before they even become birth parents. Let’s not make this decision anymore difficult for them than it already is. Let’s not add to the guilt they may already feel. Let’s show them the love and support they deserve.

In the end, this will only benefit everyone in the adoption triad and all of their relationships.

As I said before, no one expects you to say the right things all the time. Just be conscious that children can hear you. If you don’t know how to say something, ask. If you support adoption, support everyone within it. We are all learning and growing together. The more people that understand the intricate layers of adoption, the more people that can truly relate to and support my son and all children who have been adopted.

Thank you for taking the time to learn and grow with me and my family.

All my love,

Betsy

Strength Through Infertility

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Dear No One,

Infertility can suck you in and try to drown you. Infertility strips you of so many things you maybe didn’t even know could be taken.

Dreams. I grew up dreaming of what my family would look like someday. At one of my bridal showers, we played a game that compared Marcus and my answers to different questions. They asked the question, “How many children will you have?” I answered, “3-6.” While that got a few surprised looks, I knew I wanted a BIG family. I want the full house. I want the chaos. I want loud. I dreamed of this even before I met Marcus. I longed for the day to be a mommy.

Faith. I rarely talk about my faith. This is partially due to the fact that I lost it during some of the worst parts of our infertility. Completely lost it. I struggled. I still struggle. While I am finding my way back, it is still a struggle. Whether you have a faith that can’t be shaken or no faith at all, it is hard to hear, “It’s all in God’s plans” or “in God’s timing.” While I believe He is walking with me in this journey, I believe I also have the power to make decisions and move forward. I don’t sit around and wait for signs. I make decisions. I move forward, and I ask God to walk with me and give me strength through it.

Control. Anyone else a control freak?? I know I can’t be the only one. You learn very quickly with infertility that you have little to no control. Your body does what it does. Medicine can only help so much. Sometimes there is nothing that modern medicine can do to help.

Time. We have been trying for four years now. With not one positive pregnancy test. We went through the adoption process. We are on our first round of IVF. When you are in the middle of trying, babies are on your mind about 99.9% of the time. I started medicine for our first round of IVF in December. It is March tomorrow, and we still haven’t transferred one embryo. Four months for one chance. ONE. I thought waiting to start trying again every month was a long wait. Infertility consumes your time.

Friends. While everyone tries to be supportive, most can just simply not understand. It is hard to watch others around you continue to live their lives, while you feel a daily struggle to put a fake smile on your face and pretend your heart isn’t breaking.

Hope. Every woman who has ever tried to get pregnant knows how devastating it is to get a negative test, but your hope comes right back again the next month. After you pee on a test so many times, your hope is harder to find.

Goodness. That is a lot, and it doesn’t even begin to cover everything you can lose. You may be thinking, “That is all so depressing Betsy!” Try experiencing it. It IS depressing. Infertility consumes you in so many ways. But you know what? It also brought me a few things.

Strength. You don’t know your own strength until it is tested. And boy has my strength been tested.

Patience. Adoption. Infertility. AKA wait…wait…wait…wait…wait. NOTHING happens quickly. I still struggle at times, but I am a lot more patient now than I used to be.

Friends (sisters). Infertility is a sisterhood. Any relationship I have is instantly taken to another level when we both have experienced infertility. There is just an instant understanding. And huge support system you didn’t even know you needed.

Knowledge. Yes, I can tell you ALL about ovulation and hormones and shots. I mean what I learned about myself. I have a friend that experienced a miscarriage that told me, “I feel like I can’t go back to the person I was.” The truth? You can’t. And you shouldn’t. Allow yourself to grow from your experiences. I am not the person I was four years ago, and I wouldn’t want to be.

 

In every hard situation, there is pain. You lose parts of yourself. But you also find another side to yourself that is even stronger. Some days will be dark. Some days will hurt like hell. But some days you will see the light. You will feel that spark of hope again. Every day is a challenge. Let yourself have the bad days. Hold onto the good days to get you through the worst. When infertility tries to strip you of everything, fight to show you are stronger.

And for those days you feel lost and alone, know that I am here. I am thinking of you every day. I will show you your strength when you are in doubt.

All my love,

Betsy

The Best Days

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Dear No One,

It has been a long time since I posted anything because we have been incredibly busy this summer moving and getting settled in our new house. I felt the urge to write, though, because it has been just over a year since we went active as a “waiting family” with our adoption agency. Now we have a 9 month old. Holy cow.

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A 9 month old that plays hide and seek. A 9 month old that loves to repeat sounds you make (we’re still working on mama and dada). A 9 month old that only wants to eat whatever Mommy or Daddy is eating. A 9 month old that cries when Mommy or Daddy walks out of the room. A 9 month old who knows that we are his family.

These are THE best days of my life. I love nothing more than spending every day with Dax. He is everything to me.

So these are the best days of my life, but I still experience emotional and physical pain from infertility? Whhaaattt?!?

Yes. It might sound like I’m contradicting myself, but let me explain a little. The most frustrating thing I experienced after adopting Daxon was that I had people that expected me to feel perfectly healed. I had my baby. What more could I want? Stop complaining lady!

First, Daxon was not and is not a bandaid for our infertility pain. He was not “another option.” We have talked about adopting since we were dating. After dealing with some of our infertility issues, we decided to rethink our plan for children. But Daxon did not come into our lives to cover up our pain of infertility. I think that takes away from the relationship between our son and us. He was wanted. He was desired. He was planned for just like a biological child would have been to us. He is so very, very loved (if you can’t tell by the thousands of pictures I’m constantly posting).

Second, infertility changes you forever. From the second it becomes a part of your story, you will never be the same. In ways I am much stronger, but I also still feel weak, depressed, and heartbroken from time to time. Therefore, I cannot go back and be completely happy and healed by adopting a child. That wasn’t the point of adopting, and that’s not how it works.

Third, you know what most women want more than a child? Two children. Three. Four. However many they want. Marcus and I were still “trying” the entire time we were going through the adoption process. We are dying for a big family. Well, we’ve been trying for that big family for 3 years now. 3 years. With no success in getting pregnant. And yet I still feel that little spark of hope every month, and I still feel the pain that follows. Every. time.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a sad, pathetic pile. Like I said before, these are the best days of my life. I love my life more than ever. But does having one child mean I’m not allowed to feel the pain of infertility anymore? Nope.

I’m a BIG believer in letting yourself feel whatever you are feeling. Whether you are dealing with infertility or something else entirely, don’t let anyone else tell you how you should feel. Keep fighting, but let yourself feel every emotion. That is one thing that you have control of in this crazy world.

All my love,

Betsy

To the Woman I Forgot Last Year

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Dear No One,

In the week of mothers (yes, I said week. Every commercial. Every sign. Every post on Facebook. All about moms), I have an ache in my heart. Don’t get me wrong, I am more grateful than ever to be celebrating this year with a child in my arms.

But my mind is stuck on Daxon’s birth mom. Last year I wrote a post about all the women that may be struggling on Mother’s Day. Women who lost a mom, women who lost a child, women who are struggling with infertility. Yet even in the whirlwind of adoption paperwork, it didn’t occur to me to think about birth moms. Someone near and dear to my heart who has personally experienced adoption (and taught me A LOT about the triad of adoption) kindly reminded me of these women.

Birth MOMS. Yes. They do not physically have the child in their care. What I have learned in the last year, though, is they never stop thinking and praying for the child they carried for nine months. And for those first nine months (and for some birth moms, months or years after birth), she is that child’s mother. She make decisions for nine months to help care for her child. She makes the incredibly hard decision to place the child for adoption, which is followed by paperwork, phone calls, reading through dozens of families profiles, and endless emotions. Then this woman gives birth. Now I have never been pregnant or given birth, but I know from every mother I’ve ever talked to that neither is easy. The only thing that gets them through is the thought of holding their child in the end. So what gets a birth mom through that? A love for her child. Her child. Then she hands that child over to me, and he is mine. Take a moment to understand the depth of that.

I am obviously not a birth mom, so I am only writing from what I have seen, read, and experienced. But part of being an advocate of adoption is spreading awareness of both sides.

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Last year on Mother’s Day, Daxon’s birth mom was pregnant. This year, I will be holding him in my arms. If you have ever met a birth mom, you have met one of THE strongest women you will ever meet.

To the woman I forgot last year, I will NEVER forget you again.

All my love,

Betsy