from National Adoption Month, or,
Equal Opportunity AP Glurge-Bashing Theater!
Here’s more AP self-satisfied sentiment, from a dad this time. Sir, once the kids are in your possession, there’s really no need to write more “Dear Birthmother” letters, let alone post such nauseating bullshit-glurge blended smoothies for your friends to ooze over and wallow in. I don’t think your kids w–Oh, all right, if you must.
Dear Birth Mother, I think about you everyday [sic]. Every time that I look at these children, you are in my thoughts. Never, for one moment, did I not want you in my head like you are. I think about what you gave to us. Two of you had a plan. One of you had no choice.
Considering how many times a day the average parent looks at his/er child, forgive me if I don’t believe you think of her (at least three “hers,” apparently) sacrifice and pause to shed one perfect crystalline tear every single fucking time. And if you do? Well, that’s nice, but it helps no one and changes nothing. Wanna cookie?
Still, you do receive the photos that I send to you. And I keep safe, the letters and the photos that you send to us.
Are you saying you don’t give them to the children? I hope that’s not what you’re saying. It reads like that’s what you’re saying.
One day we’ll meet and we’ll be best friends. Take my word for it.
“Pinky swear: BFFs. I just know it! That’s why I’m in no hurry to meet you at all! And even though I know damned well from these letters and photos you’re real people, I feel more secure with the imaginary birthmothers who live in my head and happily made children just for me. That’s how I really know we’ll be besties. Even though there are at least three of you: we’ll allllll be best. I’ll be bestest though, of course.”
It’s so sad and beautiful. I haven’t felt this ill since I saw a certain couple on Adoption Stories. The first mother of their new baby died about the time the adoption finalized and it was so beautiful and sad and convenient, and they were so going to raise their little one to honor her memory so so so much.
These children are everything to us. […] They take everything from me. Or perhaps I give too much of myself. Either way, I’m dog-tired. But when they are not here, I am lost. What will I do when they are grown and gone? Since I live and breathe them, I fear that I will become nothing and might simply float away.
Seriously? “I am the best daddy ever. Oh god, sometimes I think about what a wonderful dad I am and how much I give, and I hug and hug and hug myself. Then I pat my own back while my hands are back there. Why not?”
Hey, Superman, you know what women call giving everything and living entirely for your children? MOTHERHOOD. Those are the MINIMUM requirements our society expects of a mother, and gods help her if she fails, because then she might have to “make an adoption plan”–or not, because it’s not like her plans really matter. (See “one of you had no choice” above.)
I had no idea how to parent when I began this journey in 2000. But quickly, I learned the ropes. Now I’m an old pro.
I practiced on your child so I could get it right next time. Isn’t it beautiful?
For you that planned this life out for your children,
Nobody plans this. Well, maybe surrogate mothers, or sperm and egg donors. They get reimbursed, though, don’t they? Also, the word we use for people in this context is WHO, not THAT. “That” is for things. And that little mistake was not telling at all, at all.
I pray that you are still pleased with that decision.
“So I can sleep at night, which I do anyway, knowing any woman would want me to raise her kids. I mean really–we’re talkin me here!”
No, really: PLEASED??!?! FUCK YOU.
And for you who struggled to hold onto your children,
please know that they are safe and loved. And when that day comes when you finally see them again,
“You know, after they’re oh, say, 18…no, make that 21.”
I promise you that you will be quite pleased with how your babies turned out.
You really believe this, don’t you? You have these little tiny pretty shiny smiling fairy birthmother creatures in your head, and they go around giving out babies because it makes them so pleased. And they’re never seen again until Daddy is ready and Daddy wants some praise. Seriously, this is nauseating.
Even though you didn’t raise them, you gave them a beautiful life. And that’s what good Mothers are suppose to do.
“And every night I take this fake sadness out of my pocket and unfold it and smooth it and put it under my pillow. And I have such beautiful dreams.”
Sir, I believe you love your children and are grateful for them. Truly: I assume this about all parents unless/until told/shown otherwise. To take that out and wave it around on a stick and dip it is glitter and mythology and bullshit merely cheapens it. And that’s not beautiful, only sad.