Sorry I missed your birthday, my cousin said. She’s the owner of the dancing school.
No big deal, I replied, it wasn’t an important number.
It’s coming soon, though, she said.
I have a few years to go, I said.
I had been sitting in the waiting room, next to a mom of three girls, with my daughter Cricket reclining on my lap, waiting for her to finish her lollipop. Cricket, not the mom. The mom was feeding her baby, not licking a lollipop.
You’re going to be forty? she asked.
50, I said. In a few years. I just turned 47.
She looked surprised that I was closer to 50 than 40, and I guess that should have been my take-away. And I should have quickly spirited Cricket away to the changing room. But the conversation continued. She knows Cricket’s 3, from a previous, benign conversation.
I could hear the math in her mind and knew what was going to come, yet I was powerless to stop it.
Mental blackboard math: 47 minus 3 equals 44. And then: You had her when you were 44? she asked rather surprised. I did some quick deciding, nodded and said, I’m 44 years older than her.
I thought about adding more, but the conversation ended abruptly when her oldest daughter ran to her with a ballet shoe crisis. So I just got up from the bench and carried Cricket to the changing room, feeling like a liar. But I did tell the truth, didn’t I?
I didn’t say:
Yes, I gave birth to her when I was 44. That would be totally misleading. Okay, that would be an out-and-out lie.
Maybe I’m guilty of a sin of omission.
I didn’t say:
We adopted Cricket when I was 44. That would be true. But from what I could gather, she was more amazed that I became a mom in my mid-forties - and not how I became a mom.
I generally don’t mind talking about adoption, and it rarely comes up. Ours was a domestic adoption, and Cricket is the spitting image of my husband and me. So we've never gotten the insane questions at the grocery store, like: were did you get her? Or You’re such a saint for saving her from a life of poverty. When we were newly home with her, I used to hear, Wow, you look great for just having had a baby! I’d usually say, Thank you so much! and walk away quickly.
But sometimes the conversation focused on how very tiny Cricket was, and I would reveal that she was born 12 weeks premature, weighing under 3 pounds. Inevitably, my dialogue partner had a friend or sister who also had a baby early and they would ask me where she was born. Still telling the absolute truth I would say the name of the far away state. Then: Oh! Were you traveling? Or Did you just move here? And then I would give up and tell them we adopted her. And then I would feel a set of eyes on my ovaries.
But sometimes I just don’t want to talk about adoption. Like when I’m sitting in the waiting room of a dance studio, with my tiny ballerina on my lap, savoring a lollipop like it was nectar from the Gods. Cricket, not me. I was making adoption conversation decisions, not licking a lollipop.
I still struggle with when and how much information to offer. When do I let my neighbors in and when are strangers trespassing?
7 comments:
You did have her at 44! You and Bill had her all for yourselves the day she was born. The fact that you didn't actually painfully push her out of your own body is another story. You would never be lying by answering yes to that question. As a matter of fact, you could look back with a great big smile and say "I sure did and it was the happiest day of my life"!
As far as letting the neighbors in..... all in due time.
A situation such as strangers trespassing, your personal life is your own gated community with as many security guards as you choose. Therefor no one can trespass without your permission. No-one can invade, steal, or hurt unless you allow it to happen.
The next time someone tries to "trespass", don't open the door, simply look out the window, know that you are in a safe place ( all the love and affection you need is within the three of you) and walk away.
KEY WORD: OFFER You only need offer what you feel is right in your heart. You owe no-one an explanation, reason or information. You have a beautiful story to tell. You have already written it. It is now history and you are the teacher. You'll find a way to tell it in your own words in short form and when you do, you will be so proud that you were part of such a great chapter in history!
This is a very familiar conversation for me. Many times, my girls dress alike, because they like to and that usually turns heads. My almost six year old is a petite Asian,my three year old is a robust German. They wear the same size. I get looks, and sometimes, people ask, "Are they sisters?" I politely say, "Yes.", and move on. Once I was asked if I was their grandmother. I said "no.", although at 46, I could be.
Mary - I was once asked if Cricket were my grandSON!!! We have probably heard it all!
Bernadette - thanks for the wonderful sentiments and advice. I agree with everything you wrote - you always offer so much encouragement.
Ah yes, the endlessly curious strangers. We get it ALL the time over our son's hair 'Where did he get his curls?' while staring at both of our graying, wavy, decidedly not-so-curly crops. We reply 'Curly hair runs in our family' and walk away wondering the same thing: did we lie? I always try to remember the advice "Answer as if you are answering your child." I think your answer was appropriate.
I find it interesting that when I blog about this from the other side of a fence as a birth mother, people tell me that I'm cheating my daughter and lying to people when I choose not to tell people from the get-go. But it's apparently okay for you.
Very interesting to me. I don't understand the double standard.
That said, I am all for telling people what they need to know, when they need to know it. And not everyone needs to know everything. It's up to me just as it should be up to you.
Thank you for the comment Jenna. I can't believe people would actually tell you what to tell, to whom and when. That is a double standard. From what I've learned through my adoption experience, people will say just about anything.
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