Are you sure I'm not adopted?

I'm thinkin' I might be adopted...

My parents told me I was adopted from day one. I'm thankful they did. They explained, in the simplest way, what it meant to be adopted.

Mom knew how to make a kid feel good. She would say,"How many parents can say they got to choose their child? We chose you. That's something special." 

Maybe all the her fawning over me contributed to my inflated ego and quest to be the center 

of attention. Thanks, Mom! You rock, and so do I.

I know people who, for whatever reason, chose to keep their child's adoption into their family a 

secret. In my opinion, it's a selfish move to deny a person their identity. A secret makes me think 

something is wrong, something is bad, it's something to hide. 

Secrets have a way of finding their way out. What would you think if you grew up with a family, 

thought you shared the same DNA, heritage, etc., only to find out it was a sham? Can you say identity 

crisis? The truth is the ONLY way to go.

The worst surprise ever...

Would you keep an adoption a secret? 

Why do you think some people do? 

Come on people! Tell me what you think. 

Have a most awesome weekend and remember - adoption is cool!

Cheers, 

The Adopted Goddess 

I'm No Orphan Annie!

The overwhelming response to my first blog post was amazing (insert cricket sounds). Maybe you're 

shy. I'm going with that - it's because you're shy. While I sit here, chanting the excuse, hoping my tear-ducts dry out, I decided to share more about my adoption. Perhaps my posts will inspire you to write something about adoption or ask a question because I'm just a big ol' open book waiting to dish.

A question people frequently ask me is: How old were you when you were adopted? It's a great question!

I think people unfamiliar with adoption wonder if I was a curly red-headed spitfire, living a hard knock life in an orphanage, run by a drunk old hag who wants my locket. My bald hero, Daddy Warbucks, adopts me and my mangy dog. We move into a mansion and live happily ever after. Okay, I'm not gonna lie - I'm not a red-head. I'm a brunette. The rest of the story is true. Nudge. Nudge. Wink. Wink.

Okay, no more tall tales. Pinky promise. My birth-mother had me on a Saturday in June. Days later, my adoptive parents went to the hospital and returned with an infant daughter, a.k.a. moi. Catholic Charities facilitated the exchange months earlier, after the biological mother choose to put her baby up for adoption.

Together, the nuns and my birth mother, decided which family would adopt the baby. In my case, my birthmother chose my parents because they already had a son, the other family didn't. She wanted her baby to have a sibling, making sure she'd never be alone. My brother, who wanted to disown his pest of a little sister most of time, had zero say in the matter.

The adoptive family pays for the birthmother's medical care, hospital bills, and an adoption fee. I asked my mom (my adoptive mom is who I call Mom) how much they shelled out for me. She thought maybe around $1,000. $1,000! Are you f**king kidding me? That's it? I'm worth $2,000, at least. Geesh, they were practically giving kids away in the '70s. That's one sweet deal, considering my awesomeness.

Mom, now in her 70s, had a brain tumor removed a couple years ago. Perhaps, her golden years of confusion mixed with brain issues made her forget to add a couple more zeros to my estimated cost. Anyway, that's what I keep telling myself.

How old was I when I was adopted? I was an infant.

However, there are eight types of adoption:

1. Infant Adoption
2. Children with "special needs"
3. A FostAdopt
4. International Adoption
5. Step-parent Adoption
6. Relative
7. Interstate
8. Adult Adoption

For more detailed information on the eight kinds of adoption: http://www.oklahomaadoptioncoalition.org/eight_kinds.html

Happy Mother's Day, Happy Friday, Happy Weekend!

The Adopted Goddess