FIRST CONTACT

My mom and I sat behind a long table covered with knick knacks. It was my neighborhood's annual garage sale. The perfect opportunity for people to make my crap, their crap. I sipped coffee and enjoyed the crisp October morning. I opened my laptop, a hand-me-down gift from my father-in-law, to read my e-mail.  A perfect way to pass time during garage sale lulls.

I scrolled through my inbox, reading the interesting messages and deleting the junk. Then I came upon the message above from Registry.Adoption.com. Registry.Adoption.com? What even? It was most likely more junk, but I opened it anyway.

It was a message from a person who shared my birthday and was searching for her birth family. At least, that's what I thought the person meant. Did I register on Adoption.com? The details were blurry. I typed Adoption.com into my search engine and pressed enter.

The site was a treasure trove of information about adoption, adoptees, and reunions. I clicked on the link to the registry database and typed in my birthday. Voila, my name appeared. When my father-in-law gave me the laptop, I spent hours surfing the web. I must have entered my information on the site during one those late night surf sessions, never expecting anything to come of it.

My adoption was closed, and the only information I had was on my birth certificate: the day, the hospital, time of birth, name of the doctor, and it was done through Catholic Charities. The chance of a reunion was low. I registered for fun and didn't think about it again, until that October morning.

I read the e-mail, thinking the girl shared my birthday, and contacted me to share the news she found her biological family. Odd. Why was she telling me? She was probably just excited. I replied with a short message, "Congratulations on finding your birth family." 

A new message appeared in my inbox. She explained she wasn't adopted. She was looking for an adoptee with my birthdate. Her aunt and uncle had a daughter and she was looking for them. 

Gulp. I knew I was adopted. I liked knowing I was. It made me feel mysterious. It made for interesting chitchat. A fun idea, that was suddenly not fun, but real. An uneasy feeling began to grow inside me. This was like Pandora's Box. What if I open this and don't like what I find inside? Would anyone be the same after finding the answer to this mystery? 

Do you have a favorite movie featuring adoption?

Last week I posted nada because I was bound for California with the fam, desperately in need of a little R&R. That's rest and relaxation, folks!

This week I'm keeping things lighter than a feather. Hey, I'm still basking in the sun and sand-induced euphoria of my time spent in "The Golden State". 

Last night my daughter and I watched The Royal Tenebaums. I've seen it many a time because I love Wes Anderson films. I figured my progeny would too. I was right. I usually am 56.7% of the time. 

I completely forgot about how funny the adopted character Margot Tenebaum (Gwyneth Paltrow) is treated by her adoptive father, Royal Tenebaum (Gene Hackman).  He makes a point to introduce her this way: 

I love it! Here's a low quality video clip of the same thing, followed by her reuniting with her birthfamily and losing her finger while her pappy chops wood. Stop watching there, as the rest relates to other parts of the movie having nothing to do with the adoption facet. Still funny, though! 

www.youtube.com/watch?v=OWKcO35ae

Another favorite movie of mine is Juno. The lead, Juno, is a pregnant high school girl who finds a family to adopt her baby after finding them in a local Pennysaver ad. Isn't it dreamy? I think so. Without fail, I get attacked by those stupid onion ninjas during the scene when Juno gives birth and her boyfriend Bleeker crawls into her hospital bed and holds her. She sobs. I sob. Stupid onion ninjas.

Who Do You Look Like?

Who do I look like? 

I looked in the mirror and wondered. A question others never ask because they know who they resemble. They have Great Grandpa Wilbur's hazel eyes, or Aunt Dorothy's freckles. Even if they don't look a thing like their mother or father, they can trace that special something to someone in their family tree. It may be a thousand branches away, but it's there - somewhere. 

I imagined if I saw my birthmother or father across a crowded room, I'd know, by nothing more than a glance, I was their creation. It would be something deep and unspoken, undeniable. Right? Wrong. 

My mom (My adopted mom is the beautiful woman I call Mom), like me, is a blue-eyed, petite brunette. People see us together and say, "Wow, I can tell you are related." We look enough alike to fool the masses. However, there are many differences. She has a nice pair of tatas, always has, always will. My chest was a full 32A, until I gained weight after having two children. My belly swelled, my weight soared, my ankles cankled, and my first child weighed under six pounds. I gained sixty. Shit. My 32As blossomed into 36Bs. Yowza!

Mom has straight, white teeth like a box of peppermint Chiclets. I have a space between my front teeth wide enough to drive a Cadillac through. Thank God for bonding. Mom has a cute ski-sloped nose and thin eyebrows. My nose is round, almost bulbous and my eyebrows - dear gawd. If I let them grow wild, I'd resemble Frida or Bert from Sesame Street. To quote Michael Caine to Sandra Bullock in Miss Congeniality. "Eyebrows, there should be two of them!" 

Hey, that's me!

Over the years I've been told I look like:

Gabrielle Carteris, the token nerd girl in the original Beverly Hills 90210?

Reba McEntire? Really? Yeehaw!

Kirstie Alley? Before or After? 

Jennifer Aniston? Pre or post Rachel?

Lisa Marie Presley? Before or after M.J.?

Chewbacca. No explanation required. 

It was all fine and dandy. I still had no idea who I resembled until I had kids of my own. Finally, I had two children and had a frame of reference. People told me my daughter's eyes were shaped like mine, as was her face, and the bow of her lips. I saw the shared traits. Family goes way beyond blood. However, I never experienced anything other than an adopted family. For the first time in my life, I could see myself in someone else. My heart swelled.  

Fast forward to my first communication with my birth-family. We exchanged photos and compared features. I sent my the images to my friends and family. The results of DNA tests were still not in. Of my two best friends, one since the age of 3, the other since 8, only one saw a resemblance between me and two of my unconfirmed brothers. The minute I received the pictures, I knew the two freckle-faced, blue-eyed boys were my younger brothers. I always dreamed of having younger siblings, someone to defend, and as I looked at them, my heart ached for the missed opportunity. 

When reunited with my birthmother, I was shocked to discover my great, great grandmother was Mexican. She had coal-black hair, dark eyes, and golden skin. What!?! The aunts and uncles on my maternal side resemble my great, great grandma, exotic and mysterious. If I saw them across a crowded room, I would never think we were related. I fry into the sun, my skin freckles, my eyes are light, and my hair is light brown.

Do you look like your bio family? Do you have a doppelgänger? Do you think you might be adopted because you look different? Do storks really deliver babies? Please share your thoughts and photos! 

Have a fabulous weekend!

Much Love,

The Adopted Goddess

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