Once, my mother recounted a tale about Mrs. Greene, the wife of one of my father’s fishing friends. One day, she arrived at the ladies’ social gathering with what appeared to be a pillow strapped around her midsection. This unusual accessory remained with her for several months until she finally showed up without it, cradling a baby who was more toddler than newborn.
I can only imagine how desperately the Greenes wanted to have a child of their own. They would have likely explored every possible avenue, from the rhythm method to using unconventional methods that certainly weren’t just for cooking. Mrs. Greene probably turned to the wisdom of mothers, grandmothers, and aunts, experimenting with all sorts of remedies—maybe even some strange concoctions of herbs and folklore. When all avenues were exhausted, adoption was likely seen as a last resort.
Fast forward seventy years, and the Greenes’ unconventional journey seems like a relic of the past, akin to bell-bottom pants or vintage exercise gadgets. Unfortunately, a portion of today’s society still regards adoption as a fallback option, even viewing it with a hint of shame.
When my husband and I made the decision to adopt, I would have eagerly worn a baby bump pillow to announce our upcoming arrival—albeit one that didn’t involve a biological connection. I fantasized about donning a sandwich board and wielding a bullhorn to share our joyous news, but I was held back by two things: my husband’s more modest demeanor and a nagging fear that the adoption agency might reconsider our application if they caught wind of my enthusiasm.
Ultimately, we opted for a more traditional announcement approach. We sent out countless baby announcements and made numerous social media posts, perhaps even stealing the spotlight at a few family gatherings along the way.
The usual responses were warm congratulations, but many acquaintances mistakenly assumed we had struggled with infertility and offered unsolicited advice. Their pity was palpable, as they conveyed a sense of “better luck next time,” leaving us both bewildered and amused.
Conversely, some long-time family friends were less than supportive. They found our public joy unsettling and whispered that choosing to adopt was selfish, a disgrace to our family. I could only imagine their nostalgia for the days when unwed mothers were hidden away until they could return home with a child who appeared to be biologically theirs. They likely expected me to keep my non-existent pregnancy under wraps until I finally had a child to show for it.
While I didn’t grasp their viewpoint at the time, I can understand its roots. These individuals were products of a different era, where societal expectations loomed large. Their reactions, while disappointing, stemmed from outdated beliefs. Just like mayonnaise, I recognize its existence and some people’s comfort with it, but that doesn’t mean I have to embrace it.
In the end, their opinions are irrelevant. For those of us who understand, love and raising a child is what truly matters. The only real difference is this: biological parents get to experience the miracle of birth firsthand, capturing every moment on video. Meanwhile, our reward was holding our swaddled bundle of joy in my arms at the airport—an experience just as beautiful in its own right.
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Summary:
Adoption should not be seen as a last resort or a source of shame. This article recounts a personal journey into adoption, contrasting societal perceptions with the joy of expanding a family through love. Despite outdated views, what truly matters is the ability to nurture and raise a child, regardless of biological ties.