Adoption grant organizations are looking for compelling stories that makes a family stand out from the rest of the other applicants.

Five tips to help you share your story for adoption grant applications:

1.  What sets you apart? – Before you begin writing your family story, sit down, brainstorm and write down at least three to five areas that set your family apart from other families.  Every family has unique qualities and circumstances.  You need to consider all areas of your life and focus on what makes your story compelling and personal.  Think beyond what your life and finances look like on paper.  For example: children with special needs, urgency of child’s medical or emotional needs, your small business successes or failures, your family’s housing situation or issues, trying to adopt sibling left behind, etc.  While it is very important to look for areas that set your family apart from others, it is also imperative to make sure that you are honest and do not embellish the truth.  Honesty is not the best policy…it is the ONLY policy.

2.  Write, revise, review and review again – Once you have your list of areas that you think sets your family or circumstance apart from others; then put that information into an outline with bullet points.  After each item and bullet point you will write a brief description or explanation of this item.  If you are sharing about a medical condition, be sure to describe the condition in layman terms.

3.  Write in your own voice, but please use good grammar! – I always encourage people to write their story from their heart and in their own ‘voice’.  However, there is something to be said for using good grammar as well.  I would recommend that you have someone else read and edit your work to make sure it sounds and is coming across the way you intend for it to.  Be sincere and honest, but resist the temptation to be overly dramatic.

4.  Are you answering the right question? – Not all grant applications ask the same questions.  Many of them have similar formats and ask similar questions, but pay careful attention to the details and requirements of each one.  This is especially true if you are trying to apply for multiple adoption grants or loans.

5.  Attention to detail and neatness count – When you are assembling all of the documentation and information required to accompany your application, be sure to do so in a very organized, neat and intelligible manner.   Many grant applications come with a checklist of items needed or requirements for the application.  I recommend that you make several copies of this checklist.  Use at least one copy as your working checklist so that you can make notes to yourself and update it as you make progress on the application.  Save one checklist to put in just before you submit the application.  This checklist will need to be extremely neat because it will serve as an outline to those who are examining your application.

Written by Cherri Walrod, Founder and Director of Resources4adoption.com

Copyright ©February 2012 Resources4adoption.com

The other members of the orphan troupe were never orphans. They’re just playing them on stage. And of course, “Annie” is a 1930s period piece based on a comic strip, with cartoonish, larger-than-life heroes and buffoonish villains and fun, catchy songs, far removed from the Chinese orphanage where my daughter once lived.
We’ve been back there twice. The first time, the babies were squirmy and curious. They reached for us and other visitors and nibbled on our fingers. Their heads swiveled as we carried them around as if it were rare and wondrous to see the world from a vantage point other than a crib.

In the three-year gap between our visits, with an increase in domestic adoption and healthy children being sent to foster care in the countryside, the children who remained at the orphanage mostly had disabilities. Babies who were blind or had albinism or cleft palates wanted to be picked up but then went limp because they didn’t know how to be held. They grabbed for me and called me “Mama.” In the playroom, older children lined up in chairs, rising from their seats to sway to an episode of
“Teletubbies,” the closest thing we saw to a plucky song and dance routine.

Lines like “empty belly lives, dirty smelly lives” make me cringe. I’m afraid of simplistic views of difficult circumstances and strained resources and caretakers who are stretched thin and cultural differences, like the lack of mattresses in cribs, that westerners can easily interpret as deprivation.
“Don”t it seem like the wind is always howling?” my daughter sings. “Don’t it seem like there’s never any light?” “Annie” is a rags-to-riches fantasy about exploitation and rescue, the kind of narrative so embedded in our own culture that we sometimes don’t see all the complications of judging another culture according to our own, or thinking that the solution to the vast need at a real orphanage is easier than it is.

As my daughter sings “Hard Knock Life,” I’m reminded of the importance of homeland visits, of taking children back to witness where they came from, to understand that “dirty and smelly” are often cultural constructs and that you can usually find people who care more than a smidge but are often faced with seemingly insurmountable obstacles.

The real children in a real orphanage continue to haunt me. But I’m grateful that we’ve had opportunities to go back. Because of that, I can let my daughter just enjoy the play, trusting that she knows the difference between the complexities of real life and a fun musical with a happy ending.

Written by: Nancy McCabe, who is the author of two adoption-related memoirs, Meeting Sophie: A Memoir of Adoption and Crossing the Blue Willow Bridge: A Journey to My Daughter’s Birthplace in China. She lives in northwestern Pennsylvania and regularly gives talks for adoption groups and conferences, community groups, and colleges and universities.

Here are the three things that you must know before looking for adoption grants:

1.  Application Eligibility Criteria

Nearly all adoption grant organizations have some sort of application criteria.  What are eligibility criteria anyway?  Eligibility criterion says who is eligible to apply and who is NOT eligible to apply.  If you are single and applying to an organization that only offers grants to married couples, then you would be wasting your time.  If you are not a Christian and you are applying to an organization that only offers grant to Christians, once again you would be wasting your time.

Some organizations have more than one set of application criteria.  For example some sources may only accept applications from Christian married couples and making less than $60,000 annually.  Another example might be a grant for families adopting special needs or a particular special need and the family lives in a particular state or area of the country.  Others may only offer a matching grant format.

It is very important to know ahead of time what the application criteria are so that you make the best use of your time and resources.

2.  Home study

Almost every granting organization requires that adoptive families have a completed home study.  There are only one or two sources that I am aware of, where families can apply at any stage in the process.  The vast majority require this critical piece of documentation.  In most cases you will be asked to send a copy of your home study along with your adoption grant application.

3.  Documentation

Most adoption grant organizations require list of documents or documentation to accompany a family’s application.  You will need to be prepared to present a working family budget or monthly cash flow, summary of your net worth, listing of adoption expenses (including what has been paid and what still needs to be paid), other financial documents such as pay stubs or letters from employers verifying your income, tax returns for the last few years, and motivation to adopt.

If you plan to apply to any Christian based organizations, you will need to supply some additional information about your beliefs, theology and faith.  Christian organizations sometimes require letters of reference from your pastor, small group leader and others from your community who can vouch for your Christian character.

There may be more documents but you get the general idea…Plan to prepare and send a lot of paperwork!

I hope this information has been helpful.  For more information about adoption grants and to find a complete listing of adoption grant sources, please visit Resources4adoption.com.

Written by: Cherri Walrod, Founder and Director of Resources4adoption.com
©November 2011 Resources4adoption.com

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Those memories threatened to flood her even now, fresh on her mind, as she stepped back to admire her art.  The intimidation at the size of her partner for the week- how the little mare seemed so large that first day.  She remembered her uncertainty the first time in the saddle.  How overwhelming all of the commands seemed to be- hands low, heels down, shoulders back, left rein, right rein…  She smiled as she remembered the bounce of the first trot,  how her nervous laughter floated over the arena, how she had to push the lump of fear in her throat down, and trust her friend to carry her.  How her fear bound her as she thought of the gallop, of the speed, of the triumph that would be hers if only she could push through.  How just when she would get so close, the fear would close in again, and she would pull back.

And then, the day!

The day that she dug deep, gritted her teeth against the fear, and broke free … the wind in her hair, the sound of the horse’s hooves pounding in the dirt, the joy that spilled out in a shout of triumph as she cantered circle after circle, growing bolder in her new found ability and strength: freedom!

She felt arms encircle her as she stood lost in her memories.   Her parents, not by birth, but by legal decree, and so much more than that, by their commitment and love.  A father and mother that found her in the depths of the orphanage and pulled her free, redeemed her, rescued her from the physical prison that bound her.  A mom and dad that stood on the rails of the arena and cheered her on, shared her triumph, marveled at the grin on her face and the sparkle in her eye.

But the prison in her heart, the fear, created by the fight to survive, mentally, physically, emotionally, day in and day out, had more subtle, stronger bars.  Its dark fingers curled around every interaction, every experience, every person, and by their very presence, threatened to tear those things away.

Until now.

Until a little brown mare helped her to push those dark fingers back for the very first time.  And she knew that now she had succeeded in breaking those bars, they could never fully hold her again.  When the fear and darkness came, as she knew they would, these memories would light the way.  The word FEARLESS would be her key.

At the Ranch, we start each session at the corral with the horses.  The symbolism of beginning on the outside of something desired is not lost.  Looking from the outside in, always wanting, never belonging.    A partner is chosen, each horse matched to the rider.  Initially fearful, young and old alike, quickly bond to their new friend.  Every step draws each one deeper into relationship. The boundaries of the arena provide a safe place to learn new skills, to grow, to gain confidence.  Walking… trotting… and finally cantering, each new movement is encouraged and celebrated, ultimately, applying new abilities and knowledge on the open prairie trails.  Because each rider has gained strength and confidence within the safety of the arena, they now have the necessary tools to succeed in a new, uncertain environment.

Is this not how a family is supposed to work?  Parents or caregivers provide a safe boundary for children to learn and grow, gain self –esteem and confidence, for the challenges of an open world.  A loving circle that trains and encourages children to move from fear-filled to fearless.

Written by Josie Gwin, Executive Director at Mercy Trails Ranch. Mercy Trails Ranch uses farm and ranch interactions, as well as therapeutic riding, to bring healing and hope to at-risk youth and families, with an emphasis on foster and adoptive families.

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I dated a boy, K, who was a year older than me, when I was a teenager. My mother didn’t meet K until we had been dating for a little while. As soon as she met him she forbade me from seeing him. So, I snuck around behind her back to see him. I got pregnant when I was 15. I hid the pregnancy from my parents until I was 6 ½ months along and could no longer hide it. K and I wanted to get married, but we were young and scared. We didn’t feel that we could go to either of our parents about this. Mother took me to the doctor who confirmed that I was 6 ½  months pregnant. She said to the doctor, “Well, you’ve got to get rid of it.” Thankfully, the doctor told her I was too far along. Mother was hysterical and kept talking about what people would think of her when they found out.

The doctor told her about a maternity home that his daughter had gone to years before when she was in the same situation. So, within 48 hours I was dropped off at the maternity home. I didn’t get to tell K goodbye or even tell him what was happening. I just disappeared. It was an awful time. The staff at the maternity home told me that the child I was carrying was not my own. I was given a false name for “confidentiality” reasons. If a worker saw me with my hand on my stomach I was scolded and told to move my hand. They did everything they could to prevent me from bonding with my baby. I didn’t receive any counseling about how to cope following the birth and surrender of my child. I was told that I should put it behind me, forget about it and go on with my life.

Toward the end of my pregnancy my mother told me she went to K’s house and told him that he needed to go with my parents to sign papers giving up his parental rights. Mother later told me that when she told K this, he denied being the father. However, he did sign the papers. I was very sick at the end of my pregnancy. I was admitted to the hospital and was put on complete bed rest. I had pre-eclampsia. I was all alone and scared. I don’t remember if my parents were told about my illness and hospitalization. I never received a phone call from them. I was totally alone.

I went into labor on September 25, 1978. I remember being wheeled into the delivery room and the next thing I remember is waking up in another room. I kept asking about my baby and was told that I had a girl and that everything was fine and to just rest. They told me that I would sign the relinquishment papers two day after I had the baby. They discouraged me from seeing the baby because they said it would be too hard on me. I told them that I wasn’t going to sign the papers until after I saw my baby because when I held her I wanted to know that I was holding MY baby. Well, that sent them into panic mode. They didn’t want me to see my baby until I signed surrenders and the nurses and social workers did a lot of whispering. I remember standing in the middle of the hall yelling at the social workers and nurses, “I WILL see MY baby and then I’ll sign your damn papers.” They finally agreed.

I went into this room with a rocking chair and they brought me my beautiful baby girl. She was wrapped up tight and I held her and told her how much I loved her and how I didn’t want to do this; that I wanted to take her home. I unwrapped the blanket and counted her fingers and toes. I tried to memorize her face. About that time the nurse walked in and got upset that I unwrapped the blanket surrounding my baby. As the nurse was taking the baby away from me I looked at her ankle band and it said Baby Boy. They took me back to my room as I was crying and saying that they told me I had a girl but the ankle band said boy. I was pretty much hysterical because I thought they had lied to me. They finally took me to the nursery window where the nurse showed me the ankle band and opened the diaper to show me that it was a girl. They said they had just labeled the band incorrectly. I was then taken to the chapel (of all places) and that’s where I signed my parental rights away.

My parents picked me up that afternoon, signing me out against medical advice, and took me home. I remember falling asleep on the couch and waking up to Mother watching me. Mother asked me if I knew what I had and I said “Yes, I had a beautiful baby girl.” She didn’t say anything or ask any questions.

I had the baby on a Monday and was at school the following Monday. I had exchanged names and addresses with my roommate at the maternity home. I wrote her a letter and she replied. Mother got the mail, opened and read the letter. She was livid. She was so mad that I had given someone my real name and address. She tore up the letter before I could read it and told me never to write that girl again. That girl was the only person I thought I could talk to and Mother put a stop to that. My mother never asked how I was doing or mentioned anything about my baby from that point on.

K and I continued to see each other, but we didn’t speak about the baby either. I never asked him if he denied being the father. He was a year older than me and when he graduated from high school we just drifted apart. I think there was too much pain between us. I met S my senior year of high school and we started dating after we graduated. After we had been dating for about 5 months I told him about the baby. He was wonderful and told me it didn’t make a difference to him because he loved me. I was amazed at his acceptance. I had been told that it would be difficult to find love and acceptance because of what happened. S has been the one who has held me as I cried over my lost child. He’s the one who has sent me a dozen roses each September 25th since 1980 with a card that reads, “Thinking about you on your special day.”

In 1996, when my daughter turned 18, I contacted the maternity home and registered. At that time I was told my daughter’s name is C. That is all the information they gave me. They told me they would contact me if and when she registered. Every year since then I have contacted the agency periodically, always on her birthday, but also at other times throughout the year to see if she had registered. I was always told no.

Since 1996 I began to wonder a number of things: 1) Was she ever told she was adopted? 2) Does she even want to know about her biological mother? 3) Is she even alive? As time went on those questions would haunt me. Several nights throughout the years I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I’d get out of bed and get on the computer and search for C. I always came away empty.

My greatest fear in finding C was the fear of the unknown. Once I opened that door I would not be able to close it again. I just wasn’t sure if I was ready and I was afraid of being rejected. Not just being rejected by C; but of my 4 children (ages 27, 24, 22, 19) and my friends.  It was so ingrained in me that this was to remain a secret. But during the summer of 2009 I felt if I continued keeping this secret it would destroy me. So, in July 2009 I decided, with my husband’s support, to tell our children about C and to search for her.

At the end of July 2009 I told my husband I didn’t want to tell the kids about C over a holiday weekend. It’s hard to get all four of the kids together at the same time, but I told S that we needed to pray that God would clear schedules so that a weekend would be available. On Saturday, August 8, 2009 I logged onto Facebook and had a friend request from K, C’s biological father. I told S and he said it was God’s plan because we had just decided to tell the kids and now C’s biological father, who I hadn’t talked to in 29 years had contacted me. K called me that Monday night. He said he had two questions for me: 1) Was I okay? and 2) Had I ever heard from our daughter? Well, I lost it. I started crying and told him that I never thought he ever thought about me or our daughter. He said he had been looking for me for 12 years. His father still lives across the street from my parents. He said whenever he would visit his dad he’d ask him if he had seen me. His dad always said no. K said that he thought I was no longer in this world because I was never at my parents, even during holidays.

I asked K about my mom telling me that he said he wasn’t the father. K said that my mom had come to the house that day and he and his mom came outside. Mom blurted out, “D’s pregnant and you need to sign some papers giving up your rights.” K said he told his mom that he couldn’t do that without talking to me first to see if that was what I wanted. He said that we had talked about getting married. His mom said that I could move in with them, marry K, and she would help us raise the baby. Mom said, “That is not going to happen.” K said he doesn’t remember what Mom said to convince him to sign the papers. He says he remembers riding in the back seat of their car with tears streaming down his cheeks. He said he looked at my parents in the front seat and they were smiling. He said he felt sick to his stomach.

I told K our daughter’s name and that I had registered with the maternity home when she turned 18 but she hadn’t registered. I told him that my husband and I had decided that we were going to find her. K said he wanted to be a part of this. I told him that I had to tell my children first and that I was telling them soon.

I had already found who I was going to use to find C. My husband thought it would be a good idea to go ahead and contact her to tell her my plan to make sure she would take on the case. She had also placed a baby at the same maternity home. She has reunited 2,000 adoptees with their birth families. So, I emailed her over Labor Day weekend 2009. She called me the following Tuesday to tell me that she could help me and she would find C. She told me to meet with my children that Saturday, tell them about C, and then call her the following Monday and she’d get to work. That evening she called me to say she had been thinking about my plan and thought it might be best to find C first because my children may have specific questions and we would know if C wanted any contact. I told her I would have to talk to my husband and K. My husband thought it was a great idea. K said he wanted to talk to her first to make sure she was legitimate because I had already been hurt enough.

K called and talked to her that Wednesday. He called me and said she would find C. I gave her all the information I had about my time at the maternity home and she said she’d be in touch. I hung up the phone at 6:15 p.m. on September 9, 2009. At 7:30 p.m. that night K called me crying. He said, “D, we found her and she’s beautiful.” He told me I had to go to a certain website and register because C was registered on that website. One of the things that I had been praying was that God would somehow let me know that I was doing the right thing in searching for C; that she did, in fact, want to have contact with me. I had confirmation that she was looking for me. She had registered through adoption.com in 2006. She also had a MySpace page and this was how we were able to see a picture of her. I got off the phone with K and told my husband. I registered with the website and the whole time my husband is asking me how will she know that I’ve registered; will she receive some type of notification? I told him if she has a MySpace page then she probably has a Facebook account. I typed in her name and she came up. My husband told me to send her a friend request. So, I typed in, “Check the adoption.com reunion registry. I’ve finally found you!” It wasn’t 5 minutes later that I received a message that said, “Is it really you?!”

She later told me that when she saw my name and Southern Georgia she immediately knew it was me. You see, she had called the maternity home when she turned 18 to register. They told her my first name; that I was married, had children, and lived in Georgia. She asked them at that time what she needed to do to contact me. They told her they would send her a registration packet to fill out and return. Once they received her registration then they would call me. She sent in the information, but they never called me. I even called them 2 weeks before I found her and was again told she hadn’t registered. C told me she thought I had changed my mind and didn’t want to have contact with her. But she also told me she always knew she would find me. I told her I wasn’t as confident so I prayed every day for her salvation because I knew if I couldn’t be with her on Earth then I wanted to spend Eternity with her. God has blessed me two-fold. I have found my daughter and she’s a strong Christian woman.
My husband and I told the children on Saturday, September 12, 2009. They were shocked as would be expected. They were angry that we had lied to them all their life. They have each worked through these feelings and have told me they are so happy for me and are genuinely glad C is part of our family. My middle daughter told me that what made the difference for all the kids was that they couldn’t imagine not having me as their mom and that C had missed out growing up with me as her mother. She said they have all talked about this and that’s what helped them reconcile what happened. My husband continues to be my rock and has welcomed C as if she were his own.

Those first few months were intense. C never knew the circumstances surrounding her conception and couldn’t allow herself to “go there.” K and I were able to share with her that we loved each other (even if it was teenage love). She told me that was such a healing experience for her and she felt that a huge weight had been lifted. She had been led to believe the maternity home was a wonderful place. She had lots of questions and I had difficult answers to give her. There have been and continue to be things we’re finding out that are difficult. The maternity home gave her parents wrong information about how old I was when C was born. They were told that I never saw C. Her dad told me that he has cried for me so often because his heart broke for me that I never saw my child. Her dad is absolutely wonderful and has embraced me and my family and says we’re all family now. Her mother is much like my own mother. That has been very difficult for me. C’s parents divorced when she was 6 years old. C and her mother moved to the same town K lives in and for 11 years C actually lived less than one mile from him.

C and I met in a neutral location on October 16, 2009. We live almost 900 miles apart.  It was just the two of us and we spent the weekend together. It was such a sweet, intimate time for us. It was as if we had a rebirth.

She has come to my home and met my family. We have made several trips to her home to visit with her and her family. C is married and has 3 beautiful children; She had her first child when she was 17-years-old. Her mother took her to the same maternity home that I went to look at it since her mother wanted her to place her baby for adoption. C told me she just couldn’t do it. She said wasn’t as strong as I was. I don’t think I was strong at all. I wish I would have been strong enough to stand up to my mom back then, but I know God’s hand is in this. I wouldn’t have the wonderful husband and family I have and C wouldn’t have the wonderful husband and family she has. I don’t allow myself to think about “what might have been.” We are building and defining our relationship. I tell people that reunion is HARD. But it’s so worth it!

I have worked in the field of adoption for the past 4 years, but I have lived it and studied it for decades. It has been a way for me to work through my own issues surrounding the surrender of my child. Before I found C, it was a way for me to feel close to her. It’s given me the opportunity to protect, empower, and advocate for birth mothers because I don’t want any birth mother to have my experience. I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t freely place my child for adoption. I LOST my child to adoption and I’ve carried that pain and anguish for over 30 years. I’m so thankful for the progress that has been made with adoption. Birth mothers do have choices and I’m thankful for the small part I’ve had in making changes.

Debbie P

But then, at 37, why was I still single? Ah, because I was too overweight or too weird or too ugly.

As it turns out, no.

When I took the hand of my little 3-year-old Abel for the first time, unknowingly I started us both on a path where we would have to confront the abuse we had each suffered. Abel went through things that no child—no human being—should ever have to bear. But then, to a lesser degree, so had I. Helping Abel to battle his demons, finding him the therapy that was so necessary, forced me to confront my own suppressed memories of abuse. It has been a difficult path. We have been through violence, police interventions, hospitalizations, and suicide attempts, but I am so happy to report, we have come through to the other side. Neither one of us has the life we might have chosen, but I can so truthfully say, we have a life with love. Abel and I, and Abel’s adoptive brother Jacob, have built a family. What could be better than that?

Any story of child abuse is a deeply personal one, but I felt that it was important to share this story with other parents to help with one of the hardest parts of raising a traumatized child:  feeling alone. There are more of us out there than anyone would suspect. Very often a traumatized child grows up with the desire to help a similar child. And when the child’s rage and hurt begins to come out, it can trigger your own. I believe that knowing someone else is feeling what you are feeling may be enough to help you through when it might otherwise seem impossible. When you’re in the trenches, when you’re down on the floor, trying to restrain a child you love with all your heart who is spitting in your face, clawing at your hands, trying to rip your hair out, it’s good to know someone else has been there and survived.

So often I told my therapist, “If I only knew how it will turn out, if I knew Abel would make it, I could stand this so much better.” I’m lucky. I know now that he made it. He still has so much work ahead, and always will, but he loves me, he loves his brother, he has friends and a future. This is a wonderful thing to know. I want other parents to know that it can happen. Keep fighting the good fight. Don’t beat yourself up for your failures. You are “good enough” to see this through.

Written By: Carloyn Nash

Photo Credit: Carolyn Nash

She’s not going to be that way.

By the time I was my daughter’s age I was a grade level ahead of where she is now, enrolled in the honors courses, and was an avid reader.

She’s not going to be that way.

As I grew I continued to shine academically, received accolades for my abilities as a writer, and was easily mistaken for being older than my chronological age based on my maturity.

She’s not going to be that way either. And that’s just fine with me.

Growing up as a child of trauma has created my daughter with a different set of skills. She’s not super responsible, but she is resilient. She’s not always cooperative, but she is creative. She’s forgetful and not often forgiving, but she is fanatical about life.

She’s not sure what she wants to be when she grows up, but she knows she does have to grow up, eventually.

And she’s a dreamer.

As the parent of a 12-year-old who came to us through older child foster care adoption, I have realistic expectations for my daughter. But I also have lofty aspirations for her. Each day she surprises me with what she’s capable of doing. Each day she encourages me with her spirit of humility. Each day she challenges me to be a better parent.

I know she has to heal before she will feel safe enough to dream the big dreams. As an adoptive parent we are charged with creating that safe environment so our children can dream. We teach them to be responsible. We show them cooperation. We model forgiveness.

And we dream big for them when they cannot.

Written By:  Heather L. Scott
Photo Credit

When I held my precious little butterfly in my arms, I knew things were going to change. I knew I wanted to change. I wanted to be something better, something she could look up to, I wanted to be more. I knew, at that time, I could not offer her the life I felt she deserved.  I also knew I wanted to become the best birth mother and role model for her in the future. After placement I started making serious changes, not only in the decisions I was making but also where I spent my free time. I kept my little butterfly in my mind. With every step that I took I would say to myself “would this decision make her proud?” In doing so, I became a more confident and happy person.

Shortly after placement, I started reaching out to other birth mothers and educating people on adoption. I placed 11 years ago, and back then there wasn’t a lot of positive talk about adoption. There weren’t a lot of adoption advocates. I also believe there was a stereotype on what a birth mother was or was not. I wanted to change that stereotype. I sought out opportunities to show people that birth mothers are all around you. They may be your neighbor, your friend, your cousin, without you even knowing. I wanted to make a change in the way people thought about adoption and birth mothers. It has been a long road, but I truly believe adoption has come a long way. The doors are open and more people are being educated on how beautiful adoption can be.  I am proud that I made a change in my life, a lasting change, and feel I am becoming someone my little butterfly will be proud of.

One thing I am most proud of, is starting a non-profit organization called Birth Mother Baskets (bmb). We deliver gift baskets to birth mothers who have recently placed their baby for adoption. These baskets are full of pampering items just for the birth mom. We deliver these baskets all around the United States. I am very passionate about bmb and how far we have come since we started, almost 9 years ago. I truly believe this is my calling in life, to help and serve other birth mothers. I am grateful for the changes I made, after I found out I was pregnant. I can’t imagine not being a birth mother. I can’t imagine not having adoption in my life. Change can be hard, but I will never regret the many changes I made to get me to this path I am on now. Adoption has blessed my life and taught me more then I could have ever imagined!

Written by: Gina Crotts Founder of  BirthMotherBaskets

Photo Credit: Gina Crotts

Most couples when they decide the time is right to have a child get a nine month waiting period.  As adoptive parents, we are constantly bombarded with the more open ended question: when?   It’s frustrating enough not knowing how long, let alone friends and family asking all the time.

My husband and I have been working with our open adoption agency in New Jersey for a year, and between the oodles of paperwork, parenting courses, and home study, it took us until this August to finally get our profile turned in.  We’ve been stuck in “limbo” for the past three months waiting for “the call.”  I call it “limbo” because to me, it’s been the hardest step of all: sitting, waiting, for a birthmother to point to our profile and say, “I want them.  They’re the parents for my child.”

This waiting period has been the most frustrating part for me.  You see, I’m a planner.  I need a date, a time, a place, heck, I’d even settle for a state (our baby could be born in one of six states that our agency works with, and they all have different laws regarding mothering rights).  Any decisions are made more complex by not knowing when and if baby will arrive, starting with what will eventually be baby’s room.

You naturally want to decorate the room and get into that whole nesting mode, but looking at a room all prepped and ready to go without a baby in it is a bit disheartening.  We were literally scared into making our guest room turn nursery when we got an Emergency Placement call in early August.  It was only about a week after we turned in our profile when a call from a branch office of our agency called asking if we wanted to be shown in this circumstance.  We had to say no because the baby had been born the day before and we literally had nothing.

Our first problem was that I fell in love with a crib online that was going to take two weeks to get to our house.  Quickly, we ordered our crib, dresser and changing topper hoping now that the furniture would arrive before baby.  Thankfully, the furniture came without a phone call in sight.  But now we still have no baby.  Our glider had us in the same predicament as it’s not due until November.  Painting has to be done in advance as fumes could potentially harm the baby, but is still tricky as we don’t know the gender.  We painted our nursery a pale green which can go with neutral bedding.
We still haven’t taken our desk out of the nursery, but at least have a place for baby to sleep, a few outfits (as cute as babies are au natural, they do need clothes!), one pack of diapers and wipes, bottles and a sterilizer, formula, and one of what I call the “baby snuggie” (a sleep sack).  We’ve all heard about “that woman” who isn’t even pregnant yet but still have that secret “baby box” with onesies that were just too adorable to pass up.  The natural planner in me finds it hard not to want to grab everything off our registry, even knowing that we’ll eventually have a shower, but we’ve kept to using coupons to purchase just what’s on the “Emergency Placement Kit.”

It’s a tough call between planning and over planning.  Adopting puts us one step back not knowing when baby is arriving, what gender baby might be arriving, where baby is coming from.  It’s another guess on how much to get in advance as a baby shower for adoptive children may not be for months after baby is placed in the home.

As our waiting game turns into a guessing game of: how important is the glider,  all we can do is the best we can, stagger bigger purchases, and try not to go overboard.  In the time dreaming about life with baby, I keep my hands and mind busy by knitting gender neutral things and waiting for our glider and baby to arrive.

Written by Sarah A.Mohr
Sarah Mohr and her husband live in Central NJ and continue to wait for their precious bundle of joy.  Sarah also blogs about their adoption experiences here.

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I’m adopted too – unlike my son’s, mine was a closed adoption.  I know what my birthmom is like.  She is too little, too late.  She is an open wound, hidden behind thick walls, and whatever comfort she finds in god.  She now says she remembers my birth as “a book she read a long time ago.”

She tried once, to reach me.  I have evidence from the letters she wrote me when we first met 16 years ago.  She wrote me that she used to call me her “little wildflower” during all those terrible years when she did not know where I was.  But it was too hard for her to feel so much, and she has let go now.  We know each other, but we pretend not to feel anything.  She is there, but impenetrable.

I have vowed to be different.  To be strong enough for my son and for me.  I have promised myself that I won’t let go, I will feel it all – pain, loneliness, loss, and along with it, immeasurable love.  But I wonder.  What does all of this mean to him?  How do I risk so much to enter his world with all the love I have for him, so that he may feel it… and yet careful not to intrude or make a mistake.

It all feels very important, and perhaps I can see why my birthmom has moved on.  She has other concerns now, and this is really hard stuff.  But I know too well what it’s like to live with a sort of built-in loneliness, to feel adrift and separate from the world, like a ghost.  He did not arrive out of thin air, he came out of me, and it’s important for a child to know this.  He is loved and connected.  I am a part of his connection to the world.

It comes down to this: you must hold on and let go at the same time.  It reminds me of a Buddhist saying, “what’s the sound of one hand clapping?”  Some kind of impossible riddle.

What I think it means is that I am a bridge for him, holding on to both sides of a vast expanse that I created in him when I gave him away.  The best I can do for him now is to be that bridge, allowing him to move back and forth freely.  Moving through me in order to be born and re-born, as he did once before.  When he is ready, I will be here.

Written By: Elizabeth Macasaet

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