Giving birth changes a woman forever. It is the most personal, emotional, incredible experience she will ever have. It is not an experience that can ever be forgotten or discounted. Women who have chosen adoption can no easier forget their child as they can forget they have legs.

This April, just like each April for the past 26 years, on the 5^th, I stop my day, get out The Box, sit down, and remember…

It was April 4th, Good Friday, and true to the end, my family had gone on to mass without me. I sat in my Dad’s ugly red-orange recliner and watched the news. It was nice to be alone and be able to rub my belly without feeling self-conscious in front of my family. I was a full week overdue and had begun to accept the idea that I was going to be pregnant forever.

Just before everyone returned I felt a warm rush of liquid, like I had peed in my pants. I was horribly embarrassed, even though I was completely alone, and I ran to the bathroom to clean myself up. After putting on fresh pants I returned to the living room, and it happened again. By the time my parents got home I was sitting on the toilet “peeing” every 10-15 seconds. I had no idea what we happening. I thought that maybe the baby was just putting a lot of pressure on my bladder.

My mom stepped into action, slightly panicked, slightly excited, very worried. She talks fast when she’s nervous (a trait I’ve inherited) and that night she had plenty to say. Dad on the other hand went into the living room to watch TV. He was calm and quiet and mumbled something about how it would probably be hours yet before we had to do anything. He’d been through this four times already and the calmness his experience had given him flowed throughout our house and everyone settled into a waiting routine.

At 15 years old, my younger sister Karen thought it was all a game – literally. She got out a Trivial Pursuit game and kept firing questions at me to keep me busy. The youngest, Jane hid upstairs most of the night, appearing only briefly when curiosity got the best of her. Karen got out a notebook and kept a nice record (in case anyone needed it) of each contraction, fluid leak, and my general pain threshold. It didn’t hurt (yet) at all, so it was almost fun. We laughed about the answers in the game and teased each other about the ones we didn’t know. I learned that an aglet is that little plastic piece at the end of a shoelace and we wondered if inventing something so small, but functional had made the inventor rich. Growing up with next to nothing on our farm had led to an ongoing fantasy of wondering what it would be like to be rich and we found ways to bring it into any conversation.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor in the doorway of our small bathroom, wavy red-brown hair falling off her shoulders and brushing against plump pink cheeks, she looked like a little fairy sitting in a buttercup waiting for spring to arrive. Her sparkling green eyes were wide with excitement and wonder as she asked if it hurt and wondered if I should be on the toilet at all, what if the baby fell in the water?

I assured her that the baby would not simply fall out, the film I had seen in birthing class made it pretty clear I wouldn’t be getting off so easy. I looked into the mirror across from where I was sitting and was surprised at how old I suddenly seemed to look. Playing the game with Karen, I felt inside as I did when we were little and hiding in forts in the hayloft giggling about nothing in particular and sharing secrets. But looking into the mirror I saw that my body had been defying my mind and had continued to grow up, something we had once promised each other never to do.

The last question Karen had asked me was: “Which insect has teeth – mosquitoes or fleas?” Neither of us was sure, and at that moment I was getting uncomfortable and really could have cared less. “Who cares?” I barked at her. Then, seeing her hurt face I quickly added, “so, are you going to tell me or what!” She brightened immediately and answered that mosquitoes have wings and fleas have teeth. We laughed together briefly before another contraction hit and I yelled for Mom.

After surveying Karen’s chart and timing a couple of contractions herself while monitoring how hard my stomach felt, Mom deemed me ready to go. As it had with Dad, her experience of bringing four girls into this world gave her a sense of calm and control that allowed me to relax and put my trust in her.

Karen begged to go with, which of coarse was immediately denied. It was almost midnight. Mom pointed out that she had been lucky to be allowed to stay up this late in the first place, besides someone had to stay home with Jane. The mood began to change as we gathered my things and Dad closed the front door and headed for the car.

By the time we arrived at the emergency entrance to the hospital I was a bit panicked because the contractions had started to hurt and come faster. I had been egging my Dad on to drive faster. He stopped the car and turned back to hold my hand and said, “Don’t worry Babe. I got a feeling this little guy’s coming at 5 on the 5^th!” He gave me one of those smiles that made the edges of my vision blur. For that one instant, I could believe, everything was O.K.

Then I got out of the car. Mom put her arm around me. The big glass doors parted. Mom held my hand and together, we walked through.

I vaguely remember getting into the maternity ward, changing into a gown, getting onto the bed. What I do remember is the butterfly.

During our Lamaze classes they had told us to find a “focal point”, something to concentrate on to ease thoughts of the pain. The room I was in hand a border near the ceiling with pastel colored butterflies. I remember thinking how nice it looked – sweet and cheery.

At three a.m. I hated that damn butterfly. I glared at it, daring it to flutter, to look happy, to blissfully fly away to a better place. I projected every ounce of pain I felt onto its back, and got pissed each time it was not crushed.

Between contractions, Mom gingerly offering me ice chips, and dozing in and out of consciousness. A nurse came in and announced that it was time to move me. When she asked me to get up from the bed and crawl onto a gurney, I thought she was crazy. My insides were burning, every muscle was pushed past function and I was supposed to just hop up onto this bed like I was at a track meet in high school? Somehow, I did manage to get there. They put me in what looked like an operating room. My feet were yanked up into cold stirrups and a large dome light was pulled over my body. I looked up at it and instantly was convinced I was dying. The light was so blinding I saw pure color and was sure that I had left my body.

The next contraction came and reminded me clearly that I had not. I closed my eyes and between screams and squeezing my mother’s hand into an unrecognizable form tried to do as I was told. They had been asking me for awhile if I felt the need to push. I had no idea what I was supposed to be pushing with so I answered no. Finally the doctor said it was time to push. The nurses told me to try. My mother urged me on. Not having a clue what I was suppose to do, I remembered by Dad’s comment about the sit-ups I did during my workouts and pushing the baby out. So I did a sit up. When I contracted my stomach muscles it felt so good I couldn’t stop. I thought, “Oh My God! Why didn’t they tell me to do this hours ago!” I kept my eyes closed, stopped breathing, and pushed with everything I had.

After sometime I recall my mother screaming at me to breathe. All I could think of was that if I stopped to breathe the pain would come back and there was no way in hell I wanted to feel that again. Finally, I had to breathe. I gulped for air as quickly as I could, eager to dive under again and push. By the third push my mother was screaming again. This time it was “Open your eyes! Patty! Open your eyes!” I couldn’t think of what she thought I should see, the damn butterfly was in the other room. “Open your eyes! It’s your baby!” she screamed again. I opened my eyes.

Instantly I saw the reflection in the mirror above my knees. It was the top of an infant’s head. I was so shocked I couldn’t move, or breathe. He was real. That’s my baby. There really is a baby inside me. It was surreal. Time stood still. The edges of my vision were blurred again.

Then the doctor looked me straight in the eye and said, “give me one more good push dear.” I didn’t want to close my eyes again. I tried to keep them open but as soon as I started to push I again had stopped breathing and had my eyes glued shut. Then a loud cry brought me back. I opened my eyes and there he was. My son. “He’s beautiful,” Mom whispered in my ear as she hugged me. His long legs were kicking and his tiny fists punched at the air trying to take down whoever it was that was holding him out in that cold, bright, light.

I couldn’t take my eyes off him. The doctor handed him to the nurse and she wrapped him in a blanket and carried him over to the corner of the room. Panic hit me as she turned from me, “Don’t take him away yet!” I thought. Quietly, I asked the nurse if I could hold him. She looked at my mother for direction. “Of course you can” my mom answered. The nurse smiled and placed him in my arms.

The tears started to form and fall as I kissed him over and over and over whispering the first of hundreds of “I love you’s”. Mom was crying too and we both frantically wiped the tears away so they wouldn’t cloud our vision. I don’t remember if we said anything else to each other, I just remember that in that moment when I held my son, as my mother held me, we were a family.

As a birthmother, I was never told anything about the financial risk or responsibilities of my choice for the adoptive parents. I have no idea what it costs for an adoptive parent to be chosen, then after the birth have the birthmother change her mind. I know I was told that if I chose adoption my medical expenses would be covered, and that if I changed my mind they would not. From my perspective I was under the impression that if I changed my mind there would be no costs to the adoptive family.

What costs do you encounter even if the birthmother changes her mind? I can see costs for education and counseling to prepare for becoming an adoptive parent, but those would not be something you would have to pay twice for if one adoption failed I would think. I would find it surprising that adoptive parents pay for medical expenses for a birthmother who changes her mind, but I could be wrong. Fees in adoption always baffled me. Other than the time for the counselor to help you out, I don’t really understand why there are other expenses – but I’d love to hear all of you sound off on this.

I once asked my son what he thought about fees in adoption. He replied that he thought the only one who should get any money is the child, they are the ones whose life is forever changed in the most drastic of ways, he felt the child should be the one compensated for what they would be giving up – the birth family, particularly when they have no choice in the matter. Interesting. But I should also note that he was 12 at the time I asked him!

I agree with the reader who fears expenses that may need to be repeated in a failed adoption – this is a very real and valid fear. Anyone who can shed some light on this would be most welcome – I want to hear from you! What can we do to change this? The purpose of identifying fears or problems in the adoption process should never be about simply complaining, but about taking a step towards solutions. Open communication is a tool for solving problems.

I look forward to your input as we solve this one together!

It was sometimes surprising to each of us to hear what the other was afraid of. So, I’d like to ask for your input here. Please comment on this and share with me your fears. Be honest, everyone has them and if we just start talking about them we can start getting past them. I want to hear what you think! This not only gives me the opportunity to address them, and find answers for you that may help, but sometimes just taking that step to acknowledge your own fears will help you get on the road to working through them.

Are you a potential adoptive parent that’s afraid to go the open adoption route for fear it means co-parenting with the birthmother? Or a birthmother who is afraid you’ll choose a family that will change their mind about your openness and stop communicating with you? Or maybe you are an adoptive mother who is a afraid the birthmother will change her mind. Or you’re afraid your child will get to know the birthmother and then she’ll drop of his life and disappoint him? Maybe you’re afraid you agreed to more than you now feel comfortable with. Or maybe you wish you had agreed to something more.

Share with me your fears, the good the bad and the ugly. Only by putting it out there are we able to get the information that can help us overcome these fears!

I’m looking forward to hearing from you!

I still remember a call from my son’s mother where she timidly admitted to me that she was afraid he would get mad at her and get in a car and drive to me. He was in his teens and doing what all teens do: use every tool in their life toolbox to hurt their parents. He happened to have the adoption tool, meaning when she made a rule he didn’t want to follow, he’d throw the “You’re not my REAL Mom” hammer. And, of course, it would connect, and hurt. So, I don’t blame her for having this fear, at that moment it seems pretty realistic.

But, by sharing it with me, she was able to get more information that changed how she felt. When she told me her worries, I answered that if he showed up on my doorstep I’d put him back in the car and drive him home myself. She let out an audible sigh of relief and we both began to laugh over the stress of not knowing how the other would react. We made a commitment to always share our fears upfront. And instead of her feeling fearful, she felt empowered knowing that she had an ally in her corner during those rough years.

What are you afraid of? Have you told the birthmother this? Her reply may surprise you.

The biggest fear I hear of from adoptive parents in open adoption is that they fear the birthmother will try and take over the parenting, become too involved. I can tell you that out of the hundreds of birthmothers I’ve met over the years, not one has wanted to do this. We are all so very grateful just to see our child now and then, know they are taken care of, loved, and that they know we love them. Anything else is gravy.

So, go ahead, ask.

People often ask me what Joe calls me – Pat, Birthmother, Mom, or even Aunt? It seems to hold so much importance to people, I see them watching me closely, waiting for the answer as if it will somehow serve to answer some ancient sought-after mystery of relationships. I think their nervous anticipation is funny. They completely miss the point. My answer is simple: “I don’t care if he calls me Snicklefritz, as long as he picks up the phone and calls me!”

As someone who spent 12 years not knowing if she would ever hear her son’s beautiful voice again, I can tell you that the name he calls me or the words he says are completely out shined by the simple fact that I am hearing that beautiful voice again. I’ve been able to pick up the phone and hear his voice any time I want to now for over 14 years – AND IT NEVER GETS OLD. It’s still a little miracle each time he simply says hello.

In this particular case, the children had been in the social system a couple of years before being placed with the adoptive family. How lucky for those children to now be in the care of someone who is willing to defend them, protect them, and advocate for their well being and happiness? It’s what great mothers do. And as a birthmother, one of our biggest hopes is that our children will have great mothers.

I suggested to this birthmother that she spend some time showing respect, and even admiration, for this adoptive mother. That it’s not just about her and her relationship with the children anymore. They are part of a family now, a unit, and she needs to embrace this entire unit, not try and single out her child. Yes, the child is an adult now, but that doesn’t change a thing. They are still part of a family. You’re either all in – or all out.

Respect has this great ability to grow. You give it – and you will get it back. Whether you are an adoptive parent or a birthmother this is a good course of action. The sooner everyone understands and shows respect for the other, the sooner you’ll open the door to a great future.

How an adoptee feels regarding their adoption is almost completely dependant on the adoptive parents and birthparents that enter the agreement in the first place. It is because of this that I believe that success is best measured by the adoptee’s point of view.

As a birthmother, I made my choice based on loving my child and wanting to choose what was best for him. Since his happiness was such a central part of the decision, it was his level of happiness that set the stage for my feelings towards how it turned out. I made my decision for adoption, but also made my decision for an open adoption in the hopes of not only choosing a family that would provide him a happy, loving life, but that he would also feel secure in the fact that he was loved by his birthmother. I made choices to give him a life filled with answers, not secrets so he could grow with a complete vision of who he was and who he could be.

His adoptive parents also made choices in his best interest. They choose to adopt and build their family. They choose open adoption so they could share with their child his history and never have him question if he was wanted. They choose to provide him the information he asked for as he grew older and show respect for his beginnings and his birthfamily. They choose to love him and make him a permanent part of their family. His feelings of belonging in their family set the stage for their feelings towards how it turned out.

Because of our choices, Joe grew up knowing how much all of his parents loved him. He learned respect and understanding. He also learned compassion. He understood sacrifices and gifts and help a deep appreciation for them all. He has no doubts about how much he is loved – by both his families. He holds no negative feelings towards either of us, because he had never experienced either of us holding negative feelings towards the other.

During his younger years it was his mother, Kathy, who answered his questions and told him about me. She did so with honesty and respect – and love. Children will learn how to treat others from their parents. Because of her positive outlook, he learned to be positive as well.

When he was a teenager and questioned his mother (as all teenagers do) it was my turn to talk to him with honesty, respect and love about her. Kathy was his mother and regardless of how close he and I became, this would not change. This calmed Joe during those tough years and gave him a sense of security that we would both always be there for him, and love him, and that we each had a particular role for doing this. We had defined it for ourselves when he was a baby and by staying consistent over the years we created relationships with him he could count on.

While the initial choices are for the birthmother, the child’s life with the adoptive parents is where their perception of being adopted will be first formed. Evading discussions about birthfamilies, or completely ignoring the child’s heritage are symbols that a child picks up that there is something wrong with a part of who they are. By showing respect for birthfamilies and birth heritages, you will be showing the child respect for their whole self. This will be a child who grows with a strong sense of self-worth.

Putting aside our personal fears and negativity for the sake of the child is the best path towards success in adoption. Focusing on their happiness, their needs, and doing all we can to support their sense of self-worth is a job for all the parents in a child’s life – adoptive and birth. By working together we accomplish so much more.

Joe surprises me everyday with his depth of respect for others. And every time he does I see Kathy in his eyes. She taught him that he was loved – by all of his family – and that it is silly to draw lines between the two when instead we can celebrate the glue that holds us together – Joe.

Author Elisabeth O’Toole, an adoptive mother of three, shares insider information with the friends, family, and others whose lives are touched by adoption but who are outside of the adoption triad of birth parents, adoptive parents and adoptees. In addition, teachers, coaches, neighbors, doctors, clergy, and others who work with children will find this book extremely helpful in shedding light on a topic that is typically only fully understood by those immediately involved. Being “In on it” means taking away all the curtains and letting the world know what a wonderful, life changing, and positive experience adoption is today.

US Census data reveals there are over 7 million adoptees living in America. Add to this their birth families, adoptive families, close friends and relatives, and the number of people who have an adoption experience in their lives is staggering. It’s time that the realities surrounding this phenomenon are shared with the general public so the myths can be shattered and these children and families can finally be treated with the respect they deserve. In On It is a fantastic tool to make this happen.

O’Toole shares her experiences as strangers, teachers, neighbors and family ask questions that range from uneducated to downright offensive. She shares her frustration in feeling as though she must share more details of her children’s lives than a biological mother, simply because her family was formed by adoption. Her advice, not only for those with questions, but for other adoptive parents, is for everyone to remember that by the time the child is a part of the family that family has spend months, sometimes years, asking those same questions and finding their answers. Maybe the adoptive parents have gotten the answers they needed, but often those outside of the family have not. She offers the book as a way to bridge this gap, bring everyone into the circle of understanding, and help create an accepting atmosphere that will support the child and their family.

In On It shares what adoptive parents go through as they struggle with infertility and their fears of the adoption process, she shares the thoughts of adoptees that struggle with their self image and the struggles of birthmothers whose gift is often misunderstood. She breaks through the myths, sets the record straight, and offers practical guidance to those outside of the adoption circle. At the end of each chapter is a section titled “What You Can Do” that gives direction, including lists of specific statements, questions to ask or actions you can take.

In On It is a great gift idea for all those who touch the life of an adoptive family.  O’Toole let’s them in on your secret: that adoption is a beautiful, loving way for families to be created.

Seems to me there’s a lot about this topic that makes us cry. What’s more confusing, is that some of it is a sad cry, but just as much of it is a happy cry! Leaving the hospital empty handed, sad crying. Adoptive parents who have waited 10 years for a baby finally holding their son, happy crying. Birth families surrounding the newborn grandson/nephew/cousin, sad crying. Aunts/Uncles/Grandparents/Cousins welcoming an adoptee into their family, happy crying.

And it continues. Getting the first letter and photo from an adoptive family – happy crying mixed with sad crying. A reunion story – happy and sad. A high school graduation, wedding, etc., all mixed. It’s so hard sometimes to reconcile that for every happy event in an adoptees life, it also marks an event the birthmother relinquished. Even if she gets to attend it, that soft spot from the pain of relinquishment is still there.

I have a friend who is an adoptee, and one of the difficult things she says she deals with in her relationship with her birthmother is that she is very aware of the pain her birthmother still feels. She doesn’t know what she can do to make it go away. All the meetings, hugs, phone calls and letters are not making it disappear. And they won’t. It’s like saying a person should be able to forget limp from an injury and just walk straight.

Relinquishing a child hurts. And it leaves a mark. That doesn’t mean it’s wrong, or that a birthmother has regrets. It’s just a part of who she is. I placed my son for adoption 26 years ago and at this adoption event I surprised myself by crying again when I told the story of his birth. Even I can’t believe I’d cry after all these years. I just called him that morning and talked to him! I was at his high school graduation, at his wedding last year, and talk to him every week.

The thing is, to remember that new memories, do not replace old ones. The old ones are still there, still a part of who we are. So go ahead and cry now and then – it’s okay! Just remember they’ll be plenty of happy crying too.

We are unique individuals. This is why each adoption is so unique, and also why making a decision for a name will be unique as well. Most importantly, understand that your opinion DOES count. Talk about how you feel, be open and honest. On the other hand, also be respectful of what you hear from others and how they feel. When everyone approaches this with respect and honest emotion, the answers will come.

When I placed my son for adoption in 1985 I was told that if I wanted to name him I could but that it was likely the adoptive parents would change it. I was okay with the idea of them changing it, but I also didn’t want my son to be called “the baby” for two weeks. So I named him. And I put as much thought into it as I knew his parent would. I named him Joseph, because we had called him “Jo” throughout my pregnancy. I have an Aunt that calls all of us grandchildren with this as our middle name, which it isn’t for any of us! Patty Jo, Debbie Jo, Karen Jo, so it was obvious to us that the baby would have to be a “Jo!” Then I chose Paul as his middle name. During my pregnancy my friend Paul was the only one who didn’t react with shock and dismay at my announcement. He smiled big and replied, “That’s wonderful! Children are such a gift.” I wanted my son to be blessed with that kind of compassion. So it was Joseph Paul. My little gift to him, it would go on his original birth certificate and always be a reminder of his beginnings. And that was enough for me.

When the first letters from his parents arrived, they extended a gift to me. His mother wrote that they decided to keep the name I had chosen because they felt that I must have had special reasons for choosing it and it was their gift to me. They wanted me to know that they would always honor his beginnings and understand it was an important piece of who he was, so they wanted him to keep it. They said it also represented names within their family so they felt that it was the perfect representation of the blend between my family and theirs. I could not have been more honored and happy. I remember crying and clutching the letters, looking to the sky and whispering “now you’ll always be my Joe too.” At that moment my heart totally broke open with love and trust for this couple. Their sign of respect for me came full circle as I then became full of respect for them. This became the foundation for an amazing relationship.

The focus should always be the child. Sometimes, a name is just a name. And that’s okay! Sometimes it holds great importance, and that’s okay too. Take the time to discuss it, share expectations and respect what you hear from each other. With the thousands of possibilities of names in this world it seems incredible that both parties wouldn’t be able to find one that everyone can agree to – especially if their focus is on the child and not themselves.

Isn’t every child worth a story of how their name was chosen that’s full of love and respect? I think so.