Adoption changed my life
by Terri Lailvaux, an adoptive mom of an 8 yr old boy, author of a children’s story book about adoption called “The Greatest Gift”. (Also in Afrikaans ). She’s also a qualified counsellor specialising in adoption, infertility & crisis pregnancy. Visit her website or on Facebook
Have you ever had one of those moments, weeks or years where you say to yourself, “Why me?” I used to have them often when I was in my early thirties and trying desperately to fall pregnant. It felt like all my friends, colleagues and acquaintances were popping babies out left, right and centre. I often screamed internally “WHY ME?”
Looking back now I realise that there is so much truth in that saying by Morris Kline: “The most fertile source of insight is hindsight.” [Morris Kline, Mathematics: The Loss of Certainty]
Because of my infertility, I have been fortunate enough to embark on the most beautiful and treasured journey with my son. I have built a family, changed my career, engaged with, helped and inspired many people, written a book, been invited to speak to large gatherings of people and I have no regrets!
Instead of “Why me?”, I now say “Lucky me!”
After 5 years of fertility treatment, I finally took a friend’s advice and looked into adoption but it was a minefield of American websites and rumours and I could not find anything very helpful. I procrastinated for another year and eventually I got in touch with the social worker who would walk me gently through the entire process. We were made early on to understand that there were no white babies available for adoption in South Africa and it did not matter to us. We wanted a baby and we did not care much about the shade of the skin.
We started to prepare our families and very close friends for the arrival of our new baby. We bought a few things and we got the room ready. We had been advised that the wait could be around 9 – 12 months so we were mentally prepared for the best part of a year to pass. 6 Weeks later, we got the call. “Your son has been born. Can you be at the hospital in 2 hours?” We were overwhelmed, excited, elated, terrified and instantly parentally protective of our new baby.
We arrived at the hospital to be presented with the smallest little human. He had been born prematurely weighing 1.6kg and he was on a ventilator. (As it turned out, our son is white but that’s a whole different story!)
In the following 4 weeks, we became dab hands at caring for a premature baby (with the help of the ICU staff) and finally exactly 1 month after he was born, we were able to take him home weighing a whopping 1.9 kg!
Our beautiful adventure had started. Our son is about to turn 8 in October and is the love and light of my life. I cannot imagine it any other way. I now spend a great deal of time in my counselling practice helping people cope with the emotions around infertility and getting started with the adoption process. I am still overwhelmed with joy whenever I get a call from a client to say that they are getting their baby. I really am lucky!
Click here to find more information about adoption agencies and support
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Would you kiss THAT?
by Melinda Connor, an imperfect working mom to 2 perfect (adopted) little beings. When she’s not changing dirty nappies, cleaning UDO (Unidentified Dirty Objects) off walls, floors and my clothes she’s trying to find a little bit of sanity whenever and wherever she can. Read her blog about her parenting journey
Democracy, rainbow nation, colourful. All sweet sounding words to sugar coat a rather bitter tasting pill. As a mother of two adopted (black) children I am painfully aware that we have not moved forward since 1994, or ever, when it comes to racism and bigotry.
I’ve had so many comments directed at me, from complete strangers to a few family members. The first was just after Emma was home with us and we were out at a park. A woman came up to me and very angrily expressed her opinion about me ripping Emma away from her biological mother and not raising her according to her culture. I’ve had people comment about me being a k***** lover and that I’m trying to be Madonna or Angelina.
A little closer to home I’ve had people tell me that Emma is very clever…for a black child and the first time Emma rolled off the couch onto the floor, a well-meaning ‘friend’ told me not to worry because their heads are much harder than ours.
People have asked me whether Emma is “healthy” (yes, in inverted commas) because all black babies have HIV / AIDS. I have been asked if I’m going to get Ben circumcised according to his cultural beliefs. Of course I am, because we send all the boys in our family up to the hills when it’s time and they come back as men.
And more recently I had a person comment to her friend, while I was kissing and cuddling Emma, ‘would you kiss THAT?’
There is also discrimination from black people. In their opinion I am trying to ‘colonize’ my children. On one occasion when I actually entertained a conversation on whether a black baby is better off in a ‘shelter’ or with white parents, I was told that the baby, without a doubt, should remain in the shelter. I, as a white woman, cannot teach a black child their culture or traditions and therefore am robbing them of their identity. Sitting in a home and getting stuck in a system that neglects children is a better option than being with me? Because I’m white? No identity is better than growing up in a home with parents who love them, regardless of colour? Really.
I battle with this narrow mindedness. I did not open my heart and home to two children to make a statement, political or otherwise. The cards I was dealt meant I couldn’t have my own children but that did not take away my need, want, love to be a mother.
As far as I’m concerned, our diverse little family is creating our own culture, one where respect, kindness and love is encouraged. Surely that’s all any family wants for itself. Regardless of race, colour or creed.
Click here to find more information about adoption agencies and support
Note: If you enjoyed this article, subscribe to the uniquely detailed free weekly newsletter for parents in Gauteng – Jozikids – or KwaZulu-Natal – Kznkids.
Even adoptive moms get the blues
by Melinda Connor, an imperfect working mom to 2 perfect (adopted) little beings. When she’s not changing dirty nappies, cleaning UDO (Unidentified Dirty Objects) off walls, floors and my clothes she’s trying to find a little bit of sanity whenever and wherever she can. Read her blog about her parenting journey
Emma was three months old when she came home to us and the ‘worst’ was over as far as newborn babies go. By the time she joined our family she was in a routine and she settled in quickly.
Ben on the other hand, arrived in our lives at just ten days old and it was a completely different experience. He cried all the time. And if he wasn’t crying, he was screaming. He’d take one look at me, scrunch his face up and wail. All the time.
While Emma finding us was serendipitous and her adoption ordained, Ben, I was convinced, felt he had ended up with the wrong family, and was letting us and everyone else in the neighbourhood know about it.
The four months maternity leave I got were the loneliest and most soul destroying I had ever experienced. I cried. Ben cried. I didn’t eat or sleep. I couldn’t think clearly. And as I got more exhausted, I felt more guilt and as the guilt set in I slipped into a deep, dark depression.
Embarrassed that I wasn’t coping, I pretended everything was ok. I didn’t want an ‘I told you so’ from my husband and I was terrified what my friends and family would think. If Emma was a god-send, what did that make Ben?
It was my fault that our little unit had been disrupted. We were a complete and happy family and I had thrown a spanner in the works. Ben’s constant crying had me worried. So much so I called the shelter we got him from to see if he had been okay there. They said yes, exactly what I didn’t want to hear. In my mind Ben didn’t like me very much and I was starting to feel the same way about him. Then I felt guilty for feeling that.
Already a miserable old cow, living on anti-depressants, I chatted to my GP and did some research. Post Adoption Depression is real, but like Post Natal Depression, it seems no one wants to talk about it. It’s that big weepy elephant in the room, that everyone tiptoes around.
Studies show that PND in biological moms is caused by a hormonal upheaval, but it’s also possible that psychological elements are to blame, including exhaustion. For adoptive parents, there is the upheaval and the exhaustion, plus not connecting with the baby or child as they had hoped, getting little or no support from family and friends, not feeling quite like a ‘real’ parent and the disappointing attitude of society towards adoption. Thank goodness. I wasn’t alone and nor was I insane. I simply had post adoptive baby blues.
With a slight change to my prescription and confiding in a few friends helped me see the light at the end of the tunnel. And the good news was it wasn’t an oncoming train.
The story of Hope- part 2
By Justin Foxton, husband and dad to a 6 & 5 month old, a 10 & 4 week old –none his own yet. Founder of “Stop Crime Say Hello” and a crisis home for abandoned babies called The Baby House. This is a sequel to an article I wrote for Jozikids about finding baby Hope in November 2010
In 6 months she had gone from being abandoned to being found, from being HIV+ to HIV negative, from having all manner of infant illnesses andinsecurities to being a well, bouncy, bubbly, chatty, character-filled little girl. Hope.
We all miss her desperately but we are so delighted that she has been adopted by such an incredible couple. They are the type of people we need more of in South Africa – they decided from day 1 to have one of their own and adopt one. Zakes – there gorgeous young son – has his much anticipated sister Rosa. Thank you to you all for helping to give this baby an incredible start in life. Without your help this would not be possible. God bless and much love, Justin & Cathy 082 3541839
The rainbow child and her paper mom
by Fiona Ingram, a South African writer who loves books, travel, animals, antiques, and adventures of all kinds! Read Fiona’s author site and find out about her recently published children’s adventure novel
I never ever imagined myself as a mother. Growing up with four brothers, three of them younger than me, meant I had my fair share of bottles, nappies, homework, bedtime stories and all the things big sisters do. My studies and career came first for a long time and the men I dated weren’t interested in having kids. Then the biggest drawback of all: I never felt “grown-up enough” to take on the responsibility of my own child. The year I went overseas with my two nephews, the year that inspired my first children’s book, I suddenly had this desire to adopt a child. Not give birth, please note, but adopt some little mite who needed a home. Two weeks in Egypt with my nephews aged 10 and 12 were enough to rid me of any maternal feelings and make me decide to just stick to being a good aunt. I had changed my mind about children.
About three months after this trip, I had a visit from a domestic worker who had worked for me a few years back—she had a problem. She arrived with her daughter Mabel, now aged eleven. I remembered Mabel as an enchanting child aged six, all arms and legs and a big smile. But I got married, Josephine left my employ, and we didn’t see each other for another five years. Josephine came straight to the point and asked me to foster Mabel so she could get a better education.
Thinking for the briefest of nano-seconds that “nothing would change,” I said yes. Of course, everything changed. I developed maternal feelings worthy of a lioness guarding her cubs from danger. I also became an expert on the shortcomings of our ever-changing education system, the life-cycle of any insect, reptile, or bird you care to mention, and in anything to help my foster child get an education. Mabel had already failed Grade 2, was advised to repeat Grade 4, and was basically illiterate. How is that possible, I asked myself? I began the slow and often painful task of teaching her all over again, supplemented by many extra lessons.
Mabel baulked at first, having never had to apply her mind or develop motivation. She’d been told so many times she was a failure—what else was there to look forward to? Eight years later, she is scoring 70-80% in most of her subjects, plans to be a writer (just like me!) and is an amazingly well-adjusted, charming, sunny-tempered young lady with a delightful sense of humour. She is a credit to her mother, Josephine, and to me, her Paper Mom (as she calls me, since I am legally her ‘mom’ on paper). I adopted Mabel in February 2009 at the specific request of both her parents, since they believe that with me she will “have a real life.” Those are her mother’s words, one of the bravest women I have ever known, for who else but a brave and unselfish woman would willingly give her child to someone else for that child’s sake.
Mabel completed her Matric with flying colours and is enrolled in a 3-year media and journalism course at Boston College. My mother passed away recently and she was, as Mabel says, “the only gran I ever had.” My daughter was a rock of strength during Mom’s illness. Always helpful, ever-loving, and making my mom feel appreciated and special all the time. Mabel has a mighty heart, filled with love and I am proud to be her mother. Mabel has grown into a beautiful young woman, as you can see from her Matric dance photo.The wonderful world of books – one child’s journey
by Fiona Ingram, a South African writer who loves books, travel, animals, antiques, and adventures of all kinds! Read Fiona’s author site and find out about her recently published children’s adventure novel.
I don’t remember actually learning to read; it’s as if I always did. Although we grew up poor (five children to feed, clothe, and educate), my parents always had books in the house. And then of course, there were the books we inherited from my grandparents. My very old copy of The Wind in the Willows, with those simple yet beautiful illustrations, is still on my bookshelf. Ratty and Mole were my heroes (and still are!). Other old friends are The Secret Garden, with exquisite color plates, The Water Babies, Enid Blyton’s Faraway Tree series, my collection of the Lucy Fitch Perkins’ twin series, with her poignant stories of children of all eras and places around the world. I particularly loved Anne of Avonlea, The Little Princess and many others.
The list of children’s classics is endless and not so long ago I read them all over again. I ‘inherited’ a foster child from a disadvantaged background. This little girl came to me at age eleven, practically illiterate, scoring only 19% for English at school. Opening the doors into the wonderful world of books seemed insurmountable because she simply did not understand the connection between the written and spoken word. What to do? Begin at the beginning seemed a good idea.
I started off with my old favourites and Mabel loved them. Suddenly, the words were not frightening because she was hearing about places and people she’d never imagined. She’d lean over my shoulder, breathing down my neck as I read, my finger tracing the words as I sounded them out. The pages began to surrender the magical words, and she found them enchanting! Fired with success, we moved onto the rest of the library, slowly devouring my children’s classic book collection in very tiny bite-sized pieces. I was still doing most of the reading.
One day, Mabel decided she’d help out with the books, and began reading to me. It was still incredibly slow but I began to see the 
glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. We got movies of books, watched them, and then read the books, just in case the moviemakers had left out some important bits. We expanded our repertoire book by book. I found other ways to sneak words into her day, not just when we were doing ‘serious’ reading. She read recipes with me when we baked; she read the instructions on the packaging to me while we prepared dinner; she read advertisements to me when we shopped. Suddenly words were a constant part of her life.
Mabel also began to show her imaginative side at school. Her poems and creative writing pieces began to change, reflecting more color, bigger words, more complex themes and emotions. What a breakthrough! The final moment of success came when just recently she turned to my mother and said, “Gran, will you buy me a book?”
My mother nearly fell off her chair and replied, “You can have as many as you like, darling.”
Mabel grinned. “Oh, then can you buy me all the Twilight books please?” Thank you Stephenie Meyer for being the first author Mabel ‘owns.’ (Apparently vampires rock.)
Her latest ‘own’ books? Inkheart, and The Golden Compass.
Her latest marks for English? A magnificent 75%.
“I can do much better,” she said, frowning. “I’m going to have to improve on this if I want to be a writer.”
I have now adopted Mabel, not having my own children, and I can say the greatest compliment is that she has decided to become a journalist or a novelist (just like me).
Recently I called her and, hearing her voice coming from her bedroom, asked, “What are you doing?”
Reply: “I’m reading!”
Music to any parent’s ears!
Adopted children are also people!
A group of adopted children were talking in the car. My son, who is also adopted, said ” Mom, you know kids at my school are often asking me if I am adopted . When I say, yes, they say, OH SHAME !. This really irritates me and I respond by saying. :We are also people like you, you know. How do you think I should respond?””
