Crackhead? Really? September 24, 2008

So, reading posts today, it has once again come up that most women that place their children are assumed to be crackheads.  One person actually had to ask how to combat that, and made the comment “most people have used at some point, who are we to judge?” or some such crap.

News Flash:  An unplanned pregnancy doesn’t suddenly force  a person to run out and start using crack.  If that were the case damn near everyone I  know would be a crack head.  Next thing:  Placing a kid for adoption doesn’t suddenly make a person use drugs.  Were there days I would have liked to have used drugs to dull the pain?  Perhaps, but you know, seeing my son succeed and being a decent human being were far more important. 

It comes back to the sinner or saint thing.  It is almost as if society has to make us out to be doing bad things, otherwise, how the heck could we place a child for adoption right?  What would make us do that?   Well obviously drug use would be a good reason.  Gee, it couldn’t simply be that women/men/couples that choose to place their child for adoption are simply trying to make the best of what is a bad and complicated situation and that they want to do what is right for their child?

The assumption that people that place are criminals of some sort just never fails to astound me.  People find out I work in the juvenile justice system and they can’t believe I passed the background check.  Why wouldn’t I?  Oh that’s right, my extensive drug use that probably led to child abuse of some sort, so I’m sure I’ve had dealings with DSS.  Yeah right.  As close as I have come to DSS dealings is when I applied for pregnancy medicaid and during an incident at my job. 

Maybe we should start having crackhead, first mom conventions.  We can get together, work the corners for some cash, get high, and then get pregnant and make more babies for people to adopt.  After all, we are inherently flawed right?  Oh, sorry, no, only inherently flawed if you’re adopted too, because we are born….  Ok I digress, whole different post and sarcasm level on that one.

So crackhead/whore firstmoms lets pick a city,  find a fleabag motel, and have a convention.  Someone make sure to find us a pimp though please because we’ll need someone to procure our drugs, since we’re all kind of dumb about, well everything huh?

Oh Yeah, I’m Gonna Go There…. September 24, 2008

So I usually stay away from the whole abortion vs. adoption debate, but, yeah, I’m gonna go there this morning.

So, I’m pro choice, yeah you read that right.  Does that mean an abortion would be right for me, nope, but it doesn’t mean I think we should take away choices either.  Especially when it can mean the life another child being carried is saved or the mother’s life is saved.

It is assumed alot of times that because I am adopted and a firstmom that I am pro life.  PLEASE.  Those were my choices and my firstmom’s choice, no one elses.  I certainly didn’t carry my pregnancy to term and place my child so that another woman could become a parent and I resent the implication that that was my motive. 

I also resent the idea that I am happier than a woman that has had an abortion because of my choice.  Holy crap, placing a kid batters a woman’s self esteem beyond belief.  Trust me,  most women aren’t thinking how fabulous it is that they get to watch another woman mother their child.  I spend most of time thinking about how irrespsonsible I was, how I created a situation that never should have happened, and how adoption can damage a child, and what did I do?  Yep, placed my kid for adoption.  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think about those things every moment of every day, but when I think about placing my son, those are the thoughts that creep around my head.  It isn’t a pretty place to be.

Adoption and abortion are not polar opposites.  They are however both options when faced with a difficult decision.  Who am I to say what is right and wrong for anyone?  They are both choices that will impact a couple for a lifetime, especially the woman.  Neither of them are chosen quickly or easily.  They should both be there.

More later on my other thoughts on life and the sacredness of it.

Hello, My Name is… September 23, 2008

Well, we all know it is Belle right?  I was thinking about all of the different labels people wear and why we wear them.

So, I’m a daughter, sister, aunt, adopted adult, first mom, counselor, girlfriend, friend, cross stitcher, tatter, and a host of other things.

What interests me the most about labels is that we wear them for society to be comfortable with our actions most of the time.  If society doesn’t know what to do with you, what pigeonhole to put you into,  people probably aren’t going to be overly comfortable with you. 

The aunt label isn’t one I wear comfortably, believe it or not, nor do I talk about it much.  My nieces and nephews are all in my first family and I have only met one of them once when she was pretty little.  So, sure, technically I’m an aunt, but I guess I don’t think of myself as one.

I don’t like the first parent lable at all.  I wish I could just be a mother.  I have no desire to take my son from his mom and dad and I don’t want to be his mom.  I am his mother though and it ticks me off that I can’t be just that.  It is frustrating that society says, well you did this and made this choice so now you have to wear this label.  Most of the time it is birthmom which is even worse.  I just don’t like that, I did a whole hell of a lot more than just give birth to that child.  Besides which, if I have to be something, why can’t I choose the words to describe me?

I know, this probably all seems insignificant to some.  Words are just words right?  I learned a long time ago though that words are way more than just that, and usually they have more power than people want to ascribe to them, especially the people that use words to hurt.

So yes, my name is Belle, and yes I am all of those things, and yes I’ll live with it.  Next time you label someone though, think about how you are labelling them and what those words might do.

Overtime September 22, 2008

So, yeah, I like to work a little overtime when I can.  It keeps me from having to get another job and makes it WAY easier to afford things like propane and stuff.  Get this though.  So I couldn’t sleep yesterday, what is it with that?  The more exhausted you are, the harder to sleep it is, but I digress.  Anyway, I call my mom and talk to her for awhile, we talk about me coming home today, work, family plans for the week and all that great stuff.  The minute I hang up the phone BAM work is calling me.  Can you come in, like right now?  Well why?  Well a staff member called in sick for the 2-10 and they are running short on the floor.  Is this really necessary, you are there, I say to the guy calling me.   “I think my cancer is coming back”, he replies.

Ok, I know the guy is lying, not about having had cancer, but he shameless and will use anything.  I’m thinking, well some OT would be nice though, so I say, yeah I’ll come in.  I was there for 16 hours, damn long day and night, especially on four hours of sleep.  I make it though, don’t kill anyone, and get ready to leave none the worse for wear. 

They are short again today and they have to fill the shift with a female staff.  They think they are going to get me.  Oh yes, please, let me leave at 8 and come back six hours later for another 8 hour shift, just what I want to.  Yeah, don’t even think so, besides which it is my night off and I already have plans for the rest of the weekend.  The sad, pathetic look I got after that was rather ridiculous.  Apparently I’m married to that place.  Sorry J, nothing more with me, work is calling.  Good thing he works there too and gets the stupidity of it all.

They are always promising us more kids and more staff and it just doesn’t happen, yet they seem to work harder and harder at putting us at risk.  That place, ugh, why do I work there?  The kids.  Even the one that called me a fat fucking bitch five different times this morning.  Yep, even her.

Exhaustion September 21, 2008

I’m so tired this morning, you know you are worn out when you are sitting at work doing cross stitch and your eyes start to droop and you jerk up to wake up.  It was just a long night.  Of course I didn’t sleep much during the day before, so it was my own fault I suppose.

I get this way sometimes, it gets hard to sleep and then I drag at work.  When I come home of course, it usually doesn’t matter how tired I am, I still have to wind down.  I couldn’t believe how hungry I was this morning.  I guess that sloppy joe from last night is all worn off. 

I was almost drowsing off while J and I were playing cribbage, good Lord, what was wrong with me?  Cribbage always keeps me awake.  If nothing else his good natured teasing keeps me awake. 

So will I sleep today?  Will that cat let me sleep?  Will my street be quiet enough to sleep?  I really, really hope so. One more night of work and then I am off for three nights, thank goodness, because this is wearing me out!

Lucky? September 20, 2008

I’m remiss and haven’t written for awhile.  Don’t you hate it when life catches up with you?

Anyway, my mind is stuck on a conversation I had with J at work tonight.  I love the man, but he can be dense.  He gets upset with me because I focus on the sad stuff in my adoption.  Got news for you buddy, when you only hear from people four times a year, there isn’t always alot of happy stuff to talk about.  I’d love to brag about kiddo, but what can I brag about?   I’ve already told you everything that I know ten times over.  I also have kind of just quit talking about him. I hate the looks I get from people when I mention him during a parenting conversation.  I suppose, his accomplishments have little to do with me so I should keep my mouth shut.

The other thing that is nagging at me is J’s insistance that I am lucky that I get contact with kiddo.  I can’t tell you how badly that comment hurts coming from him.  He thinks, no matter what I tell him that open adoptions are rare, because I am the only one that he knows that has one.  So ok, I realize you don’t understand how common they are becoming J, but don’t you get it that when you say I’m lucky, you are somehow implying that I have no value in this thing?   That somehow I’m not good enough to see my son?  I point that out and he says I am making it personal.  Well damn right I am, it is personal, how couldn’t it be personal?

I love him, I do, I wish he could just get this.  I know that part of the reason my open adoption bothers him is because he thinks it causes me too much pain and he wants to protect me.  Well, news flash, the stuff I would cook up in my head if I didn’t know would be about ten thousand times worse than the stuff that is real and the pain that is real.  The guilt and the not knowing, it would kill me, possibly, quite literally. 

Maybe someday he will get it, maybe he never will.  It’s so hard to explain and so hard to make sound not so bad, when it probably isn’t somedays, but I’m sure it sounds like it always is.