Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Adoption Nativity

Last night Miss Little One disappeared shortly before bedtime. She's mastered the art of making herself scarce around that time every night, so I didn't think much of it, until I noticed the shepherd, the infant Jesus, and a donkey missing from the nativity.

I found Miss Little One in her room and she informed me (with an unmistakable tone of authority) that she couldn't go to bed just yet. "I'm very busy adopting them."

What does it mean to adopt them, Sweetheart?

"It means they grew for me in another mother's tummy so I can be their mother. And Daddy and I love them bigger than the moon."

I let her stay up way past bedtime. Wouldn't you?

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
My Google Profile+

Saturday, November 29, 2008

Adopting Snowflakes

People often ask if waiting for our second child is easier than waiting for our first. Absolutely. And no way. It's just different.

I had no frame of reference the first time. I knew I wanted a child, but the want was a general feeling of wanting to grow my family. I wanted a baby to hold, a toddler to play with, a child to teach about faith and integrity.

Now I know the intimacy and intricacy I was missing. Now I know that I want a baby with spring-loaded fingers and translucent eyelids. I want chub-a-licious drumstick thighs and a sweet-smelling head. Now I know that I want a toddler to pee all over the bathroom and mop it up with my pillow and proudly announce "It's OK, Mama. I cweaned it all by myself!" Now I know that I want a child to say "Even when I'm upset, Mama, I always love you."

Now I know what I was missing, and that makes the second wait more painful. At the same time, it's much, much easier waiting for my second child, because I have been blessed with my first. By turns captivating, aggravating, inspiring, and tiring, she will always be My First.

Every adoption experience is different. Every one is unique and beautiful in its way. Just like snowflakes.

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
My Google Profile+

Saturday, November 8, 2008

Adoption Frame of Mind

Last night my daughter heard me talking on the phone to a friend, Lindsey.
"Who was that, Mama? Lindsey?"
Yes, it was Lindsey.
"Who's Lindsey?"
You know her as Mrs. Carr. She's Abby mother.
"Lindsey is Abby's mother?"
(thoughtful frown) "Who's Abby's birth mother?"
Lindsey is her birth mother. Abby came out of her tummy.
(another thoughtful frown) "Do you mean Abby's birth mother and her mother is only one person? It's both Lindsey?"
Yes, Babe.
"Oh, that makes me so sad for Abby. She only has one. Poor Abby!"

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
My Google Profile+

Saturday, October 4, 2008

"You Can't Imagine Me!"

One of my favorite things about three year-olds is their absolute conviction when using words incorrectly. A recent example is when my daughter - whose paint-the-refrigerator-door-with-ketchup plan I thwarted - planted her hands on her hips and shouted, "You can't imagine me!" and stomped out of the room.

She has no idea how right she is. All the time I dreamed of a child, all the waiting and anticipating, as often as I pictured myself in moments with our child... none of it even comes close to the reality of her.

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
My Google Profile+

Saturday, September 6, 2008

Adoption: Tell Me The Story...

Mama, can you tell me about when God was ready to make me and he knew your body couldn't make a baby, so he put a little tiny Erin seed into Meghan's belly and I grew and grew in Meghan's belly until I was ready to be born and then when I was big enough the doctor helped Meghan push me out, and then she held me and kissed me on my head and named me Erin and told the nurse to call Sally and Dennis and tell them their baby girl is ready? And you and Daddy drove fast and carefully to the hospital with your social worker Barb, and you waited and waited in the room and then suddenly the nurse came in pushing a cart with something in it... and you looked and looked but you only saw blankets and a little bit of brown hair? And then she picked me up and put me in your arms and you cried happy tears and said, "Oh, my baby girl, my baby girl. I'm your Mama and I will always love you" and then Daddy held me and he smiled and smiled at me and said, "I'm your Daddy, and I will always keep you safe." And then you changed my diaper and you were surprised that someone so sweet could smell so stinky? And then you and Daddy tucked me into the car seat with two blankets and a tiny baby hat and you drove all the way home but you stopped at Grandma's on the way and Grandma said, "Whose baby is that? Are you babysitting?" and you and Daddy said, "No, this is our baby Erin. We're adopting her." And Grandma screamed and held me and said, "Oh, what a beautiful girl, beautiful girl. God bless her." And then my cousin Mike was there and he said, "Where did that come from?" and everybody laughed! Except I didn't laugh because I was just a baby so I just kept sleeping. And then when I was bigger Daddy showed me how to hold my bottle by myself. Can you tell me that story, Mama?

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
My Google Profile+

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

What No One Tells You

What surprised me most about instant parenthood was the realization that other parents are cruel with a sick sense of humor. Yes. It's true. They make a big production of giving you all kinds of advice - in elevators, at your mailbox, over the dressing room wall, at the gas pump - but what they tell you is the kind of stuff you figure out on your own anyway. "Don't trim your baby's fingernails while she's in the Jolly Jumper." "You have to feed them during the night." OK. Thanks, Ace.

But no one tells you about the stuff that can knock you to your knees if you're not prepared. I came across this piece written by Craig Playstead, a writer and father of three, and I'm gifting it to you so that you can prepare yourself for the real deal of parenting. I think he's absolutely right!



1) The way you view the world changes
When you bring someone into this world, things like global warming, war and women in beer ads have a whole new meaning. You start actually looking at the impact these things have, and what the world will become after you’re dead and gone. Leaving a better place for your kids and grandkids becomes more than just talk.

2) You’ll feel like a failure
There will be times when no matter how hard you try, your kids are never happy. You feel you’re telling them “no” too much, constantly harping on them to clean their room, or dashing their dreams of lowering their brother down the staircase on a rope. While they may complain they don’t have a Wii or that “so and so’s” mom let’s them see PG-13 movies, you need to stick to what you believe in and what you feel is best for your kids.

3) You have no time
This seems obvious, but you can’t believe just how little time you have. You start to measure things out in minutes and seconds. “If he watches Curious George for 20 more seconds, I can go to the bathroom,” or “If his nap lasts another 10 minutes, maybe I can get in a shower today.”

4) Not going to the bathroom by yourself
When your kids are babies, the bathroom is the only place you can get your head together. It’s also one of the only places you can actually read. I read ESPN’s Bill Simmons’ entire book over the course of the week in the bathroom when my youngest was a baby. And then he turned two. If he’s not forcing his way in to watch “how it’s really done” he’s banging on the door screaming “lemme in!” or sliding all his books underneath. There is no peace with toddlers.

5) Parenthood will turn you soft
This one hits the guys especially hard. You’ll find yourself tearing up at any dumb movie that has anything to do with parenthood, and if you have a daughter, don’t be surprised to find yourself playing “My Little Pony” before heading off to work. The icing on the cake is hawking Girl Scout cookies in front of your local grocery store annually.

6) They will embarrass you
This is a big shock, and you’re never ready for it. In your mind, they are perfect little angels; in reality, they’re little people trying to figure out their way in the world. Unfortunately, they say what they want—when they want. It can be something that’s funny like announcing to their pre-school class that Daddy farts all the time, or it can be humiliating like a temper tantrum in a grocery store or having them tell your parents to “get me a toy next time” after opening a gift containing pajamas. You’re prepared for the fact that you’ll embarrass them when they get to a certain age, but you’re never ready to be the one that’s humiliated.

7) Worrying
This is the one that stings from the day your child is born until the day you die. From the start you worry that they’ll stop breathing in their crib, then you obsess about getting the damn car seat in correctly. They get a little older and you worry about them falling down the stairs or choking on a Polly Pocket. As the years go on you lose sleep about dating, not fitting in, or getting into a situation that they can’t handle. Then there are the worries that never go away: providing enough, paying for college or not teaching them the right things. The list goes on and on and on, and it takes a major toll on you. But you worry because you love.

8) You won’t be the parent you think
We all had visions of the kind of parents we would be to our kids. Now, as battle tested Moms and Dads, we’ve heard the prospective parents spouting off advice. Those hollow words of wisdom come even though they’ve never gotten up at three a.m. to do a load of laundry with more vomit on it than a frat house floor. Nor have they tried to cook dinner with a screaming baby in their arms, a toddler doing cartwheels off the couch, and the phone ringing. It usually goes something like this: “I’d never let my kids watch TV before they turn three,” or “I would never raise my voice at my child,” or “My toddler won’t ever eat sweets.” Uh huh, and I said I’d never own a minivan. You have this great picture of the kind of parent you want to be, and how picturesque your family will become. You try to live up to that vision, but you also have to survive. So, snickering at a prospective parent spouting off advice is not only allowed, but encouraged.

9) Sickness
Let’s start with pin worms. They are small parasitic worms that live in the human intestinal track. The worms crawl out of the child’s anus at night and lay their eggs in the diaper, pajamas and other areas around the bed or crib. The eggs are then passed to others and ingested unknowingly. The worst part? You have to go in there and grab them while your kid is asleep. It’s a damn horror show. It’s also not something I had any idea about before having kids. Sick kids take a toll on the entire house. Even the typical cold has taken on a whole new meaning, especially with toddlers. It can require being up in the middle of the night for days in a row, missing work and acting as one giant Kleenex. The numerous slug trails across your shirt are always a nice touch.

10) The feeling of unconditional love
You assume that you’re going to love your kids, but what you end up feeling for them is unlike anything else you’ll ever know. Just a simple smile from your offspring can erase a really crappy day at the office. This is the reason why people rave about having kids while they look exhausted and have a fresh batch of spit-up running down their back.

Craig Playstead is a freelance writer, husband and father of three living in the suburbs of Seattle. In the past he's also been a sports writer, a game writer and a talk show host. You can reach him at

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
My Google Profile+

Sunday, August 3, 2008

The Adoption Exponent

When women tilt their heads and say to me sympathetically, "I'm sorry you never got to experience the joy of pregnancy" I widen my eyes and say "I'm sorry you've never experienced the joy of adoption!" I truly am.

To these women pregnancy is the way to have a child. Two people who (hopefully) love each other join together and create an experience that brings a precious new life to both of them. They imagine anything else is somehow less - the life is less of a miracle, the experience is less profound, the parenting is less something... less secure, less bonded, perhaps less "real."

To me adoption is the exponent of the creation miracle. Adoption takes the superlative event of humanity and makes it even more so. More profound. More breathtaking. More incomprehensible. More everything.

It is the ultimate trust - very often forged by strangers who searched without knowing who they were searching for, yet found each other among everyone in the world. Birth parents and adoptive parents trust each other to be who they seem to be. Each trust the other to weigh their decision with the greatest care, and to speak only what they know to be true. Birth parents trust adoptive parents with the gift of a life they created, and adoptive parents trust birth parents to know their own hearts.

Experiencing adoption is akin to receiving an organ donation or being rescued from a burning building by a complete stranger. It is incredibly humbling to be chosen to receive a birth mother's grace. At the same time it is intoxicating to know that you have the power to change her life forever by accepting her gift.

If you think my life is less because I will not experience pregnancy, please keep that to yourself. And I'll hold private my thought that yours is less because you have not been blessed to witness the purest form of motherhood - sacrificing one's own heart for the sake of your child.

I will live the rest of my days amazed and grateful that our daughter's birth mother had the grace, maturity and love to give her child the life and the mother God intended her to have.

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
My Google Profile+

Saturday, July 12, 2008

Adoption: Legacy of an Adopted Child

This poem was sent to me by an incredible woman named Jill. Jill is a devoted mother and sage & sensitive friend, and her perspective on adoption enriches my entire family. I pray that you have (or will find) a Jill in your life.

Legacy of an Adopted ChildOnce there were two women
Who never knew each other.
One you do not remember
The other you call Mother.

Two different lives
Shaped to make you one.
One became your guiding star
The other became your sun.

The first one gave you life
And the second taught you to live it.
The first gave you a need for love
The second was there to give it.

One gave you a nationality
The other gave you a name.
One gave you a talent
The other gave you aim.

One gave you emotions
The other calmed your fears.
One saw your first sweet smile
The other dried your tears.

One sought for you a home
That she could not provide.
The other prayed for a child
And her hope was not denied.

And now you ask me through your tears
The age old question unanswered through the years.
Heredity or environment
Which are you a product of?
Neither my Darling, neither.
Just two different kinds of Love.

[ Author Unknown -- from Aiken Drum ]

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
My Google Profile+

Thursday, May 8, 2008

Adoption: The Near Miss

When the call finally came I was so excited I almost jumped out of my skin. I screamed and cried and called my sisters. We packed a bag with diapers and formula, arranged an open-ended play date for our soon-to-be Big Sister, and loaded fresh batteries in the camera. We looked for the last time at the empty crib and thanked God. And just before we walked out the door the phone rang again.

The birth mother changed her mind. She's decided to parent by herself... or her mother is going to raise the baby... or the birth father decided not to terminate his rights, or... I wasn't even really listening. It doesn't matter, because it’s not our baby. Again.

I almost called our adoption agency and told them to take our names off the list. I was done. I told my husband that if a birth mother changes her mind and decides to parent, then by all means, she should do so. I will keep her and the baby in my prayers. But no way am I going to go through that again. But we did. And we will again. Because our second child will be ready for us when we least expect it, just like our first was.

And look how well that turned out!

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
My Google Profile+

Thursday, May 1, 2008

Cherished Wish

In my wildest dreams, I could not have imagined the feelings that motherhood would awaken in me. Adoption has healed my heart, and renewed my faith. Each day, I am inspired to be the best parent I can, by the simple fact that our children's birthmothers and God have entrusted them to us!

That's from the web site. I encourage you to check it out if you're looking for unique adoption-related gifts (hint: think Mother's Day).

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
My Google Profile+

Sunday, April 27, 2008

From God's Arms to My Arms to Yours

If you aren't familiar with , by all means, let me introduce you to his words and music:

From God's Arms to My Arms to Yours

So many wrong decisions in my past,
I'm not quite sure if I could ever hope to trust my judgment anymore.
But lately I've been thinking, because it's all I've had to do.
And in my heart I feel that I should give this child to you.

And maybe you can tell your baby, when you love him so,
that he's been loved before
by someone who delivered your son
from God's arms to my arms to yours.

And if you choose to tell him and if he wants to know
how the one who gave him life could bear to let him go,
just tell him there were sleepless nights I prayed and paced the floor
and knew the only peace I'd find is if this child was yours.

I know that you don't have to do this, but could you kiss him once for me
the first time that he ties his shoe or falls or skins his knees?
and could you hold him twice as long when he makes his first mistake
and try to tell him that he's not alone? Sometimes that's all it takes.
And he's not alone. I know how much he'll ache.

This may not be the answer for another girl like me
and I'm not on a soap box singing how we all should be.
I'm just trusting in my feelings and I'm trusting God above,
and I'm trusting that you can give this baby both his mother's love.

by Michael McLean <©> 1990

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
My Google Profile+

Saturday, April 19, 2008

Birth Mother's Day

We recently received our first invitation to a Birthmother's Day celebration on May 10th, the day before Mother's Day, and it's given me a lot to think about.

Would our daughter's birthmother like to be honored on a day set aside for birthmothers, or would she rather be recognized on Mother's Day? Does she think of herself as a mother?

I think about her a lot on Mother's Day. Mother's Day of 2006 was the "first" for both of us. Was she sad that she didn't have a child in her life, or happy that she gave her child a better life?

I found this article - - written by a birthmother. I was surprised to read about her pain and grief, because my only experience with a birthmother has been with our daughter's, and in her own words, she felt very happy, blessed, and relieved to partner with us for an adoption. I suppose that birth motherhood is different for every woman, as motherhood is.

If you decide to celebrate Birthmother's Day, I recommend . They sell cards for adoption-related occasions including Birthmom's day, cards for a birthmom to give her child's adoptive Mom, cards for birthmom's on their birth child's birthday, thinking of you cards, and more! All of their cards were designed and written by birthmothers.

What are your thoughts on Birth Mother's Day?

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
My Google Profile+

Sunday, April 13, 2008

Adoption - The Digger Wasp

This poem is adapted from a brilliant work by Paul Fleischman called Joyful Noise: Poems for Two Voices. My presentation of it here pales in comparison to Fleischman's masterful composition of the poem, formatted differently, as a spoken duet. I strongly recommend that you find a copy of Joyful Noise. It's truly remarkable.

Every time I read this poem I'm struck by how like a birth mother a mother digger wasp is, struggling to make the best possible preparations for children she will not raise and may never see, but making the preparations anyway, because she is a mother.

The Digger Wasp
I will never see my children,
they will never gaze on me.
I'll have died when they're emerging next July.
So it must be.

Yet, when they behold the home
I'm digging now for their protection,
safe and snug
far underground,
they'll recognize my deep affection.

When they hatch and find a caterpillar,
stung and paralyzed,
left by me for them to eat
they'll know as well that I was wise.

When they learn I'd dragged it there
in spite of every interference,
weeds and rocks and thieving beetles,
they'll discern my perseverance.

While, cocooned, they pass the winter
safe from snow and ice and chill,
they'll perceive and thank me for
my formidable digging skill.

By the time they're ready,
next July,
to climb up from their cells
and break the burrow's seal and fly away
my young will know me well.

When they care for their own children,
never to be looked upon,
they'll feel my love in replica
and know that they, in turn, were cherished
by the mother digger wasp
whose face and form they never saw.

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
My Google Profile+

Wednesday, April 9, 2008

My Pompei: Reflections on Being a New Adoptive Parent

I know exactly what I was doing when you were born, because it's still unfinished, just as I left it. My private Pompei.

I was cleaning my office. Not cleaning it, actually. On my way to organizing Important Things, I stumbled on the assorted This and That of the last several years, and meaning to spend only a few minutes visiting, looked up just in time to see the last light tiptoe from the room, having whittled the whole day away right from that spot.

Everywhere are piles of ideas. Some that I abandoned, others that abandoned me. Outlines and rough drafts, clever titles, opening lines, unresolved poems, manuscript middles without beginnings or ends. A writer's unborn children.

An old address book. People and places I can neither remember nor forget.

A sympathy card I never sent. Simon & Garfunkel sheet music. A note from your Daddy.

My weights are in the corner with my step bench, half on either side, next to a box of things I keep for Reasons I Can't Explain. A set of bamboo wind chimes, an old sketch pad, a cone of vanilla incense and a mini stapler. A garden stake. Brown shoelaces, still in the wrapper, caught with a pin shaped like a Treble clef.

Now you're here, and you are my Important Thing. You are my This and That. You are my ideas and my address and my Reasons. And since I don't see any prospect of cleaning my office for at least the next eighteen years, I can show you exactly what I was doing while I waited for you.

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
My Google Profile+

Friday, April 4, 2008

The Perfect Adoption Profile

The journey to adoption is a strange one. You've scheduled sex. You've stood on your head right afterward. You've peed onto tiny strips of paper. You've gotten injections in your backside. You may have even given injections in someone else's backside.

And all of your once-private entrances and exits have been transversed, transmographed, radiographed, photographed, sanitized, magnified, palpated, saturated, dilated, inseminated, and evaluated. And now you have to write a letter explaining why you want to adopt. Isn't it obvious?!

After all that, writing your profile should be easy, right? So why do so many of us choke?

Because your adoption profile is much more than a letter of intent. It is perhaps the most important first impression you will ever make. It's the ultimate pass/fail, and we all want to pass.

The first time we adopted, we pored over the profiles from other wanna-be adoptive couples that our adoption agency sent for reference. Right off the bat (and without meaning to) I began sizing up "the competition":
This couple looks younger.
That couple lives on a mountain.
Gee, these people raise horses.
Oh, wow! She plays 3 instruments and speaks 6 languages... and he's an astronaut!

I quickly realized that we were obviously unfit to adopt a child, because we were the ONLY prospective adoptive couple in the world who doesn't ski in Zurich, snorkle in Tahiti, and take tea and biscotti with the Pope. Why would any birth mother pick us?

But she did.

The most amazing, wonderful, answer-to-our-prayers birth mother did pick us. She doesn't ski. She doesn't snorkle. She doesn't drink tea, and the only place she eats biscotti is Starbucks. We were perfect for each other.

She picked us because of who we are. Because she and I are alike in some ways, and she and my husband are alike in other ways. She knew from reading our profile that we would raise her baby the way she would. That's what made us a match.

When the time came to update our profile for a second adoption, we felt much more confident than the first time around. Even though every sample profile the agency sent us is different than ours in some way - bigger, glossier, flashier, scented - and even though we've waited longer for our second child than we did for our first. We're confident because we know that our profile makes an authentic first impression of who we are.

And we want to make sure that our second child's amazing, wonderful, answer-to-our-prayers birth mother recognizes us.

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
My Google Profile+

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

The First Six Months - An Adoptive Parent Primer

What you really need to know to get through the first chaotic 180 days:

The same baby who sleeps peacefully slumped over a rock in 96-degree sunshine during a Blue Angels Air Show will awaken from a deep slumber in the middle of the night if you drop the cap to your toothpaste.

You can not imagine the things you will extract, touch, sniff, sample, examine and discuss. You will do so without hesitation, and you will even save some of them. (I didn't believe it either.)

Babies produce an astounding amount of earwax. Most of it Cheetoh-colored.

Some days it's a marathon,
some days it's a sprint,
most days it's a marathon sprint.

Trust your instincts even more than you trust your best friend, your sister, your mother, or your mother-in-law.

Surprisingly often, you and your husband will have different instincts. Know that your baby has a good chance of developing normally, bonding appropriately, and eventually outgrowing colic, even if Baby misses a nap/sleeps too much/has an extra feeding/misses a feeding/is picked up too often/cries it out/sleeps in your room/ doesn't sleep in your room, or whatever you disagree about.

Make sure to ask your spouse "How was your day?" every day, even if right now you don't care about anything other than your Little Miracle. When LM discovers tantrums and seems a bit less miraculous, you'll be grateful that you kept your Big Miracle close.

No matter what you do, time will pass too quickly.

You will be your baby’s first true love.

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
My Google Profile+

Friday, February 15, 2008

I Will Be A Wonderful Mother

Many thanks to Cheryl Engh for sending this poem that she received in the "Transition to Adoptive Parenthood Project". We were unable to determine the author, but I think she's right on! Sally

There are women who become mothers without effort,
without thought,
without patience or loss,
and though they are good mothers and love their children,
I know that I will be better.

I will be better not because of genetics or money or because I have read more books,
but because I have struggled and toiled for this child.

I have longed and waited.
I have cried and prayed.
I have endured and planned over and over again.

Like most things in life, the people who truly have appreciation are those who have struggled to attain their dreams.

I will notice everything about my child.
I will take time to watch my child sleep,
and discover.
I will marvel at this miracle every day for the rest of my life.

I will be happy when I wake in the middle of the night to the sound of my child, knowing that I can comfort, hold, and feed him and that I am not waking to take another temperature, pop another pill, take another shot or cry tears of a broken dream.
My dream will be crying for me.

I count myself lucky in this sense; that God has given me this insight, this special vision with which I will look upon my child.

Whether I parent a child I actually give birth to or a child that God leads me to, I will not be careless with my love.

I will be a better mother for all that I have endured. I am a better wife, a better aunt, a better daughter, neighbor, friend, and sister because I have known pain.

I know disillusionment, as I have been betrayed by my own body. I have been tried by fire and hell that many never face, yet given time, I stood tall.

I have prevailed.
I have succeeded.
I have won.

So now, when others hurt around me, I do not run from their pain in order to save myself discomfort. I see it, mourn it, and join them in theirs.
I listen.
And even though I cannot make it better, I can make it less lonely.

I have learned the immense power of another hand holding tight to mine, of other eyes that moisten as they learn to accept the harsh truth when life is beyond hard.

I have learned a compassion that only comes by walking in those shoes. I have learned to appreciate life.

Yes, I will be a wonderful mother.

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
My Google Profile+

Friday, February 8, 2008

While You're Waiting

Things to do while you're waiting:

Begin now to live every day as if you will be snowed-in for a month starting tomorrow. Make sure you have at least a 30-day supply of coffee, chocolate, prescription medication, toiletries, and Purell.

Take time now to locate as many drive-through establishments as you can. I mean way beyond just a bank and fast food. Pharmacy, drycleaner, grocery store, gas station, car wash, post office, bakery, photo lab, oil change, coffee shop, church, AAA, video rental, library, cell phone repair... you will need every opportunity to conduct your life without getting out of the car.

Keep a journal. Those first special moments, the ones you’re sure you’ll remember for the rest of your life, will be crowded out by the next special moments, which will eventually give way to others, and so on... write it on a napkin, a diaper box, the mirror, a changing pad, anywhere. Just write it. Please.

Pray for the generosity of friends who cook.

Find a pediatrician. Little did we know that our daughter had to be seen within 48 hours of leaving the hospital!

Make a master spreadsheet of names, addresses and phone numbers to use for baby announcements and thank you cards.

Get your hair cut, your oil changed, and your teeth cleaned. Wash your windows, clean out your closets, shampoo your rugs. Read. Exercise. Talk on the phone. Once you bring your baby home, you won't have the opportunity or the energy to do any of that for a loooooooooooooooong time.

If you grow impatient waiting for a child to adopt, remember that God is finding exactly the right baby for you. When you bring your child home, you will be grateful that He took His time.

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
My Google Profile+

Friday, February 1, 2008

Welcome to The Adoptive Parent!

The longer I parent the more sure I am that adoption doesn't make our daughter "different". It makes our whole family "different".

We have to find our way through challenges that biological families don't, and we are enriched by experiences that they don't have.

I hope you will feel at home here. No matter where you are in your adoption journey, we are similar in our "difference".


Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
My Google Profile+