10 Reasons Adoptive Parents Shouldn't Change Their Child's Name

I'm unsettled when adoptive parents change their child's name from their originally given name. So much is unknown; so much is unrecoverable. Can't you let that remain intact?

For my kiddos, here are 10 reasons why your father and I didn't do it (and never would).
1. It's your name.
2. It's one of the first things that was given to you.
3. It's not ours to take away.
4. It may have been spoken to you in the womb. It may have been one of the first words you ever heard.
5. It was specifically chosen. For you. It was chosen for a reason, and even if you or I don't know the reason, the reason exists.
6. It's a connection to your roots. Maybe you were named after a relative. Maybe after a character in a book or a teacher or a childhood friend. Maybe you'll never know, but it's a connection.
7. It's what your first mother calls you when she thinks about you.
8. It's what your first father calls you when he thinks about you.
9. It tells you something about your first parents. It reveals something about their culture, their tastes, their sense of humor, the music they listened to... something.
10. When/if you reunite, I want your first mother/father to know that we didn't erase them.



Click here to purchase Sally's adoption book, What I Want My Adopted Child to Know: An Adoptive Parent's Perspective, in softcover, hardcover, or e-book formats.

Sally Bacchetta - Freelance Writer
The Adoptive Parent
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Freelance Writer
Parenting

Should APs be there for the birth?

I think not. Ever.

No woman can predict 100% how she will feel about her child once it's no longer part of her body, when she can gaze and marvel and bond in a completely different way.

Every woman should have the privacy and opportunity to reconsider. To change her mind; or not. To weep with joy at the first true understanding of what it means to be a mother. To realize that this is what she wants after all, and that she is enough and that she will find a way to make it work.

Or to grieve a separation she believes she must make and will make and will live with for the rest of her life. To kiss the perfect lips, the feathery brows, the everything everywhere every inch while she can. To memorize the face that she may never see again, that will never look the same again.

Our son's first mom asked me to be in the delivery room with her. She went into labor earlier than expected, and by the time I got there she was already pushing. Her father kept urging me to go in, but I couldn't. A nurse offered to escort me in, but I couldn't.

I pressed my forehead and palms to the door and listened. I heard. I heard her bring him into the world. I heard his first cry.

I will always have that, and it is more than enough. It's more than she has of him, and she was his mom before I was.


Click here to purchase Sally's adoption book, What I Want My Adopted Child to Know: An Adoptive Parent's Perspective.

Sally Bacchetta - Freelance Writer
The Adoptive Parent
Freelance Writer

I Have Your Socks

You've outgrown your socks again. I noticed them riding just above the bottom of your heel this morning.

The socks you wore new the first day of school. The socks thrust forward as you practice your front kick. The socks you stained like pitch when you "rescued" a snail from a mulch bed in a rainstorm and snuck out a few minutes later - forgetting your shoes - because you were worried there might be others out there that wouldn't survive the storm.

I love your socks.

I love them because they're yours. I love them because they touch you and hold you and shape to you.

I have your socks.

I wonder if your first mom wishes she did.

Back to blogging

After a loooong time away I'm blogging again. Here and also at I Was a Much Better Parent Before I Had Kids.

I'm looking forward to connecting/re-connecting with you!

Where the Wild Thoughts Are

I am never alone. Adoption is always with me. It is between the lines of everything I read. It is on the tongue of every conversation. It is a constant tow.

I have more than once told fake tales of pregnancy and labor, choosing to play along with baby-store staffers rather than say, "We adopted." To say it like that, as explanation to a stranger, seems a violation of something, or a diminishing of all of us - you, me, Daddy, your birth parents - as if Adoption is all someone needs to know about us, or as if knowing Adoption about us is really knowing anything at all.

You say things that leave me breathless, like, "Before I was born I was sad because I thought I wouldn't have a family. I thought I wouldn't have any parents to love me and take care of me. And then after I got born when the nurse put me in your arms, I looked up into your loving eyes and I cried happy tears, because I knew I had a mother forever. And I knew you were the mother I always wanted."

And you say things that leave me floundering, like when I said, "I love that you used so many different colors to make these pictures. They're beautiful! Maybe we can send one to M," and you said, Who's M? Oh, yeah, my birth mother. Should I be disturbed that you forgot (even for a moment) who "M" is? Should I be happy that you don't seem to have Adoption running through your every thought as I do? Should I think nothing of the moment and just move on?

I sometimes wonder if I've lost my sense of humor. Other people see this cartoon and crack up laughing. I see this cartoon and wonder if you will ever feel this way.


Click here to purchase Sally's adoption book, What I Want My Adopted Child to Know: An Adoptive Parent's Perspective, in softcover, hardcover, or e-book formats.

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
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Happy Birthday, Baby

Little One, someday you will know that the world existed before you.
You will discover that Daddy and I were people before we were parents.
By the time you're curious about who I was before you were born, I may have forgotten, so this is for both of us:

Before you were born I spent money on myself.
I drove with one hand and tried to beat the light.
I had my own bathroom.
I wore earrings.
I was always on time.

Before you were born I had long, interesting conversations with your father several times a day.
I expected parents to be objective about their kids.
I secretly thought Mother's Day was overrated.

Before you were born I didn't know the fastest route to the hospital.
I didn't know how long I could run on a packet of oyster crackers and a handful of smoked almonds.
I had never fallen asleep while standing in my closet.

Before you were born I thought my floors were clean.
I subscribed to magazines.
I sometimes sat and thought about nothing in particular.

Before you were born I thought getting licked by someone with a mouthful of pureed squash was gross.
I wondered why mothers never ran out of things to talk about.
I was sure that most kids had too many toys.

Before you were born I thought I was busy.
I listened to talk radio in the car.
I imagined you with blond hair and blue eyes.

Before you were born I ate sitting down. At the table.
I left the door open at the top of the basement stairs.
I wanted twins.

Before you were born I had more time, more space, and more money.
I thought that mattered.

Originally published as The Olden Days. Sally Bacchetta

Click here to purchase Sally's adoption book, What I Want My Adopted Child to Know: An Adoptive Parent's Perspective.

Sally Bacchetta
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Maru On My Mind

Who's Maru?
She's virtually a stranger, yet she's a virtual friend.
She's vibrant and gracious and grateful and inspiring.
She's a devoted wife.
She's a new mother.
And she's very much on my mind.

Tomorrow is her family's finalization date.
Tomorrow means a lot.
And it means almost nothing.

Finalization means the adoption is complete.
It means the adoption verb becomes past tense.
It means Maru and Fico are their daughter's parents in the eyes of the law.

Finalization means closure for their daughter's first mother. How she feels about that, no one really knows, except her. Maybe. On a really good day.

Finalization means that the guiding and deciding and upholding and holding up and giving beyond all reason that is parenting... well, finalization means nothing in that regard. Because parenting comes from the heart. It's in the words you choose and the words you hold back. It's in your sighs and tears and insomnia and chest-bursting pride. It's not in the ink-filled pores of a piece of paper.

So tomorrow means a lot.
And it means almost nothing.
And Maru is very much on my mind.

Click here to buy Sally's adoption book.

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
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Coming Soon to a Family Room Near You

Wow! I've been invited to be a guest on a TV show called "Many Voices, Many Visions." The show is hosted by the warm and thoughtful Norma Holland, and airs on 13WHAM-TV Sunday mornings at 11:00 a.m. I'll be on with Erica Schlaefer and Kevin Mulcahy of Parenthood for Me (PFM) on Sunday February 28, 2010.

"Many Voices, Many Visions" is a multicultural public affairs program that explores the Rochester community's diversity, and I'm grateful to Ms. Holland for giving me and PFM an opportunity to expand our community's education and awareness about adoption.

It's the first time I'll be on TV talking about my adoption book! (Hi Mom!) Who knows? I may even read a short excerpt from it. Tune it to 13WHAM-TV Sunday February 28 at 11:00 a.m.

Buy Sally's adoption book here.

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
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Sally Bacchetta's YouTube Channel

First Amazon Review of My Adoption Book!

Yea! I got my first review on Amazon. Thanks, Paula Jean, for helping me tell the story and for formally reviewing my adoption book. It means a lot to me!

What I Want My Adopted Child to Know: An Adoptive Parent's Perspective is available at Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble.com, Borders.com, and Google Books.

Check out The Adoptive Parent bookstore to order signed copies of my adoption book!

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
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Adoption Poetry From Emily Dickinson?

Have you read this Emily Dickinson poem?
I put it in my adoption book because it reads to me like an ambivalent someone searching, finding, and ultimately choosing the familiarity of not knowing over the uncertainty of what knowing might mean. An adoptee? A birth parent? An adoptive parent? Perhaps.

I years had been from home,
And now, before the door,
I dared not open, lest a face
I never saw before

Stare vacant into mine
And ask my business there.
My business,-just a life I left,
Was such still dwelling there?

I fumbled at my nerve,
I scanned the windows near;
The silence like an ocean rolled,
And broke against my ear.

I laughed a wooden laugh
That I could fear a door,
Who danger and the dead had faced,
But never quaked before.

I fitted to the latch
My hand, with trembling care,
Lest back the awful door should spring,
And leave me standing there.

I moved my fingers off
As cautiously as glass,
And held my ears, and like a thief
Fled gasping from the house.

Emily Dickinson

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
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What I Want My Adopted Child to Know: An Adoptive Parent's Perspective - Chapter 1 excerpt

What I Want My Adopted Child to Know: An Adoptive Parent's Perspective is due out by the end of the month. I appreciate all of the supportive blog comments, emails, and phone calls of the last few weeks. Huge thanks to my advance reviewers for your commitment and enthusiasm. It's a very exciting time!

Here's an excerpt from the book:
You know your birth story; I've told it to you many times. But there's one chapter of your story you may not know. It's a chapter that's not so much about you as it is about me. It's my chapter. You see, your birth story is also my birth story, because this mother that I am was born when you were born. You made me a mother. You made me your mother. And for me, our birth story actually began long before you were conceived.

I don't know anyone who dreamed of growing up, getting married, and not being able to have children. I certainly didn't. I assumed that when (if) I decided to have children, one of my perfectly ripe eggs would let her guard down for the most athletic of a throng of swimming suitors, and I would simply get pregnant as women in my family have done for generations. I would have children the regular way, if I decided to have them at all.

I didn't think about adoption much, and when I did it was as a really nice, slightly exotic thing to do. A really nice, slightly exotic thing for other people to do. Older couples who never had children, or people who wear sandals year-round and quit their jobs to become missionaries, or families who fix up old Victorian mansions and seem to collect assorted “children with special needs” or kids from “broken homes.” Adoption was something those people did; not me. Why would I?

After going through a forest worth of tiny test strips I started to think that maybe “it” wasn't going to happen; not without some help, anyway. So I climbed into the stirrups. I consulted the experts. All of my once-private entrances and exits were transversed, transmographed, radiographed, photographed, sanitized, anesthetized, magnified, pulled and pried, palpated, saturated, dilated, inseminated, and evaluated in a series of attempts to get pregnant.

I never realized my own quiet biases about adoption until it became intensely personal. I was angry. I was petulant. I was wounded. And I was painfully surprised to find that I was a snob. It turned out that deep within my most private Self I thought of adoption as a default, a less than, a last resort for people who were out of options. People who had failed to produce their own children. People who couldn't make a family the regular way. People who were desperate or broken. People like me. I didn't want to be people like me.

I resented having to consider adoption. I resented my body for betraying me. I disparaged pregnant teenagers for doing in the back seat what I couldn't do in the sanctity of my marriage. I cried and raged and judged and fumed and after a long while, I accepted. I accepted that things happen the way they happen. I accepted myself and my situation. I accepted that it wasn't really my situation at all, it was ours, your father's and mine. I accepted his perspective and his feelings and his help, and eventually I accepted adoption as legitimate a way as any other of becoming a parent. I began to embrace adoption as the right way for me to become a mother. I grew to cherish the idea and even feel special. Adoption emerged as something self-evident and fulfilling and romantic. I fell in love with the idea of adoption and I began to bond with my child-to-be-adopted-later.

I thought that coming to terms with the idea of adoption would be the most difficult part of the process. Was I ever wrong! The time I spent deciding to adopt was a walk in the park compared to actually doing it. It turns out that adoption is a tremendous hassle. It's intrusive and time-consuming and expensive. Again and again we had to convince strangers that we were fit to parent, while every day brought another story of parents leaving their babies alone in the car or serving alcohol to underage teens. We got fingerprinted and evaluated, looked over and passed up. We gave strangers access to our financial records and our bedroom closets, knowing full well that plenty of biological parents were cruising along with stale batteries in their smoke detectors, pot handles facing out, and wall outlets uncovered.

When you decide to adopt you open your heart to disappointments and near-misses that bring you to your knees. Many times I inched to the very edge of conclusion. Many times I thought, “I'm done. I want out. This is costing me too much of myself.” I finally realized that in those moments when I was closest to surrender I was also closest to peace, and that's when I knew I was ready for you. I knew I was ready to be your mother because I had released my ideal. I had chosen the reality of my motherhood over the dreams of my childhood, and I understood that there was no other way for us to come together.

When I finally held you in my arms, I knew in my heart that I would have waited a hundred years for you. Exactly you. And I would do it all again.

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
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Adoption and Breastfeeding

August is National Breastfeeding Awareness Month. Having neither ever breastfed nor been breastfed, I'm generally respectful of, but unimpressed by, the hyperbole about Mother's Milk. I don't dispute the benefits of nursing, but I don't buy into the propaganda that those benefits are only available through the bare breast.

Bonding and attachment - My bottle-fed daughter and I couldn't be any closer if we shared the same skin. Every feeding was intimate and breathtaking, with our eyes locked on each other and her tiny hand clutching my hair. Now and then her rosebud mouth would pause mid-suck to grin up at me, and I would think, "This may be the moment my heart finally bursts."

My son, currently on the bottle, is happy, confident, attached, easy-going, and delightful. His feedings take much longer than his sisters, because he grins and giggles so much he forgets to suck. Nice "problem" to have.

Immunity - My daughter has always been healthy as an ox. She has never had an ear infection, never had a serious illness, and has far fewer colds than most kids I know. Her immune system is strong, her hair and skin are vibrant, she has a fantastic appetite and boundless energy. My son is in excellent health, strong, and thriving.

Nutrition - Our pediatrician (and father of four) has no problem with the nutritional particulars of the formula we use. Good enough for me.

It's become rather fashionable for adoptive mothers (and, I'm sorry to say, some fathers) to breastfeed, and I just don't get it. Why pump and massage and pop pills... when it's most likely that even if you can produce some milk it won't be enough to meet the baby's needs? Do people really believe that bottle-feeding is significantly inferior for both baby and mother (father)?

Am I over-thinking if I suggest that if you're that driven to breastfeed maybe you're not as OK with adopting as you thought you were? Maybe you're feeding something inside you, rather than your baby.

I don't mean to sound insensitive. Gosh knows there's too much badgering on both sides of the breastfeeding issue, and I'm not looking to start any fights. Maybe I'm ignorant about it because as I said at the beginning of this post, I have zero personal experience with nursing.

Or maybe I just don't get it because I just don't get it. Hey, I think people drinking cow's milk is creepy, so I know I've got skews in my perspective.

What is your experience with this? I'd like to know what you think.

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
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This Should Go Without Saying

I don't usually piggy-back one of my blogs on another, but I'm sure I'm not alone in my post This Should Go Without Saying.

Please share your own examples. I need to feel part of a larger whole!

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
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Sally Bacchetta's YouTube Channel

Worth The Wait Boutique

I love sharing cool adoption-related things with you, and Elizabeth and Mike Lowe's
Worth The Wait Boutique is both cool and adoption-related.

In their words: "We designed this boutique for two purposes. One is to highlight items that we found helpful while either waiting or when we brought our son home. Second is to promote and highlight products made by other adoptive parents such as ourselves... 10% of all sales on this site go to an adoption related organization. We had lots of support as we went through our adoption process and this is just one way we feel we can give back."

They've got a great collection of adoption-themed stickers, scrapbooking supplies, clothing, stationery, and a link to their Baby Sweet Pea boutique. Beautiful, adorable... check it out!

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
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Sally Bacchetta's YouTube Channel

He's He-re!

Tuesday night, March 10th, we finally got The Call. A birth mother had chosen us to adopt her baby, and if we were willing to make a leap of faith and drive across the state, she'd like to meet us as soon as possible. And oh, by the way, she's been induced and is hoping we can make it in time for the delivery. WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT????? Hmm... let me think about that for about .0000003 second!

Long story short, our son was born in the wee hours of Wed. March 11th. We were there in time and we held him immediately after.

We were doubly blessed to be able to spend a few days in the hospital with our son's birth mother and both of her parents. By the time we headed home we all felt like family.

Our daughter's reaction added uber-coolness to the whole experience. She was (and still is) beside herself with joy and pride at being a big sister. She was like a little carnival barker her first day back at school. "Who else would like a turn to meet my new baby brother?" She wore her "I'm a Big Sister" t-shirt to school three times that week. My motherly instinct (you can't wear the same shirt to school three days in a row!) didn't stand a chance against her beaming smile. Besides, every time I look at her in that shirt I break out in tears. She's waited a long time for a sibling, and on top of that, it was our son's birth mother who bought that shirt for our daughter in the hospital gift shop. She bought him his first teddy bear and said she didn't want to give a gift to him without giving something to his sister, too.

Yeah, I'm crying again. There is a post-partum component to adoption that no one tells you about! :)

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
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What Goes Around Comes Around

I don't often weep with strangers, but I did with Cheryl and Jason. I watched them watching the rest of us, those of us who had successfully 'crossed over' to parenthood, and the carefully arranged look on Cheryl's face tore through me like a hot knife.

I have to say something to the two of you, I began. I remember... how you feel right now. I remember listening to other people's stories and feeling really angry and resentful, and smiling politely and passing the pretzels and wanting to scream at them to shut up! about how wonderful it was to meet their baby's birth mother, and how it was all worth it in the end, and how I should "Hang in there!" and trust that God brings families together at the right time.

As Cheryl's face crumbled I told them I know it doesn't seem fair and it doesn't make sense yet, but when you're waiting to adopt, there is nothing else to do but hang in there and trust God.

That was thirteen months ago, and Cheryl and Jason's amazing daughter is now six months old. Truly, what goes around comes around, because here I am, frustrated waiting for our second child. Here I am, anxious and doubting and awake at 2:00 a.m. And here is Cheryl's blog:

When we were in the waiting period, I always thought that this adoption would never happen. It was taking too long, we had been hurt and were spending more and more money each month. I have to say that what everyone told me was true. I was told that the "right" baby would make its way to us and she has. This is very difficult to see when you are in the midst of the waiting period, when a potential adoption plan falls through or when everyone around you has children and/or new babies. God's plans are always greater than our own. The reason I was never able to have biological children is now in our home. All 6 pounds and 5.5 ounces of her. It was meant to be that I become her Mother.

I feel at peace again for the first time in a while, and I think I can fall asleep now. Thanks, Cheryl.

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
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What New Moms Really Want

Since Precious Bundle #2 is taking her or his sweet time (read FOREVER!) I've had a lot of time to reflect on those first chaotic days... weeks (OK, months) of instant parenthood, and I've come up with a list of gifts for new adoptive moms.

These are all things I either received or found myself wishing for after bringing our daughter home. I guess they'd be good for any new mother, but they're particularly helpful for adoptive moms, who never know when they're going to be plucked from their routine and dropped into the giddy insanity of parenthood.

Gifts for the New (Adoptive) Mother

A catheter. Seriously. Before you roll your eyes and think "Here goes another mother martyr trip. Poor me, I don't even have time to go to the bathroom", consider how difficult it is to use a public bathroom with an infant in tow. You can't put the baby down anywhere - too dirty - so you hold the baby, leaving you with only one hand free to dispense and position the paper seat cover. When it slips off the toilet seat (the first one always does), you reach down to grab it before it hits the floor, which leaves the baby dangling upside down from your arm, and you quickly realize how much they hate that.

When you finally manage to get a seat cover to stay put you have to figure out how to get the t.p. with one hand. This should be easy, since the t.p. is perforated between the sheets, and the dispenser has that nice toothy edge to tear against. Yeah, right! I swear those perforations are just sketched on, and that toothy edge is about as sharp as a raindrop. One time I tried to hold Baby's head under my chin and make a quick grab-and-tear with two hands, but she wiggled and I had to drop the paper and grab her before she slid off onto the disgusting floor.

I've got some other ideas for how to handle the automatic flush, washing your hands, and opening the door, but we've spent enough time in the public bathroom for now.

Home visit hair cut. I think my daughter was well over a year old before I got my hair cut. No time, no baby sitter, no way I was going to take her into a salon full of hairspray and chemicals... I would have paid double for someone to come to my house and cut my hair.

Hair bands, hair clips, and barrettes. See above. These, carefully arranged, can get you through a trip to the post office or the bank.

Drive-through gift cards. Fresh hot coffee for me, and a nice leisurely nap-inducing drive for Baby. It's like a mini-vacation.

Olay Daily Facial Express Wipes. I fell in love with these! Some days it was the closest I came to a shower. At least my face felt rejuvenated!

Nice house clothes. I have to admit, before I became a mom I never understood the allure of sweatpants, leggings, and oversized shirts. My husband still doesn't. I often wished I had something that looked better and wore as well.

Chocolate. Because it's chocolate.

Gift card for a car detail service. I was amazed at how fast my car became littered with wipes, tissues, spilled milk, hair bands, empty Purell bottles, etc. If you can find a service that makes house call, so much the better!

Zip-loc bags. I used these for everything, and still do. Great for stowing a dirty diaper or spit up clothes until you get home, or for holding small portions of formula, cotton balls, cheerios, chocolate, etc. If you're handy, you can even fashion an emergency catheter out of one! It's surprisingly easy to wash the bags in a sink of soapy water, then let them dry overnight and use them again. And again and again.

I'd love to hear your ideas for new mom gifts. I'm working on a list for new dads, too, so I hope you'll share!

Sally Bacchetta
The Adoptive Parent
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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
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