Posts Tagged ‘adoption’

My favorite post!

So many times, I have wanted to speak to you, to say “I understand…”


ICLW-A Little “(Baby got)Back Story”

I love this time of year. Besides the manic rush to fill everyone’s stocking with things they don’t need-I blog, and dream, and get lots of comments. I treasure every comment someone takes the time to leave behind as I do believe they fill me with some superpower juice. (Perhaps it’s just the meds).

The Bear does not understand my fascination with blogging (something, by the way, I thought I would NEVER do). G-d forbid he catches me tweeting. I tell him it’s kind of like his unbridled obsession with football, or with sugary breakfast cereal. “You know when you paint your belly blue and you go out there in the freezing cold and have a tailgate party at Gillette Stadium? ” I explain “All that (dare I say) brotherhood and bonding over pony kegs??? Well, that feeling you get is what blogging gives me (without the hangover).” 

A little hooyah for all my sisters on the “Visiting” team. Our stats might be questionable, but we are here to kick some @ss!!!!! 

Random strangers


And we don’t have to paint our bellies blue to do so!


For those of you visiting this blog for the first time, I wanted to give you a little backstory. I am a 41 year old newlywed. That might sound rather “golden aged” but I still get carded and have wonderful skin. I feel 28 on the inside when I am not pumped up on meds.

I always aspired to be a high powered career girl with many lovers and pool boys who would fan me with palm fronds. The career developed beyond my expectation, but the lovers were duds and no pool boys materialized. One day I read this ridiculous article in O Magazine where the writer suggested that if you put your INTENTIONS into the would, you would reap a bountiful harvest. She said you had to write a list of 100 things you hoped to find in a partner, to fully actualize your hope in your mind. I had nothing to loose, as I found the love-over-30’s dating scene to be somewhat lackluster, so I gave it a try. I got stuck around #64 I remember, but I mustered on. I remember asking that he “had a job”, “had nice hands”, “was devoted to his family” and “cracked me up” among more direct and personal hopes. (These hopes might seem simple and shallow but you would be AMAZED at some of singletons out there!) Writing this list made me feel somehow empowered. But as most “life changing” resolutions go, I quickly forgot about it.

About six months later, I met this crazy guy after a string of horrid internet dates. On our second date, he insisted on cooking dinner for me in my tiny condo. I noticed his big hands. As he passed me a glass of wine, I thought about my penchant for pool boys. Was this somewhat better?

After a few dates we began sharing our history. I told him things in the hope of scaring him away, so that I could resume my independent life. I mentioned that I had pursued adoption through foster care (then on hold), and had explored being a single mother by choice (unfortunate miscarriage). Surprisingly, he did not run screaming from my life. Instead, he somehow understood and expressed his desire to one-day become the father he always wanted to have. He was a keeper.

We were married five months later.

After we were married, I stumbled on that journal of “man-traits” as I was cleaning out the office. I was surprised to see that it felt as if I was describing him! The only pitfall- the “# 72.stylish dresser” is sometimes questionable, but hey, he still ROCKS in those nylon wind pants and that shade of acid washed jean will one day come back again!

So that’s our story. Fifteen months into our marriage and we have endured extensive prodding and poking (and not in the good way,) several losses and many bumps and cheers on the road to baby hood. We have also experienced countless tears and laughter. I would never want to do it with anyone else.

Write your list. Then throw it away. It probably won’t bring you additional luck, but it’s nice to put your hope and intention into the universe.

(Thanks Elizabeth) 

Wishing you joy.

A Secret…

Trying to sit in the moment today. I awoke to the most beautiful snowfall. Well, from the inside of my cozy condo its beautiful. If I was a traffic cop or a manhole worker I might not think so. I guess it’s all about perspective.

The Bear has asked me to stop reading so many blogs right now. I think he has a point, although I really don’t believe in censorship. It’s just that I can be in the most positive and centered place, and then I start reading. I think I wear my soul on the outside because I really FEEL everything and my heart is going out to many ladies right now. I can’t begin to expres how much I feel when I hear someone is hurting.

I wish I could just stay in my grounded place, exhaling deeply, and not wear so much of this on my heart. But Infertility is so hard, and once you experience it you feel somehow bonded with others on the journey with you. Even if you haven’t met them (yet).

I guess that’s why we created RubyFeather. As a way of reaching out.

Someone once asked me why I chose to call this blog Romancing the Stone. It’s not because of the film. I feel that infertility is this dance that you seem to do with yourself. You may have a partner in it (or not) or family and friends for support (or not) but inevitably you feel incredibly ALONE. Sometimes you look at your body as if you are an outsider, examining and judging every nuance, every curve and blunder. But if you can learn NOT to judge it, to somehow love it’s flaws and it’s honest womanliness would you be happier? For a time, after a major fibroid surgery, I was mad at my body. I thought that life would never take root inside it. Now I am trying every day to love it a little more. Whether a child comes into our lives through our bodies and our cells, or through adoption, I know the Bear and I will have a family. I used to think of my uterus as a STONE. A non-living hard stone. Now I try to think of it as a FLOWER. No matter what springs forth from it.

So that’s me today. I am hoping for a day of rest where I can eat matzoh ball soup and wear my pj’s all day and snuggle up with my big Bear. The fireplace is to my left, David Brubeck is playing on the Ipod, and the snow is draping the windows of nearby Victorians outside my living room.

Sit in grace, I hear my little voice saying. Ground yourself. Exhale…..

Wishing you peace and a warm refuge.

Touching article on adoption, family and LOVE


My family c.1972

This is one of my favorite articles on motherhood. The Bear read it to me a few weeks ago when we were at a little cafe before puppy shopping. (No puppy, but the day was wonderful….) Enjoy!

Baby, what a difference

A decade later, a lot has changed in the world of motherhood

By Louise Kennedy, Globe Staff  |  December 5, 2009

Babies don’t change much from one era to the next, but babyhood sure does.

At least that’s how it feels as I compare the arrivals of my two children, more than a decade apart. I gave birth to our son 12 years ago, and this summer my husband and I met our daughter in China, one week after her first birthday.

OK, so technically that makes her a toddler, not a baby, and certainly there are plenty of differences between preparing for a newborn and bringing home a 1-year-old. But the two of them are so startlingly similar in temperament and habits – both alert, curious, and cheerful (or, as I say in my grumpier moods, lousy sleepers, into everything, and loud) – that it makes it easier to see that, even with only 11 years between their births, they’ve landed in two surprisingly different worlds.

I started noticing the changes even before we flew to China in July. When I was pregnant with C.J., I read a few books, talked to a few friends, and made a list of the items we’d need. A friend supplied the crib, my mother bought a deluxe stroller, and for the car seat we went to Babies R Us, checked out the five or six models on the shelf, and picked the one that looked sturdiest and easiest to clean. Diapers, onesies, board books, done.

For T.T., on the other hand, things seemed much more complex. That was partly because the slowdown in adoptions from China meant that I had more than three years to make my lists. But the real difficulty, I think, was simply that there was so much more information available than before – and instantly, addictively available, too, via our new friend the Internet.

The trouble became most apparent once we’d actually received some basic information about our daughter, so that I finally knew (roughly) how big she was and what kind of car seat she’d need. But why schlep to the store, I thought, if I can just shop from the comfort of home?

And thus began my three days of Car-Seat Craziness. I quickly discovered not just the shopping sites, but also the online reviews and arguments about every imaginable style and brand of car seat. Issues I had never even considered – matching seat precisely to vehicle type, fretting about the compression factor of winter coats, locating an inspection site – soon flooded my brain.

Finally, sated with data and dizzy with ratings, I pointed and clicked on the model that I’d liked at first sight – and then found it for $100 off because I was willing to choose a less popular fabric.

Which brings me to another oddity about Planet Baby 2009: the new obsession with style, not just in all those adorable little outfits (now far cheaper and more accessible than in the dark ages of 1997) but in every accoutrement of infant life. Designer diaper bags? For 200 bucks or even more? When I knew that, no matter how stylish, in a year the thing would sit, beat-up and becrumbed, next to the sippy cups and snack holders in a box headed for Goodwill?

On the other hand, sippy-cup design and snack-holder technology have really come a long way in the past 12 years. That, plus all the cute, cheap clothing, is my happiest discovery in this brave new world. Oh, and baby sign language – something I’d dismissed as a yuppie trend back then, but now fully embrace as a remarkable way to soothe the frustrations of a young person who has plenty to communicate, but just can’t do it with her vocal cords quite yet.

Significant advances, all. They almost make up for the baffling, and dismaying, rise of electronic technology aimed at infants. If there’s one way I’d turn back the clock, it’s by eliminating all the toys that produce nasty flashes and beeps. Of course, that might take us back to 1897, not 1997, so never mind.

So many changes – it’s almost enough to blog about. Except that that remains the single most incomprehensible difference of all between babyhood then and now. I am just as tired, just as busy, and just as besotted with this baby as I was with the last, and I assume that all the other new mothers are, too. So where, how, and when do they find the time to blog?

It’s a mystery, and one I’d be happy to contemplate at length, except that the baby just woke up from her nap.

Some things never change.

Louise Kennedy can be reached at, but not very often until her maternity leave ends next month.  

RubyFeather is now on Facebook

girls holding hands

So many ladies have written to say that they love the idea of our new girl-power group for those of us navigating the big IF. I have to say that it is so wonderful to get such an outpouring of support.

We have set up a facebook page so folks interested in Rubyfeather and what it represents can connect and support one another. This page is global, so you don’t have to live in Boston to become a member.

Also, by joining this page or becoming a “fan” you can help us spread the word about RubyFeather. I tried to keep the main premise of the group somewhat discreet in description.

Here’s the link….

Won’t you be my facebook friend?




predator or friend?

predator or friend?

IVF and the Newlywed: Vaginasaurus

I’ve gotten about 50 hits on the blog this month by people searching the keyword “pterodactyl”. (See the posting: Fill Your Cup). Innocently, I recommended that anyone going through the baby-making process develop an “alter ego” to give voice to the new hyper-you that seems to come out during the meds and the stressful trials of trying to conceive. I refer to MY alter ego as Tarra, she’s a graceful pterodactyl. I could not go through this without Tarra. I can attribute (or blame her) for any mood swings or questionable tears that surface during the process. She’s also a great source of humor for both me and my husband, as we can just say “Tarra did it!” when anything particularly nasty comes out of my mouth.

Tarra sits on my right shoulder. She’s strong and powerful, but angers easily. Like me, she knows that even when it’s bad, it’s worth it. She’s not sure if this journey will bring us a baby through IVF, egg donation or adoption, but she assures me that there’s more than one way to make a family.

Tarra loves all women going on this journey, because no matter how beautiful, how successful, or how self-actualized we are, we are still humbled by the process. Her little reptile heart beats for each of us.

I bring this up for two reasons:

1. I think everyone should have an alter ego.

2. There are a handful of schoolchildren out there, looking for information on Dinosaurs, and finding a Vaginasaurus instead….