Because Some Children Grow in Your Heart
Happy World Adoption Day!
I was a miracle baby. At least, that’s what the wider community thought. My parents had been together for 15 years before my mum became pregnant for the first time. ‘At last’ mee-mawed the local women, the gossip hushed their tones, ‘all this time and everything she’s been through’.
As my mum waddled down the street, proud of her very first baby-bump, clad in voluminous 70s smock, she ushered into school her 7 year old daughter and her 5 year old son, pushing on to the shops with her (already extremely lanky) 2 year old folded into his buggy.
I was my mum’s first pregnancy, but I was, and always will be, her fourth child.
Although she can’t always remember yesterday now, my mum can vividly remember the moment she read a news article about the very pressing post-war conundrum of
What To Do With All These Babies.
The page featured two photographs. One a basket of puppies, the other a basket of new-born babies (mostly of mixed heritage). Apparently one basket was incredibly easy to find loving homes for, the other ……. not so much. It was then that my mum told hers that when she was a grown up, she would adopt.
Fifteen years later and, always true to her word, she did.
Adoption was never a secret in our family. Adoption was a cause for celebration. A gift. A blessing. A perfectly normal everyday thing.
Sadly, I know that many people had times growing up when they wished they’d been adopted – so did I. I wished it all the time. That I had been adopted – by my mum and dad – just so I could be like my siblings.
We’d have endless discussions at home. ‘What was my name before you got me?’ ‘Where was I born?’ The answers for my sister and two brothers were marvellous and impressive. But, when I asked, my answers were less extraordinary. ‘Well, you’ve always been called Kirstie’ ‘You were born in Whiston, just like mum.’
Adoption is different now. In the late 60s and early 70s when my older siblings were born, unmarried pregnant women often had little choice but to have their babies adopted from birth. For those who conceived with someone of a different ethnicity, the pressures were unimaginable.
My parents knew their children had arrived almost as soon as they were born. Paperwork completed so quickly that they were all christened by my parents in their parish church by the time they were 2 months old.
My mum and dad chose a first name and a middle name for each of my siblings before they met them. When they heard that the name my sister had been given by her birth mum was also the name of my mum’s grandma, they decided to keep that one too. Thus starting a family tradition. They did the same for my two brothers – kept the name their birth mums had chosen in addition to the two they’d selected themselves. When I was born, I got three as well. And when my daughter arrived, so did she.
Although adoption was always openly, often gloriously, spoken about it was (perversely) also Not A Massive Deal At All. There was no difference in the way any of us were treated by our parents and it never occurred to me that these three children, all here long before me, were anything other than my brothers and sister. After 5 years as the only ‘Home Grown’™ (trademark: my mum) the first of my 3 younger sisters arrived. I’ve never felt any differently towards them than I have to the older ones. We all laughed together, fought one another, made up daft jokes together – just the same.
They’ve all met their birth mothers now. One of my brothers spent many years painfully aware of a void that could only be filled by finding his birth father too. All he had was a nickname and an RAF base. It took him 15 years – but he did it. And it’s not all been perfectly smooth and bump-free, far from it – but then, when is life? I’d say that our experiences made us stronger, but that would be untrue – our experiences just made us us – like yours did.
Last month my youngest sister turned 40. An act of aggression I’ve not yet forgiven. So this adoption journey has been a long old ride so far. It’s now that I feel it can perhaps take yet another turn. I qualified as a celebrant this year and I’m busy crafting ideas for Family Welcoming Ceremonies. It’s unusual now for an adopted child to join their forever family at as young an age as ours did, but there’s every need for them to be welcomed – just as any other home grown child would be.
One day soon, when I get to stand with a family as they welcome their longed-for child, I’ll be standing there with all my siblings behind me, giving thanks for that basket, and the determined ten year old girl who made her life’s wish come true.
If you’d like to know more about Family Welcoming Ceremonies or any of the other ceremonies I offer, please feel free to get in touch to arrange a no-obligation chat.
