Mine! All mine!

OK, so now I’ve missed two posts in THE FIRST WEEK of NaBloPoMo. Someone from NBPM’s legal team will probably be contacting me soon to tell me that litigation will ensue if I continue to use their badge on my non-compliant blog. But, in my defense, let me tell you how badly the Internet access at the Comfort Suites messed with my precious computer. Yesterday I checked my e-mail to see that 5401 e-mails were about to hit my inbox. It never fully got through “send/receive” yesterday (after many attempts), and only today was I able to fix things (I think). All that’s left of this irregularity are nearly 6000 e-mails still to delete.

So, while I said I wouldn’t be posting much about adoption, one of my pet peeves occurred today. After asking Tink to sit in one place for hours on end over the past few days and providing little in the way of child amusement (my mom came with us to play nanny but had a cold and thus was unable to take Tink swimming or much of anything), I felt the need to make today a bit of a Tinkday. First came breakfast with Daddy (where he gave her a Big Gulp of contraband orange juice), followed by visits to two playgrounds (one was on the way to the other, and she was in the jogging stoller and I felt like I had to atone for that, too). The highlight of the day was to hear some live music at a free festival in town. (And I will fully explain in the future why sitting still for any sort of music is something my 3-year-old digs. No, adores. Almost as much as she adores her juice-dispensing father.)

We made our way to some seats in a very crowded concert hall. Sitting next to Tink were a couple who kept looking over at her, enjoying her enjoyment of the music. She was boogie-ing in her seat and generally being adorable, so who could blame them? After a while Tink climbed into my lap and within minutes she was asleep. (I had threatened no music earlier if she didn’t nap. She didn’t take the threat sufficiently seriously, and I didn’t follow through. I gotta get better about that.)

In between bands, the woman of the couple turned to me and asked the big question, the one I get more often than any other (most likely because we are out and about a lot without the father of the family): “Is she yours or did you adopt her?”

I gave her my standard answer, said in a very friendly, non-confrontational, adoptive-mom-taking-advantage-of-a-teaching-moment way, “That would be yes. Both!”

Most people simply smile. Either because they feel slightly chastened by my words or because they find it touching that I think of her as my own. (Yeah. I’m big like that.) Instead, she said, “You know what I meant.”

Hmph! A stranger asking me about the private details of our family, who, when given a polite yet somewhat schoolmarmish reply, calls me on my impertinence!

I guess I appreciate that she didn’t assume Tink was adopted and launch right in with a “My niece/neighbor/neighbor’s niece couldn’t get pregnant either, and then she adopted two from Russia.” I should look at the small victories the adoption community can claim, and that’s that at least strangers check out the race of both spouses before they assume adoption.

It may just be that as a member of the adoptive community – of any community – I know how the world inside is a much different animal than the one outside. There’s a whole new language to learn, there are rules, a new set of etiquette to memorize, verboten questions, inaccurate assumptions, defensive behavior that grows like a callous as a result of nosiness, curiosity, just plain rudeness. And because of my heightened sensitivity as a member of “the community,” I take every question far too seriously. Though I don’t understand why this woman needed to know where my daughter was born before she would tell me how beautiful she is. Why can’t those sort of mom-to-mom (or, in this case, grandmom-to-mom) compliments be given more freely, without all the prerequisite intrusiveness?

And why aren’t I more grateful that she had the tact to only broach the subject once Tink was asleep? Maybe it was only a coincidence – she asked me while there was a break in the musical action, when Tink happened to be asleep. But it’s likely she waited until an inquisitive 3-year-old couldn’t hear sensitive chatter.

What really concerns me is, what do I do when an older Tink is made uncomfortable or confused or saddened by her adoption? How do I protect my daughter while not appearing aloof to kindly strangers? The adoptive-mom bloggers are all in agreement: Be the mama bear; no apologies. Our girls come first. No one’s entitled to any information.

OK, but what does that teach Tink? Will she learn that I’m somehow uncomfortable about or ashamed of her adoption, of her? That it’s all right to be rude to nice people? And I believe what we profess online and what we do IRL can be completely different. I know some hard-ass adoptive moms who tell newer moms asking for advice that they never discuss adoption with non-family in front of the child. But I’m also sure even they are caught off guard and find themselves smiling after an encounter with a curious but sweet old lady in the grocery store.

The fact is (and this is way un-PC to admit, but you’ve seen photos of my daughter, so I’m sure you’ll agree), we wouldn’t get so many questions if our girls weren’t so cute. There are lots of interracial families out there, in every small town in America, and I’d be willing to bet they don’t field as much interest as we do. It can’t simply be the novelty of our family.

So not only does the adoption thing attract attention, I’m going to have to learn strategies for raising a beautiful child. And that might be what I’m worried more about.

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