Apron Strings for Emily

23 August 202523 August 2025

An Open Letter to My “Son”

(A Submission for World Childless Week 2025)

Dear Kirby,

It’s been 6 months now; I am still struggling to explain to others how hard it’s been since you’ve been gone. I’ve tried to write them down in some meaningful way about this grief I have for you, but everything just comes out hazy and incoherent. So instead, I decided to write you a letter.

You’ve seen me pour over my laptop, writing on my blog. More so, you grumpily posed while I posted pictures and wrote “stories” of you on Instagram. Point is, you have always been at my side whenever I wrote something, whenever I wanted to share my life experiences.

You have always been at my side. Curled up in your bed. Next to my desk.

It breaks my heart every time when I think of all the places you have been in our house, all the adventures we had, knowing now that these are just memories.

Seeing cows or horses at the side of the road will always remind me of your soulful bark. Coming home after a walk or drive will bring me back to the all the time you got so excited knowing we were “almost home.” Turning in for the night and saying. “Big bed?” to you will bring back the times you eagerly jumped off the couch to run into the bedroom. Every single night.

Everywhere I looked, heard, or touched made me wish you were at my side. I wanted my shadow back; I wanted my bathroom buddy, my toothbrush companion. I still look for you when I step out of the shower. I still dream of picking you up and holding you until you squirmed out of my arms. I still pray for the times you’d burrow into my lap or between my legs during “Ohana Couch Time.” Every night in bed I still reach out to my left side, hoping you were there sleeping next to me.

You were my security blanket; having you was such comfort. I’ve missed your exuberant greetings when we came home. I miss your squeals and sloppy kisses; bad breath and all. You were the one who made me feel safe, and I never realized how much a presence you were until you were gone.

After all, you were the one little soul I would go to for comfort when I grieved about my infertility and other losses. Except now, you are the one that I’m grieving about.

GUILT TRIP

We knew we were going on an extended vacation without you for the first time. Since joining our family 11 years ago, we never took a family vacation without you; we never wanted to exclude you from our “Ohana Adventures.” So, this two-week trip for an Australia / New Zealand cruise was the first time we wouldn’t have you by our side.

We thought it would be easy to find a person to take care of you for 2 weeks, as our family and friends always offered to babysit you while we were gone. But when Kira joined us, we knew it would be too much to ask of them. Boarding was our only option, though leaving you with strangers who didn’t know you and your quirks didn’t appeal to us.

We also knew you had kidney problems leaving you with little appetite. That’s why we prepared an extensive list for your caregivers at the kennel to make sure you took your meds. We even asked if they could sit with you during meals to ensure you would eat. Both you and Kira had been there for daycare before, so we knew we were leaving you in good hands.

Before Christmas last year, I started to prep the two of you. While cuddling, I would take your head and smooth your entire face and eyes (and those velvet ears, too) with my thumb. I would look into your eyes to say, “I am always in your heart, just like you are always in mine.” Which was eventually shortened down to:

“I am in yours and your are in mine”

That was my mantra to both of you. Or for me. It just helped calm my anxiety about leaving you both.

The last memory I have of you was the day we dropped you off; knowing it’d be a long time before we’d see you again. You & Kira were so eager to play; you were already squirming to get out of my arms. I held you tighter for a bit and told you to wait a minute so I could get one last nuzzle on your neck, one more kiss on that heart on your head; one last and “I am in yours, and you are in mine.” When the staff took you from my arms, I remember that you happily looked back at me as I called out, “Be good! Have fun! We’ll be back soon!”

That memory repeats in my head daily. I watched as you looked back at me with those big brown eyes and silly smile of yours before turning forward. To date, I am still so hyper-focused on that moment. I realize that I must have been looking for some sign to tell me that this was the last time I’d see or touch you.

I think that my heart knew you would be traveling to the Rainbow bridge this year, but I refused to acknowledge it. About two weeks before our trip, were more clingy than usual; staying by my side on your own accord more than normal. There was no more, “pretend growl” every night when I kissed that heart on your head. There was little resistance when I wanted to hold your paw while we cuddled. Suddenly, you were just there. I should have recognized your actions were trying to tell me something, but I did not. And that’s one of my biggest regrets.

TRIPPING OUT

On the third day of our cruise, your caregivers contacted us. They said that they were struggling to feed you. We asked them to take you to your Vet, who quickly recommended that you should be taken to the Emergency Vet.

I panicked at the thought of you at a new place being treated by unfamiliar doctors. I was anxious about them performing new procedures on you without a familiar face around for comfort. I wanted to be there to support you; to encourage you to get better. Instead, I was now on a ship. In the middle of an ocean. On the other side of the world. With a 16-hour time difference.

We found out that you were weak and extremely dehydrated. An X-ray showed that you had acute pancreatitis. Worse, it showed you had a large, slow-growing tumor in your belly … which was likely the cause of your kidney issues. The immediate plan was to give you fluids overnight and monitor your response. If you recovered well overnight, then you should be strong enough to eat on your own.

The next day, the Dogtor told us that despite all the fluids, you were still very weak and could barely lift your head. They tried to stand you upright, but your legs would buckle prompting you to lay back down. She offered to put a tube down your nose to get the necessary nutrition you needed. Unfortunately, she didn’t think this treatment would be sustainable for more than a week, and we’d be gone for the next 2 weeks. She even told us that she wasn’t sure you’d be strong enough to have surgery to remove the tumor.

Though she didn’t say these exact words, I knew (as a nurse) she was describing a medical term called “Failure to Thrive.” After answering all our questions, we told her we would call her back soon after we made our decision.

The thing is, Kirby, that as a nurse, the moment she hinted at “Failure to Thrive,” we knew what our decision would be. We both broke down and sobbed knowing we couldn’t be there to physically hold you and hug you at that moment.

BON VOYAGE

It killed us knowing that Dad & I couldn’t be there with you, Kirby. We really, really wanted to be the one to hold your paw. To stroke your head. To kiss that heart on your head one last time. It should have been your Daddio and me.

That’s why we sent your Lola and Auntie to be next to you, to be there in our place as someone who loved you almost as much as we did. We asked them to Face Time with us so we could see and speak to you one last time.

We saw in your eyes how frightened you were; how exhausted you looked. We’re pretty sure you heard everything we said to you as you lifted your head slightly and looked at us with those beautiful eyes of yours. We talked about how much of a Good Bubba you were and how much we loved you, remember?

Maybe you heard or saw it, but after your last breath, I broke out into sobs. All I kept saying was, “My baby! My baby boy is gone!” I felt my whole world crumble underneath me.

My first “child.” Gone.

SPIRITED AWAY

This brings me to why it’s so hard to explain to others why you are extra special to me. I felt that you were ours the minute you were placed in my arms. The warmth of your chest, the slap of your tail on my right arm, the complete happiness you exuded … I just knew you belonged to our Ohana. Then somehow you became something more; you became my spirit animal. You became part of me, part of my spirit.

Since we couldn’t have kids, you became OUR son. You were the child we couldn’t have; the one we hoped to nurture and love. You gave me a reason to wake up every morning. You (and Daddy, too) were the only motivation I needed to put one step in front of the other. That made me so very happy, and it had been a long time since I felt that happiness.

Though it’s a generalized assumption of mine, I honestly don’t think anyone, not even past infertility friends/couples who have found closure with infertility (either with or without kids, by choice or not) could truly understand the belief of treating a “pet” as a child. I felt that even though I didn’t physically give birth to you, you were a part of me. We shared the same spirit; we embodied parts of each other so closely that I felt we could read one another’s emotions. I truly feel we embraced the whole “I am in you; you are in me” part.

SOUVENIR GIFTS

Having you helped with the grief I had when I thought about being “childless.” You and Kira had been a great excuse when people asked if we have kids. Better yet, you were also a GREAT excuse not to stay out late. (“Gotta get home to the dogs!”)

You were TRULY the most helpful whenever we saw or heard about births and corresponding “First” announcements. Even news about graduations, weddings, showers, and grandkids — — all those things I can only celebrate as a guest or be participant — were much easier to handle.

Your gift (and Kira’s, too) of the unconditional love amazed us. We saw how excited you both were to greet us whenever we returned home. You both were such good sports whenever I dressed you up and take pictures; allowing me to share your antics on social media.

Your complete trust in us fulfilled my dream of being a Mother. I finally felt that maternal instinct; the the responsibility of caring for someone so deeply and unconditionally. I finally knew how it felt having someone’s livelihood depended on me. Though we may not have been genetically linked, you have and always a part of my heart … and I can only hope that you feel the same way.

GROUP EXCURSIONS

Before infertility, your Daddy and I used to enjoy speaking with others. Momma was a social butterfly at one time, but infertility made me reluctant to make new friends. At that time, infertility was a taboo subject, and it made those going through it feel ashamed and broken. The longer we lived through infertility, the more introverted we became.

As an infertile couple, we were less relatable. It was hard to find childless people around us who could be empathetic to our struggles. We couldn’t relate to old friends; those who were newly married, starting their families, or committed to their professions. And many women or couples felt uncomfortable when they found us childless.

But WOW, that changed when you became part of our family. You gave us confidence by instantly winning everyone’s heart. We constantly had people stop us and ask if they could pet you. You always wanted the attention, and we usually obliged as we were so proud to show you off. These interactions led us to speaking with people, and having conversations about topics other than kids, sports, or the weather.

It was your personality that helped us come out of our shells. With you and Kira, we felt comfortable relating to other people. You were always a good conversation-starter. You made us feel less socially awkward.

Eventually this led me to create your Instagram account. Showing off your HUGE personality though social media brought new friendships through the #GrumpyBeaglesUnited 💪🏼 community. True fact: We have met so many of your “friends” and their owners in real life during our road trips. I even went on a California vacation for a “Grumpy Beagle Parents” meet-up. To date, I consider those we’ve met very good friends. These same friends were the ones that help us with our grief.

Since hearing that you’ve passed, countless other Instagram followers have expressed how much you meant to them. (I truly can’t believe the number of people that followed you for all these years!) They’ve told me that you brought smiles to their faces with all your silly #KirbyThoughts 💭 and antics. That just confirms what we’ve already known; that you are pure unadulterated joy. That’s how special you are, Kirby.

You, Kirby. You … my Spirit Animal, my Baby Boy.

SOMEWHERE OVER THE RAINBOW

I hope you have everything you want at the Rainbow Bridge. I hope you’re having the best zoomies of all time. You deserve it. You have provided unwavering, unconditional love to our Ohana. You’ve rightfully earned your wings. Run free, my child.

You will always and forever be in my heart, Kirby.

Love, Momma

29 August 202429 August 2024

Anchors Aweigh

That’s a silly term, don’t you think? The English language being the English language never fails to confuse even the those who use English as their primary language. Obviously, an “anchor” is something that is used to keep an object in place. And “aweigh” is derived from the Dutch word “wegan,” which translates as “to weigh.” Put the two words together and you think it would mean to weigh a person down. But nope. It’s an English nautical term that basically means, “Lift up that dead weight and let’s get movin’!”

Except that’s not exactly what I’m doing these days. In fact, I’m doing the literal (or maybe not so literal?) opposite.

Batten Down The Hatches!

I can’t explain my roller coaster moods lately. For the most part, I feel like I’m doing fantastic. Things are looking good on the horizon. Work is improving (getting off the graveyard shift soon — woohoo!). I’m working on my health; trying to get my body working properly. I’m overall happy where I am in life

I admit, moving into the 5th decade of life for me was difficult. It wasn’t just the thought of being old. It was the physical aspect of being old. Like, when did it get so hard to get off the floor after bending down to pick up a paperclip? Or how come my knees crack after crossing my legs for so long?

I could have gone down the rabbit hole about other “getting old” worries such as, “I’ll need hip surgery,” or “I hope I have good health insurance,” or “What about my retirement fund?”

But I didn’t. I figured, I can only deal with the here and now. And the here and now consisted of Hubby & me and our small postage-stamp house on a postage-stamp yard with our two adorable dogs. Apparently we are what they call DINKWADs — “Dual Income No Kids With A Dog” (or in our case, two).¹

And then this past weekend, I stumbled onto an Instagram post that said:

Being overly independent is a defense mechanism from being constantly let down.

For some reason, that quote struck me hard. Being the couple we are, I shared the post with Hubby in the next room and texted that I had just realized that this was the reason I felt I had to take on (in this case) planning my mom’s 80th birthday² party on my own because I didn’t want to feel let down NOR did I want HIM to feel let down with me.

At face value, I pretty much took it on myself to believe that it was because I always felt I could never measure up to what I felt my parents thought I could be. That I always felt I let them down. I mean … I *am* Filipino. And I *am* Catholic, aren’t I?

Thar She Blows!

But then I brought this up to someone else. Someone I felt I could talk to without fear or judgement. Someone that had no vested interest with my circle of family / peers. Someone who is my therapist. And she brought up something else.

She said, “Yeah! And don’t you think that you are that way because of constantly being let down from going through infertility treatments?”

BOOM

Just like that, I’m back to feeling like I’m 28 years old again and frustrated that I can’t get pregnant. Then in my head, 25 years goes by in a flash along with all the frustration, sadness, anger, and heartbreak. It feels like every single tear I shed in that moment was a memory I kept from those years.

It’s as I’m mourning my loss once again. This time it’s piece by piece. Bit by bit. Not just just the fact I could get pregnant, but the other losses too. The years I lost is being so focused on everything fertility-related. The stress and lack-of-control I had during that time period. Oh gosh, the time and money spent trying to get pregnant.

Then there’s the loss of all the milestones or “firsts.” First smile, step, word. First day of school (for every year until they graduate). First job, first car, first house. Graduation Day. Wedding Day. Grandchildren.

There was just so much loss.

However, there is one loss I feel greater than the others, especially now that I’m growing older in age. You’d think it would be the one about aging without having physical support around when it’s need. Yes, that is a concern; but for now, Hubby and I maintain that we plan to go down together with the Titanic.

Walking The Plank

No … The loss I feel most at my age now is friendship. Which was something my therapist and I talked about a lot during that last session.

I have always said to people that I am an introvert. Yes, I smile and talk a lot. Yes I can be bubbly and animated in public. Yes I’m good at public speaking. But once the mic is turned off and the lights go down, I am most comfortable in the corner at the back of the room. If given a choice to go out for a night around town on vacation or sit on the beach and watch the moon rise, I’d choose the latter.

With that in mind, it’s always been hard for me as an adult to make new friends. The friends I keep now are few and we often don’t see each other. But when we do, it’s like nothing has changed. We know each others’ nuances and are comfortable with each other. THOSE friends are once in a lifetime friends.

Hornswaggled & Marooned

In my 30’s & 40’s, I kinda chalked my lack of new friends to my introvertedness. And I also knew it was because most of them were now married with kids, leaving them little time or energy to hang out at night with someone without. PLUS, who would want to be friends with someone who needed a friend to vent about her inability to get pregnant while she either wants to vent about or praise the virtues of motherhood? I would be a horribly disappointing friend, wouldn’t I?

That would be the self-deprecating defense mechanism talking, as my therapist rightly pointed out. Truth is, I lost many high school and college friends around that period of time. Not due to any ill-fated reason, of course. It was simply because our lives took different paths. We simply lost touch with one another or became Facebook Friends where I could see their kids grow up before my own eyes. Our lives just didn’t seem to mesh with our lifestyles.

I always thought that it would be easier to make friendships at my age because there would be the potential for more empty nesters. Except, most people around my age had children later in life. Plus conversation would eventually turn to kids and grandkids — which, for the record, I have NO problem talking about ³ — and for most new acquaintances, it still seems like an awkward talking point to them when I tell them that we tried to have kids but it wasn’t meant to be.

At this point, my therapist asked if I had ever looked to see if their were any online support groups for those who were child-free and were feeling the same losses I was. And that’s when I had to chuckle.

Shiver Me Timbers

You see, 20+ years ago when I started searching for any type of support for women going through infertility, I wasn’t able to find anything. Keep in mind, there wasn’t any websites like Resolve at the time. Reddit was not even born yet. Facebook was still a baby. It was difficult to find anything. Any resources I found were from doctors offices.

I admittedly tried going to a live support group meeting, but the introvert in me was so embarrassed about crying in front of strangers, so I just never went back.⁴ So I just googled. And I stumbled on Mel’s website. And I found blogs and started to read. And in March of 2007, Apron Strings for Emily was born.

Over the past week, I have once again googled to see what kind of support is out there for me. I am happy to report there are many resources available depending on what I might be interested. Introverted as I am, I’ll likely try an online support group.

I am 100% grateful for this space. It has allowed me a place to bear my soul for the world to see. While many people in real life (IRL) know about this little corner of my world, I like to think this is my safe space where I can just be me.

Sometimes I forget I still have this space to do this. Sometimes I feel exhausted and lack the energy to write down all the crappy emotions I have in swirling in this head of mine. But I know I have to find a way to manage all get these negative, self-deprecating thoughts out of my head. And while I may not feel that I have the support of those who could completely understand the same fears and losses I have gone through (YET, working on that support group research), at least I have this space to talk about it. And not have to worry about letting anyone else — even myself — down.

What do the Millenials say? I was THIS many years old when I found this out (too old, I guess). ↩︎
Mom’s party was two years ago, BTW ↩︎
I live vicariously through their stories ↩︎
Ironic, because now I cry in front of everyone and I don’t care who sees me ↩︎

24 July 201624 July 2016

Bad Blogger

Well hello there strangers. I know … it’s been a while and I sincerely hope everyone is doing well in the Land of IF, cities in Between and points Beyond.

There is no excuse for not writing on this blog very much. The truth is, I haven’t had much to say in regards to living child-free (NOT by choice). And anything I’ve had to say about things has really been small snippets on my Facebook page about articles I’ve shared.

You see, unlike 15 years ago when I first started this infertility journey (well, actually, it’s been closer to 20 years, now that I think about it … yikes!), there is a lot more media surrounding IF. Seriously … where was all this support when I needed it?!

Social media aside, I’m just truly grateful that it was through the blogosphere that I met many wonderful people going through this infertility journey with me. Most of us have now resolved our infertility journeys; some managed to have biological children of their own either naturally or by way of IVF (one of them had TWINS!), some of them became adoptive parents, and some even became step-parents. And some of them … well, some sort of combination of all of the above!

As for me, I have pretty much resolved the fact that I will never have biological children of my own for these facts:

I am over 40 years old
I’m pretty sure I’m going into early menopause
Adoption for us is way beyond our financial means
I am way too exhausted to think of parenting at my age
Being over 40, I cannot fathom having to raise a child now and be close to (or even over) 60 by the time they graduate from high school

Unfortunately, these facts don’t stop some well-meaning family members from thinking I’m going to have some sort of miraculous conception. (We won’t even go into our recent trip to the Philippines.)

Monasterio de Santa Clara (click on picture)

So what brings me out of my semi-retirement? A damn movie.

But first let me clarify something. While we may have reached the end of our IF journey, this doesn’t mean that some things can slap us in the face and make us fully aware that we are not the norm … that we are quite different than the rest of everyday society.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve learned to accept that Hubby & I are on a unique path of our own (just like every other person / couple / family is). I’ve gotten used to answering “No” to when new friends, acquaintances, or other professionals ask us if we have any children. And I’m certainly used to and am very comfortable in explaining why we don’t either. I can stand on my own (without crying, to boot!) when discussing infertility and the emotions that a person goes through while traveling on that journey. I can be rational about debating why adoption isn’t for us. I can even easily ask and converse with others about their children without feeling inferior.

But every once in a while, there’s something that happens that can have me contemplating why we chose this Child-Free-Not-By-Choice life. Or has me feeling, once again, that I’m alone in the world of other adults that are parents … and that I can’t possibly know what it’s like to be one of them.

This time it’s a movie … particularly one that is specifically aimed towards motherhood and all the horrible things that occur during parenting a child.

Okay, I get it. Yes … motherhood isn’t always glamorous. In fact, I’d say the only time everyday parenting looks glamorous is on Facebook or Pinterest or Instagram … or any other social media outlet out there. And that’s only after 5 GAZILLION retakes to make it “just perfect.”

But it’s still something that I can’t fully understand.

Because, for being “over-worked, over-committed and exhausted to the point that [these moms are] about to snap” (directly from the plot summary, BTW)? I will never know what it’s like to feel that way. As a Mom, anyway.

And yet … Well, here’s something for all those moms out there:

Those feelings – while not as “ongoing on a daily basis”-type of way – are what those who have experienced / are experiencing infertility go through on a month-to-month basis.

Nothing hits you straight in the gut with a pregnancy test that doesn’t have that second line … and knowing you’ll have to go through the same treatments (-ie- shots, pills, holistic treatments, all of the above) for yet another month.

I know that I will eventually see this movie in the future (because – C’MON! The same writers as “The Hangover”?!). But next weekend, I’ll likely just chill with my Hubby and our four-legged child.

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PS. If you want know where “I’ve” been in social media lately, check out this Instagram account.

17 June 201018 June 2010

Wanted: Child-Free Infertility Support

I wasn’t planning on posting anything on my blog today; didn’t have anything scheduled to post. In fact, I had other plans to work on another writing project I’ve been working on.

But then I saw something on my Facebook newsfeed in response to a RESOLVE posting. And, well I just had the need to address it on my little corner of the world.

You see, I subscribe to RESOLVE’s fan page so that I can get the latest infertility news that they post on Facebook. It’s been useful in reminding me to vote for my favorite infertility book and my favorite “What If” post from NIAW 2010. And it tends to post articles from their website about various topics dealing with infertility.

Since I’ve subscribed to RESOLVE’s page, I had seen multiple articles in regards to treatment options for Infertility ranging from IUI to IVF; donor eggs/sperm, surrogacy. But never had I seen anything about child-free living … until today.

Which of course, I immediately “liked.”

Of course, that was swiftly followed by the first commenter.

<sigh>

Sometimes people don’t get it. And what’s sad is that sometimes it’s people within our own Infertility Community.

As I’ve mentioned before, there are reasons why child-free living is right for Hubby & me. We have deliberately and carefully thought through our other options, including adoption.

It’s so easy for everyone to say “just adopt” when there are thousands of hurdles (both tiny and large) to overcome. It’s financial. It’s emotional. It’s stressful.

I can tell you for myself that I could easily open my heart to a child; easily let a child into my life. But knowing the heartache I’ve experienced from infertility, I just don’t know how much more my mind and body … and quite frankly, my spirit can handle. It’s already been shattered to pieces and glued back together many times over.

It’s a matter of how many more times do I want to put my hand in a pot of boiling water and not know if my hand will be able to grasp onto something … or if I’ll come up empty-handed and burned yet once again.

As if the infertility diagnosis isn’t difficult enough, we’re faced with others who constantly feel as if having children by “whatever means necessary” is more important than simply moving past something that in my heart, I’ve already grieved. It’s like pulling a band-aid off when the wound is just about healed; making it seem to the infertile couple … that has invested a lot of time and energy (not to mention money) we spent on having children … was all for naught.

Even Ellie & Carl from "UP" decided to live Child-Free after Infertility ...

I just find it frustrating that even amongst our own Infertility community that there’s a lack of support for those couples trying to decide if a Child-free life is the right choice for them. It’s as if it’s taboo to speak of moving on with your life sans-children.

Even in the RESOLVE Infertility Support Community boards, there are only two communities of which you can choose. One is “Finding a Resolution for Infertility” and the other is “Living After an Infertility Resolution.”

Now when I signed up, I logically chose the latter group. After all, I had found my resolution to live child-free and I wanted to find others that came to that decision as well. Except, well … except when I started to see the message boards, I didn’t spot one single discussion about child-free living after Infertility.

So, okay … then I went to the “Finding a Resolution” community; thinking maybe there might be some discussion about making the decision to live child-free. Nope … struck out there, too.

What frustrates me is that I’ve already felt “different” than the general population by not being able to conceive a child; be a woman in all sense of the world … be able to procreate.** Now that Hubby & I have chosen a less traditional path … it seems as if the pool of couples out there, that are willing to talk or write about this chosen path is much, much smaller. And maybe they are out there in droves, but infertility is no longer the primary focus of their lives.

Maybe I’ll be there at some stage of my life, but right now I’m not. And right now it would be really great to find some other support out there to get through those moments. You know … the ones where I begin to question that decision again? The times where I feel pressured by others to “keep on trying” or “just adopt”?

Yeah, it’d be really good to have that support. In droves. Just like the rest of the general Infertility Community. The same community that helped me feel less isolated when I otherwise felt alone.

And hey … if you stumbled onto this post and are living Child-Free After Infertility and find yourself wanting additional support out there*** … well, consider this blog or my Facebook page a place where you can hang your hat.

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** And yes, I’m aware that being a woman is not limited to whether or not I can bear children. I’m just using this statement to elicit an example.

*** Because there are resources out there; like Pam’s Silent Sorority site and, in particular her blog, A Fresh Start.

~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~

Related Links:

RESOLVE’s Living Childfree Article

RESOLVE’s Infertility Support Community

Emily’s post about making the decision to live Child-free

Emily’s Thoughts on Adoption

Emily’s Reasons for Living Child-Free After Infertility

Emily’s List of Child-Free After Infertility Bloggers

Emily’s Facebook Page

11 June 201017 September 2024

Infertility Bets On Hold, Part 2

(If you missed Part 1, click here … )

While I’ve pretty much begun to resolve those particular grief issues, there’s still that lack of strength that I feel I need in order to go through the entire adoption process. Because it takes someone who really has enough strength to climb over the proverbial brick wall getting in the way of having a child. And specifically, I’m talking about all the rules and regulations and investigations into your private lives just to raise a child that is not biologically your own. Quite frankly, I know that I don’t have what it takes to go through that.

Why do I say that? (And Kelly … hopefully, this will help answer the question you posed to me at one time … ) Well first of all, I just know what I’m capable of handling emotionally, and I know that I wouldn’t be able to survive any further disappointment or heartache. Or as my new favorite quote from Pam says:

It got to the point where the potential for more heartbreak was more overwhelming than the glimmer of very small hope.

The second reason I feel as if I have little strength is because I have little confidence that things will come relatively straightforward and simple to us.

Not that I expect adoption to be an easy path. If we did decide to adopt, I have this very strong suspicion that we’d have so many more walls to climb. Give me a chance to explain … and I’d absolutely love to hear what others have to say to contribute to this discussion.

Let’s start off with Domestic Adoption:

Hubby & I both Asian American; Filipino American, to be specific.
How often do you suppose any Potential Birth Moms (PBM) would look at our dossier and — just by looks alone — think that we’d make great parents when their child will (most likely) not look at all similar to the adoptive couple that they’d hope to raise their child?
Or that the PBM might worry that their child would face more barriers having Asian American parents?
How often are Asian American babies given up for adoption; especially if the PBM is also Asian or Asian American? Culture dictates that family is important. If the child is not wanted in the immediate family; chances are that there is another family member (aunt, cousin, third uncle twice removed) that is willing to raise the child. Unfortunately, that’s a situation that’s likely never going to happen to us.

Moving onto International Adoption:

There are stricter laws and regulations from various countries in effect.
Some specific countries, like Russia and Guatemala, have either suspended or have placed holds on any adoptions to the US.
Wait time. Even for Filipino adoptions there are certain stipulations on how and when a child can be adopted; when the child can come back to the US with the adopted parents. And quite frankly, I don’t think I can afford the three-year wait in order to adopt a child from my native country.

And finally other, all-encompassing barriers:

Age: Let’s face it. Hubby & I are currently pushing 40. And yes, I know that there are couples out there that are raising babies that are much older than us. But there was a reason why Hubby & I started trying to conceive within a year of marriage: I had always seen me as a younger mother; one that wanted to finish having babies before the age of 30. There was a specific reason behind that: my mother and I are exactly 3o years apart in age (sorry Mom!). Growing up (particularly in high school), not only did I deal with a cultural barrier, but I also dealt with a huge generational gap. Both my parents were pre-baby boomer, while I was most definitely a Gen-Xer. Even though after I turned 30, I knew that this was something beyond my control, adopting now — especially as the rules and regs of adoption have gotten more strict — well, it no longer seems prudent for both Hubby & my sake.
Energy: Along with age, this is the second biggest concern that I have. And, if I was honest with myself, the flimsiest barrier of all. Because, really this has to do with energy and stamina. It’s one thing to raise a child with the thought in mind that you’ll be young enough to (somewhat) keep up with their needs. It’s quite another thing knowing that I can no longer wake myself up in the morning without hitting the snooze button a dozen times. Would I be able to care for another life if I can barely care for my own? Like I said, flimsy … but I’m just being honest.

I don’t bring up these points to be negative in any way, shape or form. I’m simply stating facts that appear to be the most obvious barriers for our individual case when it comes to adopting a child. And that’s assuming that we would ever go down that route. And, as I said above, I’d love to hear your thoughts on what I perceive as barriers.

*****

As it is, I feel that we’ve already played our game of Infertility Roulette. We’ve already placed all the bets we wanted to at this time in our lives. And we lost that bet. With adoption (or h*ll, even if we ever decided to go through IVF again), I want something I can be sure of … something I can count on.

I hesitate using the word “guarantee” … since nothing in life is ever guaranteed, but after more than ten years of fighting the odds and now facing even greater odds against us (age, finances, etc), Hubby & I opted to get out of the betting pool.