While on the road, we started to get stressed since we still had not received approval to leave the state of Texas with Harper. As our luck would have it, it was the start of a holiday weekend. If we didn’t get approval that day, we would be stuck in Texas for at least another four days. Tensions ran high.
The call we had been waiting for came just twenty miles from the state line. Our adoption counselor told us that we had just received ICPC approval. So long, Texas! We were Tennessee bound.
As the miles slowly added up, we were getting closer and closer to home. We began to contemplate how to introduce Harper to her grandparents. Allowing them to come to our house was quickly ruled out: We love them dearly, but once they got there, they might never leave. Giving each set of grandparents the opportunity to meet Harper and have their special moment with her was important. We didn’t have the heart to be only a few miles away and say, “We’ll see you tomorrow.” So we came up with one stipulation, just one tiny rule: We would visit with them now, but only for one hour each. Then each set of parents would have the opportunity to see all of us again, hopefully refreshed, the next day.
With a little resistance, they agreed, and two-and-a-half hours later we found ourselves in the car again on our way home, where our cats and recorded television shows were waiting. It was our house that hoarded all of our stuff, stuff that we had definitely missed. It is hard to believe that you can miss stuff. Is it weird to hug a toaster?
Finally, the road trip was over. Our journey to become parents was complete. Life as dads had just begun.
•Twelve days
•2,581 miles
•Five different hotels
•One audiobook
Over the next several days, Matthew and I started to settle into the routine of being at home with Harper. We were amazed at the instant popularity we received by having a newborn. Looking back on that time, I remember constantly being asked if we were tired. Being tired had nothing to do with the newborn and everything to do with the family visitation that came from being new parents.
It was only two weeks into Harper’s life when we were dealt a heavy blow. Harper was a little jaundiced, so we had been treating her with a bilirubin blanket at home for several days. We scheduled a pediatrician appointment for her on a Friday and were hoping to get the good news that we could stop using the bilirubin blanket. But the day didn’t proceed as planned.
Harper had been undergoing daily blood tests for the past week. Over a three-day period, her hemoglobin had dropped to a critically low level, requiring her to have a blood transfusion. Harper didn’t have the chance to complete the intake at the hospital before the doctor ordered her to be transported by ambulance to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit (PICU) at the children’s hospital a half hour away.
Matthew and I were emotional wrecks. We were scared, confused and speechless. Inquiries were made about the medical history of the birthfamily. We were asked question after question. One of the positive aspects of an open adoption is having access to the health records of the birthparents and birthgrandparents. In one of my obsessive moments, I had scanned all of this medical information and had it readily available on our smartphones.
Harper was moved to a private room where many doctors and residents surrounded her. Then she was quickly taken away to receive an IV. My parents had met us at the first hospital and travelled with us to the children’s hospital, but now Matthew and I had reached the point where we needed some alone time. My parents gave us a hug and reluctantly left.
Within a few moments, Harper was returned to the room. She had an IV inserted into her head and bandages were stuck to both arms where attempts at starting an IV had failed. As the staff exited the room, Matthew and I fell apart. Even to this day, seeing Harper like that is the toughest thing that I have ever experienced.
Before we had a chance to process everything that was happening, Matthew’s parents arrived at the hospital. Matthew’s half-sister began to tear up when she saw Harper with all of the tubing and cords that monitored her vitals. We politely asked Matthew’s family to leave and allow us to support each other and Harper. It was definitely an emotional moment for everyone involved.
There was one positive outcome of this intimidating experience: It really helped to solidify our new family unit. It was one of the first times in our lives that Matthew and I had to turn to each other for support and not rely on our parents for comfort in this moment of uncertainty. It was now time to claim our position as the parents and be strong for our daughter. Over the next four days, we continued to stand strong for our new family.
On the first night in the PICU, Harper stayed under two enormous blue lights for the jaundice. Her red blood cells were breaking down at an alarming rate and the cause was still unknown. Her body was not producing red blood cells fast enough to replenish the blood her body required. She needed a blood transfusion while the physicians worked to determine the cause. Until all of the tests were completed, Harper was not allowed to eat.
One of the most difficult things in life has to be caring for a sick infant. Harper was so hungry and crying for food and there was no possible way to explain to her what was happening. The bilirubin lights required her to be blindfolded. She was connected to several different monitors and a pump administering her blood transfusion. We were unable to pick her up and hold her. The only method of comfort came in the form of a small glucose solution, which provided a few drops of sugar and water to calm her when she cried of hunger.
Harper underwent a heel stick every couple of hours over a four-day period to monitor her hemoglobin levels. In the end, she only needed one transfusion. Harper is currently six months old and under the care of a hospital hematologist. We still do not have an explanation for the rapid destruction of her red blood cells, but her body is now producing enough of them to maintain what is considered a normal level. The hematologist continues to monitor her condition and will conduct an extensive round of testing within the next month. Harper provides every indication that she is a happy and healthy little girl.
When going through the adoption process, your desires and path to become parents is very open and public. There is really no privacy during the process, so Matthew and I decided to make our wedding private. Since same-sex marriage was not legal in Tennessee at that time, we had to travel to one of the states that allowed us to enter into holy matrimony.
We planned a four-day trip to Washington, DC, for just the three of us. The first day included applying for a marriage license and the last day saw a beautiful ceremony in the Botanical Gardens adjacent to the United States Capital Building. The in-between involved a lot of walking, paintings, stuffed animals and First Lady dresses. This was our chance to do something very private and memorable as a new family of three. There were no worries about a cake, which side of the aisle guests would sit on or a first dance.
At this very moment, I am sitting here with two cats and a giggling baby staring at me as I put our story into words that will outlast our vivid memory. I can tell you that Matthew and I feel ecstatic about our journey to parenthood. We are also proud to declare that we are a same-sex couple from East Tennessee and exceptional dads. We have the same desires as any parents and those include providing a loving and safe home for our daughter—well, that and cute baby clothes.
We are less than twenty-four hours away from finalizing our adoption of Harper. In the morning, Matthew and I will appear before a judge in Washington County, Tennessee, who is going to make us her legal parents. This is the last step of the adoption process.
Tennessee does not currently have legislation that makes it either legal or illegal for a same-sex couple to adopt a child. In our situation, we have a very forward-thinking attorney who has built solid relationships with various judges in the region. These judges look at each individual case and focus on how the new family is working together mechanically and what is best for the child. There is no focus on the gender of the parents.
While tomorrow
morning will bring a conclusion to this eighteen-month-long process, there is still one minor detail to complete: Who gets to be listed as Harper’s mother on the Texas birth certificate? Texas has yet to update the outdated birth certificate format which hasn’t changed in decades. A few states have replaced the title of Mother and Father with Parent A and Parent B or something of that nature. Some of our friends who are going through the adoption process have struggled with this decision, but for some reason, Matthew and I find this to be a fun little memento that one of us will get to have.
Having completed a successful adoption together, we are typically asked one general question about our journey: How long did it take until you became dads? From the day we decided to start the process until the day Harper was born, it took just 366 days.
Looking back over the past year and a half, we have definitely experienced a lifetime of happiness and disappointments. We have laughed and cried. Our emotions have mimicked a thrill ride at an amusement park. Now that everything is all said and done, we are dads, both legally and emotionally. No one can change that now.
When the process first started, we were worried about being at a disadvantage because we were gay. That worrying carried over into wondering if we were too young or not looking the part of typical parents. Would we even relate with expecting parents?
The process of adoption is full of uncertainties, hope and heartache. Adoption is also not for the faint of heart. But one thing is definitely true: When you become a mother, a father, Parent A or Parent B, it is worth the bumpy road it takes to get there.
Manuel and Dale
CLOVIS, CALIFORNIA
We were having trouble getting this started, so we decided to begin with our son’s bedtime story. We talk to him about his adoption as openly as possible. He didn’t really understand the concept until he started pre-school. Now he is all about, “Some kids have a mommy and a daddy, some have one mommy or one daddy, some have two mommies and some have two daddies like me!” We chose the open adoption route to have communication with his birthmother and, in time, with him about the process.
We want our son to be okay with sharing or not sharing his story. Ultimately, it will be his choice. We’ve learned that strangers feel it’s okay to make random comments like “He must look like his mom” or “He could pass for your son.” At first we didn’t know how to respond, but now we just hold our heads high and say, “Yes.” We’ve learned through the years that our response will shape his responses.
For now, this is our journey, starting with our son’s first bedtime story, which shaped itself during his first year and was inspired by a cosmic night light that still shines in his room:
Once upon a time, there was a very Special Star in the universe that was looking for the perfect parents. He asked his birth mommy to help him find the perfect family and she said, “Yes.”
One day she picked up the phone and called Daddy and Papa to see if they wanted to meet her. Two days later, the very Special Star came down, down, down from the universe to tell his birth mommy that these were the dads for him. The Special Star flew back into the universe, waiting for the perfect time to come back down. A week later, the Special Star became impatient and came down again to test out his chosen daddies. So Daddy and Papa got in the car and drove up, up, up, hoping to meet their very Special Star, but it wasn’t time yet. Daddy and Papa stayed with birth mommy in the hospital to make sure she was okay and had everything she needed before coming back home to wait.
Halloween came and no Kyan. Then Thanksgiving came and still no Kyan. Daddy and Papa had finally decided to just wait for their Christmas baby when the call came. Our very Special Star started to come down, down, down from the universe at 3:00 A.M. So Daddy and Papa got in the car and drove up, up, up to meet their very Special Star from the universe. Daddy and Papa got to the hospital at 5:00 A.M. and were able to be with birth mommy during this most magical time. Our Special Star was flying around making sure everyone was okay and then you were born at 8:05 A.M.
Once you saw that birth mommy was okay, your Daddy and Papa were okay and you felt in your heart that you would be okay, you sent your very Special Star back into the universe to help your brother or sister find their way home, too.
During the years of waiting, we had several false alarms. We started off as a potential foster family, hoping to turn a placement into an adoption. We had two prospective matches with our agency and were extremely excited for each one; however, our hopes were crushed when both matches fell through. Both times we prepared a room for our potential “instant family,” but the children were placed in different homes. This left us with a horribly empty feeling, having to face the completed rooms day in and day out.
When we finally got over those losses, we rallied one more time and began to research adoption. We came across a nearby agency on the Internet and became familiar with the open adoption process. We later found out that one of our friends was already using the same agency and this helped us decide to go with them.
After being added to the pool of potential parents, we were put in contact with a local birthmother who decided she wanted to place her child with us. We had talked to her via a contact who made it seem like everything was on track. However, we later discovered that the match had gone sour when the birthmother’s extended family did not want the child raised by two dads. They stepped up at the eleventh hour and made promises to help the young mother of two. After numerous phone calls and a resounding agreement to place her child with us, she finally backed out on New Year’s Eve, 2009. We had such high hopes, investing so much time and emotion, only to have everything fall apart at the last minute. We were heartbroken.
Our family was all set to come over and help us ring in the New Year. The potential match had been so strong that we had already made plans to announce it to both of our families that evening. The birthmother was so sure that she was going to place with us “no matter what,” but it didn’t work out. Instead, we had to put on brave faces and make sure everyone was tended to before the New Year struck. It was such a hollow New Year’s Eve, but we said, “We still have each other. Everything will happen when the time is right.”
Each time a match fell through, we thought we wouldn’t be able to go through it again. Although our agency cautioned us to remain openhearted but detached of emotion, it became difficult when we got caught up in the moment. We just couldn’t stop our hearts from loving and wanting, but we had to.
Our agency offered support group meetings for parents-to-be and this was a time when we really needed them. Although the closest meeting to us was a three-hour drive, we managed to make it when we could. Once we got there, we quickly made friends with other prospective parents. We had a chance to hear their stories about matches falling through and felt okay about our own situation. It was important, at that time, to realize that matching and un-matching was pretty common. Some couples were taking calls and turning people away. Others had received no calls at all and weren’t shy about asking for referrals.
We just sat and listened and took it all in. Road trip discussions have always been the best way for us to talk things out as a couple and determine our next step in life. On our way home, we were able to do exactly that and we decided it was best for us just to wait. We always believed our child was out there in the universe, circling around, looking for us.
So we waited and networked, talked to others and held our breath. Then one day we finally got a call from our agency about a potential match. Our parameters were a bit wider than most, so we received calls about possible matches with birthmothers who had mental health issues, some drug or alcohol use and other special circumstances. This call was pertaining to a birthmother who thought she was due any day. We arranged to meet her two days later at our agency’s home office. The adoption counselor made introductions and then left us alone to talk. After a few minutes of small talk, we all realized that we had a lot in common and really felt comfortable with each other. We laughed at simil
ar experiences and cried at some revealing moments, but in the end, we felt good about the meeting.
We were able to cut to the chase about placement and why we were selected, at which time the birthmother suddenly exclaimed: “You are the ones for this baby!” We soon discovered that was her style—call it like you see it. We didn’t judge her lifestyle or really question her reasons for wanting to place her child. We were just there, hoping that she saw something in us that clicked—and she did. By the end of our four-hour meeting with the birthmother, we all felt that we were on the right track for the best possible solution to her situation. We were officially matched on October 22, 2010.
We had very little information about the birthfather except for what our birthmother told us. She explained that their interaction was brief and intense. She provided a name and large city where he reportedly resided and described his age, race and physical attributes. She indicated to us that she had contacted him shortly after confirming her pregnancy, but he had denied the baby was his. The birthfather issue was one which we chose not to push—we could sense whenever it was discussed that our birthmother wasn’t too keen about going into details beyond what she had provided.
A week after our match meeting, our birthmother thought she was in labor. We made all the necessary arrangements for our pets, home and work and began the three-hour drive up to the hospital. Halfway there, our birthmother called to let us know it had been a false alarm. We asked if we could still come up anyway, which she agreed to. When we walked into her room, we heard the baby’s heart beating. It was music to our ears.
Once our birthmother announced that we were the dads and gave the doctors permission to talk to us about her condition, we learned that the baby was healthy, just not ready yet. They couldn’t determine an actual due date at that time. Arrangements were made for our birthmother to visit a prenatal clinic and an imaging center in the next few days. Once we made sure everything else was in order and that our birthmother was being taken care of, we left for the drive home.
Journey to Same-Sex Parenthood Page 7