My Dear President, First, I must thank you. For the first time in long 8 years, I can admit that I do again have a president. I like that I can feel proud to be an American again. We have been waiting for you. Now I know you have too many things on your plate right now and in the scheme of things, what I ask from you probably will…
I’m American and I indeed, think it is very important for the US government to do something about this mess the health care industry is in and that I have to suffer for.
Sometimes adoption just confuses me. Not in the regular old sense like “how does all this corruption continue and why won’t so many people bother to see the so logical truth” or “how exploitive and sleazy will agencies have to get before moms see through their tricks?”, but in the tradition of the Talking Heads: Well how did I get here? The fact remains that the relinquishment of my son…
I made my “debut” on the the multi author adoption blog: “Finding the Road to Truth: how I came to be the Birthmther that I am” And then, there was another one! Birtmother Commentary: on and off-line
Maybe it was because I spent almost two hours on last Tuesday evening talking to a reporter about how my seemingly very progressive agency was using acceptable, but subtly coercive tactics to point me only relinquishment, and it weakened my inner stone wall. Maybe it is because it’s almost Mother’s Day as well and between having lost my own mother many years ago, plus being a mother who lost one…
There was a good article shared by Dawn on Facebook form the Boston Globe: Can a mother get a break? Essays wonder why women are so hard on each other. The whole pretense is something I have been wondering about and have pondered for some time, of course, in pretense of being a birthmother and how society decrees who deserves to be a mother.
This story begins here:” How to Begin a BirthMother: Chapter 1 To tell him that I was having his child and giving it up for adopton, giving him no choice on the matter, because the timing was too late was unfair. I actually wrote that ignorance was bliss. I suppose it is, in a way. He knows nothing of all that was felt. In his memory, if I am in…