I haven’t read the May
9 issue of People magazine, which features a cover story
about Sandra Bullock and her life with son Louis, but I suspect I will get around to it. My focus this weekend has been on
other things — costly things, like buying new jeans that fit my post-diet, maintenance-mode mood. They are, of course,
black. (The jeans, not the mood.) Because I can still get away with it.
I think I managed to steer clear of Madonna-itis. Don’t get me wrong; I think La Madge should
get a badge for still looking so fab. It’s just that I need to find that sweet spot between Jackie O’s cool, classic
looks and today’s edgier vibe. Like me, it’s a work in progress. Like Madge, I do like to press the occasional
button — say, by writing a book called Infertility Sucks! Keeping it all together when sperm and egg stubbornly
Sandra Bullock, too, has flirted with the edgier side, in her ill-fated hook-up
with what’s his name. Things apparently are better for her these days, with a beautiful baby boy in her life. (One imagines
that little Louis might be a bit more grown up than that other guy at any rate.)
I have remained a silent observer to date on the issue of celebrities and adoption,
for which, of course, Madonna and Sandra have both been fodder. But even those of us who are far less high profile can find
ourselves ensnared if we’re not careful and thoughtful about it.
In the midst of an interview leading up to this year’s May 6 National
Infertility Survival Day®, a journalist expressed to me her dismay that so many people were adopting children from overseas,
rolling out the old, “There are plenty of children right here who need good homes” argument. Clearly, she had
missed or forgotten the part of my story in which I adopted my daughter in China in 2001.
I won’t elaborate here on the entirety of my
amazingly diplomatic and enlightening response — perhaps another time. What I will say is this:
It’s wrong to judge others for anything less
than child abuse or endangerment, when it comes to families and children, mothers and kids and the choices we make as parents.
When adoption becomes a
part of the family’s story, our understanding of the whys involved with how a child came to be where he or she came
to be and with whom is no less rich with mystery, passion and grace than is the more familiar story of the nine-month pregnancy
and the labor that was short or long, painful or breezy, a few weeks early or a few weeks late.
All I know is my baby got to me at just the right time.
She gets to me still on a daily basis. That’s the way it is with our kids, so tightly do they hold us transfixed.