How Much is Too Much?

When does an offer, a sincere extension of your wishes, become begging? When does it cross the boundary from kind question to nagging? I'm stumped with this. I'm also perturbed, dismayed, frustrated, upset, sad, agitated, helpless, impatient and a little angry at the sheer lack of control I have over the openness of our adoption.

My first problem is my inability to honestly understand what it feels like to relinquish a baby. I'm only guessing what it must be like based upon the experiences of others. Some have had terrible regrets, others have had tough transition periods and then become more comfortable with their decisions once time has passed, some are comfortable with their decisions from the time they form an adoption plan. The problem, as an AP, is that I tend to hear much more of the stance of the former than the latter. I'll never give birth. I can understand the pain in that ~ but I cannot understand leaving your child in the arms of another. I can't. I especially can't now that I'm mothering someone else's child. I would sacrifice my life for my child; no questions or thought required.

Is it possible for a firstmom to go on as if her baby never really was part of her life? Is seeing your child so terribly hard that it keeps you away altogether? Let me explain. Or try to explain, as much as I can. Coherent thought and my fingers don't always live in synchronicity.

My daughter is not my daughter.

All of you are now either rolling your eyes, scratching your heads, or doing something wondering what the hell I'm thinking, but what I really think is: Our daughter is our daughter. Sure, if I'm in public, at school, the store, blah, blah; she's my daughter. But in my heart and mind, it's impossible to separate Crettie and Arthur from the equation. Impossible. Let me say it again for all the AP's and PAP's who might be reading what I just said: IMPOSSIBLE. Every day, as she grows, it becomes harder and harder for me as a parent of an "our daughter" when the first set of parents want to remain out-of-the-picture.

We're emailing, and that's been a blessing and weight from my shoulders...knowing where they are, having at the least a superficial relationship with them. But when do our offers for visits become too much? When does the point become mute? When do you throw in the towel and say, 'I tried'?

My dilemma? I just can't stop offering. E-baby started crawling two days ago. You know what I thought? 'Oh, dear God. Crettie is missing this!' So I ran for the camera and took a video that I will edit down sometime this week and post to Google Video for her. Then I will drop her a message telling her it's there--but is she looking? Does she care? Elizabeth has started saying 'Ba-ba', she's cooing like a dove, she's learning to stack things; the changes and transitions are happening so fast if I blink I'll miss one. I yearn, yearn for Crettie and Arthur to see their daughter. This stage only happens once, and I'm learning just how quickly the time moves. It goes so fast. Pictures cannot tell her entire story. It's just not enough. It will never be enough.

When is the time that I don't offer a visit going to be the time they've changed their minds and then feel like they can't ask? How far do I extend my heart? How far do I extend Elizabeth's? We talk about Crettie-mommy and Arthur-daddy every single day. Someday in the future we may need to alter these titles, but for now I like them the way they are. How long do I fantasize of seeing my daughter's parents again before I start to steel my heart for reality?

I'm always trying to do the right thing. Sometimes the right thing isn't always the best thing. Maybe the best thing for Crettie and Arthur is distance, and what if I'm being way too invasive?
How much is too much, when its your daughter?