Admitting is the first step

My birthday has come and gone and yet the celebrating still isn't over. Cody and I are going to eat sushi (yum, yum, I can't wait) tonight at Musashino with our friends Liz and Michael. It's really nice to have friends who are a couple and have many of the same interests that we have. We haven't really had that since we've been together and it's pretty cool. Then my parents and sister will be here on Saturday and we're headed to Vespaio for dinner. My parents think the restaurant is the greatest thing since sliced bread and since Cody is a chef there, we always get the mack daddy hook up. And then the celebration will be over. At least over for my birthday. Cody is getting baptized on Sunday and my parents are super excited, as am I. It's a decision he reached all on his own and I find him incredibly courageous for making it at this time in his life. I'm pretty freaking proud.

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I've figured out why I was blue the last few days. By the way, I was also in such a bad mood that my coworkers had to ask if they had done something to upset me. Anyway, here's the deal. I am adopted and have always known it. People always ask, "When did your parents tell you that you were adopted." Well, I've always known because they started explaining it to me, literally, as an infant. I do remember in elementary school, although I can't recall exactly what age, that I asked them how I had always known and they told me that they started telling me at a really young age. They didn't want to sit me down at age 15 and break the news. I think because of this explanation process they used, I have always been very secure in my adoptiveness-not a word, but you get the picture. I was legally theirs before I was even born and it was a closed adoption. I don't know anything about my birth parents except that they were in college and a couple and just weren't ready for a baby. I am my parents' daughter and frankly, no one else's. My sister is not adopted. My parents adopted me after years of trying to get pregnant and then my mom got pregnant with Mary. Funny, huh? And here's a note, please don't ever refer to someone as an "adopted child". I hate hearing that about other people. Who gives a shit?

Okay, so now adoptions are often done much differently than they were 30 years ago. I'm not sure of the statistics, but there are many open adoptions these days where the birth mother or parents (probably just the mother in most cases, but I believe in father's rights) meet the adopting parents and even have a relationship with the child they give up for adoption. I've never been a fan of this, but I haven't been through it myself so what do I know.

So, the older I get, the more often I think about my birth mother/parents around my birthday. It's a natural curiosity. Meeting my birth parents isn't going to fill any kind of void in my life. But the thought is there, and with my 30th just passing, the thought has been pretty strong for the past month probably. Then, my friends and I met up with an old friend (Jamie) while they were in Austin this weekend. Jamie's girlfriend Tammy had a son 12 years ago and she gave him up for adoption in an open adoption. She has a relationship with her son and his parents. She has pictures of him that she showed us and was obviously very proud, but she knows where she stands as his biological mother. After denying the fact, I finally admitted to myself that I was jealous. Jealous of the fact that this child has, what seems to be, a healthy relationship with the woman who gave birth to him and a wonderful relationship with his parents (this is based only on about 30 minutes of conversation with Tammy, so who knows really).

So, there you have it. I'm not really sure what to do with all of this. I just know that I spent a lot of the day yesterday wondering if my birth mother and father were thinking about their now 30-year old daughter and if they were hoping that I was doing well, as I was hoping and continue to hope for them.