Here’s an excellent post from Rage Against the Minivan in response to Anderson Cooper’s piece (which I saw) on keeping Haitian children in orphanages, rather than allowing them to be adopted.  I agree with every word, so rather than trying to repeat or summarize what she wrote, just go read it.

This reminds me of a recent conversation (and a lot of other past conversations) Mr. B. and I had with some family members about First Nations children in foster care here where I live.  Although only 8% of the kids in our province are Aboriginal, Aboriginal children account for 52% of the children in government care, as of 2009.  More info here.

It’s pretty much government policy that Aboriginal children must be adopted by Aboriginal families.  There are countless excellent reasons for this policy.  Exceptions happen, but they’re rare and very complicated to obtain.  Sadly, for a complex host of reasons, there are not enough approved Aboriginal adoptive homes for the kids who need them.  Most of these kids will “age out” of foster care, often having passed through numerous foster homes, without permanent families.  Only about a tenth of all adoptable foster kids ever actually get adopted, and I suspect that percentage is even lower when it comes to Aboriginal foster kids.  Statistically, the likelihood is that these kids will end up on the streets, in prison, or dead at an early age.  Is that better than being adopted by non-Aboriginal families and being forced to struggle with the many difficulties that brings?  That’s a question I can’t easily answer.  On an individual basis, I’d say no, of course not.  But this situation is the result of a horrific history of widespread social injustice and tragedy, much of which was perpetrated by the very system that now holds responsibility for these kids.  Allowing them to be adopted by non-Aboriginal families doesn’t change that system or quell the opressive forces that still run rampant through our society.  It could even be argued that it contributes to the continued existence of those forces by making change appear unnecessary, or at least less pressing.

Do we sacrifice individuals in the pursuit of a greater good (because it’s impossible, in my opinion, to argue convincingly that allowing kids to age out of foster care or orphanages without permanency is good), or vice versa?  Is there a different and better way?  I don’t know, but as someone who plans to adopt from foster care in the future, that question has kept me awake at night more than once.

Earlier today I sent out an email to a member of my babywearing group who was looking for advice on nursing in a baby carrier.  I mentioned I had no wearing-and-nursing tips because “the Chickadee is adopted, so we bottle-nurse.”  Later on, in the shower, I found myself thinking over my word choice.  When I say “the Chickadee is adopted” I’m saying her adopted-ness is an integral, unchanging part of her fundamental nature.  By using the copula verb, to be, and the adjective for of the word “adopt”,  I put her adoption on par with her sex (she is a girl, her eye color (she has green eyes), or her age (she is nine months old).  And that’s incorrect.  What I should have said, and what I want to say in the future, is “We adopted the Chickadee”.  Her adoption was a discreet act, bounded by time,  separate from her innate nature.  That’s not to say her adoption won’t have an effect on how she understands her identity and the choices she makes in her life–of course it will, for better or for worse.  Just by switching the words around, though, I can acknowledge that her adoption is something that happened to her, that was done to her, by us and her birth family and social workers and the government.  It’s a part of her; it’s something that relates to her; but it’s not her. The fact that we adopted her doesn’t define her.  I want her to know that as she grows up, and I want others to understand that, too.

This idea is precisely the same one that leads advocates for people with disabilities to insist they be referred to as “people with disabilities” and not “disabled people” or “people who were disabled”.  A lot of people get cranky in reaction to this assertion.  They say it’s annoying, pedantic, and politically correct (as if that’s a bad thing).  However, as a writer, someone who’s been trained to work with, dissect, and value language, I think it’s vitally important.  Language creates reality and shapes the way we think about ourselves and the world.  Language carries, expresses and propagates our values, prejudices, judgements, and ideologies.  It molds our brains and constructs our thoughts.  There’s no getting away from that.  And, in my opinion, thinking deeply and specifically about how we write and speak, and making changes when we discern flaws, can help change the world–one word at a time.

As the Chickadee grows and begins to understand more and more language, I also find myself becoming more attuned to the way others talk.  Other peoples’ “mildly” racist jokes, chauvinist statements (even ones they don’t think are chauvinist), and otherwise oppressive words don’t have as much of  a chance of getting a free pass from me anymore.  And I find myself thinking more about how I talk to the Chickadee.  Society ingrains countless phrases into us from childhood and it’s a battle every day to find alternatives to unhelpful statements like “you’re a good girl” (because whether or not she eats her morning cereal doesn’t make her good or bad or anything, for that matter, besides hungry or not hungry).  But I try, because I think words matter, but more importantly, I think the Chickadee matters.  I know that whether I realize it or not, what I say–every little word–shapes her growing brain and her still-forming psyche and the values she’ll carry with her throughout her life.  The way I hold her, feed her, guide her, clothe her, play with her, and sing to her all contribute, too, but my words will contribute just as much, if not more.  So I don’t feel ashamed about believing that it matters whether I use the word “adopt” as an adjective or a verb.  Language has massive force and power, and if we pretend it doesn’t, that just gives it more power.  To the best of my ability, I want to use that force for good.  I’m sure I’ll mess up a lot–language exists in and creates plenty of mess, English even more than some–but I’ll do my best to make the effort, for her sake.

Here’s a great post from my friend along the same lines. Long live E-Prime!

The Chickadee is now over six months old!  I can’t believe how quickly time is passing.  It’s so exciting to see her change and grow, but at the same time I wish I had a pause button so that I could savour this time for a little longer.She now rolls from front to back and back to front like a pro–this morning she spent over half an hour rolling around on our bed with my legs blocking one side and Mr. B’s blocking the other to keep her from falling off.  She loved it!  It’s amazing to me how much joy she finds in the simplest things.  Recently she’s started noticing the chickadees and other birds that visit the trees near our patio and will watch them intently, kicking her legs with excitement, as they fly from branch to branch.  She still loves being outside and I think she will definitely share the love of camping and the outdoors that is a big part of life here in the B family.

She already has her two lower front teeth, which are as sharp as razors.  They didn’t seem to bother her very much when they came in.  She can sit up if she props herself up with her hands in front of her (the pediatrician says this is called ‘tripoding’) and she’s trying really hard to crawl.  She is very determined, focused, opinionated, curious, happy and social, and she makes friends with everyone she meets–she isn’t shy at all.  She’s also a tough little trooper–she had all her vaccines including H1N1 this month and she only cried for a couple of seconds when the needle went in and then was perfectly happy again.  She had her first cold (very mild) recently, too, and she somehow stayed happy and sweet even while she was all stuffed up.  This is amazing to me because I’m pathetic when I’m sick.  She loves her toys, her books, and looking at herself in mirrors. We just got her a high chair (a wooden one she can use up at the table with us) and she is starting to say a few consonant sounds (ah-goo, ba, pfft) in addion to all the vowel vocalizations that she loves (she tells us “stories” all the time).  She also still sleeps for 12 hours every night without waking up! She also takes 2 or 3 naps each day.  She is now eating some solid foods.  She likes things that she can pick up and chew on, like slices of apple, beet, potato, green pepper, banana, and broccoli.  She makes an enormous mess every time she eats and it’s pretty funny.  She’s also learning to drink water out of a proper cup–usually it ends up spilled all over her and the table and the floor, but she thinks it’s really fun.

I think she’ll love having her own room, as well as carpet to learn to crawl on instead of the hardwood floors we have now.  The area we’re moving to has a big forest nearby as well as lots and lots of families with children, so it will be a great place for her to grow up–we’re very excited about it.  We’re also looking forward to her first Christmas and have already bought her her very own first ornament (a wire mesh chickadee) and her own Advent calendar.

Time to go do some more packing…

This is a great idea (although I prefer such events when they include both partners)!

After a fun but busy day visting with family on Saturday, the Chickadee was uncharacteristically cranky all day on Sunday.  She was fussy, easily bored, and difficult to console.  The only time she was content was when we went mushroom foraging in some nearby woods (trees seem to fix everything for her).  Mr. B was especially disappointed because he was looking forward to being able to hang out and have fun with her all day.  She’s usually such a happy and content kid that it really throws us when she hits a cranky patch, just because it happens so rarely.

Early on Monday, she got her H1N1 vaccine and was extremely sleepy afterwards, taking 4+ hour long naps in the afternoons for the past three days.  Then, last night, she woke us up every hour and a half or so with grunts and vigorous leg-thumping (her latest “thing” is thumping her legs up and down, simultaneously, really really loudly.  It’s funny–especially in the bath–except when it happens in the middle of the night!).  She was also rolling around a lot and kept smashing various body parts into the sides of her crib (which is just one reason why we’re going to do a trial of a Montesssori-style floor bed for her when we move, at least until she’s walking).  She woke up a bit cranky-looking, and on a whim, I checked her gums with my fingertip…

…and there it was, sharp as a razor and tiny as can be–her very first tooth.

A few days ago we got word that we will be able to move into a two-bedroom townhouse in on-campus family housing at the university where Mr. B. is a PhD student.  We’ve been on the wait list since April and we’re incredibly excited and relieved. Our lovely one-bedroom apartment has been feeling more and more cramped and claustrophobic as the Chickadee continues to grow and become more mobile and sensitive to noise and light (for example, it’s tricky now to go get clothes out of the bedroom closet if she is asleep in there–she wakes up much more easily now than she did when she was younger).  I’m proud and pleased that we managed in this small apartment for as long as we did; we never expected to be living here as a family, but we made it work anyway.  We have a gigantic dresser-cum-change-table slotted into the living room along with our rocking glider and her diaper pails, play mat, mirror, and toy/book shelf; a crib in our bedroom; laundry drying racks and wine-making set-up in our hallway; forumla cans stored under the crib; camping gear, Mr. B’s construction gear, wrapping paper, guitars and more under our bed; empty bottles for beer-making and spare curtain rods behind the couch; and so on.  Somehow it all manages to look cozy and even a little bit aesthetically pleasing–as long as I’m vigilant about keeping everything picked up and in its proper place.  It’s amazing what can be done when you have no choice.

That said, I cannot wait to be living somewhere with more space.  The townhouse we’re moving into is still small, old, and uninspired by many peoples’ standards–we’ll have industrial non-color carpets and Generic Rental Suite Beige walls, and if we want in-house laundry we’ll have to buy a portable sink-hookup washing machine–but to us it’s pretty much a mansion.  There are so many closets and cupboards!  That alone is enough to make me dizzy with anticipation.  I told Mr. B. this morning that one of the things I’m most looking forward to is not having to store stuff under beds and behind couches.  It will be so nice to be able to vacuum under furniture without having to move half our belongings out of the way first.

And, of course, we get to set up and decorate the Chickadee’s very first room of her own!  I’ve been surfing blogs and etsy.com for inspiration and it’s a lot of fun.

I think I just heard her wake up–time to go for a run while the sun is out.

Six months and two days, actually.  I can hardly believe it.  We’re halfway through the final adoption paperchase, and in a couple of months everything will be legalized forever.