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My
“ When strangers pass rude comments
about our rainbow family I worry
about the state of our country and
whether we have made any progress.”
South African
Family
By Melinda Connor, mother of 2 and blogger of Diaries of a white mother raising
a black baby - melindasmemoirsmumbled.blogspot.com
I remember the excitement of finding out I
was pregnant like it was yesterday. I also
remember the day I lost the baby. It was
11 weeks into the pregnancy and I had gone
for a scan. I remember asking the doctor to
turn the volume up because I couldn’t hear
a heartbeat and I remember him telling me
it was up.
I cried for months after that. I cried for what
could have been, what would have been and
what would never be. I cried at baby showers
and at christenings. I cried at birthday parties
and any gatherings with small children and
babies. I cried when our specialist told us that In
Vitro Fertilization was our only other option but
given my age (over), weight (under) and lifestyle,
the chances of it being successful were slim. And
I cried meeting a private social worker for the first
time to discuss adoption. The process seemed
fraught with paper trails and red tape. The idea
of handing over control to birth mothers and
fathers, in the hope they would pick us over
thousands of other couples, left me feeling
helpless and hopeless.
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I stopped crying the day I met my daughter. She
was 6 weeks old and she was at the Lighthouse
Baby Shelter in Sundowner. It was love at first
sight for me, as I held her in my arms. While we
waited for the paperwork to be processed I visited
every day and our bond grew stronger. Staff at
the shelter would tell me how she’d get niggly an
hour or so before me arriving and that she’d take
a while to settle once I had left. So, until she was
home with us, I varied my visiting times and tried
to keep them down to several times a week.
I also worry about Emma’s hair, which is thick and
healthy and gorgeous, but a nightmare to brush.
When strangers pass rude comments about
our rainbow family I worry about the state of our
country and whether we have made any progress.
I worry when people ask me how I intend to
teach Ben and Emma their cultures and how we’ll
explain why they’re black and we’re white. Deep
down I worry that they’ll resent me one day for
not being their biological mother. I’ll cross that
bridge when I come to it. If I do.
Just before Emma turned three we adopted a
baby boy. Ben was 7 days old when we met him
and just ten days old when he came home.
For now I’m loving being a mom. Not to adopted
children. Not to black children. To Emma & Ben,
my pre-schooler and toddler.
We are now a family. My husband, my daughter,
my son and I. A little different from some because
Emma and Ben are black and my husband and I
are white, but we face the same challenges other
families do. We worry about their education and
safety, we worry about them making friends
or being bullied. We worry as to whether we’re
being the best parents we can be and if we’re
raising caring, respectful, kind little people.
4/30/14 2:54 PM