Why Bother?

That's what my friend Chun-yu says to me over Chinese dumplings in her typically blunt fashion.  She's a highly trained psychologist and Taiwanese to boot, so I've come to expect her pragmatism and lack of sentimentality.  Even better, she doesn't judge, either.  The restaurant feels too greasy and the fluorescent lights too bright to delve into a topic as intimate and deep as this one, but I'm game.

Afterall, it is a good question.  Why rock the boat when we have a good thing going already?  We have a happy and healthy family and our collective rhythm has become more manageable and comfortable over the past few years.  If Neil and I played it right, we could be dreaming about exotic travel destinations in the not too distant future and I could be plotting to further my education in some personally satisfying but totally worthless Ph.d. program  When I think about the present, it is hard to imagine having the emotional wherewithal to figure out how we'll pay for the monthly daycare bill again and we sigh when we remind each other that we may have many years of Legoland still yet in front of us.  I feel discouraged when anxious new parents inform me that my crib is now totally out of date (and unsafe, even -- can you imagine?!?) and that the technology of everything from disposable diapers to the umbrella stroller is drastically different.

But like a lot of women, I grew up with a vision of what the future was going to look like and for me, that vision included a family with TWO kids and that (unfortunately) memorable Enjoli perfume commercial from the late 70's.  You know -- the one where the tall blonde strides in in a business suit and while she purrs, "I can bring home the bacon.  Fry it up in a pan.  And never, ever let you forget you're a man.  Because I'm a wo-MAN, Enjoli!"?  I am just Control Freak enough to assume that I can do it all -- and why not?

And I was moving along at a pretty good clip, too.  Had my marriage and career in my early 30's and had Mason easily and without incident.  For all of the discomforts and inconveniences, I loved being pregnant -- every minute of it was this amazing reminder about the beautiful miracle of life.  So why not expect it to happen the same way again, exactly when I wanted it?  Until it didn't.

I was so convinced that I had another little one in me that I suffered through much more of the humiliation and frustration of IVF than I ever imagined I would.  I'm sure that I asked myself "Why bother?" then, too.  But at some point, it became less about what I wanted for ME, and more about what I want for my son.  He is alone in his generation in our extended family.  His cousins are much older than he is....who will he call his "family" when Neil and I are gone?

Although, as the very wise are quick to point out, there is no guarantee that you're going to like -- or even love -- your sibling.  I have to believe that having a family is better, if not over moments, at least for the lifetime.

But then there's the question -- why China?  Why China when there are so many babies in the world that need a home?

So here's that defining moment for me.  I was lurking around the newsgroup that our adoption coordinator had recommended and I was shocked by all of the people who are living in little towns in Louisiana and Mississippi and Texas --  eagerly waiting to envelop Chinese babies into their homes and to introduce them to Jesus.  I don't know why it bothers me -- maybe because the motivation seems to be about "saving" these "poor little things" more than it does about being a family.  And I don't know why I can't be more gracious about it --  I mean, if not the Happy-Clappy Jesus Freaks, I'm not sure who else will be bringing boatloads of these kids home because it doesn't seem like there's another group of people beating down the door to "rescue" these orphans.  But it does bother me.

So much so that I was incensed when I read a post from a woman who's on-screen handle was "Waiting for My China Doll."  To be fair, by the time I got caught up with her, she was apologizing - said her social worker told her that "China Doll" is offensive and that she should pick another screen name.  I appreciated that she took the feedback to heart and was publicly apologizing and learning from her mistake.  I wasn't angry with HER.  I got upset when I read all of the responses to her post - all of these other folks who were saying that they also call their daughters "China Dolls" and that we don't have to be so "PC" about things.  That they are indeed these fragile "lotus blossoms" to be treasured.  After I read all of that, I stopped lurking, wrote an angry response that basically told them that they needed to get off their white asses and understand that they are raising Chinese American girls and that terms such as "china doll" and "lotus blossom" are loaded with painful assumptions and stereotypes.

I left the newsgroup after that and I dread the days to come when we'll all meet up at an adoption reunion and I'll see that they've dressed their girls in cheap little cheong sams and Mary Jane slippers from the local Chinatown.  But it was also in that moment that I thought, "If them....why not ME??"