Some Days I Wish I Was Invisible

by Pam Connell | More from this Blogger

27 Nov 2007 11:34 PM

Sometime ago a prospective adoptive parent wrote to the forums with a concern. She was considering keeping her child's adoption secret from extended family. She mentioned that she didn't want them to be always judging how she acted with the child, how she disciplined, whether she was doing the same thing with her adopted child as she had with her biological child.

Most of the time I am out in public I react to my kids without thinking about adoption, which is as it should be. Occasionally I wonder afterward what people may be thinking.

Today was one of those days. I was in a thrift store with my four-year-old. I agreed to let her pick out a children's book. While she looked through the children's books I picked up a memoir of a woman's experience with postpartum depression (PPD). Having had depression after my son's birth, I became engrossed in the story. Sitting on the floor next to Regina, I read on.

A few moments later I became aware that Regina had moved from the book corner to the housewares section. She had left several books on the floor behind her and was now busily pulling linens off shelves.

My mind suddenly realized what it must look like to a bystander to see a dirty toddler ransacking a store while her disheveled mother huddled in a corner behind a book titled, "Why I Jumped".

I figured I had better get us out of there before somebody called the police to help us. It didn't help any that at checkout I couldn't find two of the three pieces of fabric Regina had insisted on carrying. I went back and looked in the book section, housewares, and children's clothes, finally admitting to the cashier that I didn't know where Regina had left them. Could they possibly have been returned to the remnants bin? I asked. At this point Regina spoke up and said, "They're under your arm, Mommy."

The motherly-looking cashier laughed, but asked Regina if she felt all right. She informed me that Regina had been sneezing earlier and "I patted her head and she felt warm."

I murmured that she'd seemed warm to me yesterday but had been cool this morning (trying to prove that I do pay attention to my children) and assuring her that I would keep an eye on it, thanking her for her concern (trying to prove that I was not defensive). After all, no one there knew that my kids have a doting mother who has done a lot of research on postpartum depression, or that Regina and I had been having a fine afternoon in which I let her go up and down elevators for no reason and pointed out geometric shapes in her environment.

I didn't think about adoption at the time, but later wondered if it played a part in whatever went on in people's heads as they saw us. Maybe they were wondering why I adopted a child if I wasn't going to pay attention to her.

In the end, I have to remember that it doesn't matter. I think of the advice I received on dealing with strangers' comments on adoption. The counselor said we needed to realize that a transracially adoptive family would always be publicly noticeable. She said that while we naturally want to answer another adult and not be rude, our children's feelings must be considered first. She stated that our children are the only ones we owe anything to. We know, and our children know, the truth, whatever that may be. Maybe that they wear mismatched clothes because they dress themselves independently at a young age. Maybe they live in a messy house because Mom reads stories rather than cleans.

All the same, some days I wish I was invisible.

Please see these related blogs:

My Motherhood Hall of Shame

Letting Go of Guilt

Jumping to Conclusions

Learn more about Pam Connell

Pam Connell is a mother of three by both birth and adoption. She has worked in education, child care, social services, ministry and journalism.

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