In 2007, I began a blog called Our Journey to 5 on the Blogger platform as a way to share my thoughts on expanding our family through adoption.  I had hoped to connect with like-minded people during our decision making and beyond. In the beginning, I posted about my adoption thoughts and concerns in blog entries that got zero views.  As time went on, thanks to a very active adoption community, people began to find my blog.  I met and became friends with people all over the world as I shared what it was like to finally bring my husband on board with my adoption dreams.  I ultimately shared what it was like to fall in love with a toddler who, for a long while, was reluctant to connect.  

When my father got sick during my first year home with my son, my blog posts increasingly focused on how I felt as a daughter losing her dad.  My thoughts, and therefore my posts during this time, didn’t solely focus on what brought me to blogging in the first place.  I had it in my head that my “journey to 5” blog was intended to focus only on adoption and our new family, so by writing about other things I was going through, I felt I was veering too much away from what I was “supposed” to be writing about. The question that plagued me was — Who wants to turn to an adoption blog only to read about someone’s ailing father?

My Last Blog Post

Three months before my father passed away, in December 2010, I wrote my last blog post.  At the time, I didn’t know it was going to be the last thing I ever posted.  Perhaps if I would have known, I would have reached out to my community and supportive friends.  I could have simply said good-bye properly and not had my last blog be a photo of my son eating his first potato latke.  Had I reached out and told people that I was struggling — emotionally and also literally with the content of my blog and where it was heading — I would have found out that this was okay.  That a blog morphs and changes with the person who blogs.  I would have realized that people liked me and trusted me as a person, not just because of the adoption I first began writing about. I was a person who adopted a child, and I was also a person who was going through something else in her life — something quite traumatic for me.  Had I stopped to think about this further, I might have found comfort in continuing to write about what it was like to learn to love my son while simultaneously learning how to be a daughter who was losing my father. 

This Blogging Life

A blog is never about one thing, but it is about the person who blogs.  And so, back for Round Two in this blogging life, I promise to not worry about perfection, not to concern myself with just including the good parts, and not curate my life any differently than how it’s unfolding.  There may be a typo (though I hope not), there may be imperfect writing and sometimes parts that need editing.  What I hope mostly is that there is truth.  And in truth, I hope we connect.  

The post Perfectionism is the Reason I Didn’t Blog For Years appeared first on Stephanie Karp.

(An earlier version of this essay appeared in Parents Magazine and Fit Pregnancy in 2003.)

“Oh my God! Didn’t I see you on television last week?”

I’m in a neighborhood bagel shop, taking a bite of my sandwich, when I get my first taste of celebrity-style recognition.  “I feel like asking you for your autograph,” the girl standing in front of me says.  Though it’s true that I had re-applied my blush and lip gloss thirty minutes before my daughter was born, when I first decided to be part of The Learning Channel’s A Baby Story, local fame was not my intention.

Like many of my friends, I am addicted to the whole line-up of shows on The Learning Channel.  My interest in these shows has pretty much mirrored my life.  A Wedding Story when I became engaged, Trading Spaces when I began to decorate my apartment, A Makeover Story when I needed inspiration, and most recently, A Baby Story.

I cry at every birth.  I am in awe of the courage it takes these mothers to welcome a television crew into their birthing rooms.  Not once does it ever occur to me that I would be one of those mothers.

When I first find out that TLC is looking for parents-to-be in the New York area, I am intrigued, to say the least.  I want this experience.  Mostly, I want this gift to my child.  But a wave of panic washes over me when I try to imagine giving birth in front of a camera crew.  Would my reactions be false? Would I lose the intimacy of the moment? Would they show too much skin? Maybe this is something I can’t handle after all.

I decide to take the first step and let fate take over.  I quickly type out an email.  I am a 29-year-old old mother-to-be in Brooklyn, due to give birth to my baby in two months.  A simple email, nothing too flashy, just the facts.  I am afraid of being picked.

I mention the email to my husband, Gary, who seems fine with it.  Of course, he has never watched A Baby Story and does not know what is at stake.

Two weeks later my phone rings.  Nikki, a TV producer for A Baby Story, is calling to follow up.  Soon, my husband and I are crouched over our speakerphone, talking with Nikki like old friends about how we met, what kind of parents we will be.  One hundred and fifty couples are being interviewed.  Only fifty will be selected for the new season.  Before we hang up, Nikki says, “I think you guys are great.  The show is yours if you want it.”

The Baby Story offer. A bizarre chance to be on national television in the most human and vulnerable of ways.

It takes us another two weeks of hemming and hawing, asking opinions (some friends insist we do it, most call us crazy), contacting other couples who had already been on the show (they tell us we will get the best care at the hospital), assessing regrets (would it be worse to do it and be mortified or not do it and feel cowardly?), and Gary viewing some previous episodes (“Are these people that corny in real life?” he asks), until we say Yes.  Yes, I would take the risk of giving birth on national television if it meant having this story to share with my daughter some day.  Child, this is how much you were loved before you were even born.

A Baby Story typically has four segments.  The first is a baby shower or similar activity, the second is a mom and dad activity day, the third is the birth and the final segment is a check-in to see how the new family is doing.  My first day of taping would be my annual Girls’ Night In — a dozen friends and homemade desserts.  This time, to honor my pregnancy, we’d have a tarot card reading and a tattoo artist who would paint flowers on my belly.

When my doorbell rings the evening of my Girls’ Night In, I am relieved to finally meet the people who would be witnessing my birth.  Nikki and I hug when we meet.  It feels like we are already good friends.  I am introduced to the cameraman, Chris, who is, to my embarrassment, an attractive guy in his early thirties.  As I pose for a photo with him and Nikki later that night, I can’t help but think, “What did I get myself into? In a few short weeks, this man is going to see my vagina.”

A week later, Gary and I tape our segment at the beach club where we met and then at Coney Island.  It’s like spending a great day with friends — except our friends have very expensive video equipment and make us walk down the same street a few times recording from different angles.  For the most part, although some elements are choreographed for logistical purposes, we enjoy a lot of spontaneous fun riding the coasters on the boardwalk and playing carnival games. During each scene, although we are encouraged to focus on our baby, everything we say and do is up to us.  When we leave Nikki and Chris that evening, I have butterflies in my stomach.  The next time I see them, I would be in labor.

When my contractions begin on the morning of June 19, I call Nikki right away as directed, and am in touch with her the entire day.  Gary films me at my morning doctor’s appointment with the Daddy-Cam, a digital video camera that TLC lends us to capture the big day.

That evening, the labor pains become more unbearable.  Still only two centimeters dilated, I am sent home from the hospital for the second time that day.  When my water breaks in the car on the way home at 9:30PM, we immediately call Nikki and tell her to meet us at the hospital.

Half an hour later, I am in agony waiting for my epidural.  The crew is on their way to Brooklyn from Manhattan.  When the pain becomes so intense that I vomit into a bedpan, my one lucid thought is “Thank God this is not on tape.”

By 11:30 PM, the crew still hasn’t arrived, but when my doctor checks me, I am only three centimeters dilated.  Gary reaches Nikki on her cell phone and finds out she is lost.  “Don’t worry,” Gary says, “I think it will be a while.” Gary quickly leaves the hospital to buy snacks.

My contractions start coming more quickly.  When I am checked again at midnight, I am 10 centimeters dilated and, with pressure intensifying, ready to push.  I cross my legs to keep the baby inside, even though the nurse tells me it will never happen this fast.  Not only is my husband missing, but Nikki and Chris have yet to arrive.  I feel the baby coming.

Although the epidural has relieved my pain and I appear calm, inside I am filled with anxiety.  I try to remember my Lamaze breathing.  I can’t believe that after all my waffling over whether or not to do the show, I might give birth on my own.  To take my mind off my “reality television” dilemma, I take out my make up bag and touch up my face.  The clicking of my compact mirror calms me.  Labor is not a fashion show, and I am not usually vain, but if I can help it, I want to look good on television.

At 12:30 AM, my husband finally shows up. I am too busy freaking out that he almost missed our daughter being born, that I don’t notice Nikki and Chris setting up the camera.  “Ready?,” my doctor asks. I begin to push.

At 1:09 AM on June 20, 2002, I become a mom.  My dark-haired, doe-eyed Emma comes into the world to her mother’s laughter and her father’s tears.  “A birth made for TV!” my doctor says.

When my daughter is placed on my chest, I don’t notice the cameras at all.  I only see Emma, my daughter.  As I study a little face that looks like my own, I am no longer concerned about what others will see on their television screens.

When friends comment on my laughably easy delivery, I offer the disclaimer that, yes, I did have an easy delivery.  That, according to my doctor, all that waiting around actually helped the baby down the birth canal quite naturally.  But TV shows do get edited.  In my episode, we see only two pushes so it appears as if my daughter just slips out of me. For the sake of being truthful, I do feel an element of reality is lost.

There were many people who cautioned us not to broadcast our birth to millions of people.  That giving birth was a private moment meant only for the parents.  That my emotions would be false.  That I’d feel embarrassed when it was aired.  I took the risk because I was willing to accept the outcome.

Giving birth on national television added excitement to an event you wouldn’t imagine could get any better.  It didn’t falsify my emotions, but rather, heightened my joy.  Thanks to A Baby Story, my family and friends from all across the country and parts of Europe were able to collectively bear witness to a new family member being born.

Perhaps one day when Emma is twelve, she will roll her eyes at the mere mention of A Baby Story and the vision of her young mom who joyfully heralded her arrival.  But it’s our sincerest wish that in time, she will look to this video as a priceless gift.  Emma will have the privilege of sharing with us the most defining moment of our lives.  The day we became a family.

— Stephanie J. Karp

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But buried.

I grew up in a traditional Brooklyn Jewish family — lots of fun family cultural dinners, very loud people, lots of yelling, lots of laughs too. A fun hobby of some of my relatives at various family functions was always talking about who looked like who — who had whose eyes, hair color, personality, skin tone. At that early age, no one that I knew of had ever adopted a child. Growing up, no one that I knew was adopted. And yet.

It was something that sort of became a pipe dream for me. There were a lot of variables that I thought about. My husband and I wanted three children — so I would say to myself, if we have three kids and a home and the finances to afford a fourth child, then I would love to do this huge mitzvah of taking in another child into my home. My husband was never on board with the idea of adoption being part of our own lives, but he too loved the idea in theory.

I took a class in the Spring of 2006 called You, Inc. It tied in perfectly with me having just found out about The Secret and the premise of holding a thought in your head, putting it out there into the “universe” at large … and ultimately making it happen.

In this class we had an assignment called “If I can see it, I can believe it.” On this page in our scrapbooks, we were to cut out photos of ideas, things, aspects of our lives we absolutely wanted to come true. On these pages was the watch I want, some vases, a mirror. The following page had a photo of a couple in love (so that my husband and I would always remain best friends), Diane Keaton because I love how gracefully she’s aged, Oprah and her “girls” because I love the amazing work she does for children and literacy, a cut out of my face with Demi Moore’s body because one day I’ll value that commitment more than my Dunkin Hines Chewy Fudge Brownies. The last photo that I cut out and carefully pasted into my book was a photo that has been in my head for about 7 months now. Angelina Jolie with her son, Pax.

I flip open the pages of this book often. How else to guide me and remind me to live a life of all that I hold dear — in both tangible and far deeper ways. “If I can see it, I can believe it.” My watch has been selected, vases have been purchased. Facial creams are slathered on daily, healthy greek yogurt is part of my morning ritual. Family time is carved out of very busy weeks. Medications are taken, therapies are administered. The next indicated step is always taken. Family is my priority above all else. Books are read and businesses are begun. Things are happening … I’m making them happen. And the photo of Angelina Jolie — once a symbol of a pipe dream, the ‘if onlys’, the ‘wouldn’t it be nice?’, has actually become a decision that deserves to be made — in other words, a TRUE POSSIBILITY. The reality of this prize is an amazing life we can give to someone and the joy of some little child who can add to ours.

It has been 6 months of research now. Agencies called, blogs researched and devoured and friendships made across miles with people whose shoes I’m considering walking in. And a preliminary decision made based on lots of research and many factors that made sense to us that, should we decide to proceed, perhaps it is Kazakhstan in Central Asia (nestled between Russia and China) that might hold our future. I have a husband who is yet to be fully convinced this is a path for us, but yet who, G-d bless him, grows more willing each day to consider expanding our family in such a unique way. Two loving and special daughters who smile at the idea of a baby brother are a great factor in this family equation.

And yet. A fear. A fear of the unknown, the ‘what ifs’, the ‘should I’s’ and ‘will we reallys?’ Holy s–t! Will we REALLY? A wonder of whether we should expand our family through a pregnancy of my own or take the road not taken. Will there be a regret either way. Or not. This is it, this is our life. Whatever we choose, this is it. A huge question of who is the child we were meant to have. In what manner should we pursue our journey to 5. And are we okay to be a family of four. YES! YES we are. I lov emy family. I am decidedly content now but willing to take risks to have the larger family I always envisioned we’d have down the road when we’re old and gray. Amazingly, thankfully, finances in order and having healthy bodies and minds, we have the ability to choose the manner in which we make this happen. Should we decide to at all. What to do? Crystal ball, anyone?

The notion of saving a life, of kissing and holding him/her, of tucking in a small child who never had such simple luxuries, of loving a child like my own, S/He IS MY OWN, of providing this great country that is America, of offering an education, of showering our child with love and life lessons and two great big sisters, of offering guidance and intervention and resources previously unimaginable and two loving parents and a home and warmth. A simple and serendipitious chance to be part of our crazy, wacky, loving, warm, adventurous life.

Or the continuation of our own blood line? Another child who looks like my two beautiful girls, who shares my creativity and love of words, who is an entrepreneur like their dad. Is this overrated? What does “There is nothing like your own” really mean? A family is what you make of it. My friends are my family too.

Will we or won’t we?

The information gathering continues and the soul searching endures …

And now, glad to have this out and in the open of this unique blog space, I can let my thoughts relax for now knowing that the fact that I even had the nerve to begin this blog must mean something.

Till next time!

Thanks for reading my first blog entry. Wow. I did it.

The post Will I Adopt A Child? appeared first on Stephanie Karp.

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost (1915)

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I–
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

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Which is why no decision has been made yet.

It is the research itself that makes this a huge part of my inner life. But outwardly my husband and I have done nothing to move this process forward at all nor will we for a long while.

I am someone who researches ad nauseum and is someone for whom, when a decision *is* finally made, I feel COMPLETELY and OVERWHELMINGLY SUPER CONFIDENT in my next steps. That is why recent questions posed to me by well meaning friends have propelled me to delve even a little deeper into various aspects of this journey. And in turn I appreciated the opportunity to ask questions I had not asked before and to research topics that had not previously come up in all my readings. I am not oblivious or in denial to challenges that may (or may not) arise. But to throw in my towel based on other people’s fears is never something that would cross my mind. I haven’t been thinking of this for 17 years for nothing.

I am not a religious person. Spiritual, yes. But I long for the amazing faith of a woman whom I spoke to yesterday. Almost a stranger, I’ve only seen her a few times at my daughter’s soccer games. And yet here we were, along with another mom on the bleachers, discussing our views of G-d and Heaven and faith and beliefs. For almost two hours. It was no ordinary mom conversation and it was especially enjoyed by me. She said something that struck me. “When I have faith, I have never doubted.” She told me I should “pray about it”, pray for G-d to open doors for me or pray for my decision thoughts to be taken out of my head should this really not be the path for me at all.

I have prayed in my life for people to be well, for healing. I have never prayed for answers. But this morning I did. I prayed that soon it will become crystal clear what we were meant to do. I prayed for the faith to know that whatever we decide is what is truly right for our family. When a decision is finally made, whenever that may be, I can assure you, we will have no doubts.

The post The Difficult Decision To Adopt A Child appeared first on Stephanie Karp.

Months later, this past September, I went back to blog searching, hoping to read more stories that would convince me this was the path for us (or not). I was able to find this family’s email address. We have since exchanged many emails and my husband and I had a phone call with them where they shared all of their experiences with us. They now have three beautiful children from different regions in Kazakhstan.

They have listened to our worries and our fears. Have offered practical insight and offered encouragement and faith. As part of a recent email exchange the dad wrote this to me:

“Don’t ever hesitate to share with me. We have been there. I will be nonjudgmental even if you decide not to adopt. It is a totally subjective thing, as it boils down to it. You and your husband are the only ones making this decision, because if you left it up to everyone else you will never reach consensus! I’m proud to be a resource! And one day hopefully I will meet the child that perhaps I played a very small role in bringing to his or her “forever family.”

I honestly think that should this come to pass, their role in this will be much bigger than just a small part. I tried contacting other families before and it was a quick information exchange or phone tag that never happened. With them, it was different. Definitely a connection, and one that has been so inspiring and uplifting, that I’m sure that this is one of the powerful ways that only prove that the doors are opening for me, should I choose to acknowledge them.

Another email said this today “When you get a referral it will all become real… so real that you will no longer hear the critics, and you will only see the path that you take to bring that little one home.”

Since I haven’t given out any information about myself just yet (I’m a newbie to this blog thing and so reluctant to share my business yet) I am not going to name this family. You definitely know who you are. And again, as we are not yet sure what the future may hold, I want to let you know that you have played an instrumental part in one of the biggest and most life changing decisions of our lives. Whatever the outcome, the time you shared with us, the insight and care you provided have been priceless. Our appreciation knows no bounds. Thank you.

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We’re giving it some time. My husband and I had a talk last night. As resistent as he was to this idea at first, he is also drawn to the amazingness of it. He is eager to make a decision either way. We have decided to revisit this together at the new year. And he decided that on Jan. 10, his birthday, we will know what choice we will make about how to proceed. I just want to commit either way. The limbo is hard. It’s stagnant.

Today my daughter drew me a picture of our family. I said “There are 5 people, who is the other person?” Well, I should have noticed right away that the 5th person was tinier than all the others. She said “That is our new baby brother. Shhh … don’t tell anyone.” You can bet that drawing will be saved as we decide what we’ll be doing. If I knew it was going to work out okay, I’d say yes in a second. It’s the unknowns, the variables, and frankly, the lack of support that I am receiving from people from whom I’d love it most, that make me pull the reins back a little.

I have a few calls in this week to a few families I discovered. We’ll chat and after that I’m going to lay low for a good few weeks to let things settle and see what thoughts fill the spaces of my head.

Goodnight!
S

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Once upon a time, there was a wise man who used to go to the ocean to do his writing. He had a habit of walking on the beach before he began his work.

One day, as he was walking along the shore, he looked down the beach and saw a human figure moving like a dancer. He smiled to himself at the thought of someone who would dance to the day, and so, he walked faster to catch up.

As he got closer, he noticed that the figure was that of a young man, and that what he was doing was not dancing at all. The young man was reaching down to the shore, picking up small objects, and throwing them into the ocean.

He came closer still and called out “Good morning! May I ask what it is that you are doing?”

The young man paused, looked up, and replied “Throwing starfish into the ocean.”

“I must ask, then, why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?” asked the somewhat startled wise man.

To this, the young man replied, “The sun is up and the tide is going out. If I don’t throw them in, they’ll die.”

Upon hearing this, the wise man commented, “But, young man, do you not realize that there are miles and miles of beach and there are starfish all along every mile? You can’t possibly make a difference!”

At this, the young man bent down, picked up yet another starfish, and threw it into the ocean.

As it met the water, he said, “It made a difference for that one.”

The post The Starfish appeared first on Stephanie Karp.

These moms are being so generous with me, with emails, shared blogs, offers of phone calls. I began a list with all my contacts and their information and how I found them so that I can get all my ducks in a row, so to speak.

Still a few more calls will be made this week. This “laying low” business, it’s just not working for me because I have discovered that research and contacts begets research and contacts. It is never ending and absolutely great. And tiring.

And so it’s off to bed after a great Halloween with my girls. Feeling very content with where I am in my life right now. I don’t feel desperate to have a third child. Rather, I feel so blessed, so grateful and so content that it feels very very right to open our arms and hearts wide to accept another child into our lives. Will my plate be full? Yes, very full. But they are not babies forever, and a big family is really what I always wanted later on down the road. It will be worth it in the end.

Life is good.

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Last night he crumpled up his face with upset when I read to him from a letter that told what the options were for children who were not adopted by age 13. I guess he imagines our own girls living such a life and it breaks his heart. He wanted to know what the “forgotten ages” are. Most people want as young a baby as possible. Many older adoptive parents take an older child. Is there an age that sort of gets bypassed in the mix?

When I think of my dear sweet girl, just 2 1/2, I would want to take home someone her age to protect that innocence and inquisitiveness that I see in her. But in reality, I think a younger child would pose fewer acclimation risks which would in turn be easier for my girls to get to know a new member of the family, and vice versa.

Today I spoke to another great contact who has been a social worker in the field of adoption for many years. She has two biological boys and is in the process of adopting her daughter from Kazakhstan. She was so informative and great to speak to, as she also feels compelled to adopt into her family while having biological kids as well. She was wise and had great points. I just wish it wasn’t for the fact that I fear us “aging out” of the Kaz program. But she really drove home the point for me to lay low on my husband for now, as it really should come and derive from him as if he thought of the idea himself. She pointed out that I wouldn’t want to be resented by my husband if god forbid something were to happen that we didn’t expect in regards to the new child.

She is so wise, so right. I want this adoption to come from both of us, if it is to come from us at all. If it is to be, it will be. So therefore, I relinquish it to the powers that be …

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