My NonAdopting Story

I love babies. I love children. I am good with them. And I've always wanted to be a mother one day. I just didn't want kids too early. I wanted to finish university first, and find a job. And find the love of my life.

In the beginning of our infertility journey my husband and me didn't discuss adoption. We were sure that one of the IVFs would work out.  As the years were passing by, we began realizing that IVF might not work for us, and we started to discuss adopting.

The result of each discussion was the same: we wanted to parent our child, not any child.

But if we didn't adopt, the other option was to remain childless forever and this seemed like  a horrible option at the time. So we kept looking into adoption further. 

We learned that in our country there are only 5 children adopted each year. And there are approximately 350 approved couples in line waiting for a child.  Our system prefers fostering to adoption, there are 1,300 children in foster families. Statistically this meant that the possibility of us ever getting a child for adoption was so low, that we just didn't want to waste any of our time on that.

So we started thinking about international adoption. We visited one couple that recently adopted internationally and they explained that they had to give a lawyer in that foreign country approximately  20,000 USD (in cash!). We just wondered, how much of that money was used for bribes. It would break our hearts if we found out later on, that we received a child only because some horrible injustice was made to a poor, uneducated woman. 

But the real reason why I never really wanted to adopt was because I was deeply hurt by a person that I once loved. 

When I was 12 years old, my cousin was born - a beautiful baby boy. His father was an alcoholic and his mother was a very low energy sad person, who did provide for her child's physical needs, but lacked energy for anything else. It was me who saw my cousin walk for the first time. It was me who read him fairy-tales, went for walks, to playgrounds, played with him, taught him reading. I spent time with him from the second I came back from school until he went to bed.

When he entered his teenage years, I was already finishing university, so in a way we lost contact. But whenever we met, we always talked. 

A few years ago, when he was in his mid twenties, he visited my husband and me  with his girlfriend. It was a nice afternoon and we were drinking coffee and eating apple pie.  My cousin's girlfriend mentioned her surname, so my husband asked her if her ancestors come from the country X (this is a country, lying south of our country. It is a country that my husband and I both love and  we spend many holidays there). 

My cousin replied in a very mocking and superior way: »Of course not. You can be very sure that I checked very carefully that my girl-friend is of a pure blood family from our country.«

I remained speechless for a while. Then I said: »I think it is now time you left. Your girl-friend is welcome to stay, but you are not.«

You see, my parents come from two different nationalities. I learned already as a young child that many people are nationalist. My skin got thicker. But how many times did I cry as a child when other children were calling me nasty names, just because I wasn't of »pure breed«.

With years I learned that not a lot of people have a heart of gold. A kind heart, that never hurts another person. 

I am sure, I areally am, that if my husband and I had our own child, a child with our genes, he would have a kind heart.

But if we adopted, the child could be easily the way my cousin is. And this is the risk I am not willing to take.