This is another question that I’m asked a lot.
“Do you get to see your children?”
“Do you ever get to see your babies?”
“It’s not a matter of ‘get to.'”
I want to see my babies! Oh, so very much do I want to see them!
I want hold my Lady Bug and kiss her cheeks. I want to play with Legos with her! I want to join her in her favorite activities!
I want to watch my Precious Picklette walk across a room. I want to listen to her assert herself and tell everyone exactly what’s going down! (I wonder who she gets that from…? haha)
I want hold my Sweet Sesame, feed him, and try to make him laugh.
…so, I do want to see my babies, but do I get to? Legally speaking, I can see and be with Precious Picklette. She has not been adopted. She is with her biological father and her stepmother. We all love Precious Picklette. I want her to attach to them as best as possible, before I enter the picture – besides that I do not feel “emotionally” ready to be any type of mother figure to her, right now. Does that sound selfish? I promise you, it isn’t. I will explain all of it to her, someday.
Now, Lady Bug and Sweet Sesame have been legally adopted. Do I get to see them? That’s a confusing question, for me.
I want to see Lady Bug, I do… but I also don’t. I want my Lady Bug to attach to her adoptive parents – which she already has, actually. But I’m scared that she may recognize me and think, “What the crap? Where did you go, these (almost) 2 years?? Where have you been? You’re the one who changed most of my diapers! You’re the one who helped me learn to walk! You’re the one…” etc, etc. …or maybe she would just think, “Hmm, I feel like I know you from somewhere….”
Now, Sweet Sesame… I don’t think seeing him would cause any Earth-shattering hysteria, but I do want him to attach to his parents. I’m one of his biological parents, but they are his (their) real parents, in my book. I love him and can’t wait to watch him grow up in pictures and videos (both of them), but our time to meet will come.
So, do I get to see my kids? No. Not right now. But it’s not truly a matter of “get to,” because I’ve chosen not to – even if offered the chance.
FYI, don’t offer me a chance. I’d have a meltdown.