My husband is a brilliant man. At eight years old, he took apart and reassembled his mother’s computer. For his whole adolescent and adult life, he has been acknowledged for the scary smart, logical, punk-and-heavy metal-bass-guitar-playing, sarcastic computer-whiz that he is. I, on the other hand, am a former high school drama club member who grew up to be a folk acoustic guitar-toting, vanilla and sandalwood-wearing, dirt-worshipping tree-hugger.
There is another big difference between us, and this has to do with topics that have an element of great emotional, physical, or financial risk – and are therefore destined to become a “Big Talk.” Emotions tend to flow through me like white-water rapids, certain thoughts getting caught in small eddies along the side, eventually creating obsessive whirlpools. My husband, meanwhile, stands on the rocky edge trying to find a way to traverse these emotional rapids without getting wet. When he attempts his plan and ends up knee-deep in the rushing waters, he is paralyzed by the frustration of knowing that his problem-solving strategy failed. This means that any unstructured subject requiring a Big Talk usually begins with me crying and ends with him silent and frustrated.
In the course of having these Big Talks, it has surprised both of us to discover that our relationship isn’t so much a case of “opposites attract;” it is simply that we complement each other – as long as we approach these conversations in the right way. We’ve learned the best way to help him realize that getting a little wet is part of the decision-making process – and for me to avoid drowning in whirlpools – starts with my careful researching and planning BEFORE we launch into a Big Talk. I’ve learned in the past ten years to present aspects of the situation as logically as someone like me can,because this ends with us working together.
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I am now in the midst of the type of researching solitude that has always preceded a Big Talk, and this time it involves looking at options to adopt a child. I am pouring over literature, pamphlets, books, Internet-articles about legal case studies with the intensity of a monk translating ancient Greek parchment to Latin. Except in this case, my monastery is a Starbucks. No Gregorian chanting and bells here; only the sounds of cars with their booming bass speakers passing on Decker Road and the couple to the left of me discussing their community choir group. Here at my little table over thepast few weeks, I’ve read countless articles on the foster programs in Michigan, foreign adoptions, private adoptions, international adoptions, and laws pertaining to adoption in this state as well as Supreme Court cases.
But amidst all the facts and laws and anecdotes is an article I’ve been avoiding: a questionnaire from Adoption.com of points to consider prior to beginning the adoption process. Buried in these fairly straightforward, yes-or-no questions are two that are slowly turning into the types of emotional thought whirlpools that pull from the pit of my stomach, making me wonder how this particular Big Talk with my husband will go.
The first one is: Why do you want to adopt?
It isn’t that I don’t know the answer to this question. We want to adopt because we have a loving relationship and a good home and have a lot of love to share. But there is another answer, and I can see myself stumbling through an interview with a social worker sitting across our kitchen table or at her desk cluttered with case files and legal pads, saying this instead:
“Gee… uh…. I dunno. My uterus is like, a serial killer. Plus I’m a nutcase and am afraid of passing these genes on anyway. So we agreed we’d look at this adoption stuff after two years of me staying out of the psych ward. It’s been twenty-two months since my last overdose and hospitalization, just so you know. Isn’t that cool? Go me! Oh, and we thought the dogs just aren’t cutting it anymore and we think we wanna try a kid. It’d be awesome. I’m great at twirling and blowing bubbles and he’s afraid to hold babies younger than eighteen months, but after that he’s cool with ‘em. And be-tee-dub all my friends are having kids and I have, like, three baby shower invitations on my fridge right now and I’m feeling left out and jealous.”
This makes me wonder which answer is more truthful – and which would be the best premise for a Big Talk with my husband. I am as certain as I thought? Are we as committed to this as we thought? Am I to approach this like a job interview with carefully constructed answers that don’t betray any of my concerns? A corporate career-pathing conversation where I carefully toe the company line? Is there room for certain elements of both answers to be discussed?
Then there is the second question. When combined with the first one, the force of the second makes the emotional whirlpool become even stronger, a sucking vortex making me almost dizzy. I feel my heart sink every time I read it:
Who is the driver of this adoption?
I don’t have a cohesive, pithy job interview answer for this one. And it makes me wonder if our normal way of addressing Big Talk topics will work forthis particular Big Talk. ln my mind, all I can see is me perched on the edge of my chair across from my imagined social worker in a dusty office and my husband leaning back as I say:
“Well I did all the research – so I suppose I’m the ‘driver’ in that way - but y’know, that’s like our thing. I’m like all water and whoosh! and he’s all like Don’t go in there unless it’s safe! Y’know? We’re like that. So, that’s how we do it and it works for us. I think. Right, hun? Right?”
Right?