To Raise a DNA-Altered baby or Not to Raise?
I really wonder if it is better to keep one's baby or to give her to someone else to raise if they can provide her with a more stable ENVIRONMENT.
By a stable environment, I mean that the mother is not depressed, and is able to pay attention to her baby's emotional needs as best as she understands, provided she is aware of child psychology and the effects of adoption on a baby. Meaning that as he develops, he will have to talk about his pain and confusion about losing his birth mom at such a vulnerable stage, and that it already HAS an effect on him when he was a baby. And the need of the baby to cry and cry until the trauma gets out of the body as much as possible.
Another factor that I am unsure about of the advantage of being raised by an adoptive Mom as apposed to a slightly mentally/emotionally unstable REAL Mom, is that there is such a thing as epigenetics and research now shows that everything that happens in a person's life and how he perceives it ALTERS his DNA, thereby getting passed down to his child. Therefore, a child of a nervous person who is scared of public speaking for whatever reason, will bore an offspring that has the same trigger, without any source to trace it back to.
This freaks me out, because I have been laying in wastes of guilt and discomfort thinking of how my daughter is affected by my method of dealing with my outer world based on my inner life. The inner life that hides it's terror in the dark shadows of my mind, waiting and watching suspiciously of it's attackers to take over. Even as I am growing stronger in my foundation of sense of self, parts of me have been discarded and mocked for so long that they do not trust the kindness I am showing them now. They still lay uncertain at their mother's legs, scared of the stormy, thrashing waters ahead.
This has become evident in my outer world as I was in the supermarket the other day. My cart was full, my baby was overstimulated, and my husband was lost in the bustling aisles, having gone to fetch me an item in the rushed time. I stared at the filled carts ahead of me, the line crushed into a confused jumble because of the lack of space. A woman my age stood nearby, owner of the cart in middle of both lines. I watched, unsure of which line she was in. She caught my eye and I asked her. Smiling cooperatively, she said apologetically that she was ahead of me, but then noticed my concern and offered kindly for me to go ahead, saying, "I know what it's like, I have a baby at home."
Anxiety flooded my blood, and I rushed to answer like a normal human. Unsure of how friendly to respond, nervous of looking rude or uptight, wanting to show my appreciation but scared of looking desperate to please, I stuttered, "Thank you so much! It's really appreciated." Racing thoughts and self consciousness, I pushed my cart up. I looked up again with further anxiety, and caught glimpse of her smiling at my baby.
Going into panic, I feebly waved my baby's chubby hand at her and smiled at my child, willing her to look friendly. She stared dead-eyed at the woman. I laughed AWKWARDLY and stammered, "Oh she's just tired, haha." Begging myself to act normal.
She continued to act friendly, and a rush of affection for this kind human rose in my throat, and tears whelmed in my throat. I felt warmth cover my body. But I still had to find my husband. And then her husband came, a skinny, skimpy, preppy looking guy. She and him conversed, and my heart constricted again as I imagined his resentment of me wash over. He and his wife leaned over each other talking. I felt pain of rejection rise, and I walked out of the line to search for my own husband. I laughed awkwardly as I returned, saying," I can't find my husband now!" Then, as if to pardon myself, I thanked the husband for his wife's kind gesture. My phone had died, and it was almost my turn,
Knowing how upset my husband gets when my phone is off and in a crowded store, I asked the couple apologetically if I could borrow their phone to call him. I felt like the nuisance and beggar that I so pitied, but I willed myself to forget that image. She was very nice, and held out her fancy, big IPhone. I felt her husband's eyes digging into me, annoyed. I shook off the self-disgust and called, to be ignored. Smiling awkwardly, I handed phone back. Suddenly, I saw my savior in the distant. My husband bounded up, smiling, and I was never happier to see him. We chatted happily, and I felt relief for the couple to see that I had someone, too. As we paid, I felt like they were watching and I tried to act as normal and casual, with the awareness of full attention on me. As she stood right next to me, I felt like bolting because I was so nervous of what to say. I thought of asking about her daughter, but rejected it for fear of sounding overly fake. Plus, I was too exhausted for the interaction by then. So I gently smiled and thanked her again after the longest payment time in silence, and bristled at the stoic cash register woman, and escaped relieved.
So yeah, anxiety is on my mind when I look at my fidgety daughter, and I am plagued with paranoia at her own brain structure mirroring my own mysteriously tangled knot of alert thought threads veering into every possible place.
And I wonder, can I explain to her the mechanisms of our DNA makings, and help her discover their whereabouts, or would it have been better had she been raised by a "normal" person who can show her the path of calm, cool, collected that she will need in such a fast-winded world?
I like to think I am best for her.
A Complicated Adoptee Mind
By a stable environment, I mean that the mother is not depressed, and is able to pay attention to her baby's emotional needs as best as she understands, provided she is aware of child psychology and the effects of adoption on a baby. Meaning that as he develops, he will have to talk about his pain and confusion about losing his birth mom at such a vulnerable stage, and that it already HAS an effect on him when he was a baby. And the need of the baby to cry and cry until the trauma gets out of the body as much as possible.
Another factor that I am unsure about of the advantage of being raised by an adoptive Mom as apposed to a slightly mentally/emotionally unstable REAL Mom, is that there is such a thing as epigenetics and research now shows that everything that happens in a person's life and how he perceives it ALTERS his DNA, thereby getting passed down to his child. Therefore, a child of a nervous person who is scared of public speaking for whatever reason, will bore an offspring that has the same trigger, without any source to trace it back to.
This freaks me out, because I have been laying in wastes of guilt and discomfort thinking of how my daughter is affected by my method of dealing with my outer world based on my inner life. The inner life that hides it's terror in the dark shadows of my mind, waiting and watching suspiciously of it's attackers to take over. Even as I am growing stronger in my foundation of sense of self, parts of me have been discarded and mocked for so long that they do not trust the kindness I am showing them now. They still lay uncertain at their mother's legs, scared of the stormy, thrashing waters ahead.
This has become evident in my outer world as I was in the supermarket the other day. My cart was full, my baby was overstimulated, and my husband was lost in the bustling aisles, having gone to fetch me an item in the rushed time. I stared at the filled carts ahead of me, the line crushed into a confused jumble because of the lack of space. A woman my age stood nearby, owner of the cart in middle of both lines. I watched, unsure of which line she was in. She caught my eye and I asked her. Smiling cooperatively, she said apologetically that she was ahead of me, but then noticed my concern and offered kindly for me to go ahead, saying, "I know what it's like, I have a baby at home."
Anxiety flooded my blood, and I rushed to answer like a normal human. Unsure of how friendly to respond, nervous of looking rude or uptight, wanting to show my appreciation but scared of looking desperate to please, I stuttered, "Thank you so much! It's really appreciated." Racing thoughts and self consciousness, I pushed my cart up. I looked up again with further anxiety, and caught glimpse of her smiling at my baby.
Going into panic, I feebly waved my baby's chubby hand at her and smiled at my child, willing her to look friendly. She stared dead-eyed at the woman. I laughed AWKWARDLY and stammered, "Oh she's just tired, haha." Begging myself to act normal.
She continued to act friendly, and a rush of affection for this kind human rose in my throat, and tears whelmed in my throat. I felt warmth cover my body. But I still had to find my husband. And then her husband came, a skinny, skimpy, preppy looking guy. She and him conversed, and my heart constricted again as I imagined his resentment of me wash over. He and his wife leaned over each other talking. I felt pain of rejection rise, and I walked out of the line to search for my own husband. I laughed awkwardly as I returned, saying," I can't find my husband now!" Then, as if to pardon myself, I thanked the husband for his wife's kind gesture. My phone had died, and it was almost my turn,
Knowing how upset my husband gets when my phone is off and in a crowded store, I asked the couple apologetically if I could borrow their phone to call him. I felt like the nuisance and beggar that I so pitied, but I willed myself to forget that image. She was very nice, and held out her fancy, big IPhone. I felt her husband's eyes digging into me, annoyed. I shook off the self-disgust and called, to be ignored. Smiling awkwardly, I handed phone back. Suddenly, I saw my savior in the distant. My husband bounded up, smiling, and I was never happier to see him. We chatted happily, and I felt relief for the couple to see that I had someone, too. As we paid, I felt like they were watching and I tried to act as normal and casual, with the awareness of full attention on me. As she stood right next to me, I felt like bolting because I was so nervous of what to say. I thought of asking about her daughter, but rejected it for fear of sounding overly fake. Plus, I was too exhausted for the interaction by then. So I gently smiled and thanked her again after the longest payment time in silence, and bristled at the stoic cash register woman, and escaped relieved.
So yeah, anxiety is on my mind when I look at my fidgety daughter, and I am plagued with paranoia at her own brain structure mirroring my own mysteriously tangled knot of alert thought threads veering into every possible place.
And I wonder, can I explain to her the mechanisms of our DNA makings, and help her discover their whereabouts, or would it have been better had she been raised by a "normal" person who can show her the path of calm, cool, collected that she will need in such a fast-winded world?
I like to think I am best for her.
A Complicated Adoptee Mind
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