Another in the series of posts describing "unphotographable" moments in adoption - those times that stand out in memory, but aren't captured on film.

My son’s family is coming to visit for the first time since his birth. I’ve waited eight long months for this day—prayed for it, in fact. I have two carefully-chosen presents for him, and I’ve bought a new outfit for myself. The still camera is loaded with film, and I’ve assigned my sister the role of videographer. I’m not going to miss a minute of this day.

I wait by the bay window looking for the car to come down the street. When it finally does, my heart is in my throat. That’s my baby who’s coming my way.

I see his family exit the car and go out front to meet them. The adoptive father, D, is carrying C, while his mom walks behind. D hands my son to me.

I hold my baby—now so big!—and though I want to look at him forever, my first instinct is to panic. I can’t let his parents think I am trying to hog him. I have to show that I am the good birthparent who understands her place and won’t try to usurp anyone’s role. So I hand him back to his father very quickly.

Right away, I see the surprise register in D’s face. We’re still on the sidewalk and already I’m passing C back? Haven’t I wanted this visit for eight months now? Why am I handing him back right away? What is my problem?

I can see by D’s expression that I’ve done the wrong thing. So I make a note to be a little less concerned with their thoughts and feelings, and savor what little time my son and I have together. But it’s easy to overthink my actions—after all, I want to keep these visits going. I’m hoping for one or two per year.

(At least, that’s what we discussed before his birth. Yet the next day, I will hear that the adoptive parents do not want to make a habit of these events. They wanted to get through this first visit before breaking that news.)

But I don’t know that yet, so I keep on hanging back throughout the few hours that we have. It seems critical to show that I know who the parents are. I’m so uptight about knowing my boundaries that I miss out on a lot – although I do get a little braver and more comfortable the longer they’re there. But it goes by so very fast.

That night, after my son has left, I will wonder why so many of my thoughts were about his parents – how they were feeling, making sure they didn’t feel threatened. Then I realize – it’s because they hold all the power. If I do something wrong, something they don’t like, they can keep me from ever seeing him again.

I would like for all of us to get together and have it be natural, like family, like other open adoptions I have seen. But that isn’t what they want, not at this point. And so I toss and turn, unable to sleep. I wonder how old my child will be the next time we meet. And I keep seeing D’s face, reliving the awkwardness of that one moment on the sidewalk.