After I had a baby – as in gave birth to a baby – a friend remarked that I had the worst adjustment to motherhood of anyone she’d ever met. She was right. But I was undeterred, going on to adopt three more children. With each new child, my maternal maladjustment was refined, honed, and specialized.
Knowing that I was short on natural instincts, I made it my business to go to a lot of workshops and read a lot of books – especially after I entered the thrall of new adopted parent-ness where practically every waking moment was taken up with thinking, thinking, thinking about my new kids.
Of all the hand-wringing adoptive parent workshops I attended, just one really spoke to me. Here’s the takeaway: When all else fails, order a pizza. The theory, as explained by the expert social worker/foster parent extraordinaire, was that the hubbub and excitement of…
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