Wednesday is World Adoption Day, and Michael Watson and Aaron Cummings of Springs would like nothing more in the world than to adopt a baby. But the road to becoming a parent via adoption is rarely straightforward.
World Adoption Day hopes “to lift up all voices in the adoption community, to share your story, to reflect on your adoption journey, and to connect with those touched by adoption.” So, this is Mr. Cummings and Mr. Watson’s story, which they hope will help other would-be adoptive parents.
The same-sex, interracial, married couple, who have been together for 11 years, moved full time to Springs in 2017 and began their adoption process in January 2021.
“It was a lot of paperwork. A huge stack of paperwork, three inches tall, with questions, approvals needed, references, references from our therapists, background checks, fingerprints, financial background checks, visits with social workers, including one who came to our home to ensure it was appropriate for a child,” said Mr. Cummings. About 13 months later, they were approved.
The couple had decided to pursue independent adoption rather than go through an agency, which can cost around $50,000 and often involve a lengthy wait. They hired a lawyer and an adoption consultant, from whom they received some unexpected advice: Get on social media.
“You’ll need TikTok, you’re going to need Instagram, Snapchat, and Facebook,” they were told. After all, the adviser said, social media is where 20-somethings live, including young expectant women looking to find a loving home for babies they’re unable to raise themselves.
“We’re very private people,” said Mr. Cummings, 42, who is white and works in corporate travel.
“We were not active on social media,” said Mr. Watson, 36, who is of Latino and Black heritage and is a yoga instructor at Mandala Yoga and Healing Arts Center in Amagansett. Nonetheless, they were told they would need to “project a brand” and highlight their interests.
“Aaron is into cars and motorcycles. He’s a great cook. We’re both plant-based,” said Mr. Watson. “I’m into yoga. I like music, I like dance, I like movement. What movies do we like to watch, snacks we like — basically, anything to give an expecting mother a clear picture of who you are because that’s what they want to see. They want to see what your life looks like, what a typical Saturday looks like.”
Sure enough, soon after curating their online presence — a smattering of lovely sunshine moments depicting their ideal, stable, and comfortable life — a 26-year-old expectant mother in Ohio pinged them on Facebook. It was July and she was late in her seventh month of pregnancy. A white, midwestern couple who had agreed to adopt her child backed out after discovering that the baby’s father was Black. The Springs couple seemed perfect, the mother-to-be said.
According to the couple, websites such as adoption.org are “basically relics now because young people are not going to them. The internet has changed everything, including the adoption industry,” said Mr. Watson.
Adoptions were once the domain of large agencies and religious organizations. Today, approximately 55 percent of all United States infant adoptions are completed independently, which requires prospective parents to hire lawyers or consultants. Hopeful parents who once waited for the agency to find the right child, now create websites, take to social media, and even run ads about themselves. And young women who once anonymously gave up newborns, now get to choose a home and parents for their babies, often basing their decisions on what they see on social media.
Ultimately, however, the scarcity of infants, combined with the desperation of the childless, and the internet, has turned adoption into a baby-brokering business, filled with for-profit lawyers, consultants, and facilitators who charge fees that often run into the tens of thousands of dollars per case.
“Adoption is a financial monster,” said Mr. Cummings, who estimated that the process has cost him about $20,000 so far.
Yet, for the couple, such roll-up-your-sleeves methods were still preferable to dealing with agency red tape. In July, they had spoken with the birth mother on the phone four or five times, for about an hour each time, and then flown to Ohio to meet with her. They described her as a young woman with no financial means and a strict Palestinian father who didn’t as yet know she was pregnant.
“A chaotic life,” Mr. Cummings put it delicately. As adoptive parents-to-be they were responsible for hiring an attorney for her, as well as providing a year of counseling after handing over her baby. They even took her to a Walmart and bought her clothes. Plus, said Mr. Watson, they provided enormous emotional support since she seemed to have no one who cared. “Many late-night phone calls, many, many late-night texts, texts throughout the day, constantly checking up on her,” he said.
“But two days ago, she gave us the greatest gift of all: She asked us to be there for the birth. So, we are very excited,” said Mr. Cummings.
That was July.
Earlier this month, the couple contacted The Star with news to share. Two weeks before the mother’s due date on Sept. 21, they drove to Ohio, with their elderly dog and an infant car seat in the back, and stayed in an Airbnb to offer support. Then, a day before she gave birth to a girl, she told them that she had decided to keep her baby.
The technical term for their emotionally and financially draining experience is a failed adoption match. “That’s what’s stamped on everything now,” said Mr. Watson. “But, we don’t see it that way. We learned a lot about ourselves. About how we navigate through so many emotions — anxiety, excitement, mourning, and someone else’s dysfunction. But, you know, the hardest part of coming home for me wasn’t even putting the car seat back in the room. That was tough, but putting away the burping blankets, was really, really hard. I had just really hoped that our life would look quite different now.”
The couple have resumed their search for a baby to adopt.
