A few weeks ago I fell asleep next to my daughter. Not quite ready for bed, I even left the hallway lights on. Earlier that evening, for the first time in her 4 years, my youngest asked me if there were bad guys in this world and if they could get into our house. I tried to strike a balance between truth and security.  I assured her that we had locked up and done all we could to make sure none of those bad guys come in.

Allah is our best protector.  A few hours later I felt someone stirring down the hall. Had my husband gotten up? I thought so and I closed my eyes again.  Seeing a strange figure appear at the top of the stairs, I flew from my daughter’s side yelling at this strange man,  “What are you doing here.  Get out!  Get out!”

It was only a few minutes before the 911 dispatcher told me the officers were already outside.  My husband had secured the inside, ensuring that he had taken the back way out.  Surprisingly they caught up with him, or at least someone who matched his description. Unfortunately, I couldn’t be 100% sure it was him and without anything from my house in his possession, he was later released.  The next day we realized that he had actually taken cash from my husband’s wallet which was still inside his pants pocket that night. The man had been so careful to return the wallet to its original place.

So now we wait for man’s justice to be served.  Perhaps this man will return to prison, or maybe the conviction won’t hold.  I’m trying to sleep. The nights bring increasingly more relaxation, slowly but surely.   I make du’a and spit at the place where he appeared.  I am reassured that Allah is my Protector and I plead to Him to protect my family, accepting the fact that nothing happens without His will.

Susan Assaf

Susan lives in Maryland and is a homeschooling mom of 4.

Dawn. Creep out of bed like I’m doing Tai Chi. Must. Not. Wake. Sleeping. Baby. Wash up, say my morning prayers, and then slip back into bed. Hubby’s up getting ready for work so I have space to stretch out on my back (after nine months of not being able to do that, you know how great that feels).  Close my eyes, go to my happy place, and drift off to sleep… for about ten minutes. Idris used to sleep until about 9 am but has now assigned the first few rays of sunlight seeping through the curtains as his official alarm clock. After the usual moan and groan and “You gotta be freakin’ kidding me,” I look over to find Idris bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, smiling sweetly at me with a look that says, “Come on mommy, let’s play!” Yeah, he’s cute like that. Now I could give you a complete play-by-play of our day from here, or I could sum it up with a brief description: Nurse, nurse, nurse, nurse some more, nurse a little bit more…and a little bit more, nap, change stinky diaper, play, soothe cranky baby, nurse, nurse, nurse some more, and some more…and a little bit more, take a deep breath and call on the Lord for strength, escape to the bathroom for some peace because that is now officially the only alone time I get (and even then I get interrupted), change several more stinky diapers, nurse several more times, soothe cranky baby several more times, call on the Lord several more times, put baby to bed and finally collapse for about two hours of uninterrupted sleep, three, if I’m lucky. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Some things about motherhood are universal (see above rant). One of those is unsolicited advice.  Everybody and their grandma has an opinion about what I could and should be doing better. Now, although my boy weighs a good 18 or so pounds, apparently my breast milk isn’t good enough. “Just breastmilk!” one mom said with a look of shock like I told her we give him martinis or something.  Another mom told me to give him formula because my milk was “too little.” She even gave me the brand name to use, S-26. Now you tell me, would you give your child something called S-26? I mean I know it’s formula, but does it have to sound like a formula? It sounds like something you use to clean rust off metal, not something you give your baby. S-26 is now a household joke. “Oh, Idris is still hungry, give him some S-26. And if there’s any left over, use it to clean the windows.”

What’s unique about motherhood in Ethiopia? Well, they have an interesting way of keeping babies quiet and getting their attention. They snap their fingers in front Idris’s face, clapping their hands, banging on glass… Did I say interesting? I meant to say annoying. I want to ask them kindly to please stop, but as it turns out, the little booger likes it, smiling and cooing to their satisfaction. Ethiopian moms are also viciously protective against the possibility of a chilly draft giving their baby a runny nose. It’s not unusual to see babies wearing what look like snowsuits, winter hats, and at least three blankets…in 80-degree weather. When I take Idris to the pediatrician in short sleeves and (gasp!) no hat, the air in the waiting room is thick with disapproving looks.

Being a mother is hard work. Every mom tells you, warns you, how hard it’s going to be, but you just don’t know until you become one. You work nights and weekends. No lunch or bathroom breaks. And your boss screams at you if you’re late with his luncAnd it’s lonely too, especially when you’re a stay-at-home mom. The world keeps moving without you. The life you’re used to no longer exists. And even though you know everybody’s doing the same old thing, suddenly everybody’s lives seem so fascinating and interesting and yours seems so…not. (But don’t worry, it does get better).

Most days are good. Having a baby keeps you busy and gives you plenty to look forward to. For Idris, everything is new and exciting, and I can see it in the way his eyes dance. I could spend the whole day looking at my son, watching him attempt to crawl or reach for things, or smiling at the curious look on his face when he sees a bird or a lizard, wondering what is going on in that little brain of his. Or probably every mom’s favorite, gazing at your sleeping baby’s face, the tiny grimaces, the pouts, the smiles—babies must have some intense dreams!

But some days aren’t so good. Idris wakes up in a funky mood and will only be pacified by nursing and screams bloody murder if I try to take him off. Or he’ll only sleep in my arms and wakes up every single time I put him down. Or I’m grumpy because he woke up about ten times the night before but still got up bright and early, energized and ready to play like nothing happened.  Those days when you want a break but can’t have one because you are mommy and no one can do your job but you.

Those are the days when being thousands of miles away from home really, really sucks. When I can’t call my sister and ask her to come over. Or meet a friend for some tea and sympathy. Those are the days when I just want to throw myself on the floor and have a good old-fashioned six-year-old temper  tantrum, pounding my fists, screaming, “I WANNA GO HOME!!”  Okay so it isn’t that dramatic, but it’s tough. It’s lonely. It’s monotonous. It’s…motherhood. So I have myself a good cry, get it all out my system, then I throw some water on my face and tell myself, “Alright girl, get it together.” Because it’s okay to cry, it’s okay to feel lonely or sad, or want a break, sometimes. But eventually you have to get yourself together because you have a baby to take care of.

So how do you survive your first year of motherhood, no matter where you are?

How should I know? I’ve only been at this for five months. Ask me later.

Ambata Kazi-Nance is a freelance writer and full-time mother. She lives in her hometown of New Orleans with her husband and son. Ms. Kazi-Nance is a candidate for the Master’s degree in English from the University of New Orleans and is an aspiring fiction writer. She blogs occasionally at MORmama.wordpress.com.

Moms often forget, that they are NOT alone. With husbands at work, school, or volunteering, moms often feel isolated, insufficient in their parental duties or simply exhausted and overworked. Some moms even return to their  trained professions to feel like they are good at something. The truth is, like everything in life, motherhood is a work in progress ( by the way…so is fatherhood). It takes time to develop new skills. InshaAllah, Allah will fill the gaps. Allah is Ar-Razzak, The Provider of all good things. Our job is to be consistent in our efforts and have a good intention. On the days when life seems most challenging on the home front, try this with the kids: breathe deep and offer a small act of kindness from the deepest part of your soul. Maybe it’s a hug, or a story or an ice cream cone. Maybe you can make a special dua for someone else in more need than yourself. Just try and find the calm. SubhanAllah it’s such a cleansing process. For children, these small acts of pure kindness can go a long way.

I write this to you today, because as simple as this concept sounds, I really wish someone said this to me when I had a newborn, or when I had a toddler with a newborn on the way. While I was impressed with this sister’s house cleaning etiquette, now I think it was her ability to calm her mind and purify her heart that really impressed me.

I chuckle when I think about her. At a small gathering she once said, “If a person cleans the top of their fridge, then you know they are really good cleaners.” So now, every time I clean the top of my fridge, I think of her and make dua for her precious family. I love them for the sake of Allah (swt) and I thank Allah, for sending her example to me.

Sarah Ibrahim

 Sarah Ibrahim is a loving mother of two budding mountain climbers. She enjoys healthy cooking, reading and finding creative ways for family exercise!

Rabb ishrahlee sadree. Rabb ishrahlee sadree. 

As one chapter closes in my life and another begins, I find myself often repeating the same request. Oh Allah, expand my chest in order that I may be open to all that may be of benefit. In this time of transition, I do not know wish to harbor any feelings that may impede this process.  The ability to be flexible is key, but questions race through my mind: Will I be able to form a community as helpful and supportive as the one I am leaving behind? How can I best carve out mental and spiritual space that allows for creative thoughts to flow while I tend to an active two-year old who enjoys constant attention and bathing herself in lotion?

I found myself attributing so much of my self-worth to my job title: Muslim Chaplain. Now, Allah, at least temporarily, has taken the institutional backing of that title away. As much as I know where I have fallen short in my duties to be a good chaplain, mother, wife, sister, and friend, I cannot help but think of all the fond memories I had with my students at Trinity College and Wesleyan University. I had the unbelievable opportunity to witness firsthand the spiritual journeys that many undertook to grow closer in their relationship with Allah (swt). My heart still wells with pride when I think of my students. My students- some of whom have courageously delivered the Friday khutba as first years, and others who started wearing the hijab in an ultra-liberal anti-religious environment. My students who came from all backgrounds and yet were all the same in their pursuit to help Islam thrive on campus. So forgive me if it hurts to say goodbye.

Needless to say the support of confidants and mentors has been indispensable throughout this process; the process of leaving a job I was firmly invested and fulfilled in for the sake of a better opportunity for my family as a whole. Society does not often talk about it. It is no longer a woman’s role to sacrifice her dreams and passions for the sake of family. But many many women do it. On good days they find ways to fulfill their dreams and passions without a job description- they volunteer, they write, they run marathons, they counsel friends in need. On gloomier days, it may be hard to justify why they’re down on their knees scrubbing soap scum and unclogging the bathtub after 20 plus years of education and multiple degrees. My friend once stated that Allah gives us the opportunity to be mothers in order that we strip our ego of the need to be recognized. I remember asking her, “Well, do you ever detox from it?” “Not really, but you find ways to contribute and understand how short of a time motherhood really is,” was her response.

I need to be able to trust the process. So, I leave it in Your hands, ya Allah. I pray that I am able to see what You are showing me, and this is why I will keep asking for an expansive chest- not that I may dwell in what I had, but that I may not reject the opportunities that lay ahead, either knowingly or unknowingly.

Marwa Aly

Marwa Aly loves reading, writing, volleyball, and tacos. She enjoys spending time with her young family and connecting with other like-minded dreamers. 

Culturally, it is a shame to even mention the possibility of something possibly wrong with your child. “Alhamdulillah, he is healthy,” would always be the response. It was very frustrating in that aspect, as I was not getting much support from my family in trying to figure out what exactly was the matter with my child and how I could help him. As a brand new three year old, his vocabulary only consisted of less than 100 words, a mix of both English and Arabic. Even then, it was very difficult to understand what he was saying. He wasn’t pronouncing many beginning sounds of words and was omitting many other letter-sounds. Socially, he didn’t interact with children his age much, although he went to the same school for two years now and has been with the same group of kids. He preferred to watch them play rather than join them.

After I couldn’t take another, “Oh, it’s because he’s learning two languages” or “Just give him time,” I decided to do my own research. Fortunately, I came across a county service which can test areas of concern and provide services if found eligible. I made an appointment and my husband (who agreed it was about time we understand what our little one is trying to tell us) and I nervously took him in for evaluation. Not knowing what to expect, we followed the ladies around as he was taken in from one room for a test to another. One of the first tests was a hearing screening. We understood the correlation of hearing and speaking.  But we were shocked to learn that not only did he fail the hearing screening, but he had a major hearing deficit. Clearly, there was another concern on hand now that we had to address.

Long story short, my son had fluid in his ears which was believed to have built up over a couple of years, which affected his hearing and impacted his speech. Surgery and ear tubes took care of the problem and alhamdulillah his hearing has been restored. He is still delayed in his oral communication, though, but inshallah at our next appointment with the county they will begin to help him with his speech. I thank Allah for giving me the instinct  that something was not right and following through before things got worse, since the longer we waited the more difficult it would have been to rectify his speech.

He now attempts to join his peers in play, and wants to know the name of everything. He is more curious and alert than ever, Alhamdulillah Of course, the teacher and mother in me is still concerned about other aspects in his development but I am trying to take it one step at a time.

 Hoda

Hoda is a mother of two loving boys and a stillborn girl, a blessed wife, and an elementary school teacher in Virginia.

1. Would you ever consider drastically changing your bedtime approach? This blogger shares how she ended bedtime battles.

2. Join your children, then advise them-wise advice from the life of the Prophet. (Arabic with English subtitles)

3. Spiritual reflections on what it is like to “wake up” and how to survive the ups and downs in our faith.

4. The art of conversation is eluding us–what are we doing to salvage face-to-face conversation in our families?

5. If you take away all of the extracurricular activities, carpooling, electronics, TV, and sports practices this summer, what could happen? Be inspired.

6. The upcoming Shaykha Fest organized by AlRawiya in New Jersey is the first time we’ve seen so many female scholars and thinkers in one place!

7. One of our moms shares her tried and true homemade goop/slime/gak recipe for hours of quiet fun: one part white school glue, one part water, one part liquid starch, and a drop of food coloring.

8. Ten American women heroes to teach our daughters how to fight.

B wrote of a fresh twist on the traditional birthday party,

“It finally happened… my daughter asked for a birthday party. Before this, my husband and I were undecided about birthday parties. I grew up with them; his family barely acknowledged birthdays. We have, however, developed a philosophy that we would not simply exclude our daughter from activities because we were “uncomfortable” with them; we would need to have a sound Islamic or developmental reason for doing so. My husband and I discussed our discomfort with birthday parties. What we discovered was that we did not think they were “haram” or “bid’ah.” We simply didn’t like the often self-centered and materialistic overtones the party can have. When we talked to our daughter about why she wanted a birthday party, she said that she wanted to have her friends over to play and have fun.

So we decided to have a birthday party for her at our house – with a twist. We asked that people not bring gifts and that, if they felt the need to bring something, they bring a donation for the children at a local shelter. Our daughter then delivered the donations to the shelter. We also made sure to emphasize to our daughter that instead of being the “birthday girl,” she would focus on being a good host in the Islamic tradition. She would serve her guests before eating herself, she would let her friends go first during the games; in short, she would be focused on honoring her guests. She did cut a cake, and everyone sang Happy Birthday to her. However, we felt that she was able to partake in the positive aspects of a tradition she is surrounded with while reinforcing Islamic ideals.”

S shared:

“Birthdays are a tricky one for us. We mentor our children to understand that birthdays are not about indulging ourselves in gifts but rather another opportunity to thank Allah SWT. We usually have a small family “Thank You Allah” party. Sometimes we get the children a small-gesture gift , but nothing as big and exciting as the Eid Celebration.

On another note, attending a classmate’s birthday party is a difficult decision for us. As a young child in a big city I was not allowed to attend birthday parties. However, now my children live in a small town. In our town, a birthday invitation is one family inviting another family to their home. It’s more than just a kid b-day invite. It allows our neighbors to interact with us on a social level and get to know Muslims in a positive light. I explain to my children the custom of birthdays in a non-muslim culture and explain to them our differences. Through education, I explain to other families that we don’t celebrate birthdays with large parties and gifts but they are welcome to come to our home for a play date anytime. My children are always welcome to invite their friends over for Eid celebrations or any other event. So far my children seem adjusted to this plan and confident in our “Birthday Identity.” It’s such a big thing in the US, especially with families that have more money.  Wa Allahu Alam.”

A shared her experience with her twin girls:

 “When my twin daughters turned 1 year old, we marked the occasion by allowing them to eat honey, and by turning their car seats forward-facing. When they turned two, we did nothing. When they turned two-and-a-half, I told them their age and said they’d be wearing big-girl underpants from now on, and so our potty-training started. When they turned three, we marked it by making a new rule for them: No more going around without pants on. When they turned three-and-a-half, we marked it by putting their highchairs away and having them eat on regular chairs, and by installing a spray by the toilet so they could clean themselves after using the bathroom. I’m looking forward to the rule I’m going to introduce when they turn three-and-three-quarters, insha Allah, in three days: No more changing clothes five or six times a day!”

 And finally, H says:

“In our family neither my husband nor I make a big deal about our own birthdays nor our children’s, but as our children get older, they have begun to announce their birthdays a few weeks before the event and especially on the day of. Consequently, their kind-hearted aunt has begun to either bake or buy them a cake and come by with it in hand. The first time that occurred I did not say anything, since the cake was chocolate and it was a surprise for all of us. No song was sung and we all just ate and laughed and had a good family time.  For a few years now, the cake was there either the day of or the following weekend.  Again, with no singing or gift giving;  just another reason to eat good cake.

Outside of the family, we do not accept birthday invitations and decline politely. We do not host birthday parties either. We try to celebrate both Eids in a noticeable manner, distributing candies and treats in these events only.”

2003. My wedding day is fast approaching. After several months of looking and trying on and being dissatisfied, I find the perfect wedding outfit: a long periwinkle skirt with a chiffon overlay and tiny beads and sequins sewn on in interconnecting waves, with a matching blouse and sheer shawl that matches the skirt. Perfect. Even I am not immune to the desire to look like Cinderella on my wedding day.

But it’s missing one thing, one very important thing—a scarf. I search for weeks for a matching scarf but find nothing. I sadly accept that I will just have to wear a white scarf.

Days later I walk into the teacher’s lounge, my head bent down as I flip through my lesson plan book and mentally prepare for a day of teaching eager 1^st and 2^nd graders, and out of the corner of my eye I catch a flash of a familiar shade of bluish purple.

A scarf. A periwinkle scarf that I know is the exact shade of periwinkle as my wedding outfit.

“Ms. Eman!” I shriek, before I can stop myself. It’s Ms. Eman, the Arabic teacher, and also the mother of one of my 1^st graders. I quickly correct myself and give her a proper salaams. I tell her about the scarf and my wedding dress and she laughs. I ask her where she got her scarf and she shrugs, “Palestine probably.” Palestine. Of course. One scarf among many picked up on a trip home to her home country. I sigh and head to my classroom.

The next day I step into the school building and find Ms. Eman standing outside the teacher’s lounge holding a small gift bag. “For you, Ms. Ambata,” she says in her husky voice. I peek inside and there is the periwinkle scarf. I immediately think she is loaning it to me, and as if reading my mind she says, “For you to keep. I don’t want it back.” I want to protest but I know it would be pointless. The American in me wants to hug her and thank her profusely but I know that would only embarrass her. I say thank you and she waves her hand dismissively. Khulas, it’s done, don’t make a big deal out of it.

I wear the scarf on my wedding day. Everything matches perfectly and I feel like a princess for a few hours. Later I tuck the scarf in with my wedding clothes and put it all in the back of my closet.

Two years later. A school day. I head to the lounge to grab my lunch. I step into the room to find the teachers huddled together, crying. The principal pulls me aside and tells me Ms. Eman is dead. Stabbed to death by an intruder in her home. I stand there, stunned, unable to process what he’s just told me. I feel oddly detached from the scene around me. I step out of the room without my lunch and head back to my classroom. Without turning on the lights, I sit at my desk and stare off into space. Only later, when the reality of what has happened hits me, will I cry for a life lost.

Her murder is only a blip on the local evening news. Pregnant woman found dead in her home from multiple stab wounds. No suspects. Soon she is forgotten. But we don’t forget. We remember her; as a teacher, a colleague, a mother, a wife, a friend. We remember.

I hold the scarf in my hands and look at it. I think of Ms. Eman and I pray that her soul is resting peacefully. I think of her son, growing up without his mother. And I think of the little life inside her that never breathed air. I touch the fabric with my palm and feel its softness. A scarf that weighs practically nothing, yet it grows heavy with memories of a life.

Ambata Kazi-Nance

Ambata Kazi-Nance is a freelance writer and full-time mother. She lives in her hometown of New Orleans with her husband and son. Ms. Kazi-Nance is a candidate for the Master’s degree in English from the University of New Orleans and is an aspiring fiction writer. She blogs occasionally at MORmama.wordpress.com.

With three under five, it’s hard to keep track of the clothes they’ve outgrown, those that are still too big, and those that have graduated into hand-me-downs. So, every few weeks, a ceremony takes place where the contents of the kids’ cupboard are regurgitated, sorted and returned, after much rolling around in the clothes pile (by the two-year-old) and some rudimentary folding practice (by the four-year-old).

These sessions always serve to bring home just how fast they are growing (the children, not the clothes). In the days where Aaminah was an only child, the cupboard was… well, let’s just say I never even knew so many shades of pink existed. Babygros and onesies gave way to candy floss-type confections and then jeans and t-shirts and, more recently, a school uniform.

Then the boys came along, trendier and more varied in their color scheme. T-shirts migrate from Ali’s section to Khalil’s with alarming frequency as Ali grows out of them like the Incredible Hulk. Sometimes I’m too late and they’re small for Khalil too, and I step back, confused. In my mind, the two-year-old is still ‘9 to 12 months’ and the 4-month-old is just a ‘newborn’. Where does the time fly?

Azra Sheriff

Azra is a mother of 3 (6, 4 and 2) and lives in Tanzania.  She was born and raised in the UK and is currently homeschooling  her eldest daughter.  She also runs a cupcakery.

1. What were the biggest obstacles when you first considered adoption and how did you overcome them?

The first thing I needed to figure out for myself was whether adoption is allowed in Islam.  I had a sheikh explain the differences between fostering and adoption. Then I learned the advantages of breastfeeding. This combined knowledge gave me the confidence needed when faced with naysayers.

My other worry was about how my family would handle it. I am from South Africa, where the majority of babies are from poor families – here poor families are black/colored. Older generations still have their prejudices, especially with hair texture. My kids got scrutinized with even their nails getting checked to see if they would “darken.” Heads were rubbed to feel the texture.  My daughter ended up with a head of beautiful curls and my son has tight pepper corn curls which grow into an afro when long.

2. Did you feel there was a social stigma from the Muslim community against adoption? Why do you think that is/isn’t?

Yes, it varies. Like I stated above we have an issue with image that is prevalent in the Indian community. Also, people are hesitant because they don’t understand the legal ruling (as stated earlier), and/or they don’t understand the benefits of breastfeeding. People also ignorantly think the kids must not know and must have no interaction with their biological families (as per Islam). I however go against that “norm” and have explained to my kids that they are adopted and inshaAllah they will meet their families one day.

3.  How old was the child when you adopted him/her and how old are they now?

My daughter was 17 days old and is now 8. My son was 21 days (he was premature and had to gain weight first) and is almost 5 years old now.

4. What kind of support did you find available to you during/after the process?

My husband was my strongest support in every respect: helping with baby, cleaning the house, making food etc. La Leche League was my second strongest support. They assisted me in breastfeeding. I also had a very loving sister at the clinic I took the kids to.

5. How long did it take you to finally decide that you wanted to adopt?

I’m terribly impatient and when I was struggling to become pregnant I considered it almost immediately. My husband and I had a vague conversation about it, but nothing formal.

I tend to make decisions based on a strong gut feeling.  We are very spontaneous and once we decided, I went right ahead to get whatever we needed to make it happen. So from the day we decided until the baby’s arrival was a mere 6 weeks!

6. How did you decide where to adopt from?

There are 2 options locally: child welfare (which apparently takes years, but is free) and private (which costs a lot, but the wait is shorter). We were following a lead that led to the private agency.

7. What types of websites/agencies/resources did you contact for help or information in the planning phase?

We spoke to our local sheikh to get the Islamic view on adoption. La Leche League – breastfeeding specialists and general searches on adoption also helped. Ultimately, the social workers at the private agency gave us most of the information we required.

An explanation of the process:

After meeting with social workers, they run a background/police check on the couple.

We had to get family, friends and third parties to submit references about us as individuals and as a couple. We had to create a scrapbook/storybook of our lives to be presented to prospective mothers. We also had to complete a form with our preferences for age of baby, color, eyes, features, etc., as well as health condition (AIDS, alcohol fetal syndrome, premature, potentially as a result of a rape, etc.).

The birth mother has the option to meet with the family (we met our son’s mother). Here, the money that the couple pays isn’t for the baby, but is instead used to cover the fees of counseling the birth mother. Generally the adoptive family is given a couple of days notice before baby arrives – making it all very exciting.

8. How did you mentally and emotional prepare yourself and your family for adoption?

Alhamdulillah neither of us needed much preparation as we had agreed on the decision together. Our extended family did make comments like: you should have tried more to conceive, you should have fostered, etc. We defended some of our decisions, and others we just left. Ultimately I believed that the child would soften their hearts, which eventually happened alhamdullilah. Who can’t love a child?

9.  What type of role, if any, do the birth parents play in your child’s life?

These are considered closed adoptions. We know the birth mother’s names, but we do not know where she lives or works. She does not know our names, where we live, etc. Each year for the first 5 years we have to submit a report about the child, so that if at any point the birth parent enquires, they have some information. When the child is 18, they may inquire about the parent, but may only meet if the parent wants to.

Islamically, it is important to us that they find their families. I have read various stories on that aspect and that is why I want them to have love and respect for both sets of parents.  I have a stepmother and I try to show them how I love and respect her, and how it doesn’t affect what I feel for my birth mother.

10.  What was the transition like with the new addition to your family?

We have two adopted children. With our first child, I had stopped working when I was unsuccessfully trying to conceive, so our lives had already slowed down and adjusted.

The biggest adjustment was to night feedings and lack of sleep. Since I hadn’t given birth, I wasn’t bleeding so still had to get up and make fajr salaah. My second child came to us quickly and we (including my first child) did not have much time to adjust or prepare.

11. What advice would you give a family that is considering adoption?

Based on my location/culture, I would remind parents that the child does not come from you, so you can’t expect him/her to look like you. The social workers have told us many couples come with a list or things the child must have. They even had a couple return the baby after it “changed” color and the hair texture became coarser!

12.  What do you wish you had known in retrospect?

I think I am still on that journey. I definitely feel like a pioneer, perhaps since I am one of few people talking about it. I don’t know if what I am doing is helping or harming my children.  To clarify this better, they know they have a “tummy mommy” (we seldom talk about the daddy as I know very little about him). They have heard their adoption stories and love to hear them again and again. Now and then we make dua for their birth parents, asking Allah to forgive them and to guide them, etc.  My daughter once asked where her tummy mummy was, but I said I didn’t know (and I don’t).  I know many emphasize to their children that they are special because they are adopted, but I don’t want them to have that as a life-long label. It mustn’t define them. I don’t know what awaits them when they truly want to know more. I just hope I have prepared them well enough for it.