tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-278743362024-03-23T13:53:32.327-04:00BirthmotherJaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02794585501362648095noreply@blogger.comBlogger159125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27874336.post-36642713987722858022014-08-27T16:14:00.002-04:002014-08-27T16:15:38.366-04:00The Language of FlowersWhy is it that when you see or hear your own feelings somewhere else, you finally feel validated? I was reading my local library's book club selection and am glad I wasn't able to make the discussion after finding the main character gave up her baby.<br />
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These words really resonated with me. Sure, they are part of the adoption "kook aid", but they are what I thought back then, too. I've changed words for my own situation. This segment took me back 23 years, like it was last week.<br />
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"But as much as I wanted to be reunited, I would not go to [him]. My desire for my [son] felt selfish. Leaving [him] with [M] had been the most loving act I had ever accomplished. Without me, my [son] would be [better off]. [M] would love [him]. It was everything I wanted for [him]."<br />
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The hurt never goes away. I wish I had not just changed my mind, but that I had done something about it, not cared what others thought. Now it is too late. At least he's had a good life. So good he doesn't want or need me. That's what I get for doing what I thought was best.Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02794585501362648095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27874336.post-11131137123348162013-11-25T15:18:00.003-05:002013-11-25T15:18:46.826-05:00ChocolateHis adoptive mom will still not agree to meet or converse, and he apparently is still not interested in contact. However, most of his F*cebook posts seem to be public and I just learned he doesn't like chocolate. Neither do I. That makes me smile. Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02794585501362648095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27874336.post-7834018227952331692013-02-19T16:05:00.000-05:002013-02-19T16:05:25.340-05:00FacebookI tried to message someone on a board and Facebook warned me that it might go in their "other" folder. "Other" folder? What's that? I looked at mine and found it. There was a message from Amom from almost two years ago when I accidentally sent a friend request to my (our?) son (and then un-sent it). I thought I had un-sent the request before he saw it. Apparently not. Her message to me was SCATHING. If I had seen it two years ago, I would have known then that all along she has just fed me a line of bullshit about ever getting together or having contact. I don't know what the hell she is telling him about me, and how she is telling him. But for her to say that an almost 20 year-old was "blindsided and hurt by my reaching out through Facebook, of all things", gives me a clue that what she's been telling me all these years is not what she's been telling him. Give me a break already. <br />
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So he doesn't want contact. That much it clear. Is he angry about being adopted? He's certainly had a "good" life. Has he been shown my cards and letters over the years? I am beginning to doubt it. Whatever. He will be 22 in June. I didn't send anything at Christmas and now I am glad I didn't. Screw them and their over-privileged lives. I picked his parents for him - he should be grateful for that since they apparently are the ones that have told him his shit doesn't stink. Yes, I'm mad. And shame on me for drinking the kool-aid. Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02794585501362648095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27874336.post-61942189002904528132013-02-15T15:59:00.000-05:002013-02-19T15:59:57.342-05:00Help me find ... These Facebook posts where people are trying to find their birthmothers/birth parents make me sad in that my son knows how to get in touch with me and chooses not to do so. Yet, these kids/people do want to know their birth parents. Maybe I made myself too available, but I think I was also sold a "bill of goods" in that his adoptive mother made it sound like contact after the adoption would be possible. You live, you learn I guess. Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02794585501362648095noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27874336.post-92071693389660837522012-10-01T16:07:00.001-04:002012-10-01T16:07:29.872-04:00Moving on It's been a few months since I sent his birthday card that was essentially my "see ya! you don't need me so I am gone". And I feel pretty good about it. I mean, I've gotten used to people who were important to me acting like I didn't matter. I didn't think my own son would treat me that way, but apparently he is. So really. See ya. I've gotta move on. Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02794585501362648095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27874336.post-8241614414961058532012-07-18T15:04:00.000-04:002012-07-18T15:10:03.347-04:00WhiplashI took a writing class this summer, one of those adult continuing ed classes where you don't get a grade. It was a memoir class and of course almost all my material for the prompts came from the time I had my son. We had to share a four-page piece with the class at the end and have it "workshopped" where people would comment on it and the writer couldn't say anything. I didn't feel like writing something different so I polished up one of my prompted pieces where I had been purposely vague about the placement and wrote mostly about my four days with him. It was based on the fact that I could not remember feeding him. I did drop some hints - like how we took an airplane ride and wound up in an office. But when I got done, it seemed no one understood what happened. <br />
<br />After my initial surprise, I basked in the response of the older females (everyone save one 22 year-old was at least 60) who said, "Oh, how vulnerable, clearly a first baby." "Really captures how hard it is to be a first-time mother and you think you're doing everything wrong." Women started to talk about how they felt exactly the same way. I thought to myself, oh, they didn't understand but isn't it nice to treat his birth and the time I had him as just a normal motherhood? I was taken back to the time when I did pretend with people that I was about to become a mother. It felt nice. Welcoming. Comforting. Then one man piped up and said, "But I feel like something went wrong, but that he didn't die." I said, "That's right. I gave him up for adoption." The room was deadly silent and one woman's eyes were as large as saucers. Literally. I kid you not. <br />
<br />After a very pregnant pause [pun intended], the instructor said that I should probably explain it better, even be explicit about it in the beginning. I said, "No, it will cause everyone to put up their filters as they read it." The gay guy in class said, "Oh, I understand all about filters." I appreciated his support, but still the room was unusually silent. No one proffered any cliches, thankfully, but no one said anything else, either. I finally just said, "I guess I forget that what has been my reality for over 21 years isn't even on most people's radar." And we moved onto the next person.Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02794585501362648095noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27874336.post-67036082903248400562012-07-01T23:08:00.001-04:002012-07-01T23:08:57.473-04:00So I sent a final birthday card. I didn't make it perfectly clear that it was final, but I wished him a good life. I figure I'll send Amom a letter before Christmas so my intention is clear. <br />
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In the background I have Sleepless in Seattle on. It is 20 years old next year. How did that happen? Am I really that old? It was made in 1993. My son was 2. How different would my life be had I raised him. I don't spend so much time in what ifs these days. I didn't raise him. Must move on.Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02794585501362648095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27874336.post-67494501424486946882012-05-10T21:39:00.003-04:002012-05-10T21:39:46.628-04:00Time to let goShe did respond. And she used a trigger word for me. Someday. <br />
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Well, it's been almost 21 years and someday hasn't happened. It's not going to happen. I finally realize that. Why am I so damn gullible? <br />
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And for the first time I "get" the birthmoms who have visits and come home with mixed feelings. I have always read those posts with unabashed envy. I would LOVE to have seen my son, known what his eye color turned out to be, heard his toddler laugh, smelled his hair. I wish I had one of his crayon drawings. <br />
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After exchanging emails with M, I had those same confused, hurt feelings I get every Christmas when I get a letter or picture. (rarely both) I am so glad to have heard something, but there is so much more left unsaid, so many more questions I have. And you know, I realize now that it would be like that at every visit, if I had ever had the chance to have one. All the what if's, all the shoulda/woulda/coulda's popping up in my subconscious, beaten down by the conscious mind but still there, making me cry and feel raw, wrong and wronged all over again. <br />
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It's time to step away and move on. I've had enough of being held emotionally hostage.Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02794585501362648095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27874336.post-1467309564466510402012-04-14T20:12:00.001-04:002012-04-14T20:14:35.064-04:00Almost 21My son turns 21 in June. I grew some balls and emailed his adoptive mother. I knew her last name and have known about her Web site and email for a while, so I went ahead and used it.<br /><br />We'll see if she emails back.<br /><br />Basically, I am tired of this waiting thing. Should I just throw the towel in and call it a day? Okay, fine, he doesn't want any contact. But you know, the thing that bothers me is I still want to know what he was like as a child. I missed out on all of that. So I emailed her.<br /><br />We'll see if I hear anything.Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02794585501362648095noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27874336.post-12694038749422577172011-11-17T20:38:00.003-05:002011-11-17T20:39:15.566-05:00Time to Let Go?I am really thinking of letting go. But I am also thinking of calling M and just asking her point blank whether she thinks I should. I just feel like it's too much baggage to keep carrying around.Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02794585501362648095noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27874336.post-4941285464302309722011-06-08T21:53:00.002-04:002011-06-08T21:54:03.324-04:00Birthday CardWell, I bought him a card and it's sitting on the front seat of my car. It seems so inappropriate, really. Sending a birthday card to a 20 year-old man I don't know.Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02794585501362648095noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27874336.post-37886938383897681202011-05-24T21:22:00.002-04:002011-05-24T21:24:53.495-04:00Birthdays, a study in compare/contrastOne day last Fall it was my daughter's birthday. And it was a happy day. I remember thinking, "Oh, is this what they are supposed to feel like?" I felt so alive. The day was dynamic - not static. There was no time or need for reflection or contemplation. Just fun and joy.<br /><br />It was so unlike my son's birthdays which are always full of sadness and regret for me.Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02794585501362648095noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27874336.post-59093473250063184092011-05-23T21:36:00.002-04:002011-05-23T21:38:56.544-04:00Birthday ... it's comingSo his 20th birthday is coming. On my 20th birthday, I was 8 days post-placement.<br /><br />It was awful, and I truly believed by this point I would have reconnected with him. Since he doesn't want/need contact, here I am almost 20 years later with nothing but memories.Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02794585501362648095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27874336.post-89648491624033041422010-03-01T20:32:00.003-05:002010-03-01T20:39:13.861-05:00Will it ever make sense?I just don't know. I just know it still hurts. Dammit.<br /><br />In November/December, I was having weird dreams about my ex-husband, the man I was with when my son was born. He was so perfect for me at that point in my life. About a week before Christmas I googled his name and found out he died in August. OMG!<br /><br />Then I did get an annual letter from M, no picture, but I noticed on the tags to the Christmas gifts that P was missing and thought maybe divorce. I read the note and no, he died in June. I googled it (since I do know their last name) and discovered he died the day after my son graduated from high school, and days before his 18th birthday. OMG!<br /><br />I am still having tingling and worried that it might be MS but thinking that it is more likely mini panic attacks since it is pretty localized and comes and goest throughout the day. How much longer can I go on like this. I know it's from trying to be the perfect mother now that I have my chance. How can I let that go? I have no freaking idea. My counselor wasn't very helpful ... try another? What a waste of time and money it might be, and I don't have much of either.<br /><br />Realized a couple of weeks ago that, now that I have my daughter, I am trying to live the life I imagined I would have had if I had kept my son. Um, hello?!? That is so impossible. And unfair to her and me.<br /><br />Does it ever make sense? I am beginning to think it never will. If not for her, I wouldn't even bother anymore. Just saying.Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02794585501362648095noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27874336.post-35048468110681872722009-11-28T20:46:00.002-05:002009-11-28T20:51:55.648-05:00His letter ... just a dreamI woke up this morning and remembered a wonderful dream I had just been having. My son wrote me. In my dream, he was about 14 rather than 18. I could see him writing to me although obviously in real life I couldn't have, so I should have noticed in my dream that I was dreaming. (I usually do when there are inconsistencies like that.) I think part of me needed to just enjoy the dream.<br /><br />His letter was about one page and handwritten in a jerky schoolboy way. He asked me who my daughter's babysitter was and if she liked her babysitter. I don't remember the other parts of the letter although there were other questions. I remember realizing that I could write him back and that I could do it right away. I have been so conditioned to his mother's once a year letters that usually have no direct response to the previous letter from me.<br /><br />So obviously part of me is still very much hoping for contact now that he is 18.Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02794585501362648095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27874336.post-24342113355067606972009-10-27T20:56:00.004-04:002009-10-27T21:06:05.545-04:00June 1991Meeting new patients and making up their charts is one of the things in my current job that has made me realize how old my son is, that he is all grown up and all that. I've met patients, male and female, that are around his age ... a little older, a little younger.<br /><br />Then the other day I had to make up a chart for a girl who was born in June 1991 as she sat in the waiting room with her 23 year-old boyfriend. I felt sick to my stomach. A full grown person with an adult life (she works and doesn't go to college) born the same month and year my son was. I HAVE MISSED EVERYTHING AND WILL NEVER, EVER HAVE IT. I don't know my son, he doesn't know me. There are no memories, no traditions, no nothing. I am not his family, I am no source of comfort and remembered love to him. If we ever do meet again, we will just be people who get to know each other. Boy did that come screaming home to me that day.<br /><br />It was all I could do to make that chart and sit through the initial interview. I considered asking my coworker to do it but then thought, don't be such a coward, Jayne.<br /><br />I have since had to do another chart for a boy born March 1991 and did not have that same reaction. Sure I noticed 1991 and did the math and all that, but it was just as removed as someone born in 1988 when my friend had a baby that her parents made her give up for adoption. (I had moved away and learned about it later. I talked to her shortly after placing my son, but I have lost touch with her. I keep looking for her on Facebook - and elsewhere - and can't find her. Damn our custom of women changing their last names after marriage.)<br /><br />June 1991 is just a trigger for me I guess. Will it get easier? Probably not.Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02794585501362648095noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27874336.post-91320921228470935292009-09-22T20:44:00.003-04:002009-09-22T21:00:22.149-04:00Birth dayTonight as I was putting my daughter to bed I pulled out her framed picture from the hospital and told her how it was a picture of her on the day she was born. I held it up next to her face and she smiled. She said, "Who is that baby?" And I told her it was her and that she was looking at me in the picture. My daughter pointed off to the side of the frame and said, "You were there?" And I said, "Yes, I was."<br /><br />I am really surprised at how emotional I've been since I did that. It stirred something up and I can't put my finger on it. Oh, I know it has everything to do with my son and not having the follow-on memories. I think part of it is still feeling like (and fearing that) someone was going to take her away from me. And part of it is looking at a picture of a second newborn of mine that seemed too perfect to have come from me. Yet another child I didn't deserve. Nothing about her newborn picture looks anything like me - the shape of her head, her widow's peak, her nose - almost as if God was mocking me.<br /><br />I love my daughter very, very much. And I still miss my son immeasurably. I realize he will never really know me, even if he one days reaches out for contact because all his childhood memories are from another family, a completely different upbringing. At least I was able to choose that for him and he has had a good life so far. I only hope that I can manage to be a good mom to my daughter. It's really, really hard - the patience, creativity, energy and self esteem a good mother needs is sorely lacking here. I keep thinking everyone else in her life does a better job and she needs more right now than what I can give her, that it's time to give up the part-time job and go back to work full-time, let her have the structure and instruction in a full-time preschool program.<br /><br />I just don't know. Doubt creeps into my decision making process and I feel that I am abandoning her if I put her in a full-time program. If others are with her the bulk of her day, five days a week, who is really raising her? But I can't go on the way it's going now - doing my best and feeling like it falls short every day.Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02794585501362648095noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27874336.post-60377721573434762372009-08-07T22:40:00.004-04:002009-08-07T23:18:50.330-04:00RamblingIt was a rough July.<br /><br />A bunch of stuff has accumulated and apparently pushed me over some kind of line. I admit I can be uptight/hyper/high strung ... pick a personality adjective. I've wondered from time to time if I am a little too stressed, maybe a little crazy even. Now I've got some physical issues stemming from my neurosis of never being good enough and feeling like I'm running on some kind of damn hamster wheel. In early July I started having tingling in my hands, which made me worry, which made it worse, which made me lose sleep and appetite. <br /><br />I know part of my issue is my ongoing grief about my dad. I burst out crying at stupid times. It seems like this summer the reality of his death has really, truly hit me. With all the physical tingling I decided to try grief counseling and it felt good to have someplace to go where it was safe and expected to grieve. In a break-out session I was paired with the hospice chaplain, a female Episcopal priest. As my story tumbled out I came "this close" to telling her about my son because that's all part of it, too.<br /><br />While I thought that knowing he didn't want contact was at least some kind of resolution and therefore good, it is still a rejection. Yes, he must feel some rejection, too, but my sense of self worth is zero. My son wants nothing to do with me, my dad is gone. Do I matter to anyone?<br /><br />My husband is a sweetie but he loves his recliner and his laptop ... and I am tired of competing. My daughter is so young and shouldn't be responsible for my happiness. Then I realize that really, no one is responsible for my self worth except me. But at my age it's hard to become comfortable with that mindset. I am so used to the idea that I have to perform, that I have to strive to be perfect, that I am not good enough.<br /><br />And I circle back to the performance thing. Is that why I gave up my son? Because I was performing as the 'good girl' who does what she should? That I could redeem myself? That I would earn P&M's love/respect/gratitude/fill-in-the-blank.<br /><br />Well that didn't quite work out and lately I have truly been regretting my decision to give him up.<br /><br />I am too old to be the mother of a 3 year-old. She wants me to be her playmate. I have trouble playing with Little People. I have no imagination or patience. Then I feel guilty for not being more enthusiastic. I hear my mother's negative thoughts in my head (can't I have a moment to myself?) and again feel guilty.<br /><br />Would I have been that worse a mother 18 years ago? I somehow think I would have managed and he would have been fine. He wouldn't have the private education he's gotten or the time at the summer home they have, etc., but he still would have been loved.<br /><br />And because I have felt so guilty for giving him up, I have only left my daughter when I've had to go to work and a few rare occasions when I've gone to the movies. So I haven't had any time to myself. I've not left her overnight while others I know have left their INFANTS! in the care of grandparents and gone off to the beach for an entire weekend. HOW?!?!?<br /><br />And now I think I'm burning out.<br /><br />So in the past week or so I've flirted with the idea of returning to work full-time (I work part-time) and putting her in a good daycare where she would have the interaction with other children that I think she needs (playmates!) and the structure of a day that would get her ready for kindergarten. But then I think to myself, "Isn't that like giving her up? Having someone else teach/train/raise her 5 days a week for most of her waking hours?" Which is a voice that is also saying, "See? You aren't good enough to be a mother."Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02794585501362648095noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27874336.post-34815176893833569852009-06-19T21:29:00.001-04:002009-06-19T21:31:11.233-04:00The Due DateToday, June 19th, was my due date back in 1991. It's still such a significant date for me. I think it goes back to that "static" motherhood idea that I posted about a few days ago. I've thought about it, and him, a lot today.Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02794585501362648095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27874336.post-7898819376036827852009-06-16T20:59:00.001-04:002009-06-16T21:00:28.325-04:00Happy BirthdayToday my son turned 18.Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02794585501362648095noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27874336.post-59140549913395411782009-06-09T19:41:00.003-04:002009-06-09T19:51:16.416-04:00Grief, the overwhelming kindThe grief of relinquishing a child is overwhelming and I just didn't always handle it well. Okay, it consumed me and sometimes I did not do well dealing with its omnipresence in my life.<br /><br />Since I was in my very early 20's, I tried 'having a good time'. After all, isn't that what I was supposed to be doing? Isn't that why I was supposed to give up my baby, so I could have a 'normal life' for a 20 year-old???? But given the opportunity to drink at a party, I would often drink too much, and my grief would only feel even larger. My early 20's were such a dark, lost time.<br /><br />I remember the evening of my 22nd birthday vividly. I worked a 12-hour day as usual. After all, if I worked hard at my 'good job', wasn't that one of the 'right' things to do, that I was supposed to do with this second chance and all that? I came home to my then-husband and just knew it was over. I felt badly for him because it wasn't his fault. I remember thinking to myself I should be happy. I was still so young, still had so much opportunity in front of me, had a guy who was good to me, blah blah blah blah. And as much as a fog as I was in, I strongly felt like there was something significant about turning 22. I'll never forget it. Sitting there in the late summer light, on the floor of carpet that really was beyond the age of replacement in a rented house, there was something about 22 but I couldn't quite place it.<br /><br />The other night, in the middle of the night, I got it.<br /><br />My daughter was born on the 22nd.<br /><br />Coincidence? Maybe. But I believe in signs, especially considering how hard it was for me to try to become a mother after years of believing I didn't deserve to be one.Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02794585501362648095noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27874336.post-76597916486282131182009-06-07T19:10:00.000-04:002009-06-09T19:30:29.550-04:00Static MotherhoodLike some other birthmoms, I didn't feel sure about calling the child I gave birth to 'my son'. But then I figured, absentee dads get to claim their children as 'my kid', so why couldn't I call the child I had grown and birthed my son?<br /><br />However, as we birthmoms know, having a child you still feel connected to, still feel extreme love for, etc. but not raising that child leaves a huge void. Part of that void for me is the sudden ending as soon as the child goes to its adoptive parents. Everything is just a memory at that point. So it's all static, not dynamic. While the child isn't dead, my connection is. There is only so much that can be garnered from an annual update and a snapshot. Everything is bittersweet - the few things I have from the hospital stay, the few pictures that I have in an album. I wonder about so much.<br /><br />The static v. dynamic thing has really shown itself in my relationship with my daughter. Everytime she hurts herself, I am beside myself. Most mothers hurt more than their children when it comes to boo-boos, but I am always terrified that it's the first, small sign of some horrible thing. (I've read blogs about moms who noticed an unexplained black-eye and soon thereafter neuroblastoma is diagnosed and child dies months later.) I wish I could shake the feeling that she will be taken from me. I wish I could relax more and just be her mom.<br /><br />I don't know about any of my son's childhood mishaps, injuries, etc. There have been no individual worries since I am not privy to his daily life. Again, it's static. I notice the cigarette sign on convenience store doors about 'you cannot buy if you weren't born before this date in 1991.' Does my son smoke?<br /><br />As my daughter outgrows her boo-boos, we move on and all is well. I remember holding her as an infant in the middle of the night and feeling like I had missed so much with my son. Now, I can't even fathom what it would have been like to be his mother as a toddler because I don't know his toddler personality, whether he was as fearless as his sister, any of that. But I know each mark on my daughter's body and how it happened. I notice how some have faded to nothing, how some are barely visible. The memories of her have accumulated to the point where I don't remember everything, but I can look back and smile when something comes to mind.<br /><br />I still don't smile when I reminisce about the short time I had with my son. It's all so bittersweet.Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02794585501362648095noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27874336.post-85897660380087438832009-01-20T19:54:00.004-05:002009-01-20T20:01:02.095-05:00Still AdjustingMy daughter loves writing on her new chalkboard. However, she is still learning the concept of starting far enough to the left to write what she wants. This morning I went in her room and she was trying to write my name, so I wrote it for her a little higher so she could practice writing it below. I came back out to the living room and told my husband she needed help writing my name, so I wrote "Mommy" for her.<br /><br />It felt so very strange to say 'my name' and 'mommy' in the same sentence.<br /><br />While I never hesitate to answer to my daughter's calls for "Mommy" or even refer to myself in the third person, as in "let go of Mommy's hair", saying out loud "My name is Mommy," still makes me nervous, like I am an imposter and someone is going to call me on it immediately.<br /><br />Obviously, I still feel like I don't deserve to be a mommy, and I keep expecting someone to notice.Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02794585501362648095noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27874336.post-35414571325444118062009-01-06T21:57:00.002-05:002009-01-06T22:11:49.455-05:00Random ... on sleepers and suchMy daughter is definitely out of babyhood and toddlerhood. I am just now starting to feel pangs of missing her in those stages. I worry that I am ... I dunno how to put it ... too close to her, too needy/needful of her. She is getting harder to pick up now that she is getting older/bigger and cuddling her is just not the same now that she is bigger. It's harder to play those games where I lay on the floor and lift her, using my legs to support hers so she can be an airplane.<br /><br />I know how we got here ... she started talking and each day I was just amazed by her ability to communicate. I was living in the moment and enjoying it - and now I have a little person instead of a toddler. She is still so wonderful and amazing but I am going through what I hope is a phase where I expect her to be 14 tomorrow and tell me not to touch her, please don't drop me off so close to school, etc. Ugh.<br /><br />Having her be so much more of a person is really neat on so many levels. But is has made me realize that all those years of having newborn clothes and toys tucked away in a "hope chest" (read here: cardboard box) made those clothes and toys take on a life of their own. Because they were mostly boy clothes and because the teddy bear and blankets were tinged with so much regret, I never used them and have given almost all of them away. But still, when I see a newborn sleeper I immediately am brought back to those days of wishing ... wishing things turned out differently, wishing life could be the fairy tale everyone ELSE seemed to be having.<br /><br />I still have some of those thoughts when I see people with that 'perfect' nuclear family, the folks who haven't had their innocence stripped away by adoption or some other tragedy. But I know I am looking through my own lens (lense?) and it's an unfair one. We all have our problems, but it's so easy to look at others and think their lives are perfect. But signing onto F.acebo.ok tonight and seeing a 'mutual friend' who I remembered as a candidate for Geek of the Year have a wife and 2 nice looking kids made me immediately think: if he could do it, why couldn't I? Sure, I have a beautiful daughter, but I am 10 years older than I should have been and road weary from carrying all this damn baggage.<br /><br />Raising my daughter and moving beyond those baby and toddler days have allowed me to grow a lot in many ways, to work through some of the issues, (but not the grief). It's nice to be able to do my daughter's laundry and not have strange emotions that I still won't address straining against locks in my heart, because I have only memories of my little sister's clothes to associate with size 4T stuff. <br /><br />While I am missing her baby and toddler days and still have lots of issues, I like this new sense of empowerment I've felt in the last few days. I don't feel like I am in do-over mode for the time being. Maybe it will last a while?Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02794585501362648095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27874336.post-40529016560479952772008-11-05T16:05:00.004-05:002008-11-05T16:24:01.444-05:00Pushing Me AwayOut of the blue the other day, I remembered how M asked me to stop calling. She distinctly said, "We'd like for you not to call anymore because he understands about the phone and will reach for it." I remember that he would have been old enough to do that, but certainly not old enough to understand who he was "talking" to.<br /><br />The thing is, I can't remember how old he was. How long did I get to call them whenever I wanted? Hear updates about his growth and milestones whenever I needed? I honestly cannot remember at all. But I do remember how it felt to be told that. To completely understand that a solid door was closing.<br /><br />A couple of thoughts came to mind after this memory surfaced. One is that they could have asked me to call after he was in bed for the evening. So why didn't they? Clearly, it was an opportunity to go ahead and cut off that kind of contact.<br /><br />I have always been willing to be engaged. They have repeatedly pushed me back.<br /><br />Christmas is coming, a time when I normally send a letter and presents. I thought I might stop this year, especially knowing he doesn't want contact. Well, I would just be doing what they most likely want if I cease at this point, and look where doing what they want has gotten me so far.<br /><br />I honored their request to stop calling years ago rather than countering with another option (I was just so shocked by the request and figured that at some point it would resume ... duh). I can't help but think that with so little contact from me, it has only contributed to him not wanting contact.<br /><br />So I am going to just do what I want this year for Christmas, what I feel <em>I need</em> to do.Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02794585501362648095noreply@blogger.com1