Birthmother

Time to Let Go?

2011-11-17T20:38:00.003-05:00

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.

Birthday Card

2011-06-08T21:53:00.002-04:00

Well, 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.

Birthdays, a study in compare/contrast

2011-05-24T21:22:00.002-04:00

One 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.

It was so unlike my son's birthdays which are always full of sadness and regret for me.

Birthday ... it's coming

2011-05-23T21:36:00.002-04:00

So his 20th birthday is coming. On my 20th birthday, I was 8 days post-placement.

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.

Will it ever make sense?

2010-03-01T20:32:00.003-05:00

I just don't know. I just know it still hurts. Dammit.

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!

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!

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.

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.

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.

His letter ... just a dream

2009-11-28T20:46:00.002-05:00

I 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.

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.

So obviously part of me is still very much hoping for contact now that he is 18.

June 1991

2009-10-27T20:56:00.004-04:00

Meeting 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.

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.

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.

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.)

June 1991 is just a trigger for me I guess. Will it get easier? Probably not.

Birth day

2009-09-22T20:44:00.003-04:00

Tonight 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."

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.

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.

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.

Rambling

2009-08-07T22:40:00.004-04:00

It was a rough July.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

Well that didn't quite work out and lately I have truly been regretting my decision to give him up.

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.

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.

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?!?!?

And now I think I'm burning out.

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."

The Due Date

2009-06-19T21:29:00.001-04:00

Today, 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.

Happy Birthday

2009-06-16T20:59:00.001-04:00

Today my son turned 18.

Grief, the overwhelming kind

2009-06-09T19:41:00.003-04:00

The 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.

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.

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.

The other night, in the middle of the night, I got it.

My daughter was born on the 22nd.

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.

Static Motherhood

2009-06-07T19:10:00.000-04:00

Like 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?

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.

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.

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?

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.

I still don't smile when I reminisce about the short time I had with my son. It's all so bittersweet.

Still Adjusting

2009-01-20T19:54:00.004-05:00

My 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.

It felt so very strange to say 'my name' and 'mommy' in the same sentence.

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.

Obviously, I still feel like I don't deserve to be a mommy, and I keep expecting someone to notice.

Random ... on sleepers and such

2009-01-06T21:57:00.002-05:00

My 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

Pushing Me Away

2008-11-05T16:05:00.004-05:00

Out 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.

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.

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.

I have always been willing to be engaged. They have repeatedly pushed me back.

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.

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.

So I am going to just do what I want this year for Christmas, what I feel I need to do.

Voting

2008-11-04T21:24:00.001-05:00

I am sitting here watching the election coverage and realized that my son is just one year too young to vote. This could have been his first election.

Same thing happened to me back in '88. I was just a year too young.

It's always bittersweet to me when I recognize the things he and I have in common.

More Grief

2008-06-17T20:46:00.001-04:00

I dropped my mother off at the airport and it feels like Sunday night. Tomorrow I get to start over. Yay. But tonight, I wallow in my grief for my dad.

I miss him so much. It seems that nothing can go through my stream of consciousness or past my line of vision with me thinking of him. It’s not as obsessive as it might sound. I am not doing it on purpose. It’s just that so many things make me think of him, without even trying.

For one thing, where I live is so much like the areas he and I would camp and fish in. The roads are so much like those we would travel on to get there. After a brief hot spell, the weather has turned that perfect camping weather of cool evenings and warm days. I had to come outside and sit on the porch to enjoy it tonight.

It’s also because he taught me how to think. How to learn. How to appreciate life. How to wonder about differences. How to love nature, fresh air and peaceful evenings. Just like it is right now, with my mother gone and the temperature a mere 73 degrees, the crickets (or whatever they are) chirping.

No, he wasn’t perfect, but can’t my mother miss him just a little? She is so damned relieved to be rid of him. It's awful. She even used the phrase "God bless his soul," at one point. And you know people only say that when they are speaking ill of the dead.

The only reason I was sad she was going home was that she wouldn’t be sharing any of her visit, and therefore me, with him.

On some level I knew but never truly realized how much of an extension of him she was. Now that he is gone, I have no reason to like her.

The two of them helped me to be the competent person I am, so my mother isn’t without value. But I do wish sometimes that she was a person I could love.

No Confirmation of Receipt

2008-06-09T15:04:00.004-04:00

I went to the post office and mailed his present, my niece's present and another item. As I was putting my credit card away I realized that for the first time in years I did not get a delivery confirmation receipt. And it shocked me that I hadn't even thought to get one.

Amazing what a "not interested in contact at this time" can do.

I used to always get one and a large part of the reason was in case pettiness was genetic I could prove that I had always mailed his presents in time for the attorney's office to get them to him before his birthday or Christmas.

But now it doesn't matter, according to my subconscience that apparently has absorbed and assimilated the 'no contact' news better than I realized.

And it was a little bit of a relief actually, less baggage (and paperwork) as I left the post office, simply having mailed a package like it was any other.

17 years later maybe I'm finally letting go a little.

Sending the birthday gift

2008-06-08T21:48:00.003-04:00

I am about to tape up and address the box. As I was wrapping the present yesterday, I wondered how much longer I will do this. Will this be the last gift I send? Will this be the last time I put something in a box and think about how something I've touched, he will touch?

I am tired of the other thoughts that occur when I send birthday and Christmas gifts - the thoughts that include "what does he think of me?" "How does this gift affect the impression he has of me?" I hate not knowing.

But I also realized as I put the items in the box that the young man I am sending this box to is not the baby I carried, birthed and held. I felt I knew that baby. I do not know this young man. I truly thought I would have known more about him, had more snapshots, more stories of his childhood, maybe even a home-made card or note from him. I don't know the color of his eyes or his blood type - questions I've asked M but, like many other questions, including 'what happens to our letter and gift exchange once he enters college and adulthood?' have gone unanswered.

I guess as usual I'll take it one day at a time, waiting and being ready for him or her should they want or need me.

D

2008-06-01T15:43:00.004-04:00

My daughter loves to "read" books. On Sundays she goes to the nursery and for months now she pulls down a basket of small, square, board books. The first one she reads every Sunday is Daniel, followed by Noah, and then Jonah. I usually leave within the first few minutes as she is launching into Daniel, sitting on the floor, lifting the flaps to reveal various characters like King Darius.

At lunch today, her daddy was out due to another commitment and it was just her and me. She mentioned something about Daniel, maybe in the context of D is for Daniel - even though we usually say Daddy or other things, but she had just been in the nursery and her book was fresh in her mind. I looked at her and wanted to day, "You have a brother named Daniel." [not the name I gave him]

Since she is now of an age of talking and remembering, I didn't follow my gut and say it out loud. When she was younger I would sometimes tell her she had a brother, but now that she is getting a little older I wonder when it will be the right time to tell her, to start mentioning him and letting her know about him, even if he isn't a part of our everyday lives and doesn't want to be.

Birthday Gift

2008-05-29T21:41:00.002-04:00

I've bought his birthday gift and I just have to wait for it to arrive in the mail.

For a while I thought maybe I wouldn't send one this year. Then I thought, well, if I send something what would it be? I mean, he'll be 17 and I know so little about him. But I thought of something and I went browsing on-line. Then put it off. Then looked some more. Then the other day someone said something about June 16th and I realized how soon it will be here. again. So I made myself go back to the site and buy it so it'll be here in time for me to add a card. After all, procrastinating is not going to make the day not come. And I'll be damned if I am going to put myself in a position to feel completely inadequate yet again.

Pre-Birthday Lull

2008-04-24T21:23:00.003-04:00

His birthday is less than two months away. I am pretty sure I get this way every year. A kind of lull, an acceptance of how things are.

I think it's because enough time has elapsed since Christmas that all the raw emotions have subsided from the Christmas letter, or lack thereof. It's far enough away from the birthday that I don't have to act quite yet, meaning I don't have to start writing a letter or worry about what to buy for a gift. So I find myself, as usual, mentally thinking, "F*ck 'em. I won't send anything - they can see how it feels to be ignored." But of course, deep down I know I can't really do that.

I long ago stopped writing a letter in response to the Christmas letter since I always wound up feeling like an ass when I still wouldn't hear anything from her until at least the following Christmas, if not the Christmas after that. This point was driven home after telling them about the birth of my daughter, albeit it 15 months after the fact. (Hey, I wasn't ready to share her with them.) Eight months passed until I heard anything in response to that news, and nothing about my son was included by her - no news, information or picture(s).

This past Christmas I shared with them that my father had just died and that I was devastated. Wouldn't people who supposedly care about me have sent a card or note by now?

I know they're decent people, but apparently I just don't rate high enough for compassion.

Part of the lull also has to do with the ball being in my court. I never get anything from them this time of year, so there are no expectations of them on my part.

And probably some of it has to do with the fact that at this time of year spring finally shows up and there is just something about warmer weather, longer days and time outside that just mellows me out a little and also gives me some hope in life, humanity and the future.

Oh, yeah, I am SO okay

2008-04-17T15:56:00.002-04:00

So, in one of my several thoughts a day about my son, who I am "so" okay with his not wanting contact, etc. etc., it struck me yesterday morning as I did my make-up. A coloring.

I mean really.

Would it have killed her to take one of those umpteenth colored pages of nothing that he drew and she was throwing away, tri-folded it, put a stamp on it and sent it to me?

I think not.

I would love to have had one. ONE.

And I know I had that thought before. Back when he was little enough to have made those.

And I forgot.

Until yesterday.

The cobwebs came off, the door opened.

And it hurt.

Just as much.

Are you a Mama?

2008-04-13T07:36:00.002-04:00

The place where I take aerobics is a dance studio that has different classes for girls of all ages. One of the classes that breaks up just as ours is about to start is a little ballet class for 3 year-olds. As I was arriving last week, a girl who looked closer to 4 years old was leaving with her mom. I met them on the stairs and the little blonde looked up at me and asked, "Are you a Mama?"

I was so happy to tell her, "Yes." It was just an innocent question from a child, but it warmed my heart. She followed up with, "Which one is yours?" And I answered, "She doesn't come yet, but she will soon." Also the truth, as my daughter will be old enough in the fall and we've already discussed her starting either dance or tumbling. As I continued onto class, I had a small smile on my face, the kind you get when something privately pleases you and you can't help but smile a little.

Had she asked me that question before I had my daughter, the feelings I would have been left with after the mini-conversation would have been far different.

Let's do Lunch

2008-03-28T00:06:00.002-04:00

Okay, truth be told I am okay with my son's decision to not have contact at this point because at least it's a DEFINITIVE answer dammit, and those are hard to come by in adoption. The only definitive answer to this point was the Yes, I'm giving you my son. and Yes, we're taking him.

Anyway ... I feel like at some point he will want to have contact. But really, what I want is to know more about him, but not necessarily from him at this point. And so I have to wonder if his current rejection of contact couldn't be an opening for me to put forward an invitation to M to meet and talk about him. Since he doesn't want contact, she can't be threatened, right? And what mother doesn't love to talk about her child, show off pictures, etc.? After all, adoptive parents writing letters is as stressful for them as it is for us birthmothers writing our letters because there's no give and take, really. I think they worry that we are judging their parenting of the child we've placed while we worry about asking for too much. They are afraid of showing they are human; we are afraid of being cut off. But in a conversation, a meeting, so much of this could be cleared up, no? That is, if both parties are on the same page (or at least the same chapter or book) and don't have a nasty agenda. Okay, maybe I'm being naive. It wouldn't be the first time, but I'd like to think perhaps M and I could meet at the same place we met 17 years and 3 months ago. A neutral but significant spot.

Ah, a pipe dream I'm sure.

Oscars

2008-02-25T16:59:00.003-05:00

So I think I'm all fine with my son not wanting contact with me. But as much of a celebrity-ophile as I am, I cannot bring myself to watch even a moment of the Oscar's for fear of running into Juno. So I know I'm not completely okay about it. Of course. Duh. And then, as I'm in another room and my husband is flipping channels, he momentarily pauses as I hear the words Keri Russell and August Rush come out of the TV. And I cringe. I try not to listen, but I hear something about "better life".

Love Day

2008-02-11T15:00:00.000-05:00

A person reminded me that Thursday is Love Day. Of course, I was ready to immediately respond with, "Oh yes, I realize it's Valentine's Day," but, before I could, she continued with, "Don't forget to enjoy all the love you have in your life," and it stopped me in mid-breath.

I love the positive spin on it. It's instinctual these days for me to look at everything in my life within the context of no longer having my dad. In the brief second that I focused only on the love currently in my life, I felt a joy I haven't felt in ages. I want to hold onto that.

It's kind of like something my husband heard about disciplining kids .. don't tell them what not to do, tell them what to do. For example, instead of, "Don't climb" say "Get down from there." Use an action item they can respond to in the affirmative. I've found it's 95% effective with my daughter. (Yes, that's a gut percentage, not a scientific finding.)

Makes sense for her; makes sense for me.

Love Day it is. I am going to try to apply that to every day.

Grief sucks

2008-02-06T00:23:00.000-05:00

I still haven't processed any of my grief over my dad's death.

Heath Ledger's death a couple of weeks ago really set me off. Already a troubled sleeper, it just was the end for me.

I didn't know Heath. I'm not sure I've even seen any of his movies. (Okay, a quick side trip to imdb confirms that I have not seen any of his movies. And did you know his full name was Heathcliff?) I am, however, addicted to celebrity news and his daughter, Matilda, was born just a month after mine, so we have that in common. And his death, to me, signaled another girl losing her daddy and as I grieved for Matilda I could no longer fully contain my own grief. Yet I still have not addressed it and instead I've been cranky, sullen and snappish.

Matilda is only 2 and she will barely remember her father, yet he loved her dearly (from all reported accounts; again I knew him not). It is so tragic.

I don't care how old you are when you lose the parent that you hold dearest. It just hurts.

There is nothing I can do to change how things played out with my dad. The lack of control to do anything that would change the outcome, the lack of his presence here on earth ... the loss is just overwhelming if I let myself acknowledge it, and when I try to sleep is when it becomes hardest to push the thoughts and memories away. I am just filled with so much anger and sorrow.

My daughter developed a slight cold over the weekend and yesterday afternoon she was wheezing as loud as my dad was. Panicked, I rushed her to the doctor to learn what I really did know deep down ... just wait another day or so and she'll be fine. And this morning she was. She still is getting saline and the vaporizer for another day or two, because I'm just over-protective like that. Actually, I'm just a bundle of nerves terrified of losing her, too.

Found this quote a few minutes ago, and it has brought me some momentary comfort: Only when it's dark enough, can you see the stars. - Ralph Waldo Emerson

I miss you dad. Terribly.

Thoughts

2008-01-15T21:51:00.000-05:00

I still had several errands to run and it would soon be naptime and I was, as usual, stressed. But then I realize, wait a second, take a breath and get some perspective on what’s really important. This is what I wanted. This is what I have waited for. Pushing a stroller while looking back to make sure the toddler was following. Not only was she following, but with glee. I love her smile, her exuberance.

When people ask me if I will have another, I often say no, she demands too much of my attention. Some of that has to do with being firstborn in my own family where I was often ignored while my mother tended to my needier, younger siblings. Yet I get my independence from those experiences, and I do love my independence.

I worry that I am smothering her. My inability to leave her with her father for just an hour because something might happen. The cat might come too close and she won’t be able to resist grabbing his tail and he will scratch her again on the face. But her daddy says to me, “Go already, and stop worrying.”

I only wish I could stop worrying. She still has not been away from me overnight. Nor has she been driven away from me, as in having her daddy or someone else take her somewhere while I remained where she and I once were. I am becoming afraid that I am going to be one of those birthmothers who, when they do parent a child, can’t let go.

As for another child, I find myself coming up with “logical” excuses for not having another one. Just like I came up with logical excuses for not having her for so long.

Meanwhile my son, my firstborn, wants nothing to do with me. In a way, that makes things nice and neat for me. I can handle rejection; I just can’t handle ambiguity – especially the kind I have been living for the last 16.5 years.

It also makes me glad I didn’t wait any longer to have my daughter. For a long time, I thought there would be some contact with him. If I did not have her already I think I would be devastated by his rejection.

Dementia

2008-01-04T07:23:00.000-05:00

One of my favorite songs a couple of years ago was Matchbox 20's Unwell. Back then I, like many people, still joked about being crazy. After watching what happened to my dad, and seeing it in his mother, it's not funny anymore.

What are we if we are not ourselves?

And feeling pretty sure that is my fate, too, it has really changed my perspective on my life and its meaning and purpose. I am still working through it all, but for the first time I am truly realizing that in life none of "this" matters to anyone but me anyway.

As I've thought about my father's life now that it's ended and his life force is gone from all of us, I am reminded of the opening scenes of a Jeff Goldbum movie I saw years ago where he makes elaborate dishes and then tosses them into the garbage. It seems like such a waste of time and effort to do that, but right now I feel like that is a good analogy for life. We spend so much time and effort ... and for what? Jeff's character just enjoyed the process, it didn't matter to him that there was no purpose after the dish was done. But that's never been enough for me. While I should learn to enjoy the process of any task, I like to know there is more purpose for all my effort.

Another voice in my head reminds me of the Epicureans who believe(d) that we should eat, drink & be merry for our time on earth is short, something I have believed for a while. But still, it's easier to do that in ignorance of the unknown rather than with first-hand experience with dementia. (And the truth is hearing the diagnosis spoken glibly from a doctor in a smug "I was right" tone, together with the description of a shrinking brain and wrong colored matter was in itself traumatic.)

The book of Ecclesiastes contains a message similar to the Epicurean philosophy. The author arrives at his conclusion after noting that there is nothing new under the sun and all seems like chasing wind. He puts it so well when he says, "Yet when I surveyed all that my hands had done and what I had toiled to achieve, everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind; nothing was gained under the sun." (Ecc 2:11, NIV) That is how I feel right now.

Not right now

2007-12-31T22:15:00.000-05:00

The box, again, contained not a single picture. But I got to the end of the two page letter and a short paragraph said that he wasn't up for talking, writing or meeting yet. And it felt wonderful. Why? No picture since Christmas 2004, no indication of any chance of contact and then, finally, there is the acknowledgment that he has been given the option. Wow.

I am okay with his not being ready. First of all, from what I understand it's normal for a 16 year-old adoptee. Second, it probably means he's happy in his family unit and I want that for him. Third, he knows he has the option when and if he's ready, and that is awesome.

Grief

2007-12-29T21:41:00.001-05:00

I've experienced loss before - my best friend, my son, my father-in-law. Losing my father is even worse, and I thought it would just be the same.

My father was the one person I felt knew me best. He and I had so much in common. I felt like I was his reflection and now I have nothing to reflect. It is amazing to me how many things in any given day make me think of him and are therefore touched with that sadness of not being able to share them with him and then wondering what the point of it all is, then.

He was a bit old fashioned and felt that once I grew up I should be independent, and after I was married his job was done. As a result, we did not talk often, but there was definitely still a bond, a love between father and daughter. When he was terminally ill and I spent time with him, I did not feel that there was any unfinished business between us.

I miss him incredibly. Not being able to share observations and thoughts with him bothers me so much. Sure, over the years there were few I did share with him, but the option was always there and now it's not. And it's killing me.

He used to send me flowers at Valentine's Day with a card that said, "From the first man in your life." I would jokingly tell him that technically the doctor was, but I realize now my father really was the first man in my life and that I have spent my entire life loving him, seeking and receiving his approval, living in his shadow, finding my meaning in life through his. Now that he is gone I feel lost and pointless.

My Brother

2007-12-11T16:47:00.000-05:00

My brother.

When he has no one else, he has me and during those times we made wonderful memories (for met at least) of trips together to Europe, me visiting him in a certain southwestern state, and great phone conversations. Yet when he has someone else, he barely bothers with me. It's kind of like when you had "friends" in school, but then you were suddenly second fiddle when someone cooler came along. Being treated as second best, why do I put up with this?

And my brother’s derogatory comments to me, at any age, have simultaneously cut me and imprinted themselves upon me.

My brother thinks I am fat, yet his wife is larger than I am.

My brother practically spits at me when he speaks of my knowledge or intelligence, like it’s a bad thing. He has a learning disability, but he is otherwise a very sharp man. He has self esteem issues, though, stemming (of course) from his childhood in regards to his self worth due to his learning disabilities as well as his being second born to a girl.

I wish there could be love there, but there isn’t.

And my sister treats me similarly, at least in the context of being ignored.

I didn't want my son raised with this family pattern. And I only can wonder at this point how things will go now that my dad is gone.

Death

2007-12-08T09:15:00.001-05:00

My father died a week ago this morning, 8 weeks and 15 hours after being diagnosed with lung cancer.

I know people mean well by sending sympathy cards or saying "I'm sorry," but for me it just comes across as "HEY!!!! HE'S NOT HERE ANYMORE!" Just a big, fat, ugly reminder. And I am not handling it well.

Sure part of me registers that I'm in the denial phase of grief, with some bright touches of the anger phase. I'm angry at him for not facing it, not dealing with it, not giving ANY of us a farewell, including my mother whom he adored for reasons none of us ever understood.

And then there are the comments, again by well meaning people. "You're awfully young for your dad to have died." NO SHIT. But what I said was, "So was he," in a tone that said, "Drop it, lady." She got the hint, thankfully. And the email from someone else that said something along the lines of a mother being most important, but a dad being #2 is also a hard loss. Wrong buddy. My dad was my hero.

Birthmothers and Hollywood

2007-11-30T20:17:00.000-05:00

I wrote this post this past Saturday after Hubby & I went to the movies. Saturday also was the last time I spoke to my father. I called him after the movie to tell him about something we saw that I knew he'd appreciate, and he did. Then he got tired and the call ended. He has been in ICU this week and is being moved to hospice tonight. He is not ready to go, which makes it all the much sadder.

****

Friday afternoon Hubby suggested we see a movie Saturday. He looked on-line to see what was playing and we groaned through a few choices. Then he said, "I think I found one! It's called August Rush." I turned around and hissed, "Absolutely not!" He just looked at me for a second before asking, "Um, what's it about?" I explained what little I know, which is more than I can handle this Christmas season.

What movie studio executive thought Christmastime was a good time to release this kind of movie about a birthmother/birthparents and her/their son? This is a real issue that affects a lot of people deeply. After I calmed down I did allow that I might be willing to see it at some point, but it would have to be after the holidays. Hubby had already apologized, saying he had only read the first paragraph and it sounded appealing. I don't know what he read, but the trailer with the musicians and Kerry Russell does look appealing until someone like me realizes Kerry is playing a birthmother. I shouldn't make assumptions without seeing the movie first, but I'm sure it will probably be some happy Hollywood story complete with a perfect ending. After all, the son is just 11 in the film. If only reunion could happen at that age.

So we picked a different movie. We arrived at the theatre and settled in just as the previews started. The first one was for a movie called Juno about a teenager who discovers she is unexpectedly pregnant and is considering adoption. The trailer treats it like just another life story. I started crying since I know firsthand how adoption is a decision that deeply affects a woman for the entire rest of her life.

Then I hear the word "comedy".

Comedy?!? What kind of comedy is it that a teenager becomes pregnant and is considering adoption?!?!? And the prospective adoptive parents in the trailer (Jennifer Garner is one) are all gooey and goofy. So I am equally appalled and angry about it. The fact that there are two movies out there right now with this topic and that it has to be now, Christmastime.

I don't know if either of these movies deals with any of the grieving a birthmother actually experiences. I suspect not. August Rush, based on the trailer, makes it look like Kerry is relieved just to know her son's alive. And the teenager has the option of just 'going on with her life' and 'finding someone who loves who for what she is' - something her father tells her in a scene from the trailer. ugh.

on Death & Sh*t

2007-11-27T20:41:00.000-05:00

Last night my dad was readmitted to the hospital, 10 days after being discharged from a 6-day stay which included a procedure to drain over 2 liters of fluid from his lungs. By 9:30 pm he was admitted to ICU. He told my brother he feels like he's suffocating.

One of our pet bunnies died tonight. She just laid down and died. Our vet says it was most likely an abcess that went undetected, something that is common in rabbits. She was 6-1/2. Her companion will miss her. I will try to pay a lot more attention to him since she won't be there to groom him, play with him (aka be chased by him), etc.

I really hate death.

For something lighter: My 2 year-old daughter knows how to say sh*t in context. Mother-of-the-year I am, huh? We were pulling out of a parking lot the other night when daddy had to tap the breaks a little hard. He let out a frustrated sigh, I kind of grunted, and from the backseat we heard a perfectly clear, "Sh*t."

Anger

2007-11-24T20:35:00.000-05:00

The anger is back and I didn't recognize it until just now.

I absolutely hate the way birthmothers are so dismissed in our society. Treated as interesting plot twists in the entertainment world and otherwise ignored.

And I'm angry because here I am at the beginning of yet another Christmas season. I am no longer under any illusions that I am going to have the contact or reunion I want and was expecting. He will be 16-1/2 in just a couple of weeks. This is a semi-open adoption of sorts. If had had wanted any level of contact by now, it would have happened.

I realized tonight that I am still trying to be perfect. Damn. Will it ever stop? A big part of me feels like I just don't measure up as a mother. For example, it's time to cull some of my daughter's toys and the task unnerves me. How can I be certain I am removing the "right" ones from her collection? Ugh.

Macy's Day Parade 2007

2007-11-22T10:30:00.000-05:00

My daughter was actually watching the parade with me this morning for a few minutes before her toddler attention span returned to her ball. It was so wonderful as I watched her watch the TV. Tears started to well up but I fought them back. I have waited so long to share this annual tradition of watching the Parade with my child.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Daydreaming

2007-11-15T16:00:00.000-05:00

Today where I live it is cold, overcast, windy and there are some flurries mixed in with the last of the fall leaves. It reminds me so much of another part of the country which I love. I haven't been there in a couple of years and I really miss going there. Up until a couple of years ago I had a connection there of one kind or another whom I could visit. In fact, I found out I was (finally) pregnant for the second time just days before traveling there for the last time.

While the weather is too cold to make outings truly enjoyable, it is amazing how much nostalgia can make you yearn to be somewhere else.

More Birthmother Thoughts

2007-11-06T21:56:00.001-05:00

I talked to another birthmom today. I called her, a bloggy friend, about a non-adoption thing and we wound up chatting for over an hour.

Truth be told, I don't really know her that well. Sure, I've been reading her blog for over a year, we've had a couple of phone conversations and we exchange witty observations on each other's flickr photos. But that's not really enough to know someone. So part of our conversation today consisted of some fun banter that doubled for learning more about each other. There are differences but they don't matter. It's kind of fun just getting to know someone, you know? The thing is, the birthmom experience, even with its differences for each of us, bonds us. For both of us, it's nice to be able to talk about it, our feelings, our observations, our fears, our thoughts, the differences and yet similarities in our experiences. What matters to us at the moment, what ignoramuses we were and continue to be about the whole thing. We can touch on them or talk about them in depth. We can move to another topic and then circle back. For me, it's like a comfortable/comforting conversation with an old friend, even though, like I said, I don't really know her that well.

I've found something similar since parenting. People who never would have been friends before are now friends (of varying degrees) because of the common bond of motherhood. But it's easy to be recognized as a mother when I stroll my 2 year-old around the neighborhood, push her in the swing at the park or run after her at the mall playground.

And while parenting is a life changing event, I don't feel as connected to other mothers. Parenting is not the seismic shift that losing a child is, even if that child was voluntarily given to another couple. My bloggy friend and I discussed anecdotally in a prior conversation about the type of personality a birthmother has. In that conversation we talked about how we are givers, people pleasers. Today we talked about things like compassion and empathy. (Or maybe I just talked about them and she listened ... I can still be more self centered in my conversations than I'd like to be.) And I think when you are that type of person and you've given your child away because you were led to believe you didn't deserve to be a mother, your spirit is irreparably crushed.

I also think that we are still waiting for some kind of approval, yet none is forthcoming. I mean, who is going to give it? The system that told us we weren't good enough to be mother? The adoptive parents who have what they want? Our parents who urged placement and/or won't acknowledge today that there is a grandchild out there? We are nobody now. Even to the children we birthed and placed.

It is my belief that the failure to effect a full recovery from our loss coupled with our need, on some level, for approval (validation?), cause us to (1) see things, life, people, etc., on a different level, even if we don't want to and (2) seek but not find emotionally fulfilling relationships which causes more grief as expectations of validation by a third party continually go unmet.

We seek a connection because our bodies gave birth to children who were supposed to be nurtured by us on the outside as well as the inside while they grew. I gave birth to a child who would have loved me unconditionally, just as my daughter does now. 14+ years of waiting to see that spontaneous smile, hear that innocent laughter dug a hole in my heart, in my being that can never be filled.

Yes, my pregnancy was unexpected, but my decision to place, which caused the 14+ year interruption in motherhood has had horrible, unintended consequences to my spirit. And I've never seen a pro-adoption billboard or advertisement aimed at potential birthmothers mention that side effect.

Mentioning Him

2007-10-21T07:16:00.001-04:00

My dad was diagnosed with cancer two weeks ago and has been in the hospital ever since and the family has gathered around. I have had, and taken, the opportunity to mention my son twice, once to my brother and once to my mother, this past week in "casual" conversation.

The first opportunity arose when I was driving my brother to the airport and we were talking about his son's dependence on his pacifier. My brother asked me about my daughter and I explained that she never took one. I didn't want him to think it was a parenting philosophy against pacifiers (he and I differ on several basic parenting philosophies). I thought twice before adding, "But [son's name] was a sucker from the start and couldn't get enough of his pacifier, so I know that some babies have an instinctual need for one." This was met with nothing but silence and my head started filling with the "oh, maybe I shouldn't have brought him up" thoughts which leads to anger because I feel like my son should be acknowledged, especially if I've gone out on a limb to actually mention him.

The second opportunity was when I was explaining to my mother how hard it is to be in a hospital setting. My dad is really having issues with sleeping at night or even sleeping much during the day. He's right outside the nurses' station in addition to all the lights and constant interruptions for vitals and medications. The rooms in this hospital are super small so there is no break from the hallway lights in the middle of the night if your doorway is open, which his usually is. As an illustration of how hard it is to get any rest or feel like it is even nighttime, I brought up my birth experience with my son since that experience involved a lot more post partum poking and prodding than the one with my daughter. My mother also gave no response, but she was in a bit of a fog to begin with, so I just let that one go.

cancer

2007-10-19T22:54:00.001-04:00

Nothing prepares you to see your father curled up in a hospital bed as helpless as your 2 year old daughter.

Regret

2007-10-01T17:43:00.000-04:00

When I'm honest with myself the truth is that I Regret giving up my son.

The Regret has been the elephant in front of me that I keep trying to cover up with sheer curtains of "but his life is better", "he has good parents", etc.

If I truly believed these things I wouldn't have to re-read the messages on the curtains every time to remind myself of those things.

I am tired of spending energy reminding myself.

The truth is I Regret my decision. And the Regret has been there ever since the moment he was laid in my arms.

Crisis has passed

2007-09-08T20:33:00.000-04:00

By Wednesday afternoon, I found a Friday babysitter who is reliable and has already babysat for us before so she knows my daughter and vice versa. I slept like a rock Wednesday night. By Thursday evening, however, I developed a yeast infection and since I've only ever had one before this, I am pretty sure it's from the stress. Dammit. I wish I could just take care of things without getting freaked out about them.

Childcare

2007-09-05T07:34:00.000-04:00

One of the reasons I was able to quit my decent paying job and take a part-time job to have more time with my daughter was free childcare two mornings a week from my elderly MIL, and my neighbor's willingness to watch her two afternoons a week (for free). He and she have gotten along great since she was months old, and we've been neighbors with this family for 8 years so I have no worries about her care. The last 2-3 weeks he's been unavailable, with varying degrees of notice and I've used my back-up person.

Yesterday afternoon he informed me that he couldn't watch her any longer. It wasn't as direct as that, God forbid, but that was the bottom line, beginning this afternoon. Another neighbor wanted to start watching her on one of the afternoons, but can't start until next week. My back-up person doesn't want to commit to every Friday afternoon. So I made four phone calls last night, none of which were returned by the time I went to bed. (My MIL is not an option because she also babysits my niece's daughter once a week and then has her own life the other two days.) This morning my husband thought of another person, the teenager we use from time to time when we have a date night. It turns out she's home schooled so that's a very likely possibility, and one I'm very comfortable with, too.

Having to find reliable, trustworthy, convenient and affordable daycare for any portion of my work schedule is very stressful. And on one level, to have someone back out, especially with no notice, just seems like a rejection and so there are those emotions to deal with. Clearly her well being is not as paramount to him as I thought. I entertained thoughts of asking for my old job, I searched the on-line classifieds and local websites to see if there were any better paying part-time jobs available. (There weren't.)

The job I have now barely pays the bills and I have never, ever been relaxed when finances aren't secure, so I've been fighting off a case of panic as it is. All kinds of thoughts ran through my head last night - would I have to drop Friday afternoons and how would that affect my current job? I don't feel all that attached to my current job anyway. She naps for most of the afternoon so why should it be so hard to find someone to sit with her? Is not being able to find childcare a poor reflection on my parenting? Why do I have to live in a rural area where jobs and daycare are both so hard to find?

I went in to check on her last night as she slept. I found myself saying, "They're not going to take you away from me just because I can't find childcare." So that apparently was one of my underlying fears because articulating it unlocked my real source of all the negative emotions. If childcare jeopardizes my job, I won't be able to afford to parent. I'm no better now than I was at 19 and 20. The line separating me from a good, worthy mother and an unworthy one is so easy to cross.

I took some deep breaths and tried to think of the big picture, to convince myself that something will work itself out, that it's not all gloom and doom. I just wish that someone backing out of a daycare commitment (and this isn't the first time) didn't send me into an emotional tailspin.

Baby Steps ... forward, backward, nowhere

2007-08-27T14:43:00.001-04:00

Last week, the same day the box came, I had a conversation in the morning with the woman who works for an adoption agency. She had come into the office again. This time she had her near-grown daughter and the baby she adopted. After a little small talk, I took a breath and said, "So, does the birthmother get pictures?" She does. I am so relieved.

I am relieved for the baby's birthmother, and I'm relieved that the conversation flowed naturally rather than being awkward. It didn't go too far and there was no tension (for me, inside my being, like there was when I found out about her connection to adoption). You would have thought we were discussing diapers or any other kind of baby-related issue.

It made me breathe a little easier about adoption.

And then I got the box that contained no pictures. I haven't been able to re-read the letter like I often do, which puts off the processing of it all. I am glad for the information in the letter, but there are a lot of hot points in there which I'm not ready to face yet. For example, "I was beginning to worry that you weren't going to have a family of your own .... "

I am just not ready to deal with all the layers of emotion that would surface when I do re-read statements like that. But oh how I treasure the things she did tell me, like how my son still keeps part of his "blankie" under his pillow.

My daughter has no attachment to anything at all. She didn't use a pacifier, doesn't need a particular blanket or doll or animal as a "lovey". But my son - even when I did have him the four days - was a champion with his pacifier. I have wondered for two years now if anything I've learned about my daughter as I've watched her develop and grow is similar to my son. The blankie was confirmation that they are definitely different in the attachment department!

Another Box

2007-08-20T14:13:00.000-04:00

So a box came today from M&P. I was like, holy cow, they sent me a framed 11x14 picture! Talk about overkill. I was already deciding where I should put it while I climbed up the stairs.

Well, I opened it and there was no framed picture. In fact, there were no pictures at all. Instead, there were some gifts for my daughter and a two page letter for which I am very thankful. BUT NO PICTURES at all. No snapshots. No digital photo printed as part of the letter. No 1x1 school shot. No horribly blurry picture of unbathed, rumpled teenager taken from a distance at Boy Scout camp. Nothing. Nada.

Last two lines of letter, though? Please send pictures and I promise to do the same. Yeah right. When?

I finally asked

2007-08-13T16:52:00.001-04:00

I called to invite my MIL to dinner and we got to talking. She had run into someone who bragged on my daughter to her and then said something along the lines of, "I guess you're going to keep her," and she had replied, "Oh yes!". I finally had it and asked, nicely, "Where does that phrase come from? Has it been around a while?" She said she thought it had, that it was probably Southern and she had heard it her entire life. I tried to laugh it off a little by saying, "I guess it's because some people know how fussy babies can be."

I still hate the phrase.

Book Quiz

2007-08-11T14:10:00.000-04:00

Here is the outcome, for me, of one of those fun quizzes.

You're Fahrenheit 451! by Ray Bradbury. Having wanted to be a firefighter much of your life, you've recently discovered the job wasn't exactly what you were looking for. While ignorance seems like the result of oppression, it all began with people just wanting to be ignorant. As you realize more about the sordid world around you, you decide to watch less TV and work on your memorization skills. Though your memory will save you in the end, don't forget to practice running from dogs as well.

I don't agree with the firefighter part, but I did want to save the world at one time, and mistakenly thought I could in some small way. Anyway, it's just a quiz. Go have a little fun for yourself here.

Aren't you glad you kept her?

2007-08-09T16:52:00.000-04:00

So my mother, whom I haven't heard from since my birthday almost two months ago (either by phone or email), calls me the other day. She is visiting my brother and his wife and children because they just had a new baby. So while my sister-in-law was outside with the 14-month old, my mother had inside duty waiting for the 3 week-old to awaken from her nap. So glad she finally fit it into her busy schedule to call me ...

That issue aside, during the course of the conversation she asks about my daughter and comments on how quickly she is growing (she does read my mommy blog so she sees the regular pictures and updates on things she is doing or saying). Then she says in that off-hand way, "Aren't you glad you kept her?" I was shocked. I just kind of said a vague, "Yeah," and there was a brief silence. I don't know if she picked up on it or not as she then either asked an unrelated question or chattered on about some other thing. I can't remember which because I was stunned. And hurt.

As I've processed it, I realize it's one of those things that, for some people, is just a phrase. I've written before about how the phrase really surprises and bothers me, but I thought it was a Southern phrase and my mother is as Yankee as they come, and I certainly never expected to hear it from her.

And of course I was a coward and didn't bring up the adoption. She was in a strange place waiting for someone else's baby to wake up and I just felt like the timing wasn't right. That's me. Full of excuses.

Grad School

2007-08-06T15:12:00.000-04:00

I've been putting off the essay portion of my grad school application, knowing full well that they do not review my application until they have everything: completed application, transcripts, letters of recommendation, and essay.

The application was completed in mid-May and I requested transcripts the week after that. I waited until mid-July to ask for letters of recommendation because I despise asking people to do things for me. I set a deadline of 7/31 for myself to complete the one page essay. It passed. I finally did it this afternoon. Did the world end? No. Did the essay suck? No. Why do I put things off? I only hurt myself, duh! I know it's perfectionism and it sucks. I really must work on that.

I called the grad school office to find out if I could email the essay since I don't own a printer (plus it's already so damn late) and asked whether it was too late to be admitted for the Fall. (This is not a very competitive program, did you notice how GRE test results weren't listed above? It's more like, if you're a warm body, please just pay us some money and you're in.) She said I probably was too late. Isn't this what I wanted deep down anyway? An excuse to put off grad school even longer? Ugh.

So then I screwed up my measly courage to check the "application status" on-line. It showed them receiving my essay on 6/15. !!! I wonder what they're using for that requirement. Strange. But they only have one letter of recommendation and they should have at least two by now, if not all three. Since I sent an email to the specific person who is assigned to my application, maybe she will let me know what is going on.

Besides being my own worst enemy, I hate how persuaded I am by other people's negativity - in this case my brother's sibiling rivalry toward my Master's degree pursuit. I really need to remember that I need to watch out for myself and take care of myself. Duh duh duh.

Outrageous

2007-08-04T15:15:00.001-04:00

Also off-topic, but ...

does anyone else find the amount of money raised by the current presidential candidates just outrageous? Even obscene? I mean, several of them have MILLIONS of dollars they have raised. In fact, The Wall Street Journal reports that the Democratic candidates have raised $100 million MORE than the Republicans. I don't even want to know what the total is overall. Couldn't New Orleans be completely rebuilt with this money? There are tons of other worthy projects like performing arts for kids, math tutors, college assistance for working families, etc. etc. etc.

I just think in this day and age of the shrinking middle class and the down right destitute (despite our welfare system), that it's absurd for this kind of money to be sitting around for no other purpose than to allow a person to tour the country and run ads and employee "yes" people long before the first primary. Meanwhile, children are dying because their WORKING mothers cannot find child care while they care for other people, presumably because they aren't working a traditional shift. (Most childcare vouchers can only be used in licensed facilities which are often only open during first shift.) See this recent article and this article to read more.

OT thought on a contradiction

2007-08-01T08:15:00.001-04:00

Here's something I wonder from time to time: How can anyone have a spiritual experience among what looks like a crush of humanity at Sistine Chapel, etc.? For how many people is it merely superficial? Most? If so, why bother? It seems like a lot of trouble and expense to travel to popular destinations to just go through the motions of seeing the sights. Do they like being in a crush of humanity or just want to say "Check, been there done that!"?

Or perhaps it's one of those contradictions between the seen and unseen. On the outside it looks like a swarming crowd but yet there could be many people for whom the experience is more than just a sightseeing tour. I don't know. For me, it's hard to have a true experience when I'm being moved along. I prefer time and space for absorption and reflection, much like in an uncrowded art gallery, museum or library.

Phone Solicitors

2007-07-29T16:08:00.000-04:00

It's Sunday morning. I live in a Bible Belt state. The phone rings. I can tell it's going to be someone asking for money because there was that delay as the computer assigned the call to an operator since a person had answered, and I became instantly annoyed.

A man takes a moment to figure out which of the two people on the list in front of him I am, yeah, the female, point for you buddy! He then proceeds to tell me he's calling from the State Firefighters Association, or something like that. My response of, "On Sunday morning?" was was met with, "Uh ..., yes, ma'am?". Having caught him off guard I followed up with, "I'm sorry, but we don't accept these kind of calls on Sunday morning," and I hung up.

Who was that girl who answered my phone? I thought she lived only inside my head.

(And points for my husband, Gentle Southerner or Southern Gentleman that he is, who, rather than remaining quiet or passively reprimanding me for my Yankee outburst, said: I wish we never accepted those phone calls!)

Not Shame, Just Naive Hope

2007-07-26T13:53:00.000-04:00

It's not that I am ashamed. It's that it hurts.

Some birthmoms display pictures of the children they lost to adoption. I don't display my son's pictures because I don't have the relationship I want with him or his adoptive parents. There is no give and take, there are just my unanswered letters and requests. For all intents and purposes there is no connection between us, no relationship.

From my perspective, having pictures of him for anyone to see would be like displaying framed pictures of a celebrity in my home. Yes, I know his image and a few things about him, but I don't really know him. And he doesn't know me. I don't want to have to explain this to anyone who asks who he is.

And I don't want the constant visual reminder of what I don't have, of how his adoptive parents are snubbing me.

Knowing him is my hope and dream and I am just not ready to display that for all to see, for everyone to watch time continue to march on without him in my life at all.

I really thought by this point that there would be some communication, some relationship, that I could display his pictures with a confidence in our relationship, the players and what their roles are, so if someone asks I could say, "Yes, that is my son who was adopted by M&P and who I correspond with a couple of times a year. He's been raised by loving people, had the chance to grow up with a sister and we're all great friends." Without any communication, there is too much ambiguity and I am not ready to say admit that my expectations should be lowered because all I could honestly say about his picture now is, "That is my son who I gave away and who I desperately hope will want to know me one day." That is too sad a story. So I keep his pictures in a special place along with my hope.

Pondering

2007-07-22T08:53:00.001-04:00

I received an email indicating that this lack of response from adoptive parents during the teen years is normal and just wait it out. At first I felt good about that in the sense that it was "normal" for me to be dealing with this right now.

The emailer also indicated that contacting the attorney would probably not be productive since he would only relay the message and that anger might result on the part of the adoptive parents - something I've already considered.

Basically all signs point to the fact that they do not want a relationship with me so why should I care about possibly angering them by contacting the attorney? On the other hand, after this "sensitive" teen period passes, lingering resentment could hurt any reunion that involves them.

But isn't that my eternal hope poking through again? And is that worth continuing to be a wallflower? Maybe they'd respect me a little more (and even respond!) if I stand up for myself rather than continuing to wait quietly.

change

2007-07-20T21:45:00.001-04:00

I hate change. And when it comes to my daughter, I feel like I have to do it the way my mother did or it isn't right. Why do I have so little confidence in doing something different? For example: baby book vs memory binder.

I know it's perfectionism to feel that I have to always do things the "right" way, and I look to how others have done things because then it must be right.

Even though I have come to realize that there are not nearly as many hard and fast rules in life as I once thought, I still find myself living in a much more limited way on a daily basis than I should.

Dammit.

And I'm scared to death about calling the attorney/adoption agency about not receiving a picture since Dec 2005 or responses to my Christmas 2006 and Birthday 2007 letters, which is par for the course, but no longer acceptable. I told myself (and this blog) that I would call this week and I didn't do it. Why? Besides being a coward, I can't figure out my approach.

What should I say so I don't sound like a sniveling beggar or a demanding bitch? I don't want to be easily dismissed as a pushover:, "Oh, I was just wondering if there was anything I could do about getting a picture as I was promised? Oh, no? Okay, thanks. Sorry to bother you." Or pushed out by being too pushy: "I haven't gotten a picture and the communication in general has been way too sparse and I want to know what you're going to do about it."

Pictures

2007-07-18T07:34:00.000-04:00

I often catch myself looking at pictures of my daughter during her nap time or after she's gone to bed and I love looking at them, even though I've spent the day with her and she's just in the next room sleeping.

Maybe it's because of all the memories attached to those pictures. I really know the baby in those pictures - she's not just a 2-dimensional image in an unfamiliar setting, someone else's memory taken within a context completely unknown to me.

Maybe it's because of my two children, I can peruse hundreds (okay more than 2,000) pictures of her any time I want. Yeah, that's it. And it's wonderful.

The anger is building

2007-07-17T07:49:00.000-04:00

I haven't yet called the attorney's office / adoption agency - that is planned for later in the week. However, I am, as usual, increasingly angry about the lack of response. It occurred to me the other day that my son has long been old enough to write thank-you notes for the gifts I send, gifts I agonize over increasingly since I get no feedback and have no idea whether he likes them. Don't you think upper class folks in one of the richest communities in America who send their kids to private schools and tell me, when they do bother to write, how they "think of me often", would teach their son how to write a short thank-you note? Don't you think he has been trained how to thank other people who give him gifts?

I hate writing to M because this anger always, always happens as I desperately hope for a response. I bitterly start thinking of how I am just not going to bother anymore, but then I don't want to give the impression that I've "moved on".

At Christmas, assuming I still haven't heard anything or gotten the promised picture, (ha! sucker that I am for even thinking one might show up, even after a reminder), I think I'll send a gift to just my son. There will be no card, no letter, no gifts for the rest of the family. That seems to be a good compromise - so he, who means so much to me, is still acknowledged and remembered. This seems especially important right now because my therapist (who I'm not seeing anymore) said that adolesence is the time when adoptees generally start to sort through their feelings on being adopted and are more sensitive about it.

The letter writing to M and the note writing to him will stop because I'm not putting myself out there anymore since I really feel like they're laughing at me.

Definitely

2007-07-11T21:01:00.001-04:00

On July 4th I was hunting for the only bathing suit I am willing to wear in public and came across my son's photo album. When I looked through it, as I always do when I see it, I found myself feeling the same feelings of love for him that I always do, and for once they felt the same as the love I now have for my daughter.

I've read that you cannot move past a loss until you get past the chronological time of that loss. However, I lost him at 4 days old ... and I am just now coming into the unreserved love for my daughter 21 months after that milestone. I am glad it has finally come, but I do wonder why it took so long.

And I made a decision this morning. I'm giving M until the end of the month to send a picture and/or contact me somehow and then I'm calling her attorney.

Love

2007-06-28T20:44:00.000-04:00

I think I am just now beginning to love my daughter as much as I love my son. I seem to finally be letting myself love her fully. I loved my son since before I could feel him kick. I loved him full-on, en total, completely, with reckless abandon. It shattered my heart to hand him over, but I loved him so much I gave him to a family I thought would give him everything I couldn't.

What makes me think that I am finally truly loving my daughter? Because I read this post today and the song that instantly popped into my head was "More Than Words" which was way popular during my last trimester of pregnancy with my son. That song makes me want to go back in time because it reminds me of all the good feelings of love and hope I had those last two months of my pregnancy. Sometimes I want to be back there with the option to change things, or at least do a better job of asserting myself.

For the first time when I thought of that song, I thought of both of my babies, and maybe, just maybe, after first learning of my daughter's existence in my womb 2 years and 5 months ago, I can stop being afraid to love her as fully as is possible. I wish it hadn't taken this long.

Pity Party

2007-06-27T21:00:00.000-04:00

I had a really crap-ass day. I have really enjoyed my new job and the people there but then I go in today to find out that the other women there don't like me. They don't like the way I come across and are concerned that my personality won't mesh with theirs. I'm not fired or anything but it came as such a shock I started crying and I've cried on and off all day because to me the bottom line was, it wasn't something I am or am not doing, it's WHO I AM that is the problem. And it's really the same message I've been getting for 9 friggin' years. People here have been telling me directly and indirectly that I'm not from here and never will be. Duh. I know that. Can we get past it already? So thanks to my damn Yankee parents, I'm different from you small town country bumpkins. Big deal.

I am so tired of feeling out of place. I know the Hubby would feel out of place if we leave so it's not fair to ask him, and whose to say life would really be that much better.

What I haven't mentioned yet on this blog is another delightful experience. Last Friday night we took our daughter to the emergency room because one of the family cats sunk a claw into her face. Turns out they won't seal puncture wounds due to the risk of infection from it being inflicted by a cat. So 4 hours and $150 later they sic a social worker on me who inferred that I was neglecting my daughter by allowing her to be scratched repeatedly by my cat, yada yada yada. I made it through that interview before I burst into tears, although Hubby then walked away since he didn't know what else to do as I had a meltdown in the hospital hallway. Like I didn't feel badly enough for not getting across the room in time to prevent my daughter from being scratched and possibly having a lifelong scar, a social worker has to come and tell me I'm not a good mother? (It is healing pretty nicely and if anything, it will be a pin sized scar.) Oh, and thank you Nameless Friend who pointed out to me just today that I now have a permanent record with DSS.

I'm just tired of trying to damn hard at everything and coming up short. I know I have it better than a lot of people and I shouldn't complain, but tonight I just can't help but feel sorry for myself and wish I was living someplace where I could be me and that would be okay.

So tomorrow I'll go in, smile and nod, and be as polite and pleasant as possible, and we'll see how long the gig lasts. Meanwhile I'm still debating whether to bother Hubby with the latest since he's been out of town all week and isn't due back until the day after my birthday.

Oh, and two days ago I received an email stating that my brother and his wife have rescheduled their scheduled c-section to a day that happens to be my wedding anniversary. He used to be a little more thoughtful about stuff, but he has changed a lot in the last year. For example, this is the same brother who wanted to know why I had gone to Home State last month when he was also there - um, because I was invited by him to his son's birthday party?!?!? So when I'm not feeling like I'm on everyone's shit list, I am reminded of insignificant I really am.

And no, I haven't gotten any response from M yet (or should I even bother with using the word yet?) either.

Okay, now that I've dumped all this out, I can begin to feel a little better.

Pounding Heart

2007-06-21T20:30:00.000-04:00

So hubby brings the mail in two days ago. There's a letter from the attorney's office, but it has the name of an adoption agency in the return address above the clearly recognizable address I've been using for years. This is the first thing I've gotten from them since the finalization. It's a white #10 envelope with just one page folded inside. I can tell before I even open it. My heart is pounding and I'm thinking that M has asked the attorney to write a f* off and leave us alone letter. It's only been a few days since his birthday and the receipt of my letter reminding her that I am still waiting for a picture and asking again about contact, so the timing is right, although faster than expected for a response.

But no, it's from the attorney about how they've been doing adoptions for so many years now they've decided to start an actual agency. And it's all warm and fuzzy and wonderful. Barf. I am kind of curious how I qualified for that mailing list, but was a little encouraged that they had my correct name and address, so I know that I am in their system. Also, the letter did mention how the agency is geared to cater to everyone involved in adoption, so maybe I will act on the advice of a commenter a while back and ask them for a little assistance with the contact issue and maybe some birthmother counseling/support group information. Can't hurt at this point.

Father's Day

2007-06-18T14:20:00.001-04:00

... was harder than the birthday. They didn't coincide this year, but they did when he was born. In the past few days on a couple of non-adoption blogs I regularly read, I read a couple of Father's Day tributes to single teenage moms by their now-grown daughters. Those posts, of course, have made me wonder again why I didn't just tough it out. I know the reason: I wanted the best for him and thought that was what I was doing.

I had a hard time falling asleep last night since there was nothing else to distract me from my thoughts and I just kept going over the birth, the following days, the relinquishment, all the time wishing I had kept him. What kept flashing in my mind is one of his Christmas pictures that year, on his belly in an expensive outfit in front of the tree with tons of Fisher Price toys surrounding him. What I thought the first time I saw that picture was what I still think today: I couldn't have done that for him, but that he didn't need that - he just needed his mama's love. But I know he has gotten plenty of momma and daddy love, just not from me. And that makes me so sad.

It took about 90 minutes for me to realize that I was looking at the situation through the eyes of today rather than 16 years ago and at that point I could let go again, at least temporarily. Yes, I was in a stable relationship with a wonderful man who was not the birthfather but was willing to parent, whose mother really wanted me to parent. Her parting words to me as the three of us left the house for the attorney's office: It's not like you don't have a husband. She knew what she was talking about, she had given up two. But I didn't understand and I could already hear the whispers of "you know, he's not his real son" echoing throughout my son's boyhood and I really didn't want that for him, or for me. Sure he probably still gets it, but he's adopted, he's not just my illegitimate son.

I miss him. I really hope I get a response from M soon.

16

2007-06-10T22:15:00.001-04:00

Much of this weekend I found myself thinking of how my little baby boy, who I last saw when he was four days old, will be 16 years old next weekend. It just blows my mind. I was so independent when I was 16, off traveling around the country, coming home and getting a job, buying my first car and just ready for life.

And I spent some time feeling sad about missing all of these years with him. Sure, the cycle came back a few times about how much better off he is (yada yada yada), but I realized that some of my sadness was also because I miss the person I was when I had him. The sense of adventure and hope, the sense of rightness - that all was as it was supposed to be. As much as I love my daughter and my life is stable (yada yada yada), I just don't feel connected to her, nor do I feel connected to my husband or the place I live.

I spent much of today feeling angry, out of place, like I am some kind of pretender who is tired of pretending but unsure what to do about it. For the time being, I am done feeling angry and am glad I didn't voice anything since one can never truly take back words that are spoken aloud. I do want to think through in the coming days and weeks on the thoughts of who I really am, where I am now, and where I want to be. And if I figure out that I want to be who and where I am now, that's fine, but I want it to be by my conscious choice, rather than the sum of other choices.

Most of all, I just can't believe my son is going to be 16.

At the Post Office

2007-06-05T18:35:00.000-04:00

Today was my last day at my now-old job and I have a certain sense of relief, freedom and joy that I haven't had lately. I've already started my new job (training on my day off from my old job) so when I go back to my new job tomorrow I will already have a comfort level with what I'm doing there. So now I can relax a little and create a new routine and lifestyle. Yay!

I stopped by the post office today on my way home from work to mail a couple of things. The clerk oohed and aahed over my daughter as many people do, and offered me a book of stamps in return for her. This happens from time to time - people saying lightheartedly that they'll give me such-and-such for her and while I laughingly make the appropriate response, I'm always thinking to myself how nothing could ever make me give her away. Then I handed him the second package, the birthday package, and as my daughter sat there on the counter I thought of how there was my precious daughter right next to a package that in a sense represented my son. My living, breathing, beautiful girl next to a package going to a family who did get a baby from me. And I wondered if the clerk knew, because he seemed to sober up a little. After all, when something is addressed to three people, first name only, c/o an attorney, it seems like those who have been around the block a few times would have figured out why.

And since I had to mail the package today to get there in time for his birthday, I finally made myself (re)write the response to the Christmas letter. I had to update it a little and I also added a note to my son in his birthday card. In it I referenced M&P, specifically calling them his parents and how his mom told me how he liked a wide variety of music. So between that and the letter to them, I am hoping they have enough information to decide to be in touch more regularly and/or more directly. I don't want to wait until he's 18. Waiting until then infers that any contact would establish a relationship with just him and I want a relationship with him and his family because I want to learn about him from his parents' perspective (as well as from him directly) and more importantly for him, I don't want to cause him any "me or them" issues.

While the letter is finally written and sent to them, waiting for a response won't weigh on me as much for the short term since my focus was on him, his gifts, his card and my note to him. I love him incredibly much and I am grateful that I am able to share a little bit about myself with him, including my love for him through a celebration of his birthday.

"got it together"

2007-06-04T16:27:00.001-04:00

One comment my doctor made the other day (when I went for my physical) was about how she didn't bring up the adoption with me because I seemed to be "so together". Well, isn't that what we're supposed to do, chin up and move on? I told her I would have appreciated being warned that I may experience some [additional] feelings of grief and loss and/or issues with bonding since, once it was brought up, she clearly understood and acknowledged that it was a loss.

A month or so ago when my therapist sided with the adoptive parents after I asked her opinion of my drafted response to the Christmas Letter, I quickly stepped back into the "so together" role because the therapist clearly was not on my side. I have already spent 16 years thinking of their feelings and needs over mine, so I didn't need that little pep talk from her, thank-you-very-much. So when she suggested to me that I should just wait two more years since he'll be 18, I responded with the expected, "Yeah, I guess you're right," while thinking "well, there's another person who just reinforces my decision not to share my birthmother status with anyone who doesn't already know".

Check-up and Shopping

2007-06-01T19:16:00.000-04:00

I had my annual check-up today, and my son came up. It was nice to talk about him, although of course things got trite. Afterwards, I met a friend for lunch before returning to work and fresh from having talked about him and with his birthday approaching, I had an urge to tell her about him. But I didn’t.

After lunch I went and bought his birthday gifts. He likes a variety of music according to M's Christmas Letter, so I bought two of my favorites – music I liked as a teenager and I still like: Billy Joel and Simon & Garfunkel. Besides the fact that I like them now and I liked them then, they both have connections to the place where my son is growing up.

And then I did something I've never done before. I called his birthfather and told him what I bought our son. Of course I didn’t phrase it that way, but I got a chance to reach out and talk to somebody (other than the doctor) about my son today, and it felt good.

Conversational Surprise

2007-05-31T19:25:00.000-04:00

I was training at my new job today. A woman came in who made a comment about dropping off her younger daughter on the way there. To be conversational, I casually asked how old the daughter was and she said, "10 months, and I'm in the process of adopting her."

My heart caught and I asked if it was through the foster system, praying the answer was yes because there really are a lot of neglected and abused children that need good homes. (I personally cannot understand how someone, and especially a mother, can neglect or abuse a baby or child, that is just so beyond me.) But no, it wasn't through the foster system. It turns out this woman works for an adoption agency and apparently "gets" the babies once they're about 36 hours old and keeps them for a week or two until they are placed, but with this baby, she's had her since she was just over 24 hours old and "it was different" and now they're adopting her even though the Mom has two teenagers.

I just didn't know what to say which was okay since once she started sharing she didn't stop. Many emotions ran through me and I so desperately wanted to ask about the baby's birthmother and how birthmothers were treated by her agency, etc. etc. etc. But of course I kept my mouth shut.

I had such conflicting feelings, strongest of which was that I didn't like her which was battling with the fact that I knew that wasn't fair. It made me mad that I couldn't bring myself to say outloud what was running through my head: "How sad for the baby's birthmother that she couldn't raise her," or "it must have been really hard for the birthmother to let her go," because I was afraid that would make her mad.

I can't help but wonder what she thinks of birthmothers as she appears to bop along in her side of the adoption world, every day. And of course I'm making assumptions about her, about her baby's birthmother, and about everything for that matter.

She named the agency when she was happily spouting out all the information she did share and so I may call them to see if they have a birthmother support group. Somehow I doubt it.

Grumblings

2007-05-30T13:29:00.000-04:00

As the Birthday approaches I am reminded of how I gave my son to M and P so that he would have a better life, not because I didn't want him. I hate the assumption that adopted babies are unwanted. I suppose that could be true for some people, but for many of us birthmothers, it isn't. We were convinced, somehow, that others would give our children a better life and what mother doesn't want the best life possible for her child?

And it hurts to not be his mom. I grieve not knowing the mother I would have been to my son. I know I would have been a different mother than the one I am to my daughter. Not worse, not better, just different. But I'll never know that person. I hope to someday know my son.

I was standing in line at the post office at the end of my lunch break. There was a TV in the corner to distract customers from how long they are actually waiting for one of the grumpy clerks. While I was standing at the counter waiting for my credit card to process, my back to the TV, a commercial for one of those "Feed the Children" type of charities came on promising that your $22 a month would help a specific child and you would get a letter a picture once a year (or did the announcer say twice?) about your child.

I'd pay more than that to get a picture and letter once a year about my son.

Authoritarianism

2007-05-15T14:14:00.001-04:00

I didn’t realize how much of my life was dominated by the authoritarian way in which I was raised. I was reading a book about organizing (yep, I still have my clutter problem) and came across a section that described the various reasons why some people have issues with taking care of clutter or cleaning. It turns out that I totally identified with the description associated with an authoritarian parent. Basically, whatever I did was never good enough and as an adult I just feel defeated before I even start. Yep, that’s it exactly.

When it dawned on me that I was actually living my entire life this way, it was VERY freeing to all of a sudden realize that I wasn’t going to get anyone’s approval for anything AND I didn’t need it. That may sound like a no-brainer to some folks, but having been raised by parents who approve or disapprove of your every move and expressed thought, you just assume there are always going to be folks out there expressing their approval and disapproval over your thoughts and actions.

The thing is, I don’t really matter enough to anyone else. While this used to bother me, I now recognize that it’s a good thing because that means no one is paying attention and I am free to be me. And WOW what a difference that realization has made for me! Sure, I’ve had to remind myself a few times, but basically I am free to take care of myself as I see fit, I am the only one responsible for myself and my well being, and ALL the pressure is finally off of me to be so damn perfect. *whew*

Happy Mother's Day

2007-05-13T15:23:00.000-04:00

... to ALL women who are, in one form or fashion, mothers.

I think this post does a good job of recognizing all mothers and the significance of Mother's Day. The only type of mother not specifically mentioned is the one who is separated from her children due to divorce or similar/related broken family issue.

Lent

2007-04-29T15:13:00.000-04:00

As I mentioned in the Ash Wednesday post, I observed Lent this year by giving something up - the same thing I've been giving up since voluntarily observing Lent for the first time in 2004. (I didn't observe in 2006 since I was overwhelmed with parenting an infant.)

It was really hard this time - not in the sense that I craved what I temporarily gave up, but that I just felt really, really out of sorts. And it ended the moment Lent did and I allowed myself to consume again what I had fasted from for 40 days.

I couldn't figure out why I felt so odd. Today I have an idea, though. I am just not very good to myself and this thing that I partake in every day (except during Lent) is my one treat. (And no, it's not chocolate.) So by taking that away, I took away the one thing that doesn't serve a strictly utilitarian purpose in my everyday life. I've realized how many stupid self-sacrificing restrictions I've put on myself and my life.

So what Lent taught me is I need to be better to myself. I think I already started that process, at least in my mind, very recently - starting to acknowledge things I enjoy, things I want to do, things I need to go ahead and start doing because tomorrow IS today. There's never going to be a day that just arrives and says, "Okay, today is the day you can have cream in your coffee instead of non-dairy creamer." I am the one who can make that day be today. I just gotta let go a little, notice the world doesn't end by doing so, and live.

Life Change

2007-04-26T14:54:00.000-04:00

I've had the same job for 7+ years. I've held different positions, so it's not been the same exact job, but there's still the continuity, the stability, the known evil of familiarity. I've been trying to find a new job since 2003 but once I make it to the interview stage I am inevitably one of two finalists who gets edged out by someone with just the right extra kind of experience.

My daughter's original daycare provider took a "real job" in January and I had to find new daycare. The situation she is in now allowed me to basically work four full-time days and one partial day from home as opposed to the flying-by-the-seat-of-my-pants-flex schedule I had from the time she was three weeks old. Well, I noticed almost immediately that I hated this new lifestyle. I don't get enough reward out of my job to be away from her that much, to have so much time wrapped up in working or getting to or from work because there's still so much else to get done: grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning, etc. The one day a week I get to work from home isn't enough since weather or something else usually prevents any quality time outdoors with her (on a walk, at the park, in the backyard), plus her local grandmother wants to spend time with her so usually I wind up working from home while she is either at her grandmother's or taking her nap.

An opportunity has arisen whereby I can work part-time at a local office. I think I'm going to take it. And I think I am also going to go back to school and pursue my Master's degree. And you know what, I'm excited about it! Sure, it will be less money (I've been saving just in case I decided to be brave enough to do something like this) and I have to figure out something for health insurance, but this decision is about quality of life.

For the past week I really doubted myself because *gasp* what if I'm wrong? Well, dammit, what if I'm right? I'm not winning any awards in cubicle-land and years from now I will regret the memories I missed making because I didn't spend more time with my daughter, showing her how to bake brownies, listening to her delighted giggle as she goes down a slide, etc. I won't, however, find myself saying, gee, I wish I could've worked 8 more hours that week back in June of 2007.

So we'll see if they call with an offer. I'm still not quite ready to get fully excited until they do.

Exercise

2007-04-25T07:23:00.000-04:00

For the first time in more than two years I started exercising. Sure, I've been walking almost every opportunity I get and there's an awful lot of movement that comes with parenting - lots of extra laundry (mine as well as hers since her food, slobber, etc. winds up on me, too), picking up toys, running after her, etc. so I didn't have a problem getting to my pre-pregnancy weight, especially with nursing. With the end of nursing, however, I noticed my clothes getting a little less comfortable so I thought, hey, now might be a good time to start formally exercising again.

It's been great and I've been three times now. It is strange, though, finding out what I can and can't do very easily. It's like I am rediscovering my body even though I am more than 18 months post-partum. I guess I thought by now everything (muscles, etc.) would be back to normal. It dawned on me last night as I was doing crunches that after my son's birth, my return to exercise was immediate (well within a couple of weeks), that the "adoption kool-aid" mentality was all about looking and feeling like I'd never had a baby, to get back to "normal" as soon as possible. As I lay there on the mat last night, it was like I had a brief time travel warp/flashback to the girl I was at 20. The clarity was much different from when I purposely try to remember the person I was, and it was like I had a brief connection with her, a person in many ways very different from who I am now and it made me wonder.

I'm glad that I am finally taking some time to exercise and gain some of the perspective that exercise (and the resulting endorphins) can give a person. I am enjoying figuring out how my body feels about exercising, learning what muscle groups really need a little more attention, seeing how I physically feel with the exercise, but it certainly brought home a key difference in parenting that most moms know - so much focus is on the baby that you really don't have the time or energy to pay much attention to yourself, and I think that with the chance I have to finally parent, I've not let myself pay much attention to myself because I don't want to miss a moment with my daughter that I don't otherwise have to miss. There are plenty of other moms who go back to exercising much sooner than I have, and I have to not feel guilty about waiting this long to do it because apparently that's a trap I've fallen into - feeling like I should have done something sooner.

As my therapist recently said (I went back after a two year hiatus to deal with the fallout from the Christmas Letter) in regards to something else I brought up, I shouldn't beat myself up about not doing something sooner (in this case it was reading a book that really helped me see certain things in a more healthy way) because I wasn't ready sooner. So that's what I want to start focusing on - embracing myself for who I am rather than who I think others want me to be. When I start telling myself that I should have done this sooner or that sooner, I have to remind myself that I wasn't ready, but I am ready now, that my life is my own unique story.

Yohane Banda

2007-04-22T20:14:00.000-04:00

If what People reports is true, this makes me sad for the bio dad, and sad that Madonna can't be more compassionate and true to her word:

A source at the orphanage tells PEOPLE that "[Banda] was told he would spend some time with his son," but the meeting was canceled.

Banda, an onion and tomato farmer, left the border district of Mchinji early Saturday expecting to reunite with David. But it was not to be. "They had reached the town of Namitete when the executive director got a call from Madonna's people telling her that the meeting had been called off," said the source. "They were not given reasons."

Although several British tabloids have reported that the father-and-son reunion took place Tuesday, orphanage sources say the peasant farmer had been waiting for the meeting.

Frustration yes; Resentment no

2007-04-19T15:16:00.000-04:00

I adore my daughter and I love spending time with her. I read some mommy blogs and from time to time there are tones of what I'll call resentment in some posts. I've assumed that it's only inevitable for that to happen to me, but it hasn't yet. I posted about this once before, too, several months ago.

My daughter is quickly approaching her second birthday and while I get very frustrated at not having enough time with her, at always having so much to do, at running late more often than I'd like, etc., I have never resented her. The few times I have felt a little frustration when she was whining or not cooperating I instantly recognized were due to my own fatigue and I just backed off and realized that she was just as tired as I was (hence the whining and non-cooperation) and took a deep breath - not that I'm some perfect super mommy, because I'm not. I just am not going to take my frustration out on her. I refuse.

It's really kind of weird because under any other kind of situation I do lash out to some degree. For example, I might say something mean to my husband when he has no bearing on the situation that got me frustrated. Towards my daughter, however, it's like I'm another person, something just comes over me and prevents me from targeting her.

I was thinking perhaps I have more patience and love for her than I imagined I would because of placing my son. Today I realized I was wrong about that. One of the reasons I placed my son was my assumption that I would be an angry, frustrated mother - like my own. But my attitude with my daughter is apparently not simply to make up for not parenting him, it comes from the years of being the target of my own mother's resentment. I did not realize how deeply that affected my very being, but apparently it has if I am able to so naturally NOT be resentful towards my daughter and all the demands motherhood does make on me.

It is good to know that the anger and hate that my mother oozed is not going to poison my daughter after all.

Irony

2007-04-16T21:58:00.000-04:00

One of the reasons I placed my son was so that he would have an extended family. It always bothered me that I had so few aunts, uncles and cousins. Being the oldest child in my family, I knew it would be quite awhile before the baby I was pregnant with in 1991 had any biological cousins.

So let's fast forward a few years. Now I have my daughter and she has a handful of cousins, but all the ones on my side of the family live far away and we only see them when I make the effort to go to them.

Not exactly the idea of extended family I had in mind and wanted for the child I would raise.

The Music of My Youth

2007-04-12T15:53:00.000-04:00

It's funny how music can invoke thoughts. Okay, it's not funny. And I've seen other people post about the connection between music and memories, too.

When I think about the connection between music and thoughts (emotions really), I always am reminded of Susan Sarandon's character in "Dead Man Walking" who wants to sing a song for Sean Penn's character at his death but is denied because, as the warden says, "music is too emotional". [this is a paraphrase and it may not have been the warden who denied the request]

Anyway ... I was on my way to pick my daughter up at daycare yesterday and some 80's Bruce Hornsby-like song was playing on the radio. And then it occurred to me. When I was pregnant with my son, I was only 3-4 years beyond those 80's songs (with the automatic memories they always generate) ... so essentially he was conceived and born when those songs were still around the first time. The person I was then, the baby he was, and those songs are all pretty intertwined really. But my daughter ... she is too young to even pick out specific words in those songs, to find the tune even vaguely recognizable. For her, these songs will be ancient history, "oldies" if you will.

Wow.

That makes me feel so disconnected from her, so old and apart. And yet it makes me feel, again, the connection I have with the son I never see but hope to see again someday soon.

I love you young man, out there growing up so fast. You are only four years younger than I was when I had you. Take care. I am so glad you exist, even if I can't see you.

Feedback

2007-04-09T22:15:00.000-04:00

I took Mommela up on her offer to provide some feedback on the letter I am writing to M. After my post the other night, I started to feel angry again and knew I would have trouble sleeping if I didn't just go ahead and write something to M. It helped, but I just shelved it rather than re-writing it on stationery the next morning (and mailing it!) as I had planned and it was a good thing I did, because Mommela had some awesome suggestions - including writing declarative sentences. Wow. What a concept. I am so afraid of M&P taking away what little they provide that I've become this little mouse saying, "oh, but if it's no trouble, please, if you don't mind, well, if you have the time and it's no bother .... "

I wasn't always like this. When I reconnected with the birthfather a few months ago, he showed me a picture from our time together and I could literally see a self-confident young woman and I was shocked! Was that me? Really?

I want to reclaim my self-confidence and sense of worth. I told myself last week that I needed to do two things: write the letter and make an appointment with my therapist (whom I haven't seen in two years). Actually, I knew as soon as I finished reading the letter the first time, on Christmas Day, that I needed to do those two things. I have taken these 3+ months to process my initial emotions and feelings, but I still haven't addressed the underlying crap that has been undermining my self esteem and self image all these years. Writing has helped, as well as reading other blogs, but it's time to visit the therapist again. Reading Mommela's feedback on the letter reinforced the truth that I need other perspectives and input. And I have work to do.

[As a baby step, prior to posting, I edited out several wishy washy words like "perhaps ...".]

Feeling Defeated

2007-04-06T21:17:00.000-04:00

You know, I was going to write M an Easter-time letter and enclose it in an Easter card. I was going to attempt to answer the question in her Christmas letter about my long term goals. And I was going to remind her that she had not sent a picture but had promised one. And I was going to ask her to send one before his birthday.

But I didn't. And part of me knew that I wasn't going to do it because I kept coming up with excuses. But I went ahead and bought an Easter card the other day in a lame attempt to encourage myself to write the letter.

But you know what? I am tired of begging. I am tired of asking for something, hoping for something from her. I do it every year at Christmas and it wears me down, wears me out. I do not have the energy to do it more than once a year.

And another thing. While our letters apparently crossed in the mail at Christmas, I would have thought me telling her about my daughter would have at least warranted a card or note of Congratulations. When I'm truthful with myself, I admit that I'm worried, terrified really, that she has taken my daughter's birth as a sign that I have finally "moved on".

She couldn't be further from the truth.

I really need to get the guts up to just write the damn letter to her.

Parenting After Placement

2007-03-27T10:40:00.000-04:00

Part of the adoption-speak told to and believed (for a time) by birthmothers is how we’re getting a second chance, that we can restart our lives, etc. The problem is, it doesn’t work that way. Parenting is no exception. To the outside world, my daughter is my firstborn child, the first time I became a mother. My head tries to think this is the case, too, but because it isn’t true, the First-time Mother thing just doesn’t work for me. When I acknowledge to myself that oh yes, she has a brother, that she is my second child, that the firstborn thing isn’t the real script for me, the role of Mother feels more right to me. I’m beginning to think the time has come to publicly acknowledge my status as Mother to my second-born in order to not have to consciously remind myself each time I find myself feeling like the Mother role isn’t fitting quite right. See, I’m happier when I recognize my true status because I don’t have any of the feelings with my daughter that I had with my son. The awe is missing, for example. And while I was not mothering him in person all the years that preceded my daughter, I still was (an am) his mother in my heart, in my thoughts.

I already have a preview of how freeing it may be to open up. For the first time ever, I’ve found myself saying (only once or twice), when I was pregnant …. For years, I never said anything like that and had gotten so used to not sharing about being pregnant, that I just didn’t. Then I realized I could! After all, I now had a child I was raising so it was okay to admit that yes, I have been pregnant, but I haven’t been able to elaborate on the differences in my pregnancies … so I still find myself shutting my mouth. Why live a lie? And how true to myself can I be if I continue to shut off or shut down certain things since all of what I am makes me who I am? I find that when I do say something aloud about my pregnancy, it somehow makes it more real to me since I really felt disconnected to my daughter while I was pregnant (an aftershock of placement I think), and this has been a pleasant surprise because I feel guilty about not connecting with her prior to her birth.

I’ve found myself fantasizing about opportunities to start acknowledging my daughter's brother. (I really enjoy thinking of him like that ... looking at her and thinking 'you have a brother' - it always brings a smile to my face.) I almost brought him up in the “family secrets” conversation I had recently with my mother. There’s an upcoming family event in May when everyone in my immediate family will be together. My sister-in-law is currently pregnant with their second baby, a girl, who will join their firstborn, a boy. I am certain there will be at least one conversation about babies, expanding families and the like, which will inevitably bring the question of when Amelia will get a sibling. My sister already has a daughter and younger son. Should anyone point out something along the lines of how everyone has a boy/girl combo except us, I want to correct them. If the opportunity arises, will I have the guts to do it?

It may be time to have a conversation with the hubby since disclosure affects him, too.

Funk

2007-03-23T10:34:00.000-04:00

I've been in a bit of a funk lately and people around me have noticed, too. My mother came to visit and I think I put a lot of emotional and physical energy into that and turned off a lot of "me" as a protective measure like I usually do when I'm around her. And it's hard to turn it back on ... but I know I need to, especially because I feel like I'm in the denial phase of the/my adoption grief cycle. It seems like I just don't have the energy to think about it and I shove my thoughts and feelings behind a mental door. Then, I catch myself enjoying my daughter and think about my son, and feel guilty.

I am really conflicted about what I want to do - push for some kind of contact or just let it go and wait? When I placed, I wanted my son and his adoptive parents to have a "normal" life and I didn't/don't want to upset their sense of family. However, he's always known he was adopted - that was part of the plan, not to lie to him, etc. - so he has more family than what's in front of him and I don't want to lose any more time than I have already. I want to know him, I want to see what he is like in person. Based on my conversations with M&P while I was pregnant, I thought there would have been contact by now, but there hasn't been. Since they still have all the control here, I am trying to avoid letting an unfulfilled desire cloud my life, but ignoring it doesn't work either.

Mama Angst

2007-03-05T21:39:00.001-05:00

2-1/2 weeks ago my daughter wanted my cup of hot tea, so I drained it and gave it to her. She was having so much fun throwing her head back and trying to drink out of it, but she would lose her balance and stumble. The second or maybe third time of throwing her head back she fell all the way forward on it and started crying. Sure enough her forehead started swelling and she wound up with a bruise across the center in a diagonal - kind of looked like the Nike swoosh actually. The bruise is gone but when she furrows her brow, you can still see an indentation. It kind of reminds me of Reese Witherspoon for some reason and I think it's cute ... but I also feel guilty that it was my fault for giving her the cup. Some folks think it will go away eventually and I'll ask about it later this month at her check-up (if she still has it), but I think the underlying worry and the reason I feel uneasy whenever I think about it is that I am sure it won't be the last thing that happens that will be my fault. I know you can't foresee every danger and I don't want to be a nervous wreck around her - I purposefully have let her toddle and fall on her own as she has learned to walk and she has done so well - until I gave her a mug that she was having so much fun with ... and that I was enjoying watching her have fun with. (Incidentally, she managed to swipe that exact cup off the counter and onto the floor last night as I put her in her high chair for her pre-bedtime snack. It broke into many chunks and small pieces and is sitting in the garbage can. It was a freaky episode - the first of its kind - so her forehead indentation how now outlived the mug that left its mark.)

Soon there will be bikes and horses and all sorts of things. Hopefully she will grow fond of any permanent markings of her childhood. Ugh this parenting thing is tough.

Family Secrets

2007-03-03T21:50:00.000-05:00

Had a surreal conversation with my mother recently. We were talking about several things as long conversations generally do ramble. We talked about certain now-deceased relatives and some recently discovered family secrets. We both agreed that it was silly to be so secretive, that so much energy was wasted keeping them and we both wondered aloud how keeping the secrets affected the family members involved.

The conversation was enlightening because it was refreshing to see that my beloved ancestors were human, just like we all are today. Why is there always this myth that our relatives have blameless lives? It also made me see a generational path that led to my giving away my son.

But the kicker was that not once during the conversation, which at times touched on my daughter, my life as her mother, etc., did my mother bring up or ask about my son. Apparently he's (still) just another family secret.

Ash Wednesday

2007-02-21T15:15:00.001-05:00

So today is Ash Wednesday. I am no longer Catholic but the past few years I have given something up, except last year because I was still overwhelmed by taking care of my infant daughter. Today I went to church. I want to participate in Lent again this year and I wanted to do so by experiencing the mass that begins the time period. The priest talked about repentance, renewal and joy. I like the idea of that process. He also said Lent was a time to give to the poor of your money and your time, to give to those who have less and to ease loneliness. I like that idea, too.

I recently read Anne Lamott’s Traveling Mercies and wished I had read it sooner. I became aware of it through reading other blogs and it intrigued me. The overall appeal of the book as I read it was how human she is. That may sound odd, but we live in a world of extremes and it would appear you can’t really be a Christian without being some PTL holy roller, which I am not (and do not wish to be). I am very human, but I am also a Christian.

I thought of my son while I was in church, partly because he is being raised Catholic, but also because last night I was doing some Internet research and confirmed that he lives in the town I thought he lived in. I couldn’t find anything more than that, but it was something concrete and I felt that it was progress. For years I have known where they live, but I don’t want to drive up to their house or spy on them or anything like that. All I really want is to know more about him – see a picture, read a newspaper article about his baseball team, something like that. But there is nothing out there that I can find. So every few months I google his name, just for “fun”.

And as I sat there in the pew I thought of how no matter where we go in life, we seem to return to our roots. For me today it was my spiritual roots. For many years I spent a lot of energy rebelling against certain things. I’ve always been wary and even scared by those who blindly follow – even if I happen to agree with what they follow. But I also tend to shun what I perceive as evil. Now I find a certain sweetness in the acceptance of rituals, philosophies and the knowledge that we just don’t know. Is that what they call wisdom? I thought of Anne Lamott and how she found and probably continues to find her own way, and how reading about her journey made me feel that my own is okay, too. There aren’t any pat answers. I guess I got caught up in a false belief that life and all its facets were like TV episodes where it would all work out in the end, that the right characters would know the right things to do at the right time. For some, life is like TV – they just sit back and passively watch, accepting what is in front of them. For me, that was never good enough. I want to walk through the woods, not just watch a documentary on the forest. I may wind up being dirty and tired, but I’ll be able to use all five senses to take in my surroundings.

I want to use this Lenten period to let go of the hate that has built up in me since Christmas. I usually hang onto the actual box that arrives longer than most (I firmly believe in reduce, reuse, recycle), but I used it today to mail something so it would be out of my house. As I ripped off the label, I noticed the zip code … same as what I found last night.

I also need to go ahead and write a return letter.

I agree with her

2007-02-19T16:24:00.000-05:00

Maxine wrote:

I don't want the lingering grief of his adoption to take my daughter's childhood as well. Here's a horrible thing, sometimes I feel guilty for the joy I take in my daughter, like I don't deserve to be happy as a mother.

This is me, too. I have to constantly catch myself and remember to be my mother's daughter and not grieve my loss when I am with her because she needs me to be her mother, to enjoy her, to love her as fully as I can. It's gotten better, but for months - at least until her first birthday - I was deeply concerned that my grief was going to affect her and then (on top of everything else) I felt guilty about what unknown consequences there would be for her emotionally, having to be raised by me. This, of course, just cued the "you aren't good enough to be a mother" voice into the loop.

For now, that demon is not as close to the surface, but he's not gone.

Birth

2007-02-18T10:07:00.000-05:00

All these years I have treasured my memories of being pregnancy with my son and of the birth, knowing that those were my experiences and memories and no one could take them from me.

With my daughter, the pregnancy and birth were different, as were my feelings about them. I attributed much of this to knowing I would be raising her, afraid of losing/replacing my previous memories, and terrified of actually being a parent. (My mother's phrase of 'be careful what you wish for' would loop through my head and I would worry that I was getting myself into something I may regret, after all - I hadn't been good enough to parent before, why would I be now?)

I realized a few months ago that I don't have distinct memories of my daughter's birth and I began to wonder why. After all, both births were alike as far as duration (short) and drugs (none). And it has slowly dawned on me - her birth wasn't the beginning of the end of my relationship to her so I have many more memories - and all are equally beginning to fade because there are more every day. That is what is different. The story hasn't ended.

I've read other bloggers who have lost babies to adoption and death write about how unnatural it is for your body to not nurture the child - for example, how a mother's milk comes in and there is no baby to nourish. That makes sense. But the memories thing ... the ongoing cycle of life that isn't strictly physical, and not necessarily emotional ... for the first time I realize how truly, truly unnatural it is to let go of your healthy newborn baby, to let the story end.

WTF Moment

2007-02-15T10:01:00.000-05:00

Well, I knew my feelings of objective detachment would be short-lived, but I didn't think that my return to the emotional roller coaster would take me by surprise.

While I have left my daughter at daycare to go to work and I have left her with sitters like her grandmother and adoring neighbors to go to a movie or Bible study with my husband, we haven't gone out to eat without her. For Valentine's Day, I thought it would be a nice treat to have a meal out with just the two of us. Dining in public with a toddler can be complicated and time consuming. While it's fun to watch her take in the surroundings, flirt with nearby diners (and be flirted with!), and discover new foods, there is little adult conversation as I am very focused on sharing toddler friendly portions of my food with the big-eyed, grunting, reaching vulture, er, princess (lol).

Anyway ... the meal was nice and we were out of there quicker than we have been in a while - much to the surprise of my husband. As we were pulling out, he made a comment about his sister who has the same name as my son's adoptive mother. His sister, however, goes by a nickname and I rarely make the connection in names as a result. Last night, because of the way he said her name, I made an immediate connection and a wave of emotion just flooded my head.

I think a good part of it was the fact we were on our way to pick up our daughter and now that she has become more of a person, rather than a baby, I really felt the loss of my son - that I have two children out there and I should be going home to pick up both of them. So I spent a good bit of the ride back reminding myself of why I didn't have my son, how I was 19 and didn't lead the life I have now, etc. ... but it really was a WTF moment in a big way because the message that was screaming over all my rationalization was "You gave your son to someone else? You gave your baby to someone else?" And it just didn't make sense to me - for the first time in 16+ years (since the entire time I was aware of being pregnant I was committed to adoption) it made no sense to me.

Another part of my emotional roller coaster last night was the almost ever-present new-found realization from the Christmas letter that M doesn't see me necessarily as I thought she did. I thought she knew me as a strong, intelligent, well traveled, well read, yada yada, etc. woman - a peer of sorts. But apparently, I am just another worthless white trash American drifter. Whatever. Knowing she sees me differently than I thought has made me re-think the way I see her.

And I was also picturing my son as I envision him from the picture I received Christmas of 2004. Maybe he is better off without me in his life at all since he really is someone else's son and so far they don't seem to need anything from me ... and may even resent what they do get.

I didn't want to ruin Valentine's Day so I kept all this inside - mostly because I wanted to try to sort it out first, since there were at least three issues going on in that lightning bolt of WTF - the 'giving away' thing yet again, the perception of me by M, and the hole I was feeling in a new and more sorrowful way ... the loss. For the first time in a long time, it was so visual and vivid to me.

Parenting my daughter has given me such a different life perspective and I am so grateful for her and for all the things I've learned, all the ways I've changed since having her. And I am happy for my son that he has great parents, that he is loved, that he has had a good life. I know that no matter what I do, the adoption will always be there. I am just surprised at how emotional I feel right now about it all.

Devil's Advocate

2007-01-25T13:43:00.000-05:00

So why do I even think I should hope for any kind of contact? Maybe they're all happy as can be (and I do want them to be happy) and I'm living a delusion of hope. I mean really, months can go by without me hearing from my sister, my brother, my parents ... people to whom I am related but seem to think any form of regular contact is unnecessary. I've gone most of my adult life feeling like I'm forcing myself on my family. For example, about a dozen or so years ago I realized one day as I drove four hours south to return to the place where I worked and lived that I had felt really out of place at the family birthday and that I had not been invited, that in fact I showed up at every family birthday, anniversary and most holidays assuming my presence was wanted. But, *light bulb*, maybe my participation was merely accepted rather than welcomed since, after all, no one ever bothered to invite me or at least double check that I was coming.

So maybe I should just lay off and try to stop caring about it - all of it, any of it, and just live my life, enjoy my daughter, "move on".

But in reality, this is just another part of the cycle, a part full of detachment that just a few weeks or months from now I will wish I could feel because the aching hurt and tears will be back.

Patient and powerless

2007-01-19T21:17:00.000-05:00

A few days ago, Casey wrote: I'm struggling today with seeing the difference between being patient and being passive. Later in the post she uses the word powerless instead of passive.

I immediately thought of how that describes my wait as a birthmother. I wait to hear from the adoptive parents. I wait in hope that my son wants to know me in person to some degree - phone, email, live?

Is my waiting a form of patience or just being passive? I feel I've lost so much time in this stance. So I chalk it up to passive at this point because I feel powerless. It takes a lot of time and not a little energy to be passive as we powerlessly wonder, worry and wait. Is it futile? Will he ever know how much I love him?

Genetics or just a boy thing?

2007-01-10T15:12:00.000-05:00

My parents didn't know I was pregnant with my son. They found out a couple of years after the fact, thanks to my nosy mother who found some paperwork at my house from the attorney. (Damn packrat tendencies will always be my downfall.)

Since finding out, there hasn't been really any mention of him. (One brief and off-beat question - with no follow-up - from my mother, no mention at all from my father.)

In the letter I received at Christmas I learned that my son has a passion for becoming a firefighter and is in some kind of teen volunteer thing complete with his own gear. My dad was a volunteer fireman and for a few years it was a big part of all of our lives. We would go watch fires that my dad fought; we rode the truck in the local parades (so much fun!); my brother had his birthday parties at the fire house. So I typed up the entire paragraph from the letter and emailed it to him a few minutes ago. I thought, what the hell, maybe he'll like to know that. And if not, he'll just continue ignoring him, so nothing to lose, really.

Maybe he'll care.

Happy Birthday E.

2007-01-06T07:32:00.000-05:00

Today is the birthday of a fellow blogging birthmom's daughter. In honor of Kateri, I am linking to two of her recent posts which really touched me, all the way to my core, because of the way she can describe so well the raw emotions that are always there for me, too, just below the surface. The hurt and grief of losing a child you gave birth to never goes away, even if you willingly gave the child to another family because you believed you were doing the right thing for the child, that he (or she in Kateri's case) would have a better life.

In Knitting for E, Kateri offers a piece of poetry talking about the gift of gloves "made by the mother / She doesn’t know". Excerpt:

I imagine them

Fitting her hands

Like she fit Into my arms

Nestling Like a puzzle piece

The first time I held her

That moment She was born.

She goes onto write:

I have no idea if the gloves will fit, if she inherited my tiny wrists or her father’s thick bones. ... I wish I could see her, talk to her. I want to have a moment with her where we understand each other. That moment will come someday, I tell myself. ... More waiting.

In other times of the year, I can feel like this was worth it, but not now. Not when I remember the day she was born, not when I remember the surprise of how she felt in my arms, like she belonged there. Like she fit there. I wasn’t expecting to feel that. I thought my unfitness would have me keep my distance. I thought she would be out of sync with me, because I thought we were destined to be apart, because I thought she belonged in other arms.

Right now, I wish I had listened to Nature. I wish I’d put her to my breast, because that would have sealed it. I should never have let her go.

I don’t often let myself feel this, the raw regret of that moment when she was born, when I turned my heart to face the future I thought would be best for both of us, instead of turning my mind to face our bond as mother and child. I could have turned the Titanic around, I could have backtracked and taken her from the people I promised her to. But I turned away. For my sake and hers, for their sake as well. I regret it. I regret it. She was mine and I turned away. ... I gave her what I thought was best, I thought.

My mind is constantly at war with my body. My body knows I turned her away.
E, I am sorry. For a moment you were mine. I denied that moment for so long. I am sorry. So sorry.

And it was this poignant post that really went straight to my heart, that made me feel like someone could see right inside. The blunt truthfulness of despair that I recognized found me nodding, saying, "Yes, I know," to the computer screen. And then I sobbed, the kind of whole body crying that comes with pure grief, that makes your chest hurt, awful moaning-like sounds come out your throat, the seemingly unending tears flow as your eyes become swollen. And why am I embarrassed to admit that? Have we all not at some point felt this kind of grief? Ahh ... but I'm a birthmom, I'm supposed to have moved on ...

Well, I am reprinting, without permission, most of that post here because, like the reprinted words above, I want to be sure I have them if Kateri ever takes them down. And if Kateri finds her way here: Thank you for your words, for sharing your grief so that we know we're not alone. Happy Birthday E. And hugs and love to Kateri today and any other day she needs them.

She is Everywhere and Nowhere

There is a vacuum where E should be.

Her pictures are all over the house. ... I wake up between my girls in the morning with Miriam holding a picture of the missing girl, E's is often the first face I see when I open my eyes, smiling back at me from the life I bestowed when I thought I wasn't good enough for her.

Less than a month from her birthday I am feeling the familiar tightness in my chest, the tension that is building, building, up to the crecendo of sadness and regret, peaking in the cold stillness of January.

I don't know what to give her for her birthday. What does she like? What does she want? What will she treasure? I don't know. I don't know.

What do you give the [child] you don't know, who holds a piece of your soul?

Who Am I?

2007-01-05T12:16:00.000-05:00

I am not the person I strive to be, the person who thought she had "come so far". M's question about long-term goals made me realize that on the outside I have achieved certain milestones, but only because part of me thought I should and yes, a part of me needed to because I do crave and need stability. Hence, the homeownership of a small but nice, affordable home; the marriage to a stable guy who is financially responsible but in a government job that brings with it security but not big bucks - and I'm fine with that. I am not, and never have been, a materialistic person. I don't want a big home, a fancy car or flashy jewelry. However, that doesn't mean I live in a pristine home - I am a pack rat because I save everything that possibly could be used again. I can't figure out why I do this ... it's actually my New Year's resolution to de-clutter my house (and hopefully my life), although I think it will be a lifelong struggle.

I look back on my life and realize I never dated anyone with a college degree. I found my best job satisfaction as a waitress and grocery store cashier because I like doing for others and I like being around people, but a variety of people for short periods of time. But I listened to all the folks who told me that I was intelligent and had so much potential, that I should go back to school, yada yada yada. So now I have my college degree, a good paying job with great benefits, but I sit on my butt every day in a cubicle with no windows. And I feel like what I do every day makes absolutely no difference to anyone. Blech.

When I saw the movie Good Will Hunting several years ago, the message I got from it was that Matt Damon's character had potential that he needed to follow even though that meant leaving his peer group. The movie seemed to enforce the virtues of following your potential - but what happens later when he reaches his potential but never quite fits in with that world and will never fit in with his old world, either? That's how I feel. While I enjoy the stability the life I've achieved brings, I have to consciously try not to do anything that would disturb it. And thus, I deny my true self, and I've denied her for so long that I only know bits and pieces. As I am acknowledging them, I am beginning to figure some things out which isn't always easy, but it's about damn time.

Soul searching

2007-01-04T11:28:00.000-05:00

I am still working through my reactions to M's question about my long-term goals. While I wish I hadn't read it on Christmas Day, I am beginning to appreciate that she asked it because for the first time in a long time I am really taking a good look at who I really am.

Here is something I wrote in an email to another birthmom the day after I received the letter. I needed to reach out and she was there for me. It also gave me a welcome opportunity to share some specifics I choose not to share in the blog. So a big thank-you to my fellow blogging birthmom and friend.

I'm still smarting from the question in the letter that I received. I really thought I had made progress with my self image and for 36 hours now I have heard all the old voices come back telling me that I'm not fooling anyone, that I really can't do anything right, that I'm worthless. All these years I've spent multi-tasking and staying so busy, feeling like I'm running from something, not slowing down so I can't hear the voices remind me that no matter what I do or how hard I try, I'm never going to amount to anything. I'm a fraud. I'm shiftless and without goals. I have so much potential but I just don't achieve. And I wonder what kind of portrait of me she has painted for my son. I'm not chasing the great American dream of a huge house in a tony neighborhood - does that make me appear like white trash to them with their two homes, private school educations for both children, etc.? (She has commented that our home reminds her of their vacation/summer home and has made comments in subsequent letters about our small, country home.) I don't have long range plans but that's on purpose - it never bothered me until now when I wonder if my "gypsy" ways are being seen in a negative light as it's refracted from M to my son. The possibility that my 'seize the day' philosophy is the reason for not having contact feels like a huge "REJECT" being stamped on my soul. Her one question did all that.

Frozen In Time

2006-12-31T18:39:00.000-05:00

I've decided that adoptive parents, or at least my son's adoptive parents, always think of birthmothers at the age and stage that we were in when we were pregnant and placed. I mean, why else would you ask a married, home owning, college educated, 35 year-old working woman what her long-term goals are? I still don't get it.

Justifiably Offended?

2006-12-25T22:45:00.000-05:00

So all week I was waiting for the box to arrive from the adoptive parents. They send gifts, but all I care about is the note/letter and picture(s) that the box hopefully contains. When Saturday evening arrived, I reminded myself that a few years ago there would be a year here and there when it would arrive after Christmas and that I would give it a few extra days before I started to wonder and worry that this was it.

Last night I had a dream that I met my son. There weren't any real details, just that I saw him in person and he said a few words. But it was a good dream and I woke up happy and hopeful.

While opening presents this morning, the postal worker came by. Did you know the post office delivers express mail on Christmas? I was grateful that the adoptive parents came through and sent a box. There was no picture this time, but there was a letter. Apparently, they had not yet received my box and letter (which I had to mail to the attorney rather than directly to them). In her letter she told me some more things about my son which I really appreciated knowing. The fact that she was responding to a question I had really gave me encouragement, too. I usually feel like my questions are ignored and I am left to cobble together what scraps do appear in notes or letters.

But the thing that really got me was very early in the letter she asked me what my long term goals are. I have always hated this question in general. Now that I am 35 and 8+ years into a marriage, 7+ years into homeownership, almost 7 years with the same employer, 5+ years past college graduation, I still hate it. And she knows the timeline I've just laid out and the stability and "progress" it supposedly represents. The fact that this question was posed to me by her immediately made me feel unworthy because I am not the type of person to have a long range plan for anything - in general I like to take life by the moment and see where it takes me, kind of seize the day, but within reason because the core of my being craves and needs stability. Some people would see this as a flaw and I immediately felt defensive and wanted to pick up a pen and answer her question because obviously she has an opinion of me that I don't have of myself. My husband asked about the letter and when I mentioned that question even he (who often says I think too hard about what people say to me) said well, you did move around a lot before we were married, but I wonder if she is asking you that because she isn't sure she can trust you with any more information than she has given you. We discussed it a little more and we both wondered if maybe their higher social and financial status makes them think that we are not doing as well as I thought we were. I don't know.

I do know that I was taken aback that I felt like I suddenly have to meet her approval all over again. And on Christmas Day when I was letting myself fantasize that the box may contain a note from my son or words in her letter to the effect of them wanting direct contact of some kind - email, real address, whatever - to have that dashed in the midst of opening gifts was kind of cruel. But how can I complain? A box did come, a letter did arrive - and two pages at that.

Yes, I'll continue to wait. And yes, I'll continue to take whatever I can get in the way of information and pictures. Beggars, after all, can't be choosers, now, can they?

Ice Breaker

2006-12-13T09:04:00.000-05:00

So my boss wants to do a team building exercise later this week at a staff meeting by having everyone submit an unknown fact about themselves to him. He will present the fact and we are supposed to guess who it is he is talking about. Since this is billed as a "fun exercise", I guess revealing the fact that I am a birthmother would not be in the spirit of the activity.

The Christmas Box

2006-12-12T07:55:00.000-05:00

I've had the Christmas box ready to go since Saturday, a box that includes a letter to M explaining that I included a card that she could decide whether or not to let him read. I took a deep breath and also wrote about my daughter. It was brief and I wanted to make sure I didn't convey anything that would discount my son. Going on an assumption that these letters, or at least any news they contain, are shared with my son, I thought it would be unfair to him to not tell about my daughter.

And I bought a card that I thought would be great for writing my note, "For Someone Special at Christmas". But I kept putting it off. I know part of it is the perfectionist in me and I still wound up using a lousy pen. But I realized that if I waited any longer, he may not get the box in time.

It's exciting to think he may actually read it. And even if he has heard about how much I love him, I hope it means something special to him that he has a card from me.