Archive | March, 2012

Pictures Worth A Lot More Than Words

7 Mar

 The first time I set you as the background to my phone was after your 20 week ultrasound. Your profile shot (as you can see in this letter) was what I saw every time I turned my phone on. By the time you can read this cell phones will probably have been replaced with some super version of a Smart Phone, so you won’t have any idea what I’m talking about, but you have been my phone background ever since that day. Right now when my phone lights up, there is a picture of you sent to me by J. You were sick last month – high fever, runny nose, coughing, the whole shebang. I’ve seen you a couple of time when you’ve been sick…it’s the saddest most pitiful thing I’ve ever seen. I want to be gifted with magical powers that heal you with hugs and kisses every time I hear you’re sick.

 Anyhow, when you finally got better, J sent me a picture of you with the caption, “Look who’s feeling all better!” You’re wearing a little blue vest with a striped blue shirt and have the biggest smile on your face. It makes me happy every time I see it. And since I look at my phone a lot in one day, I get nice little snapshots of you multiple times a day. I brighten up every time I see it.

 I look at pictures of you a lot. I definitely lucked out by finding a photographer to be your mom – I certainly never have to worry about whether or not your childhood is being documented. Plus, then I get lots of pictures to wallpaper my apartment with!

 You have no idea how a picture of you can just turn my day around. I’ve had plenty of times where my day has been less than great – a less than great grade on a quiz, a guy who’s being a jerk, a bad day of dealing with people at work – and I get down on life. But then I come home and you’re on my fridge. Your most recent photo shoot with The B’s for you Christmas card is on my wall and my dresser. You’re on top of my desk, you’re in the bookshelf above my bed – photos of you from the day you were born to today.

 Looking at you, knowing that I have you, I remember that I’ve already done one of the best things I am ever going to do with my life. I remember that I am always going to have you – you are always going to be in my life, you are always going to be my baby boy no matter how big you get and I am always going to be proud of you. Watching you grow up has been so much fun – I have never been so excited to hear the ABC’s or to watch someone take a few steps. You breathe life into my life. You are more than just my son, you are my reason for so many things.

 You remind me that I have a purpose. Because sometimes, I get lost. I change my mind a thousand times about what I want to do when I graduate college and I go back and forth in my confidence levels about what I want to do or what I’m doing. But then I remember that I am a mother.

 I go on bad dates and I get disappointed by guys I thought were great who turned out to be huge let-downs. But then I remember that I already have the love of my life. I already have a boy I’m madly in love, a boy I would do anything or be anything for.

 You bring me peace and comfort when I feel like I’m running out of it. You bring me home.

 Thank you for reminding me of all of the wonderful things I am, especially when I start to forget. Also, you’re the background on my computer too. Just so you know, I’m looking at you as we speak.

 Miss you <3

The background on my phone right now

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Pain With A Purpose

6 Mar

Believe it or not, I’ve actually been writing to you since before you were born. I used to write for an online women’s magazine called Chickspeak.com. It doesn’t exist anymore, but when it did, I wrote for the Love and Relationships section…until I discovered you, that is. Then I started a column called The Young and The Pregnant. It was actually a great way to document my pregnancy – I wrote about what I was thinking, what I was feeling, what I was going through. I still have all of them saved, and they’re really neat to read back over.

When I first started e-mailing J after we met, I told her about my column. She said she loved it. She told me about the things we had in common based on what I’d written about myself – we both love Ben and Jerry’s, we both use Jergens tanning lotion, we both love Jane Austen…the list went on.

But there was one column I’d written that particularly touched her. I read what she wrote to me about it over and over again, until I had it memorized: 

“You mentioned needing a family who knew pain, so that they would understand the pain that you were about to experience. My heart literally jumped within me when I read those words. Infertility has brought us 5 years of pain, but our two failed adoptions have brought another pain, altogether. Could the pain that we have experienced over the past few months suddenly have purpose?”

The B’s told me their failed adoption stories when I met them. My heart hurt for them when I heard those stories. I had only heard failed adoption stories in fiction, mostly on television shows. I always thought they were a little overly dramatic, but I suddenly empathized. I was having a baby. I got to be pregnant. I got to feel you kick, I got to know what it was like to love someone more than life itself before you even met them, to know that a piece of me would always exist outside myself.

There are some people who dream of experiencing that kind of love, who dream of being mothers and fathers, who want a child to love or a family to build, and adoption is the only way. Getting their hopes so high, getting so close to their dreams of parenthood or an extended family, only to have them taken away…losing a child is losing a child, whether the connection is biological or not. And considering that I could never, ever imagine losing you, I’m amazed that The B’s survived that kind of pain and disappointment. I admire any adoptive family who has had to cope with a sadness like that. My heart goes out to them.

But J was right. The pain did serve a purpose. If that adoption hadn’t failed, The B’s wouldn’t have you and we wouldn’t have them. I imagine that it is that kind of hope that keeps potential adoptive families so strong – the faith that one day, their hurt and their sadness will pay off – that even though their road is a broken one, it will lead them somewhere better than they could have ever imagined. That’s how it happened for me. Being a pregnant teenager was tough. Giving you up was the hardest, most painful thing I’ve ever done. But I got you, and I got The B’s. And that’s a happy ending if I’ve ever heard one.

So in the long run, I suppose that both of our stories – The B’s and mine – are shining examples of what can happen when you keep the faith, when you never give up, when you believe that one day something good will come from something sad. In the long run, I hope that our stories remind you to be strong on the days that you feel like life is a little too tough. But in the short run, I just want you to know that you have healed so many broken hearts. My pain is gone. You brought me to the family that cured it.

So I just want to thank you, Little Man. You are certainly a special kind of miracle.

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Every Family Needs Photos

4 Mar

First Family Photo :)

 

As I’ve told you – and as I’m sure you will learn – you’d be hard pressed to find a photographer as good as J. She has a knack for it, and thanks to you and Sports Man, she has a couple of pretty great subjects.

 One of the many times I was over at The B’s house, she sat down with me at her computer and we went through all of the photos she has on there. They were beautiful. Some were of Sports Man when he was younger, some were of family or friends, and some were actual sessions she’d done of other families or their kids. No matter who the subject of the pictures were, every shot just had this…ethereal quality about them.

 The vision she possess for photography is just as good if not better than photos I see at art shows and museums. Let’s just say if I get married, she’s taking the wedding pictures.

 It seems as though when she’s not even actively trying to take a good picture, it happens anyways. You’ll run across people like that in your life – people who are just innately good at something, who’s talent shines through without them even having to try. You’ll most likely be one of those people, so you should probably get used to it ;)

 After your adoption was official, The B’s came to stay for the night at Pop-Pop 3 and Grandma M’s house. We all bunked in there and I got to spend some extra time with you and The B’s. J gave me a locket with a picture of you in it (I got the picture a few weeks later), and she had a matching one. It was a way for you to be with me even when you weren’t. It was also a way to know that J was holding me close to her heart. It meant a lot to me. I didn’t take mine off for months.

 The next day, before you and The B’s left, J suggested that she take some pictures. She wanted to take some of you and I, and she also wanted to get a family shot of all of us. That’s what she called the picture of you, me, Pop-Pop and Grandma M, and The B’s – a family shot. It warmed my heart to hear her call us that, and she wasn’t kidding – family is certainly what we became.

 So here are your first extended family portraits, filled with only a fraction of the people who love you like their own. Being loved by countless people…probably another thing you should get used to :)

All photos by J

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The World’s Most Boring Child Birthing Classes

3 Mar

 I started thinking about adoption a couple of weeks after I discovered you. It seemed logical – I could give you to a family that could provide for you and since I was choosing open adoption, I’d get to see you often. Very logical. I was doing what was best and it would be difficult, but not too hard. I’d still get to see you, and since it was what was best, even when I was sad, that knowledge would be able to help me sleep at night.

 I actually managed to continue that thought process for a couple of months, until I started my child birthing classes at the local hospital. I scheduled them every Sunday so that C could attend, but in the end, he decided it was too hard for him. Either Pop-Pop 3, Grandma M or Aunt S would accompany me to my classes.

 I hated those classes.

 Well, that’s not entirely true. The information I learned was incredibly valuable, and for that reason, I’m glad I went. I learned all about the birthing process and what to expect when it came time for delivery. I learned about you and what you would be doing for my last trimester. I learned that the really weird cramping and hardening of my stomach wasn’t you rolling around, but that they were Braxton Hicks contractions. I learned about the stages of labor and things I could do during labor to ease the stress on myself, therefore easing the stress on you. I was out buying books and pregnancy within the week I found out about you, so being the knowledge nerd that I am, all of this info from the classes was really interesting to me.

 But other than that the class was so…boring. I don’t think any of the other couples in that class knew what the word “fun” meant. Aunt S and I would make jokes and try to have fun and we’d get looks from the other couples like they couldn’t believe we were attempting to enjoy the classes – these classes were obviously serious business and we obviously weren’t taking the classes seriously enough. I know…I’m one of those weirdos who thinks learning can be fun. Go figure.

 But what the child birthing classes did do was make the reality of you…well, real. We would talk about what the babies would look like within the first couple of days – red, puffy faces, cone heads, maybe even a little yellow. We talked about changing diapers, how babies liked to be swaddled, how to stop babies from crying…and I realized that I wouldn’t get to do any of this. I would see you in your red, puffy face stage and then you’d disappear.

 My logic went out the window, and I suppose it was about time. Situations like ours can’t be ruled by logic and logic alone – it’s very emotional. The bond between a mother and her child is all about love – we never say “I love my child because I should and he or she needs me to.” We just do. It’s natural, it’s innate and it’s more powerful than anything you’ve ever imagined. And during those classes I was overwhelmed with the idea that despite that powerful love, I was going to let you go.

 This was before I met The B’s. During these classes, your “future family” was an unknown entity to me, making this reality even scarier. Parting with you seemed to get more impossible with each passing day. I hated the classes for that, too. Because even though I love the you inside me, I was starting to dream about the you when you finally came out – who you would be, what you would look like, how I could care for you. It hurt my heart to think about because I realized that when the real you showed up, so would your adoption. The two were not mutually exclusive – with one, came the other. And my problem was that I only wanted one – you.

 Towards the end of my pregnancy, every night as I went to sleep, I would hold my stomach and feel you kick and I would thank you, for spending one more night with me. I did this every night for the last month. I said it the night before I went into labor – “Thank you for staying with me for one more night.”

 Of course, it’s all turned out better than I could have imagined. The B’s were only too happy to let me have my diaper changing experiences and to see you past your puffy-face-cone-head stage. Every time I went over to their house, they wouldn’t hesitate to hand you to me. They would let me hold you as much as I wanted to. They wanted me to hold you as long as I wanted to. They want me to love you as much as I possibly can, and for that and a multitude of other reasons, I love them.

 But those child birthing classes taught me that logic only goes so far, and then comes love. And love tends to bring the logic-house down. Our journey was an emotional one – one where even though I was told I shouldn’t get too attached to you if I was planning on adoption, I couldn’t help it and wouldn’t have if I could’ve. One where I was told I shouldn’t keep you in the room with me at the hospital because it would make it easier but there wasn’t a person in the world who could have removed you from my sight or my arms.

 And you have been more than worth it – every emotional up and down, every sad day and every happy day, every tear shed before and after your adoption (there were a lot, although some we could probably attribute to pregnancy hormones) were beyond worth it, because out of all of it, I got you. And through you, I got The B’s. And from all of you, I got everything I’ll ever need.

 I just think that next time, I’ll pick a livelier bunch to spend my Sunday afternoons with.

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Have No Fear, Love Is Here…Right?

2 Mar

As you know, I started these letters for many reasons, most of them for you. I want you to know how you got to where you are. I want you to know how many lives you’ve touched just by being you. I want to be able to document the things I learn about you as I learn them, so that one day you can look back and appreciate your childhood self the way the rest of us do. Mostly I want you to know how loved you are.

 But I’m going to make a confession: even though the letters are for you – from me to you –   they’re actually for me too. Because even though it’s good for you to know that I love you, it’s almost better for me to know that you know that I love you.

 As I told you yesterday, The B’s would never dream of the day when they would let you forget how much I love you. I know that if some how, some way, any doubt of that entered your mind, they would correct it in an instant. But before I found them and really got to know them, that was probably my biggest adoption concern as a birth mother: that if you grew up away from me, you would never know how much I loved you. Or even worse, you would assume that since I “gave you up,” I didn’t love you.

 I think that is a universal birth mother fear – that if we’re not around, there won’t be anyone else around to remind you that we honestly did what we thought was absolutely best for you in the long run. That it was because of love that we chose adoption, not in spite of it, or due to our lack of it. We want our children to think the best of us and sometimes we feel that if we’re not with you 24/7 to encourage that, no one else will.

 It’s one of the weird conundrums of adoption – I feel that, as your mother, our love for one another should be innate. But since I went through with adoption – even though it was a decision made lovingly – sometimes I feel like my love is something that I need to prove to you. My love for you is guaranteed, but since I’m not raising you, your love for me doesn’t have to be – sometimes, I feel like your love is something I will need to earn. 

 I honestly used to think that I was a selfish person for choosing adoption. That if I had just been a little more selfless, I could have sacrificed more – “manned up” a bit – and kept you as my own. A little therapy and constant support from friends and family cured me of that relatively fast, but it doesn’t keep the thought from creeping up every now and then. It’s a strange paradigm to try to describe.

 I actually came up with the idea for these letters way back then, when the adoption first took place, but I wasn’t as healed then as I feel now. I wanted to be able to sort through my feelings before I started telling them to you because I wanted our relationship to be a source of clarity for you, not confusion. And also, funny enough (the people who know me will laugh at this), I was actually afraid I would run out of things to say.

 As it turns out, my letters to you almost write themselves. I start off with a little thought or a funny story about you and suddenly, I’ve written hundreds of words – paragraphs filled with stories I want you to know, stories I love; feelings I have for you and your family, a thousand memories, a million and a half things I want you to hear. Writing to you isn’t a job, it isn’t work – it’s freeing. Every time I write one, I feel a little lighter. And even though you’re no where close to being able to read them, I feel closer to you and The B’s every time I finish one.

 It’s yet another way you have brought love, peace and meaning to my life.

 My fears of you not knowing that I am madly in love with you have been long assuaged. I am sure you will grow up knowing that I love you because The B’s wouldn’t have it any other way, and because I am going to come around as often as humanly possible to tell you so myself. And some day later on, you will have these letters to tell you how loved you are, too. But even so, you should know that even if I don’t have to, I am going to spend the rest of my life proving it to you anyways.

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Finding The B’s

1 Mar

I have always loved The B’s. From the day I met them – actually, from the day I read their profile – I knew they would be amazing parents. I remember the day I found their profile – I had gone to the adoption agency for another meeting with my adoption counselor, and as soon as I walked in, she handed me a huge stack of profiles that she had picked out based on what I said I was looking for in an adoptive family.

 I was there for hours. I analyzed every little thing about those profiles, from the pictures and where I thought they had been taken, to the actual information, to the wording of some of the things the families wrote. I actually discarded a family because they said, “We’d be happy to have you in your child’s life, but if you’d rather not, that will still be okay.” To the outside observer, it sounds respectful and looking back on it, I’m sure that’s all they meant. But to a women looking for people to parent the love of her life, it sounded like a veiled attempt at saying, “We’d prefer if you just kind of disappear after this whole thing.” I know it’s silly, but that’s how incredibly intense I felt that day.

 I was suddenly overwhelmed with the hugeness of what I was doing. I knew that I would have to pick a family for you. But these people were going to raise you. You were going to grow up with their values, surrounded by their family, learning their way of life. These people were going to impact you for the rest of forever. When you grew up, you would be the person you were because of them. Which, in a roundabout way, meant that who you were going to be depended on me  and who I chose. Talk about your massive life decisions.

 The B’s profile was towards the bottom of the stack, not the last but a few profiles away from it. I looked at theirs the longest. I had seen their profile online before – Grandma M had looked them up on Bethany’s website and shown them to me briefly a month or two earlier. They were the only ones with a hardback book-type profile, in a really pretty green color – J’s creative genius at work again. It was beautiful, from the pictures to what they said in it…all about them and their family and how much they loved their son and all the fun things they liked to do. And also, how much they wanted to love me. How much they wanted me involved.

 My counselor told me that when I found a family I liked, I could tell her and put them “on hold.” I finished with their profile, handed it to her and said, “I want them. I want to put them on hold.” She looked at me a little stunned and suggested I finish with the profiles and maybe take a few days to think about them, even take a few of them home. I flipped through the ones underneath The B’s but sadly and perhaps unfairly, I didn’t truly read them. My mind was somewhere else, with a beautiful family and their green, hardback book.

 The B’s profile was the only one I took with me. I showed it to the woman at the main desk in the agency and told her I had put them on hold. I immediately drove to Grandma M’s work and showed her. I called C on the way and told him we had to meet up soon because I had something to show him. When I got to Grandma M’s work, I called the agency to double-check that The B’s were mine. They were – they were officially “reserved” and we’ve belonged to each other ever since.

 I couldn’t be happier. The day after your adoption was official, they came back to my parent’s house and stayed the night so I could spend a little more time with you. J took pictures of all of us outside the next day (my chubby, post-pregnancy face is absolutely ravishing, by the way) and they made a get-together date for a couple of weeks later so I’d know when I was going to see you again. I remember seeing E outside the adoption agency right before the adoption ceremony – he came right up to me and gave the biggest hug I’ve ever gotten. They felt just as lucky to have you as I felt for you to have them.

 But one thing they promised me was that you would always know how much I loved you. They said they would never let you forget it. So on the days I can’t tell you in person or write to you about it here, I still feel confident that you know it, that someone is telling you. But I also want them to know how much I love them – I’m sure that they know, but I’m not sure if they understand the intensity behind it. I love them as I love you, because they are one in the same now. And everyday you do something cute or funny or beyond your years, I fall more in love with every single one of you.

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