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I Think I Can, I Think I Can, I Think I Can…

11 Mar

Oddly enough, I don’t remember the exact day I met The B’s. I don’t remember the day of the week or the time or even the actual date itself. It was at the very beginning of June, but that’s all I can remember. I find that weird – I generally remember the huge days in my life, and this was definitely one of them.

We met at the adoption agency in my hometown. Bethany Christian Services has offices all over the U.S. and there was one near where The B’s live, too, but they decided to come to me. My counselor told me that it would be good for C to meet them as well, so he was set to be there, too.

I got there a little early. I sat in my car for a very long time, hands on the wheel, staring out the windshield. To an outside observer, it probably looked as though I was getting ready to drive away. Subconsciously, maybe I was. Meeting The B’s made it real. It made the fact that one day you would leave me, real. Too real. More real than I think I was ready for. But pregnancy is a “ready or not” kind of situation, so I got ready. I had to. I was going to meet these people and I was going to be poised and sophisticated when I did it.

When C arrived he got me out of the car and walked me inside. I hadn’t seen him since mid-April so the fact that he was there felt like another weight, just adding on to the heaviness of the day. I know that sounds weird, but that’s what I felt like that day before I met them – heavy. Tired. Not physically, but mentally. I knew that the day would emotionally exhaust me because it was a pinnacle, a turning point. The day when I would finally have to come to terms with the fact that you would not always be mine. That in and of itself was so sad to me, it almost kept me in my car the whole day.

I walked inside and my counselor led me to the conference room where everyone was set to meet. I was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. It was like a tidal wave – looking back I can almost see it in a physical form, just rushing at me. I started to cry. I started to cry a lot. I ran outside the office and into the stairwell. I leaned against the wall, cradled my stomach, and cried some more. I couldn’t stop. I remember trying to steady myself…taking deep breaths, forcing up a dam for the tears. I felt so ridiculous for being so emotional.

I didn’t want to meet The B’s like this. I didn’t want to meet them with tears streaming down my face, with red puffy eyes, with a demeanor that always seemed to be on the verge falling apart. I wanted to be cool, calm and collected. I wanted to be strong. I wanted them to like me. I didn’t want to scare them. I knew that all adoptive families must be afraid of failed adoptions and a birth mother who’s bawling during the first meeting about the impending separation from her child…not generally a good sign. I wanted to make a good impression. I would not meet them like that. I just wouldn’t.

Eventually I calmed myself and came back inside. Our meeting started about 30 to 45 minutes late due to the crying jag, but when they walked in, I think I looked alright. My very first thought was, “They look just like their pictures.” They had brought a box of cookies from Atlanta Bread Company. They hugged me to say hello instead of shaking hands. This was my first experience with a hug from J – as I’m sure you’ve learned, they’re the best hugs in the world. So tight and full of love that you can’t doubt the power and strength behind them or the woman who gives them.

I won’t lie – before that hug, my guard was up. I was already on the defensive walking into that conference room, ready for some sort of two-way interrogation. I didn’t know what to expect. Being vulnerable was not and has never been something that I am comfortable with, but I had never felt more vulnerable in my life than I did at that point. I had been a mess all day, I had just spent the past 20 minutes crying and C…well, he was not supportive at all to me at that point in time. I felt very alone, surrounded by people I didn’t feel as though I could truly lean on. I remember wishing for my mommy.

Of course, as would be the first of many times, my worries were proven to be pointless in the face of The B’s. I felt peaceful after that first “J-hug.” I’ll tell you all about our actual meeting in tomorrow’s letter, but I want you to know this – you were the reason I was strong enough to get out of that car. You were the reason I was able to put on a brave face. You kicked me the whole time I cried that day. Knowing that you were there…that day you reminded me that there are things worth being brave for. This certainly turned out to be one of them. You are certainly one of them.

Or maybe you were just kicking me because you were so ready to meet your new family. I like that explanation, too :)

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It’s Not What It Looks Like…

8 Mar

There is a phrase that says, “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” Basically, it means that different people find different things or people to be attractive. This goes for babies too – every parent thinks that their child is the most beautiful child in the world. I know that’s how I felt when you were born.

But there is one things that a lot of moms and dads-to-be do that I didn’t really do when I was pregnant – try to imagine what you’d look like. Sure, I wondered about the hair color and the eye color, but that’s about it. I marvelled over your profile picture that I received after your 20 week ultrasound, but even then, I just figured that you were you and you’d turn out how your were meant to.

The only thing I actively remember thinking is that I hoped you would get C’s eyes. His eyes are this really pretty green color, and one of them even has a brown spot in it, making his eyes very multi-colored. Sometimes they look blue in the sun and or dark hazelnut in darker lighting. I always thought they were very, very pretty.

It took your eyes a while to decide, but they are most definitely brown – the color of my eyes. Your eyes are a very rich brown color, like a dark honey, full of wonder. I have to say…I was so excited. I was so excited your eyes turned out to be brown. Actually, your eyes turned out to be mine, period. That what I always hear from other people – “he has your eyes.” I never get tired of hearing that, to be honest.

Of course, you are a compilation of both me and C. You most certainly have my eyes, but you have C’s mouth. The rest of you is just…you. Especially your chin – your little cleft chin has been popular from day one, and although I have a slight dimple and some members of C’s family claim that his grandfather had one, I think it’s uniquely yours. In the beginning when I would come to visit you, you would always look a little more like one of us – “He looks a lot like C today” or “I see a lot of you in him today.”

And funny enough, there are times when I think you look like E. In your Christmas card this past year, I look at E holding you and I could see a resemblance – something in the face shape or the smile, I don’t actually know. But I’ve always had a theory that the more time you spend around someone you love, the more you look like them. Or maybe The B’s love for you is just so powerful, it radiates in that kind of way. Who knows? But I have seen pictures of you and Sports Man as babies and you both look incredibly similar. It was obviously meant to be :)

But I’ll admit it – I love it when people say you look like me. I love it. In the end, I am fully aware that you are you and no one else, but I like to claim whatever parts of you that I can. I like being associated with something as beautiful as you. Sometimes, it’s nice to be reminded that even though you will never call me mom, I had something to do with your existence. I took part in creating you, in bringing you here.

I feel proud to have taken part in who you are, even if it’s just the eyes. It’s another way that makes me feel as thought I will always be with you even when I’m not, and we all know how much I like to feel as though I’m always with you.

And don’t listen to those other people with their kids…you so obviously are the most beautiful baby in the world.

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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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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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You, Me and C Makes Three

29 Feb

Me and C at Senior Prom

I’ve been in love three times in my life, but as of now, only two of those times will matter to you. Because one of those times was with you. The other was with your biological father C.

I don’t know if our story will ever matter to you, mine and C’s. I think it will someday. I think that eventually, how you came to be will be important to you. And the good news is that our love story is a good one – one I’m happy to retell, one I look back on and mostly think of fondly. We didn’t last, as I’m sure you will be able to tell soon enough. We are on very good terms now, even if it wasn’t always the case. And personally, I think the beginning and the middle matter much more than the end.

We fell in love in high school. We were on the high school newspaper together, so we’d known each other for about a year when we started dating. I know most people don’t believe that kids as young as we were – 17 for me, 16 for him – have any idea of what love actually means. I think it’s subjective. I think you are the only person who has the right to judge how you feel. And we certainly felt head-over-heels for each other. We said “I love you” for the first time on March 1, 2009 and every day afterwards for almost a year.

I remember one time when I was having a bad day, he took me for a drive, cranked up the loudest, most obnoxious rock song he had in his car and told me to scream as loud as I possibly could to get it all out. We both started yelling over the music and pretty soon, I couldn’t stop laughing. Another day, we went to a guitar shop (C is a ridiculously talented musician) and looked around. I could tell he wanted to play one, but we started to leave because he didn’t want to bore me. I stole his keys and wouldn’t let us leave until he played. I supported him. He cared about me. We spent the time we weren’t together texting or calling. I spent every Sunday at his house with his family. He brought me coffee to school in the mornings. We kissed and hugged and held hands. Even thinking back on it now, I find myself smiling. We loved each other.

I just think it is important for you to know that you exist because of love. Though you were unexpected, I never, ever want you to think you were an “accident.” Accident implies a mishap, an unfortunate or undesirable occurrence, and you my precious baby boy, are anything but – you are my everything. You are the result of two people experiencing first love. Two people who would have done anything for the other, who cared about each other more than anything else in the world. Two people who fall more and more in love with you every day.

True, our relationship didn’t survive my pregnancy. But that is absolutely the result of things that were done or said by us – not you. We were young, and in the end, youth can prove to be just as unstable as it is exciting. But I do believe we were in love. When we were in love, I truly thought I was done with dating – C and I were a forever kind of deal, and at the time, that thought went both ways. We truly meant it when we said “I love you,” and we still say it today – it just has a different connotation now.

If anything, our love for one another might mean even more now than it did back when we were in the first throes of love – after surviving the things that happened during my pregnancy, when there were some times when I definitely did not feel loving towards him, the fact that we still care for each other now is incredibly meaningful.

We grew up very fast – our lives were not about us anymore, and though I came to terms with that faster than he did, that knowledge definitely impacted us – it changed us both forever. But the best kind of love is that kind that changes you; the kind that touches your soul and leaves impressions that never fade and that you never forget. And wouldn’t you know, I think it’s the best thing that has ever happened to us. Because you are definitely the best thing that has ever happened to me.

There is so much more to our story. One day, if you want, I’ll tell you the rest of it, and C will help me. We’ll get to share little pieces of the love that brought you to be the gift that you are. We’ll get to relive our story – a story that was already unique and special, and now, it has the best ending of all :)

 

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It’s a Good Thing I Can Bench Press 50 lbs

28 Feb

The stats are in! Upon leaving my Psychology of Adolescence midterm – preparing myself way ahead of time for your teen years – I recieved a text from J. You just had your 18 month appointment at the doctor’s office and we got a nice little snapshot of you at 18 (even though you’re technically 19) months:

You are 30.5 lbs (90th percentile for weight)

You are 33.25 in (75th percentile for height)

Also, you recited your ABC’s for the doctor who was sufficiently impressed.

Every time you get bigger, you blow my mind a little. According to my Developmental Psychology class, the growth you achieve between conception and your one-year birthday is the fastest you will grow in your entire life, so actually, I suppose you growing at an exponential rate shouldn’t surpirse me. And yet, it never fails to amaze me.

Like I said yesterday, my friend Aunt L had her own baby boy a couple of days ago. I went to visit her and I got to hold the world’s newest Liam. Apparently, he was 8lbs but no baby has ever felt lighter or smaller. My guess is because a week previously, I was holding you, Mr. I’m-in-the-90th-percentile-for-weight.

You are going to hear this as you get older: “You’re growing up so fast!” After a while, it’s going to get old and it’s going to stop meaning a whole lot to you. I know it did for me when I was younger. Actually, there is a whole lot you will never understand about your parents’ perspective until you are a parent. Then everything they’ve been telling you for years finally makes sense, and after putting up with a couple smirks and I-told-you-so’s, you learn to appreciate it.

So what’s a parent to do when their Little Man comes up to their waist and he’s only 19 months old? Option number one would be to cry, but seeing as how I’m much too tough for that (cough cough), I learn to appreciate it. I even learn to marvel in it a little. Every day you get bigger is one less day I get to call you a “Little” Man, but it’s one more day that I get to be astounded by all the things you can do, all the things you have learned. It’s one more day that I get to be proud of you for something, no matter how small. And as long as you’re shorter than me, I think I’ll be okay.

Happy 18 Month Check-Up Day! I’m sure that one day, it will be crazy to you that you were ever that small. I, on the other hand, am going to brag about your percentiles to everyone until your next appointment. Starting…now :)

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