Month: September 2015

I never got my three days. After having Riley on a Thursday evening, I was notified because both he and I were healthy, I would be discharged 11am Saturday. I was losing a whole day. This was NOT IN MY PLAN, and unfortunately the time I did have was spent with a revolving door of people from my side of family and friends who would never get to spend time with Riley.

I spent my time with Jill and Bob, bonding with them, and watching them bond with Riley, and as it warmed my heart to see how far our relationship had come, I felt as if it was breaking at the same time. The last day in the hospital I had Riley swaddled in a blanket and had just finished telling him how much I loved him, and how much he had changed me when the woman from the adoption agency we were going through came in to tell me it was time. Behind her was my mom and dad, and I went from peaceful, to horrifically panicked in one fail swoop. I was to transfer Riley to her, who then would bring Riley to Jill and Bob who were graciously waiting on the other side of the hospital, and I was just supposed to leave.

To be wheeled downstairs, out the door, into the car, and home. Alone.

All of a sudden, every fear, every doubt, every minute piece of pain came rushing into me. I couldn’t do it. What if he cries? What if he needs me? What if he wonders why I left him? What if he doesn’t remember me? I can’t do it. I can’t give him to you. He’s mine. What kind of a woman gives her baby to another woman? What kind of a MOTHER hands her baby off to be raised somewhere else? What kind of a horrible, horrible woman does this to her child? – I’ll tell you who. A woman of strength. A woman of bravery. A woman that cares more about the well being of her child than she does about her own pain. A woman that knew it was Gods will to have this baby placed with this particular family. A woman who knew it was the right thing to do. A woman who had to recognize and accept that this baby, this tiny, innocent, beautiful life- was never meant to be hers. From the second this baby was conceived, he was ALWAYS theirs. A woman who loved this baby so much, that she was willing to allow someone else to be “momma.”

My plan was to hand Riley to this woman, kiss him softly on the head, and watch him go down the hallway, until I couldn’t see him anymore. Instead, what happened was, I became hysterical. Shaking. Unable to loosen my grip on this child. My father had to lean in and say “do you need help, do you want me to give him to her darlin’?” And he did. Because unlike what I had planned, handing this baby over was like handing over my heart, and it was just too much to take. I don’t even remember getting In the wheelchair to be wheeled downstairs, I don’t remember getting into the car. What I do remember is screaming and crying the whole way home that my entire body hurt. That my heart was never going to heal. As soon as we arrived home, and still sore from birth, I limped my way up to my bedroom, sank into my bed, and wept. For days.

When I got tired of weeping upstairs, I would slump my way downstairs. I spent weeks awakening in the middle of the night screaming. My mom would come into my room to find me crying, clutching my pillow like a baby, dreaming that I couldn’t find him and confused as to why he wasn’t there. Despite attempts from friends and family, my pain was swallowing me whole.

I began to struggle at work- which was a daycare. Being around children was horrifically painful. I became so afraid of sleeping that I started to have terrible insomnia. At one point I had been up for five days straight, unable to get off the couch, eat, or even shower. The first few months were a time of darkness, pain, and self pity. But God wasn’t done with me yet. He allowed me my time to grieve, and when it became too much, he began to lift me up. He would remind me what a selfless act I had committed. He reminded me that I was obedient. He reminded me that I wasn’t done yet.

There is so much more to my story, and God was/is constantly working in my life. My life six years later is beyond what I ever imagined. God has blessed me beyond measure with the relationship He has helped to shape between Jill, Bob, and Riley; as well as my own husband and son. To be a birth mother is a label I wear with pride. It represents strength, it represents empathy, it represents a love that most will never understand. Adoption is no easy path. It takes courage and a heart open to possibility. Is adoption worth it? Every second. Is it hard? Every second. But what’s life without a little hardship? I am blessed to say that if I had the opportunity to go back and choose a different path, I would choose the same one. Each and every time.

As the nearing of my due date approached, I was busying myself with every detail I could possibly imagine. I had this scheduled down to the micro second. This would be smooth as smooth can be (because didn’t you know that’s EXACTLY how life works?). The more prepared I was, the easier this would be.

Step 1. Go into labor (deny drugs because you are woman and you are strong!)

Step 2. Go to hospital looking fly ( just because you’re birthing a child, that’s no excuse to look a fool.)

Step 3. Call Jill and Bob (duh) and all friends and family so they could come and support me in what was going to be the easiest labor of all time.

Step 4. Have baby smoothly, eat a large amount of McDonalds.

Step 5. Love on baby, have friends and family love on baby.

Step 6. Spend alone time with Jill and Bob before leaving hospital.

Step 7. Go home with family, knowing I just changed a families life.

Step 8. Continue life.

The only step that went according to plan was the ingesting of a very large amount of McDonalds. The day I gave birth, July 30th, 2009, I was scheduled to be induced as I was overdue. NOT according to plan, my water broke before hand and my mother awoke to me screaming that I not only had just wet myself, but I had a mucus of sorts leaking from my body. (LISTEN PEOPLE, this is birth, do you THINK it’s glamorous?!) This was NOT part of my plan, step 1 was already being foiled. On the way to the hospital at 6 a.m. I scrambled to even put pants on, let alone hair and makeup (sorry step 2) and only because of my mother did I remember to let Jill and Bob know the time was now!

The labor didn’t seem to progress as doctors had hoped so despite plans, I still had to be induced and an all natural birth went out the window. I demanded drugs of any sort and even offered money to nurses to make it stop. Hey, women are strong remember? We’re also incredibly resourceful and willing to do anything to get what we want! After the epidural the day went rather smooth and on par with what I would’ve hoped. Friends visited, my mom was with me, Jill and Bob were there and as excited as ever to become parents, and I, well I just wanted this life form out of my body, and to eat the cookies taunting me across the room that were sent from my grandmother. (Deep, I know.)

By that evening and 30 minutes of pushing, Riley James Gabriel entered the world. It was a whirlwind and again my memory is fuzzy, but I’ll never forget the feeling of that child being put into my arms. It was as if everything I had ever thought I knew about the world was wrong. THIS was what life was about, and THIS was a love I never could’ve imagined. My whole family waited to meet him..Jill and Bob got to hold and bond, and I.. I was blessed enough to have two friends come into the hospital room with a Big Mac and French fries. Just. For. Me.

All was right with the world.

And then the whirlwind stopped. Everyone went home for the night except for me. I would stay and suck up what was supposed to be a full three days with Riley. I would take every second and cherish them. To love him. To learn and remember every part of him, for in three days he would be someone else’s to learn…

Over the passing months we decided that the adoption would be an open one. As we lived in the same town, and knew a lot of the same people, we decided that our bond was unique, as was this adoption, and it should be treated as such. Our adoption would be a “learn as you go” of sorts. I would be sent letters and pictures, and we would continue our friendship even after the baby was born, through visits. Although I would not be “mom”, I would get to be involved in the baby’s life and the extent of that would be decided as we went.

As my relationship began to grow with Jill and Bob however, my relationship with this life inside me, did not. Up until the first time I felt a kick, I hardly felt as if I was even pregnant at all. I joked constantly and the first 6 months flew by, stressful, however I didn’t have to worry of much. See, since the baby was being placed for adoption, I didn’t have to fret over things “normal” parents do. I treated this pregnancy as a hotel stay. Something was here for a short while and soon, it would check out and I could go back to fitting in my stylish clothes, and life…would go back to normal.

Until I felt him move. After that the reality of what I had chosen came crashing into me like a tidal wave.

The reality that I wouldn’t be receiving any surprise baby shower. I wouldn’t get to paint my sons nursery, pick out tiny outfits for his homecoming, or count each and every finger and toe on his infant body. I, unlike most parents, would never see my child’s first steps, would never get to see him on his first day of school or kiss his delicate face when he had fallen. In fact…I wasn’t a mother at all. Around the time of these painful realizations I became completely and utterly depressed and often considering ending my life. For the constant pain I felt within my heart seemed almost too much to take. Then one night, I drove to a small church in the middle of nowhere and got out of my car, sat on the hood, and began singing while holding my ever moving belly. I looked up at the stars and sang as loudly as I could hoping that the louder I sang, the less hurt I would feel. This became my nightly ritual. Despite whatever I was doing, come dark, I would go to this church and sing. I would talk to my belly and decided to spend the time that I had with this child, bonding.

All too quickly this pregnancy became real and I wanted to spend as much time with this baby as I could.

Within weeks of my decision mutual friends of my ex boyfriend contacted me to let me know that they had heard of my pregnancy and wanted to be there to support me. They let me know of close friends of theirs who were unable to have biological children of their own and were looking to adopt, so if I had interest they could help to set me up with them.

Two things made me decide almost immediately that this was something I wanted to pursue.

1. The thought of going to an adoption agency to “shop” for parents for my child terrified me to my core.

2. A voice inside me just kept repeating to do it. If an opportunity to meet this couple would arise, do it. And do not question it.

At this time in my faith it was hard for me to decipher if this was indeed a push from God or the burrito I had eaten for dinner just messing with me. Either way, who can ignore such a pull, be it from Mexican take out or God?!

So I decided to meet this mysterious couple at a local restaurant the following week. Before meeting however I needed to try to explain this to my parents in a way that didn’t sound so ludicrous. “Hey mom and dad, so as you know I’ve decided to place my baby for adoption. A friend told me they know of a couple looking to adopt so I’m actually gonna go grab dinner with them soon and talk about how this whole shabang works, okay?” In not so many words this is in short how I blurted it out. Needless to say both my parents thought this decision to meet two random people and discuss the adoption of my child, at a restaurant none the less, seemed less than…normal. However, I was never one to bide my time.

December 18th, 2008 I waited to meet a couple to discuss the adoption of my child. Talk about awkward. The whole way to the restaurant I tried to come up with introductions in my head. “Hi, I’m Emily, don’t worry, I don’t do crack.” To much. “Hi, I’m Emily, you know, the pregnant one.” To forward. “Hi, I’m Emily.” PERFECT. The specifics of this night are fuzzy to me now 6 years later, but what I do remember has come to be one of the most memorable evenings in my entire life. When I met Jill and Bob, they were just as nervous, if not more so than I was, but I never would’ve been able to tell. I remember eating our meal and getting to know one another. We talked of movies, likes, dislikes and in between Bob even whistled our waitress over like a taxi…it was a match made in heaven. At the end of the evening we said we would be in touch, hugged, and went our separate ways.

As I got into my car that night I had two very clear distinct thoughts, yet again.

1. We never even talked about the pregnancy

2. I knew that night I had found the parents of this baby.

Without knowing their background, parenting technique, heck without even remembering their last name, I was overcome with a peace that flooded my being. THESE were this child’s parents, and that I needn’t look any further. And I never did. From that night on; Jill, Bob and I made a point to get together nearly every week of my pregnancy. We would eat dinner, we would play games, we would laugh, and as time went on, and we became closer, we began to talk more and more of my pregnancy. I let them know early on I had no intention of looking elsewhere and they showed me with each passing week that they were a gift from God, meant for this baby, and this baby, for them.