On the day my daughter was born I sat in the hospital lobby, waiting for news that she had entered the world.
During her pregnancy her birthmother and I had talked about how this day would go and I respected the fact that she did not want me, or anyone else, in the room with her during labor.
I had always believed that decision was solely hers to make, and I never questioned her when she outlined for me how she wanted to handle the day.
After our daughter was born, she said she wanted a few moments to look at her, but did not want to hold her, and then she wanted our little girl to be brought quickly to me.
So I waited, clueless about what was happening in the delivery room, until a nurse came out and said, “She’s changed her mind. She’s asking if you would come in to see your daughter being born.” Continue reading →
I’m not sure where the phrase came from, but in looking at our children, those we love, it stands to reason.
When we hold them for the first time, we move with such caution, speaking in hushed tones, recognizing something within us that had always slumbered, sightly alive, just waiting to be born.
I didn’t meet the baby I gave up for adoption as a teen until she was in college herself.
I was in college when I got pregnant.
With my Mom dying of cancer and the sibling I was adopted with in the Navy, I was easy prey for someone who could speak all the words of love and commitment without knowing their meaning. Continue reading →
The stage was set. We had recently purchased a new home at the top of a hill, tucked away in a cozy cul de sac.
After a contact with an expectant mother who was considering adoption fell through (actually, it felt like it evaporated) we licked our wounds, and put ourselves out there again.
Seemingly overnight, we were contacted again. Could she be the one?
Facetime turned into long emails. Long emails turned into long dinners (we even closed down a few restaurants), and before we knew it we were accompanying her to doctor’s appointments, listening to the baby’s heartbeat, and posting ultrasound pictures on our refrigerator.
Winter came, and with that, we were choosing his name, starting our baby registries, and had even picked out the baby announcement card.
I was adopted 44 years ago. I don’t know if open adoption even existed then, but my adopted parents—my real parents, the only parents I’ve ever known—were very open about my adoption.
I knew from a young age. They made sure I understood and spoke freely about my adoption, that they were unable to have a child of their own and my biological mother gave them the most incredible gift—me.
I had a special birthday for the day that they brought me home, grew up in a nurturing home where I was allowed to explore the world around me, and knew nothing but love.
In my mind, being adopted has been nothing but a positive experience. While I do not know my birth parents, I have always held them with only love in my heart. Continue reading →