When will I stop thinking about my baby?

Sometimes I just can't stop thinking about my boy, his seventh birthday just passed, and I'm anxiously awaiting pictures from his parents.  I know they are busy with their lives, but still I check the mail many times a day waiting for some kind of news.  My son's picture is on my desktop, and his artwork is on my wall, so I wake up and go to sleep with reminders of my son all around me. 

I am not the only one who misses him, my kids and husband also mention how nice it would be if we could visit more often.  I don't know if it would be easier, or not, nothing about giving my son up for adoption has been easy, nothing.  It's hard when I think about his life, knowing that I couldn't give him the opportunities that he has now. 

To be honest I simply feel like a failure, for not having a way to take care of my son when he was born.  My son was born during one of the hardest times of my life.  When I had the clothes on my back, and not much more.  I had a seven year old son, that I had finally got back from his alcoholic/junkie father, his dad left him at a dope house as collateral and I swooped in and picked him up.  I had no income, or prospects, but I did have one months rent paid in a tiny studio apartment and a hundred dollars in food stamps.  I was alone, I didn't even have anyone to watch my seven year old son while I gave birth to the baby.  There is no way I could have cared for the new baby and my older boy, so I did what I thought was best, and what did end up to be the best for both of my kids.  I gave my son, to a wonderful family.  It helps that he has opportunities that I could never give him, or my older son.  It helps to know that he is loved, and even that he's spoiled.  It helps to see him every couple years.  But nothing will ever take away the awful feeling of guilt that I feel, I just couldn't keep him.  I had screwed up my life so badly, that I was lucky to be alive, I just couldn't be responsible for a baby.  It's still sad, but I love him, it's a different kind of love then I have for my older son.

Parents say they can't say they love one child more than another, I agree, but I do feel you can love kids differently, and my youngest is loved unconditionally, but my oldest is mine, and for better or worse, I've brought him up this far.  He'll never have the opportunities the baby has, but he has me.  Which is better, I don't know.  But I miss him, everyday, and it doesn't go away, but it doesn' hurt as deeply as it did in the beginning.

The Worst Day of My Life ...

About a month after giving birth, the agency lady, picked me up and we drove the longest ride of my life. Adoption laws change from county to county so, she was driving me to the other side of the state, where the laws that the agency abide by were in effect. She took me into a little room, in a courthouse, there was a old folding table with two chairs on one side and the magistrate sat on the other. There was a legal paper on the table and a pen. They asked me to sign this paper, then it would be over, but I could not do it. I sat and stared at that paper for about 15 minutes, in the little room, with just me, the magistrate, and the agency lady. In a way, my life passed before my eyes, I was trying to remember something that was harder to do than this, simply signing my name, I couldn’t bring myself to do it, this was the hardest thing I had ever done. This was my point of no return, once I signed that paper it was over, I was not his mother any more. Both ladies sat very patiently as tears streamed down my cheeks, there was no noise, just tears that dripped down and smeared the ink on the paper in front of me. My hand was shaking; I did not want to hold that stupid pen! Finally, I closed my eyes and prayed, I just prayed and prayed that I was doing the right thing and then I very slowly, very purposefully, neater than I ever had done before, signed my name.

In my case, the adoptive parents were under no “legal” obligation to contact me after signing the papers, we had agreed on a semi-open adoption agreement, but I had to trust them to follow through with their end of the deal. They agreed to update me when he was 3, 6, 9, 12 and 18 months old, and then every birthday after that. At first all communication went through the agency, they sent pictures and updates to the agency, which in turn sent them to me. It was a good policy because the adoptive parents fear that the birth parents will change their minds and track them down. If later on your life changes and you wish, the agency will hold on to all of the pictures and updates for you until you are ready to start receiving them again.

How many times in your life have you thought about what it would be like if you could have picked your parents? This was the time, I simply found the parents I would want to have.

My son’s parents are great, it did not take them long to start emailing me directly with pictures and updates. Life is busy with a baby in the house and I did not expect them to remember me, but they did. When our son was two, they all came to my state for a visit, and we (his father, who had become my husband and I) saw them, at the agency, for a few hours. It was an emotional roller-coaster for me, I was happy to see my son, but it brought up all those horrible feelings of failure I had about him, I cried for a week before and a week after, but it was worth it just to see him in person. Every two years since then we get together for dinner and hangout for a couple hours. The last time we saw him he was just turning seven, my husband, our kids and I all got together and met our son and his parents for dinner, then we went to the park and played for a couple hours.

My husband and I are separated now, but we still have a decent relationship and we set aside all differences when it comes to our son. Pictures are great, but visiting with our son in person allows us to see his real smiles, hear his voice, and decide who he looks like more. He has a great personality, is polite, loving, and funny. I feel bad sometimes staring at him the way I do, I cannot help myself, looking into his little eyes and assuring myself that he is a happy kid. I know in my heart that I made the right decision for me and the baby at the time, It is and always will be hard to admit I could not take care of my son, but even now, I can not imagine life with a seven-year-old in the house, it just wasn’t the right time.

I cry on Mothers day for him, I cry on his birthday, I cry because I miss him, but I do not cry every day anymore. Seeing my boy makes it easier to deal with the fact, that I could not give him a decent life back then or even now. His parents truly love him as their own, he is gorgeous and I am not just saying that because he is mine. He is half-Black and half-Italian and perfect in every way. His parents are very light complected, Scandinavian people with red hair, and our son definitely does not look like them, I think it makes it easier for them to bring us up into a conversation and explain about us; they are very open with him about his birth and adoption. As he gets older, his mother is very persistent about us being at his graduation, and wedding and other big events in his life. I look at him and know his life is good, he has opportunities that he wouldn't have had if we had raised him ourselves. Do I wish it could have been different? Absolutely! But If I could do it over, I would do it all the same, all of us have been truly blessed by this experience and I would not change a thing.

The Truth About the Adoption Process - from the birth mothers point of view

The Decision
Making the decision to put your child up for adoption is probably the hardest thing you will ever do. Not only are you pregnant, and emotional from raging hormones, but for one reason or another raising a child at this juncture in life is not what’s best for your baby. In my opinion, it is very selfish to keep a baby when you cannot offer him a decent life. We will not get into the why of adoption today, but I will share with you my experience and hope that it answers some of your questions.

I Was Pregnant
I was not the average birth mother. I was 35 years old, going through the roughest patch in my life and my birth control method failed. My son’s father is a great person, I had been with him on and off for a year. He already paid child support for three boys, and we did not know each other well enough to say if we would stay together. Whatever I decided he would support my decision, he would have stayed with me and helped with the baby if I wanted him to, but his life was in no better shape than mine was at the time.

I could get an abortion, I did think about it and although I am very pro-choice, it was not the right choice for me. Someone mentioned adoption. Could I do that? Maybe? I never knew anyone who had given up a child for adoption or that was an adopted child; I only knew what I saw on television. At the time, I was homeless, just regaining custody of my seven-year-old son and I was pregnant. I bit my lip to keep from crying, opened the yellow pages, and made the phone call.

Keep in mind I was 35 years old, making mine a high-risk pregnancy from the beginning. My son was bi-racial and due in two months. The adoption agency agreed to pay for my health care, and support me until I recovered from the birth (one month). A very kind woman from the agency came to meet with me and discuss the different types of adoption available; there are closed adoptions, open adoptions, semi-open adoptions and different varieties of all three. I did not want to just give him away, and never see him again, wondering if he was OK, or even if he was alive or dead, but I did not want to see him so often that it defeated the purpose of the adoption, which was getting myself and my seven-year-old back on track, and giving the baby a good life.

My self-esteem was so low at the time; I felt like a complete failure and did not understand then what a gift I was giving my son and the family adopting him. I chose the semi-open adoption. Most parents were looking for a closed adoption (no contact with the child until he is an adult), they were also looking for white, healthy children. My pregnancy was in the high-risk category and my son was bi-racial. It seemed like the odds were stacked against me and my baby. I was worried but within a couple days, the lady from the agency brought me the portfolios of three couples who were interested in my baby. The adopting parents went through an extensive background check; I knew their income, their ages, diseases that ran in their families, where they grew up, everything anyone could possible want to know, except if they were going to love my son.

When I went into labor, I called the agency and let them know the baby was on his way. His parents lived a couple states away, so they got in their car and started driving, after about 20 hours of labor; I finally pushed my boy out into the world. Nurses and doctors surrounded me, they were there for the baby, but there was no one for me, no one in the waiting room anxiously waiting to see if I was OK, no one holding my hand, or telling me to breathe, and no one for me to share my miracle with. Some of the staff knew of my arrangements but some did not, so they looked at me very strangely when I did not want to hold my son, I saw a nurse whisper something in the doctor’s ear, and his eyes just rolled like nobody’s business. I was mad! Didn’t they know this was the hardest thing I had ever done. Not delivering the baby, but trying not to fall in love with this precious child. His parents showed up with flowers about an hour later and so did the lady from the agency, and I already could feel that he was not mine.