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.
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