Open Adoption Birthmotherhood is interesting, especially when visits are involved. I find myself often feeling motherly towards Munchkin, even prior to the birth of BigBrother which brought out a whole new realm of Mom-type-emotion.

Upon our first visit, which was when Munchkin was roughly four months old, an overwhelmed Me walked into J and D’s home, taking in the home of where my Baby Girl was being raised. I found her sleeping, peacefully, though we were making quite a ruckus, on her playmat in the middle of the living room floor. I knelt before her, awestruck by both her beauty and how much she had grown in such a relatively short amount of time. She was no longer the wrinkly, pucker-faced little newborn. She was now an adorably dressed, full-bodied, curly-haired baby. This was my first experience in thinking, “They grow so fast.”

True, I had been sent many pictures between her birth and that first visit. But pictures don’t always feel real. Part of me has always felt as though I was staring at some other woman’s child, not my own. To see her, so beautiful, in front of my face, in live, three dimensional being, I was overwhelmed with a sense of love. And pride.

And then it happened.

One of the reasons I placed was an all-consuming fear that I wouldn’t know how to be a Mother. No one told me that you learn all of the “Motherly-type-things” once you become a Mom; it happens, instinctively. Once BigBrother was born, I realized that you just know how to wake up in the middle of the night, change a diaper with your eyes half shut and half-sleep your way through a feeding. I thought that, since I wasn’t feeling overly happy during my pregnancy, that I would never learn to love my child. No one explained that an unplanned pregnancy can bring ambiguous feelings and stress but that, yes, you will be able to love your child more than anything you’ve ever known.

So, as I sat staring at this beautiful child, the dog bounded into the room, excited to see company. While J and D tried to calm the dog down, she jumped over Munchkin, knicking her face with one of her dog-fingernails. Immediately, before Munchkin could even open her eyes and begin crying (which she did), I scooped her up and cuddled her close to my chest.

The feeling was indescribable. And so very confusing.

Here I was, holding my child to calm her down and soothe her pain and it felt so very right, so very natural. It was then that I realized, oh, it is an instinctual feeling. You do just “get it.” It was at that moment that I began to feel a sadness creep over my soul. My eyes were just then beginning to open to the many lies that I had told myself or let myself believe about my ability to parent. I would have been a fine Mom, just strapped for cash. I could have learned the same things that every other parent learns by the seat of their pants. (Because, how can you learn to do it until you do it? Right? Right.) And the love, so natural, was always there, I was just scared to open my heart to any of it.

And so, now on visits, I have to walk that fine line between being a birthmother and being a Mother. Munchkin is not my child to say, “No, we don’t hit people.” It feels weird to sit idly by while someone who came forth from my body is parented by people she refers to as Mommy and Daddy. I often sit, quietly Mothering in my head, and say, “No, no, Munchkin. It’s okay. Come to Mommy, I’ll make it all better.” Yet, to tell her to go to her Mommy, she would walk in the opposite direction of me and it is simply something I have to live with; it’s just the way it is.

There are nights when I walk in the door after a long day of work when I would give anything for her to run up to me and wrap her entire body around my legs, making it impossible to walk in the door. But she’s not here. She’s seven hundred some miles away, wrapping herself around her parents’ legs when they walk in the door. I’d give anything to hear that giggle, that contagious little laugh of hers, as she held up her arms, letting me know she wanted to be picked up and hugged. But I don’t give the daily hugs.

There have been times when I have returned home from work to see her laying on my couch. The week before my wedding, while both she and her Mom were out to help me with last minute preparations, I came home each evening to find her playing or laying or sleeping. I can still see the lighting of those nights, still feel the warmth of the air when I opened the door. I can feel the warmth of my heart.

And so, I now come home again. It’s been awhile since I’ve opened myself and my life to write about adoption. For awhile, I didn’t want to deal with any of the (many) issues I have with the process. I thought that by having issue with certain aspects of the process I was somehow dishonoring my daughter. But I am not. I love her. I enjoy and respect our own adoption. I love her parents in our own unique way. But I refuse to sit idly by and not tell my story, truthfully, with all of the nitty-gritty details that make others uncomfortable. It needs to be told.

And so, I’ve come home. I’ve come home to writing again. I hope that by allowing myself to deal with these issues I will once again be able to write the way I once did; frequently and with skill. I’ve come home to my true emotion. I know I can’t change anything in our own adoption but I can make the best of our situation. I don’t have to say, “Adoption is great! Ee! Woo!” I can honestly say, “Adoption is hard and it sucks. A lot. Here’s what we did. Come to your own conclusions but please, if you have questions, ask.” I’ve come home to the fact that the adoption has changed not only my life for all eternity, but the lives of my parents who were denied grandparenthood for two extra years, my Husband, who is so confused about his own feelings he doesn’t know what to do with them, and our Son, who will eventually question if I am going to give him away as well. It’s a big thing, this adoption life.

And I’ve finally come home to deal with it. Entirely. Welcome me.