Munchkin,

Today you turn four.

I wish I had something profound to say. Something deep. Or meaningful. But the truth?

This is not an easy day for me. I’m awash in memories. All I did was blink and you went from a beautiful baby in my arms to this tall, lanky, amazing little girl with opinions and personality and talent and love for just about everything and everyone. And I’m feeling very angry with myself.

Who gives their baby away? Who honestly does that?

People keep telling me that this gets easier. That hasn’t been my experience. I just get more and more shocked with myself that I let you go. Why didn’t I understand the mother-child bond? Why didn’t I recognize the lies that the agency was feeding? Why why why?

And so, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be all melancholy and self-focused on your special day. I’m sure the postpartum hormones and the presence of a little baby who weighs just over what you did on this day four years ago (since he’s finally growing!) are catching me off guard.

I wish the world for you, Miss Munchkin. I’m just sorry I wasn’t the one to give it to you.

Happy Birthday.

Love,  Me.

Four is a post from The Chronicles of Munchkin Land. Want more Chronicles? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, please contact me or @ me on twitter.

Munchkin;

You have another brother.

You will forever be the rose among the thorns.

I love you no less than I did on the second I realized you existed. I love you no less than I did on the second you entered this world. I love you no less than I love the two brothers that live under my roof and call me Mama. I love you no less than I would if you lived under that same roof.

You will forever be my firstborn.

I will always be your first mom.

I will always love you.

Love,
Munchkin’sFirstMom

(Disclaimer: Written in the Hospital without Internet Connection on November 24, 2007.)

A Letter to the Munchkin is a post from The Chronicles of Munchkin Land. Want more Chronicles? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, please contact me or @ me on twitter.

Dear 2003 Me,

I know you think you know everything right now. Twenty-one is that magic age where all of the knowledge of the world enters your brain thus making the rest of the world magically stupid and therefore useless to you in any way, shape or form. However, let me be the first to tell you: you don’t know jack. Your world is about to be turned upside down. Sit down. Shut up. And listen.

I’m taking this to the point where things are already somewhat out of our control. I’m not taking us back to 1997 in order to avoid meeting Lincoln. I’m not taking us back to 1999 to avoid reconnecting with him via e-mail. I’m not even going back to the decisions that lead us to sleep with him on that fateful night. Nope. Newsflash: You’re knocked up and you’re going to be alone. Here’s what you need to do.

For the love of all things everywhere, don’t call a single adoption agency. I know, I know. You think that simply contacting them for information won’t do you any harm. You think that learning about all of your options will help you make a better decision. Let me tell you, having lived it, you’re wrong. The agency that you are thinking about contacting is so highly adept at manipulation that you will have no ability to get out from under their grasp. Stay away. Don’t do it. As for what to do?

Please talk to Mom and Dad. Yes, they’re being angry, grumpy, sometimes down-right-mean and not really nice. Tell them that you want Matthew’s old crib. Tell them to help you buy a car seat. Because, here’s the fact: within the week, you’re going to be hospitalized with a kidney disorder that will put you out of function for the duration of your pregnancy. The agency that you’re kicking around in your mind will seem like the only option because you, Mom and Dad are not talking about any options available to you. Without money coming in, you will feel hopeless. But listen: so will Mom and Dad. By the time they get over their anger, you will have already contacted the agency and all will be lost. All that is wrong right now is a communication problem: a) you think they hate your child (they don’t) and b) they think you don’t want their help (you do but see point a). If you don’t make the move to fix the communication problem, neither will they. You won’t hear until three years after the fact how your mother regrets not fixing the problem herself. Be the bigger person and fix it yourself. You won’t regret it.

More over, don’t listen to stupid people on the internet who tell you not to involve TheHusbandMan in your decision. He is as involved in this pregnancy as anyone and truly, more that you will ever understand, loves that child. When he says, “Are you sure you want to do this,” say no. Don’t worry about what his family will say or think: like everyone else, they will come around to accepting you for who you are and what you bring to the table.

All of that said, by doing everything I have instructed you to do in this letter, you will miss out on having a great friend. Look up some blonde chick in Philadelphia. She has a lot of your interests and is, basically, your light-haired twin. I think you guys would be great friends.

Oh, and by the way, even if he says he doesn’t have money to pay child support, he’s still legally required to do so. Take him to court. Do what’s right for your daughter. She depends on you.

Sincerely,
2007 You

//

To my readers who aren’t 2003 me, obviously I understand that I can’t go back and change my decisions. But sometimes, you just need to say/type things out loud. What would you tell your pre-placement self?

Dear Me 2003 is a post from The Chronicles of Munchkin Land. Want more Chronicles? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, please contact me or @ me on twitter.

Therapy today.

Apparently I have a lot of loss in my life. And, not only that, but most of it is unresolved. TherapistLady came to that conclusion after I recounted a couple of my most recent nightmares. (My friend who passed away last year (almost one year) opening her eyes in the casket to look at me… and then they closed it anyway. Other wacked out crap.) So, in that, I have to write a series of letters, of which, none will be delivered. I need to find closure in many things. I need to write letters. I don’t have to be nice but I have to be honest, recounting good and bad.

Did I mention I suck at the closure?

Other than that, it’s a good session when your TherapistLady says, “How much weight have you lost?” Not enough but I’m getting there!

Loss is a post from The Chronicles of Munchkin Land. Want more Chronicles? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, please contact me or @ me on twitter.

I’m in a letter writing mood.

Dear Munchkin,

Sometimes, mainly at night, the tears just fall. I won’t need eye makeup remover when I get ready for bed in a bit; I’ve cried it all off. It streaks my cheeks. Streaks of pain, of love, much like the adoption agency told me to call my stretch marks. Oh, what did they know.

My heart was forever streaked with your being, forever changed. Sometimes, the pain of missing you is so unbelievably overwhelming that my chest physically hurts. It’s as if an elephant has planted himself there and is waiting for someone to feed him peanuts before he gets up to move. It’s as if I need to see you, touch you, hear your laughter before I can breathe again. You are such an important part of my life, my heart.

It hurts me, to no end, that someday in the future, you will question my love for you. You will be angry, even if only slightly. That is your right and part of your own healing process. But, my precious, beautiful child, it kills me to know that you will hurt. You won’t fully understand that level of pain until you, yourself, are a parent. I didn’t understand what my Mom was saying when she said “I hurt when you hurt.” It’s true. Knowing that I’m the cause of that pain is a double whammy.

I will spend my whole life showing you, not just telling you, how important you are to me, how much I love you and how your best interest has always been my primary concern. It’s just on nights like these that I would like to walk back the hall of my own home, open your bedroom door and crawl under your covers only to snuggle all night long and sleep the best sleep in the world. Even if you’d kick my face like you did that one time.

I love you, my Munchkin. I just needed to send this out to you tonight.
Forever in my Heart,
Your Jenna

A Letter is a post from The Chronicles of Munchkin Land. Want more Chronicles? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, please contact me or @ me on twitter.