– __ — __ —

September 2003

I clutched his hand as we made our way across the parking lot. My stomach flipped-and-flopped; a combination of nerves and the Munchkin getting her evening exercise. The white maternity top that I was wearing was more for show than comfort; I still wasn’t very big due to my health issues, but I wanted them to see a pregnant woman when they opened the door.

We stepped inside the hotel and walked down the hallway. Hotels have a muffled silence to them, like you’re swimming past stock art above the ocean floor of carpeting. We stood in front of the doorway, everything still muffled.

I knew what they looked like; I had looked at their photos in their profile. Smiling on their wedding day. Happy in Disney World. Together in a hug. I knew their dog was fluffy and white, but he wasn’t waiting for me inside that hotel room. What was waiting for me was bigger and scarier than any dog: the parents who would eventually adopt my baby. I didn’t know that yet; I didn’t have a crystal ball. But we had matched over the phone with the cautious ears of our facilitator listening in, directing our conversation, making plans.

They had seen my photo as well. They had my information, knew that my eyes were brown. They had access to my health records, knew that my kidney was not working as it should… especially during pregnancy. They seemed nice on the phone.

But what if they took one look at me, in my white maternity shirt and khaki pants, and thought I looked too plain. Or saw my crooked tooth and judged me — and my parents — and assumed we didn’t care about such things. What if they just plain old didn’t like me?

I looked to him and he nodded. I must have knocked, but I have no recollection of the sound. While the hallway of a hotel may be muffled, the sound of their footsteps coming to the door caused shockwaves to beat through my heart, my soul. This was it. They were going to open the door and this was it. There would be no turning back; even without my crystal ball, I knew that. My heart caught in my throat.

The door opened. There may have been a hug. I have no idea. In the dim light of a hotel room, my life began to change.

– __ — __ —

Read more first meetings at this Open Adoption Roundtable.

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?

I posted the following question(s) in an online community for first(birth)mothers in 2003.

I wrote a letter to the guy that I told we could possibly become a couple when he came home from Iraq to inform him of my pregnancy. I never expected to hear from him again. So when he called the day that he got the letter and said we would discuss it when he got home on Mother's Day… I was shocked. A) He wasn't supposed to be home until January. B) He called!

After his return, he stated that his feelings had not changed for me. We began dating and have been ever since. Originally, at the start of our relationship, I was planning on keeping Munchkin. [...] Now I'm starting to see and hear and feel the effects that my decision [to place] has had on him. He sometimes gets distant when I speak of the adoption and or the baby. However, he loves this child. He's constantly talking to my tummy and doing all those daddy like things even though this baby is not his at all.

I'm worried that he will keep all of these feelings inside and that post-adoption he will resent me for my decision even though he is not the father. I don't know if any of you have been in a similar situation, but advice here is definitely welcome. I don't want to lose him on the other side of this thing as it is hard enough. Thanks for your help.

And someone that I later came to trust as a friend, replied with this gem:

How do you feel? Do you want to be a mom? Are you ready to be a mom? Are you ready to go through an adoption? Your boyfriend's feelings are important, but they shouldn't be what makes or breaks your decision (one way or another.)

You two aren't married and if you decide you want to raise your baby then you need to be able to do it on your own, without your boyfriend's help (financially, emotionally and otherwise.) If he chooses to help, then that's great, but don't put yourself in a position where you can't do it alone.

Your baby is what matter's most. Do what is right for your CHILD – the decision has to be yours, not your boyfriend's.

I posted about finding this exchange a few months ago; it saddened me, deeply, to find that this idea had not been my own but, instead, had been planted in my head by people that I thought knew better. (I was so naive, so trusting. Is it any wonder that I don't trust even nuns now?) I had wanted to include J in the decision, the process. And, for the most part, he was. He attended the first meeting with J and D with me. He was, simply put, always there. I didn't want to make the decision without him, but, as all four of the other responses to that question, including the one from the woman who was to become my friend, told me that I needed to be a "strong woman" and "stick to the plan" and "do this on my own."

Stick to the plan?

Sigh.

I cannot explain well enough how sad this truly makes me. One of the issues that I'm dealing with in therapy is the overwhelming guilt I feel that I caused J undue emotional pain. He loved and continues to love Munchkin. He gladly would have parented her. I'll never forget the day that I told him that I was going to place her for adoption; it's stuck, forever, in my mind. I was sitting on the porch at my parent's house on a warm summer day. We were talking on the phone. He was at work (ambulance company). He had no response. I wondered why. I didn't understand how attached he had become to her until, weeks later, he had his head resting on my belly and she kicked him in the face. He looked at me with the most joyous face ever.

This is one guilt I'm just having a hard time letting go of… I'd do anything to protect my Husband from hurt. I recently became upset with a set of friends who unintentionally hurt my Husband. I don't want for him to be sad, hurt or feel neglected. I'd do anything for this Man. And… I hurt him on a level that no other person in this world was able or will be able to do.

And it wasn't even my own idea. Oh, J, I'm sorry.

I posted the following question(s) in an online community for first(birth)mothers in 2003.

I wrote a letter to the guy that I told we could possibly become a couple when he came home from Iraq to inform him of my pregnancy. I never expected to hear from him again. So when he called the day that he got the letter and said we would discuss it when he got home on Mother's Day… I was shocked. A) He wasn't supposed to be home until January. B) He called!

After his return, he stated that his feelings had not changed for me. We began dating and have been ever since. Originally, at the start of our relationship, I was planning on keeping Munchkin. [...] Now I'm starting to see and hear and feel the effects that my decision [to place] has had on him. He sometimes gets distant when I speak of the adoption and or the baby. However, he loves this child. He's constantly talking to my tummy and doing all those daddy like things even though this baby is not his at all.

I'm worried that he will keep all of these feelings inside and that post-adoption he will resent me for my decision even though he is not the father. I don't know if any of you have been in a similar situation, but advice here is definitely welcome. I don't want to lose him on the other side of this thing as it is hard enough. Thanks for your help.

And someone that I later came to trust as a friend, replied with this gem:

How do you feel? Do you want to be a mom? Are you ready to be a mom? Are you ready to go through an adoption? Your boyfriend's feelings are important, but they shouldn't be what makes or breaks your decision (one way or another.)

You two aren't married and if you decide you want to raise your baby then you need to be able to do it on your own, without your boyfriend's help (financially, emotionally and otherwise.) If he chooses to help, then that's great, but don't put yourself in a position where you can't do it alone.

Your baby is what matter's most. Do what is right for your CHILD – the decision has to be yours, not your boyfriend's.

I posted about finding this exchange a few months ago; it saddened me, deeply, to find that this idea had not been my own but, instead, had been planted in my head by people that I thought knew better. (I was so naive, so trusting. Is it any wonder that I don't trust even nuns now?) I had wanted to include TheHusbandMan in the decision, the process. And, for the most part, he was. He attended the first meeting with J and D with me. He was, simply put, always there. I didn't want to make the decision without him, but, as all four of the other responses to that question, including the one from the woman who was to become my friend, told me that I needed to be a "strong woman" and "stick to the plan" and "do this on my own."

Stick to the plan?

Sigh.

I cannot explain well enough how sad this truly makes me. One of the issues that I'm dealing with in therapy is the overwhelming guilt I feel that I caused TheHusbandMan undue emotional pain. He loved and continues to love Munchkin. He gladly would have parented her. I'll never forget the day that I told him that I was going to place her for adoption; it's stuck, forever, in my mind. I was sitting on the porch at my parent's house on a warm summer day. We were talking on the phone. He was at work (ambulance company). He had no response. I wondered why. I didn't understand how attached he had become to her until, weeks later, he had his head resting on my belly and she kicked him in the face. He looked at me with the most joyous face ever.

This is one guilt I'm just having a hard time letting go of… I'd do anything to protect my Husband from hurt. I recently became upset with a set of friends who unintentionally hurt my Husband. I don't want for him to be sad, hurt or feel neglected. I'd do anything for this Man. And… I hurt him on a level that no other person in this world was able or will be able to do.

And it wasn't even my own idea. Oh, TheHusbandMan, I'm sorry.

//

She bit her lip. She stared
straight up at the ceiling which
she couldn’t see due to the
pitch black darkness of the
room. She closed her eyes
tighter, tighter, tighter still,
until stars of pink and white
sparkled and shone on the black
canvas. No avail. A tear managed
to seep its way out of the corner
of her left eye, making a lonesome
trail down her cheek. Giving up
the battle, she opened her eyes
to see his head resting on her
ever growing belly; his finger
gently tapping, hoping for response.
She felt a movement from inside
as the baby kicked his face with
a might as fierce as ever. She was
unsure if the giggling that followed
came from his mouth or if she merely
imagined her unborn child laughing
at the game the two had formed.

She felt hideous. She felt she needed
locked away in the deepest, darkest
dungeon for a series of seventeen
lifetime sentences. Anyone with eyes
could see the love he had for
this child; why else would he so
enjoy being kicked square on in the
face? A bond had been formed. And
she was about to break it. So cruel
she felt. She tried to distance herself.
Baseball. Stock market. Pistachios.
She thought of everything. And nothing.
But she knew, deep inside, that moment
would be forever engraved in her mind.

©2003 jenna leigh (maiden name)

–

I will forever feel the guilt over the anguish that I caused J. He went along with whatever I decided but he grew to love the Munchkin long before she was born. He supported my parenting plan, ready to step up and be a father figure in her life. He supported my adoption plan, ready to hold me as I wept for the loss of my firstborn. He brought me Frosties when I craved them. He took me to appointments and once to the hospital with preterm labor issues.

I will forever remember his written words after she was born and he missed seeing her in the hospital. (It was an Army drill weekend. He didn’t arrive until after they had taken her to the nursery for the night. They also didn’t tell me that I could have her in my room.) I remember his face that evening; sad, unsure of what to say or do but glad that everyone was physically fine. He knew I had been in pain for months. His written words showed his grief; I knew they had bonded but I didn’t know to what extreme until I read those words after coming home from the hospital.

I felt guilty. Sad. Angry with myself.

Some ask why I didn’t parent when J was willing to be there for us both. It’s simple really. I was trying to make my parenting decisions separate from J because I didn’t know, for certain, whether or not he would be there. Let me rephrase: I didn’t think J was the up-and-leaving type. However, even before Munchkin’s biological father decided he wanted nothing to do with us, my track record regarding men and their staying power was not very good. In fact, it sucked. So, especially coming off of the blow from being told to “deal with it on my own,” I was trying to suck it up, be a grown up and take care of my own “problems” without relying on others.

Hindsight is 20/20. Things could have been vastly different. One night, over dinner (at a resaurant that literally killed three people in Western PA), he said, “I wish I could adopt her for you.” I cried into my enchiladas.

My therapist will be working with me on the guilt I feel for causing him pain. The agencies don’t tell you about the emotional destruction you cause those close to you. I wish I had known. I’m sorry, My Love. I’m just glad you love Munchkin even though she isn’t with us. Thank you for loving us both.

I remember all of this. I remember this intricate little details. Why? Well, it was the first night and first person-to-person, in-my-face conversation I had with J and D. Honestly, I do not remember what was said in the same specific manner. No clue. I’m a visual person and, as you can see, a lot of those stated memories are visual ones: what I was wearing, what I ate, where we sat. Though, I do remember snip-its. I remember that I said I liked Dave Matthews Band. D said she didn’t really know a lot about the band. I remember thinking that was sad; Munchkin be-bopped so frequently to DMB in my womb and she wouldn’t experience it in the “real” world.

One thing that will forever embed itself in my memory is the well-meaning waitress playing twenty-questions after our meal. I remember her asking me when I was due and other questions about the baby. My hair was on end. I choked on my words, my emotions. She had no way of knowing that the baby would not come home from the hospital with me and that two of the people at the table, instead, would take her home. I remember feeling the pain, not for the first time, as I answered the questions as though I would be her parent but, knowing full well, that I would not own that responsibility or title. It was not the last time I would have a similar conversation, not able to admit that I was not parenting my own child. I felt such shame, even before placement.

I remember saying goodbye and climbing into the Mustang. J hugged me and pulled me as close as possible without jamming my pregnant belly into the center console as I cried. I cried real tears. I cried hard. I cried for the loss I hadn’t even yet experienced. I cried because I wanted people to ask me about the child growing within my womb without it making me feel guilty; guilty for knowing that I would be “giving her away.” I cried because even though things felt “perfect,” my heart was still breaking into a thousand pieces on a daily basis. I cried because I secretly wanted J and D to be horrid, awful people which would give me the ability to say, “No, I think I’ll parent.” They were everything I wanted for Munchkin, everything I wished in my heart of hearts that I could be at that point in time. The fact that I wasn’t what I needed to be hurt me in so many ways, for myself and the loss I would experience and for my child and the loss she would experience.

–

My previous post jarred these memories. I’m attempting to write more coherent pieces on my old journal entries. I will eventually come back to this post and edit it further. Look for more writing about old memories to come. It’s very cathartic to dump all of this here. Thank you for letting me write.

Today is quite emotional. Tonight I will have dinner with the adoptive parents: J and D. My Mom and Dad will be there as will Jua as forms of support. Of course, I will keep my chin up. I will act as though this is the most normal thing that anyone has ever done. I mean, everyone hands their brand new screaming baby over to people they don’t really know, right? I think that I will have J drive me and him separately so that I can cry afterwards. I will cry.

It’s funny. Back in the day when we were friends, Beth and I used to joke that someone should follow us around with a video camera because we lead such comedic lives. It would have made a hilarious reality sitcom. Now I feel as though I’m part of some badly written teen/young adult drama. It’s even worse than Felicity. Right now and I fear for quite some time part of the soundtrack will include the song “Baby” which is just about to come out on Dave Matthews’ solo debut. He wrote it for his twins as a lullaby. It’s striking far too close to home with that knowledge and the words.

I will hear the song over dinner tonight. “Baby, it’s all right. So stop your crying now.” We will be making small talk, discussing things about the child. “Nothing is here to stay.” The future and what it does or doesn’t hold. “Everything has to begin and end.” Oh, yes. I fear that as soon as I step into the Mustang after dinner that I shall let forth a river of tears that I haven’t yet. True, I’ve cried. Oh, I’ve cried left and right. However, tonight’s dinner will make everything all the more real. I will be handing my precious, precious Munchkin over to these people in less than three months. Sweet baby.

I will never understand why doing something that I know is so right hurts so, so bad. I am literally giving away a piece of my heart, myself. This child has half of my genes! It really is a physical giving away of myself. And that feels so strange. My motherly instinct wants to hold onto this child and say, “No! This child is mine! You can’t have!” What good would that do anyone? What good do I ever do anyone?

I’m sorry, dear Munchkin. I know that you didn’t ask for this.

And I don’t think that I will ever be able to listen to this song after December. It’s too close to home. Too close.

Enough. I have to pull myself together. I need to go look like a normal person for the day with my hair done and normal (maternity! Ha!) clothes on and a smile. A smile? How the hell does one smile during a situation like this?

How does one continue breathing?

So much to say. But later. Just take that in for now.

From April 2003:

i want to keep this child. i do. in my heart of hearts, i want to keep this little thing that has turned my world upside down. however, it is unrealistic to keep the child in this environment; my lease for next year is a single room in a rooming house with other rutgers college students. there’s barely enough room for my stuff let alone room for stuff for a bambino/a. so, now i’m faced with a place to live.

Ah, crisis mode. I don’t wish to return to that place. The overwhelming fear that grabbed my entire being as I realized, “I can’t live in the place I just signed a year lease.” I barely had the money to pay my rent let alone break a lease. Money and financial issues have always been somewhat overwhelming to me so, it’s not surprising that I was in a total state of panic.

From the same entry:

oh, i am so lost. i need somewhere to go. i need some place safe. i need options. i feel trapped. i am so very scared. i feel so young. god damn it. if i don’t figure out something soon, lincoln will force me into this abortion and i will hate myself for the rest of my life. if only i had money! if only i could just disappear under a new name and everything!

i feel empty.

Reading these words breaks my heart to no end. I weep for the person I was; scared, without any support. I weep for the fact that, with hindsight being 20/20, I know I could have overcome financial instability. I weep for the fact that, even then, I desperately wanted to parent my child.

Reading some of these entries is painful. Yet, at the same time, I am glad that they are there so that not only I can look back but so Munchkin may someday see that, even though things got kind of confused, I always wanted her. She was never an unwanted child; quite the contrary.

I will be revisiting some of those entires and discussing them in detail here in this blog over the next few posts. Look for posts on the birthfather, my family and motherhood in general.