b- Mother By: Maureen O'Brien

I found this book by chance at my local library while I was waiting for the books for my book clubs to arrive back (I had three on hold at one time!) and thought I'd read it.  It was written by a local author and I figured it would be a quick read.  Considering I'm a birthmom myself, I thought I would be able to relate to the story and hoped I wouldn't cry too much while reading it.  The main character, Hillary, got pregnant at 16 after her mother pretty much abandoned all parenting skills towards her when her eldest child died as a Freshmen in college.  She had hoped to keep her baby, but when she finally told her parents she was pregnant, they shipped her off to a Catholic agency for pregnant girls where she lived in a dorm with other pregnant teens until she gave birth.

For a first novel, I believe the author did a pretty good job of conveying the character's emotions in the novel.  I cried when Hillary left the hospital and again when she was able to establish contact with her son after he turned 18.  She pined for him for all 18 of those years and never quite forgave her mother for shipping her off.  While she wanted to keep her son, she still went through with the adoption even though she didn't have to.  She kept in touch with his adoptive parents over the years on his birthday (much like I do with my son).  I cried the most at the end when she got a letter from her son and then when they met.  Just to imagine what it'll be like one day if my son contacts me brought up a lot of feelings I tend to hide away.  I'm not sure that someone who hasn't experienced adoption firsthand whether as a birthparent, adoptive parent, or adoptee would feel as much emotion as I did, but I think it is a pretty good portrayal of what a semi-open adoption might be like for a girl and her family.

It was a quick read for me and I'm glad I stumbled across it.

Adoption Diaires Part 2- Birthmother "Ever After"

I got a package today from my son and his parents (through the adoption agency), so I thought what a fitting day it would be to type up my last installment in my Adoption Diaries series on being a birthmom.  My son, N, is now 12 1/2 (I'm sure he'd add the half in- I always used to b/c you never know when that half could make a difference!).  It's hard to believe that in June of this year I'll have a teenager with my genes running around.  If that doesn't add to my three existing grey hairs, I don't know what will.  Anyhoo...

N is now old enough to write me letters.  He calls me Ms. Heather and knows that I am his birthmom.  He knows I'm married (and not to his birthfather) and he knows that he now has a half sister.  His parents- yes, I call them his parents afterall they raised him and earned the title a hundred times over- are wondeful and so is his extended family.  N has his own dog (he's an animal lover like me), has my crooked teeth, his Dad's bad eyes, plays just about every sport, and is on the honor roll at school.  He is the spitting image of his birthfather.  I saw a picture of him today and it brought me back.  Back to the days that his father and I were happy and in love.  It was ages ago and I'm in a much better place (with a better man for me) now, but gosh he looks like his Dad.

Twice a year I have contact with N and his family through the adoption agency.  We send packages to the agency and they deliver to N so that our locations remain anonymous to each other.  The type of adoption that I have is a semi-open one in that we "talk" through the agency and exchange pictures, letters, gifts, etc. but we have never met and I have no visitation.  I chose this type of adoption as I thought it would be easier on my son and offer him a more stable upbringing with his adoptive family.  I hope to meet him again one day, but it will be on his terms this time.  In NC, where I gave birth, adoption files are sealed, so he wouldn't be able to find me unless he contacted me through the agency or found me with a private investigator (think The Locator).  I'm not even sure if the agency could legally help him at this point, but I'm pretty sure they could once he turns 18 since we all keep in touch.

I'm at peace with the adoption, but I'm not going to lie...it took a long time and a lot of tears before I got to this point.  I used to (and still do somedays) have this ache in my heart and I miss him and imagine what our lives might be like together.  Or I imagine what he is doing at that particular moment.  Maybe he's playing with his dog, rough housing with his friends, or attending a slumber party.  I also wonder where I'd be now if I did the single mom thing...I seriously doubt that I'd be where I am today.  Would I be in Connecticut?  Married to A.R.- my soulmate? Would I have finished college and eventually gone on to get my MBA?  Would I have the career I have today?  Who knows what the answers to those questions would be and after a long time, I stopped dwelling on them.  I made the best decision for my son at the time.  Period.  And that is what matters.  He is a happy, well-adjusted, preteen, and he made his adoptive family complete.  Some people would say that I made the ultimate sacrifice in carrying this child to term and then giving him to a family who so desperately wanted a child of their own.  Perhaps, I did, but the way I see it is that this was how it was always supposed to be.  N is with his family and I was chosen to give him life and this wonderful family to love him. 

I would say that I didn't completely heal and move on after the adoption for several years until I was in my early twenties.  It took a long time before I could see a boy around my son's age and not be taken back to that day in the hospital when I had to say goodbye.  In the first year, I would even tear up walking through baby aisles in the stores and so I began to avoid them at all costs.  I did go to some counseling sessions after N was born and they did help me, but it was also very hard on my parents.  My mother, in particular, had a hard time accepting that her first grandchild was no longer "hers".  She understood and completely supported my decision, but adoption doesn't just effect the birthparents, it effects the birthgrandparents and siblings, too.  Fortunately, my younger brother and sister were so young (Isaac doesn't even remember me being pregnant) that it wasn't hard on them and they didn't really understand all that happened.  My dad has always been closed off emotionally, so he rarely talks about it and my mom and I had a rocky relationship that first year after N's birth.  She was going through so many emotions of her own and seeing me suffer as her daughter was also tough.  My maternal grandmother knows of my pregnancy, but does not acknowledge it at all.  It's one of those topics that we just don't discuss and she ignores the conversation if it is brought up.  My paternal grandmother was proud of my maturity in such a difficult situation.

Now, after having another child I'm even more convinced that I made the right choice.  A baby needs two loving parents.  Raising a child with someone else is exhausting (yet rewarding in so many ways) and I cannot imagine having had to do it alone.  N's adoptive parents are thankful for the gift that I gave them...well, I am thankful for the gift they have given my son and I.  They've given my son a loving home and me complete peace of mind.  N is where he's supposed to be right now and perhaps one day soon, we will meet again.  A birthmother and her son.  Do I imagine what this day might be like?  Absolutely.  What mom wouldn't?

Adoption Diaries Part 2- Birthmother "The Placement"

Despite the morning sickness (awful nausea) in the first trimester, I had a fairly easy pregnancy. I did swell towards the end of my third trimester thanks to the heat and humidity in late May in NC, but being uncomfortable towards the end was really my only complaint. I think I lived in yoga pants, tank tops, my brother's boxers, and sundresses for the last month! I spent my 18th birthday seven months pregnant with my best friend, Morgan. We went to Greensboro for a Carolina Hurricanes game and I remember being very uncomfortable in the stadium chair. It also felt like everyone was staring at me no matter where I went (they really weren't). I think I was ashamed of my predicament and judging myself based on my upbringing to not have sex until marriage, considering I lost my virginity to the father of my unborn baby boy. I also worked part-time at a local Real Estate Company and attended community college full-time double majoring in Accounting and Business Administration throughout my pregnancy.

As my pregnancy progressed it got harder and harder to keep up in school and go to work as I was so exhausted and uncomfortable. I'm very thankful that I had two very understanding bosses at work. They knew of my intent to place my son with an adoptive family and my parents for the most part were supportive without being overbearing. I was fortunate with school in that my quarter would finish just before my due date and barring an early delivery, I would be able to complete my semester before giving birth and have the summer off to heal and regroup after placement.

My due date came and went with my son. The wait was bittersweet. I looked forward to relief in giving birth, but dreaded that every moment would be my last with my son. My boyfriend at the time, the baby's father, lived in New England and was not around although we did talk on the phone often. We saw each other once during my pregnancy when I was five months along and just starting to get a belly. He flew down to visit with me for a long weekend with what little money he had. The plan for the birth, was for him to drive down when I went into labor and hopefully, he would make it in time. Then, he would spend time with me and our son in the hospital before we would sign the adoption papers and hand our son over to the adoption agency at discharge from the hospital.

Since I was overdue, I had to start going to doctors appointments every other day and get NSTs (non-stress tests) and extra ultrasounds to make sure the baby was still thriving and the fluid levels were okay. At one appointment, my mom was reading in the chair next to me, while I waited out the NST. At that moment, I felt my first contraction. Oh my gosh the pain took my breath away, I held my breath, turned beat red, and I began to worry what labor would be like. It turns out that it was just really early labor and perhaps the start of things to come as I didn't go into actual labor until a few days later. I went to my 41 week appointment and was told by my doctors that I was in early labor, so they sent me over to the Labor & Delivery unit of the hospital for monitoring. The baby looked great on the monitors, but I wasn't making any progress, so they sent me home. In the meantime, I had called my boyfriend to let him know what was happening and he decided to come down to NC. If I didn't go into labor naturally, I would be induced soon anyway.

He drove through the night to get to NC and it's a good thing he listened to his instinct and made the trip. Not two hours after he arrived I went to the bathroom and felt a gush as I stood up. I called my mother and she called my doctor. The gush was only about the amount of a soda can and then nothing more afterwards. I wasn't contracting yet, either, but the doctor wanted me to come in and be checked out since we lived about a half hour from the hospital. When we got there, I was monitored for awhile and come to find out my water sac was still in tact. I had what they called a "pre sac" that had burst instead, but I was far enough along (3cm) that they admitted me. Once I was settled in my room, I was sent to walk the halls of the hospital to try to get things to progress more quickly.

The pre sac broke at home around 10:30am Friday morning and I labored all day Friday. In the afternoon, I was started on Pitocin and I was also offered pain meds. I had hoped to go med free, but I had horrible back labor and needed a break with the long labor I was having. I tried taking the narcotics and they were awful. They did nothing for the pain, but made me nauseous and feel like I was in another world. I hated them so much that I vowed for my next birth it would be med free or epidural, but nothing else which is exactly what I did with Mariela. Finally, I was able to get an epidural and get some rest before I had to push. I slept for a little over an hour when I was woken up by the nurse putting an oxygen mask on my face. After that, there would be no sleep for me for awhile...the epidural was wearing off and I was in intense pain. The back labor was awful and every contraction left me in tears. The doctors tried to adjust the epidural to give me some relief, but I could get none. The baby's father slept through the worst of my pain (go figure!), but my mom was there holding my hand and coaching me through the contractions. She attended my birthing classes with me and was my official birth coach.

Finally, I felt the urge to push and started to push while lying on my side (with help from the nurse to roll from one side to the other since my legs were numb). Yup, I pooped the bed which is one thing nobody warned me about! I should've tried to go to the bathroom BEFORE I had gotten the epidural. I was having horrible back labor because my son was posterior or face-up and pushing on either side helped him to move down. I know I threw up during transition and I believe I pushed for close to two hours, and at 5:32am my son was born. I had a very specific birth plan that I had typed up for my doctor due to the adoption and not knowing how I would feel after giving birth and they were fabulous about following it. They asked if I wanted him placed on my stomach as was customary and I did. I think I cried harder than he did after the birth! I was a bundle of emotions...joy. sadness. awe. I never knew I could love that instantly and that deeply.

My son was a big guy at 9 lbs 4 oz and 21 inches long at birth with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a dimple on his chin (from his Dad). He also had a strawberry birthmark on one of his knees (which would fade over time). Due to his size, his blood sugars were tested regularly while we were in the hospital and he tested fine for all of them. While I was moved from the labor room to the post partum ward, my son was sent to the nursery to be bathed and examined while I settled into my room. His father and I had just spent over an hour cuddling and holding him and just staring in shock at what we'd created. A "tiny" miracle. We named him Jacob Michael, which would be his temporary name until he was officially adopted and his new family changed his name.

Another thing that nobody told me while I was pregnant was how hungry and thirsty I would be after giving birth. I ate like I hadn't seen food in a month and drank to my heart's content. Whoever's idea it is to only feed a laboring mother ice chips should've been shot. I was happy to see that this philosophy has changed when I gave birth to Mariela! I was also allowed juice, popsicles, water, and ginger ale while I labored with her. SWEET! Okay, back to my story. While I was in the hospital I had a few visitors. My parents (of course), my closest friends at the time, my brother, and my social worker from the adoption agency. I think my older brother's visit was the hardest (my younger siblings did not visit as they were only toddlers at the time) as he was actually moving to Florida the same day I gave birth. Losing him as my support system was hard for me as we were very close and with the baby's father living in another state, I needed him to vent with at times.

On my final day in the hospital I held my son and stared at him for hours. I took pictures of him and the one thing I completely regret is that I didn't get a single picture of me with him as I was the one behind the camera. I used to cry about it, but alas there is no going back to change it. I did not feed my son, he didn't spend the night in my room, and I did not change his diapers. When we wanted to see him we walked to the nursery or would call the nursery to bring him to our room...they did not ask us to be involved as it was part of my adoptive birth plan. One reason, is that I didn't want to bond anymore than I had carrying him for nine months and also despite the fact I was a certified baby sitter and helped my mom out a ton with my younger siblings, having a newborn as a teen is downright intimidating. I was afraid I would break him! Our social worker arrived and while we reviewed the paperwork, we sent our son to the nursery one last time for his final examination before discharge.

The review of the paper work was a blur...partly due to my tears and partly due to all the thoughts running through my head. In the state of NC we had 20 days to change our minds and go to court to get our son back. During those 20 days, he would be placed in a foster home. He would not be placed in his final adoptive home until after the waiting period to avoid potential emotional turmoil on the adoptive parents in case we were to change our minds. I signed the papers through my tears. I was not sobbing or actively crying. The tears just fell. It was agony. I didn't think that I was strong enough to go through with the adoption. My parents had said their goodbyes to their grandson the night before, so that it was just my boyfriend and I there that morning with our social worker.

After the papers were signed, the nurse brought my son so that we could say goodbye. I kissed him and rocked him as I sat gingerly on the end of the hospital bed. How would I be able to let him go? I have no idea how I did it, but I said goodbye...not forever, but for now...and laid him back in the bassinet. As the nurse rolled him out of my hospital room for the last time I lost it. Literally. I collapsed in sobs on my hospital bed as the social worker held my hand and my boyfriend rubbed my back. My boyfriend was beyond himself...he felt he should be strong for me, but was having a hard time choking back his own tears. He wasn't nearly as vested with our son being that he lived 600 miles away and didn't experience the pregnancy like I did. After a time my boyfriend went to get his car and the social worker stayed with me in the room. I stared out the window weak, sore, and feeling totally deflated. I was physically and emotionally exhausted. In my head I said that I would give it twenty four hours and if I still felt this much pain- an agonizing emotional pain, like my heart had been ripped from my chest- that I would go to the courthouse and file a petition to get him back. That is what my counselor said...to take it one day at a time.

Next installment: "Ever After"

Adoption Diaries Part 2- Birthmother "The Decision"

I remember the weekend I got pregnant well. It was the same weekend my Great Grandmother turned 100 and the same weekend Princess Diana died in that horrible car crash. We were stupid and didn't use a condom...stupid. I always wanted to be a mother, but I envisioned that I would be married and have a good career before I took that leap. You always hear of things happening to other people and never think that it could be you in those shoes. I was always a good kid, I did my homework without being asked, cleaned my room, never skipped class, and was horse crazy. I think my parents just assumed I'd be responsible when it came to having sex and I have no idea why I wasn't. I knew better.

It finally sunk in that I was a pregnant teenager the day I had my first OB appointment. I was 17 and had never had a pelvic exam before. Exposing my girl parts like that for the first time while confirming my pregnancy was embarassing. Thankfully, my mother's insurance provided me with a female obstetrician who was wonderful in explaining everything to me. I was due the end of May 2008 two months after my 18th birthday. When I heard the baby's heartbeat for the first time, I cried. I didn't get an ultrasound until I was around 18 weeks along and I decided to find out the baby's sex. My mother came along to my appointment and as soon as the nurse put the wand on my belly we knew it was a boy. He was NOT shy at all at showing off his boy parts! I cried in awe that day. When I told my boyfriend we were having a little boy he was actually disappointed and didn't hide it well. He had been hoping for a girl as I think he thought it would be easier for him to give a daughter up for adoption rather than the first baby boy in his family that could pass on the family name.

I didn't decide on adoption right way. For the first 5 months of my pregnancy I was going to keep my baby. I started researching bassinets so that the baby and I could share my room in my parents' home, I bought a baby book, a few onesies, and started trying to follow a budget. I wasn't your typical 17 year old, though. I had already graduated high school two years early at the age of 16 and was enrolled in a local community college double majoring in Accounting and Business Administration. With a little luck I would only have to take the summer quarter off from school to have my little one and I could return to class back in the fall. I also had a job already working as a cashier at a Hardee's in town. I actually met the baby's father while working there.

With the horrible morning sickness I had (I only threw up once, but the constant nausea was debilitating- I couldn't sit up in bed in the morning unless I nibbled a saltine first until was 13 weeks along), I ended up having to quit my job at Hardee's as I had to fight the nausea and urge to puke throughout every shift. I lucked out finding a job at a small property management company in town. The owner had also been a teen mom, but what got me the job was my love of horses. I had put my job as a working student at a local farm on my resume and it caught my future boss's attention. I didn't tell them that I was pregnant until I was offered the job and that's when the company owner told me the story of her teen pregnancy. It was crazy how I met people like my new boss during times when I really needed their stories to keep going. Hearing stories like hers gave me confidence and a hidden strength that helped me carry my chin up high and not be ashamed of my circumstances.

Being a pregnant teen in the small town that I was living in was rough. Every time I was out in public I found myself hiding my ring hand to avoid the stares and gawking that came along with my large belly. I had no wedding band on my ring finger and you would be amazed at how many people actually check for it! People gossiped about me within ear shot and stories of my pregnancy flew through my old high school. Some days were harder than others, but there was no changing what happened, so the best I could do was take care of myself and my growing baby boy. During my 5th month of pregnancy shortly after my "big" ultrasound, I started to have second thoughts about keeping my son. My parents were living on a really low income and really had no room in their house for another person (I was already sharing a room with my toddler aged sister). My boyfriend lived in another state with his mother and had no savings and I couldn't support myself financially. I was living at home and still working towards my associates degrees. My mother offered to help all that she could, but I knew she wasn't able to do much and I also knew that I didn't want my mother to raise my own child (yes, she offered). There was no way I could provide the kind of life I wanted for my son and still finish school so that I could get a good job and better our situation.

To make sure I explored my options fully, I contacted the adoption agency that my parents used when adopting my younger siblings and began meeting with one of their counselors. The agency provided free counseling no matter what my decision was and I'm so glad that I utilized it. After quite a few sessions with my counselor and speaking with my boyfriend more, I realized that being parents was something that neither of us was ready for financially or emotionally. While we made a mistake that day chosing not to use a condom, our son was not a mistake, and he deserved a better life with two parents that could provide for him and love him as their own. He could be the answer to a couple's prayer for a child to call their own. I began looking at profiles of prospective parents for my son and didn't have much luck at first. None of the couples stood out to me. After awhile I found a couple that I liked, but another one stuck out in particular. The father was in accounting like I was and the couple had given birth to two of their own children, but they had both died from a genetic neurological disorder as toddlers. One of the pictures in their profile made me cry...it was a picture of the mother holding her son in the hospital. He had tubes attached to him everywhere and he was just looking up into her eyes with this pleading expression on his tiny face. I couldn't imagine going through that with my own son. I knew then that they would be my child's parents regardless of what my boyfriend thought of their profile once he got to actually see it, himself.

The agency that I used allowed birthmothers and adoptive parents to chose how open of an adoption they were comfortable with and what kind of communication after the placement was acceptible. I chose not to meet my son's potential new parents, but I did want to get the monthly pictures and reports after his birth for the first year which would be delivered through the agency. I'm not sure why I didn't want to meet them, but I think it stems from the fact that I read all I needed to know in their profile and I felt that meeting them really wouldn't change my mind. I also think it would've been harder on me emotionally and not provided me enough separation to heal after the placement took place. There were days even while I was still pregnant that I already grieved for the son I was going to lose and it wasn't easy towards the end of my pregnancy to feel his kicks and wonder if that's the last time I would feel them. I both dreaded and looked forward to labor as I knew it meant my time with him was short and yet I was so uncomfortable and swollen I was ready to have him out of me. I continued with my counseling sessions and held fast with my adoption decision. I knew this was the best decision for him and our situation, as hard as it was on me.

Next installment "The Placement"

Adoption Diaries Part 2- Birthmother "Finding Out"

I've sat down to write this post several times now. A few times I even started to type and then erased what I'd written and walked away. I have so many memories and thoughts in my head that it's hard to organize them in print, so please bear with me. I'm going to break up my story into several installments as I have too much in my head for just one post. I've always said I should write a book about my experiences with adoption both as a sister and a birthmom. Perhaps one day, I still will. Adoption Awareness month has now passed, but I would still like to share my story in the hopes that someday a scared, lonely pregnant girl might come across it and feel a bit of hope whether she chooses adoption or not. Here is how I became a birthmom...

My legs were shaking and I kept glancing at the clock as I sat in my Accounting class that evening. I swear the second hand was moving backwards, but maybe it was my eyes playing tricks on me. My parents wouldn't be home when I got there as it was my mom's birthday and they had gone out to celebrate. My best friend at the time was babysitting my younger brother and sister, so she would be there with me. I had no idea where my older brother was...probably out with his friends. I was so anxious I had butterflies in my stomach and I would glare at anyone who dared ask a question to prolong the class. Finally, after a small eternity our professor dismissed us. I shoved my books in my back pack and dashed to my car and sped all the way home.

When I got home, Morgan had just finished putting my brother and sister to bed and she came down the hall to greet me. She had a thoughtful look on her face. Half sympathy. Half fear. I think we both already knew. I took the small white bag (that I bought in a neighboring town so I wouldn't get recognized) out from its hiding place and walked to the bathroom. I think there was lead in my feet as time seemed to stand still. I fumbled to open the box and read the directions and then for the first time in my life I peed on a stick.

There is something completely unnatural about peeing on something when you are a girl. Guys pee in the woods, on trees, in parking lots, and on bugs, but think nothing of it. Trying to angle a stick in your stream of urine is an artform I'll never do well. After I was done I laid the test down on the kitchen sink, squinted my eyes shut so I wouldn't peek at it while I washed my hands, and bolted out the bathroom. Longest. Three. Minutes. EVER. Morgan said it was time, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't go back in there. She did. She picked the test up from the counter and sat down on the toilet dumbfounded with her hand over her mouth. I begged her to tell me the results praying that it was just a false alarm. I could tell by her look that it wasn't. She just said, "I can't be the one to tell you this. You HAVE to look at it." and shoved the stick in my face. There they were. Two dark pink lines. "Maybe it's wrong." she said, "Do you have another one you can take?" Of course I did, but I didn't have to pee anymore. There was no denying the result of this test, but I would end up peeing on at least a half dozen more sticks before I accepted the result. Positive. I was pregnant and only 17. My boyfriend lived almost 600 miles away. I felt so alone.

I stumbled out of the bathroom that night with the stick in my hand and laid on my brother's bed and just sobbed. Morgan patted my back. She didn't know what to say or do. Thankfully, my parents were running late and wouldn't be home for another few hours so I could compose myself. I hear a gentle whisper, "Heather you need to call him. He needs to know." My fingers shook as I dialed his number. His mom answered the phone. I asked for him and soon I heard his voice say hello. Our conversation went like this:

Me: "I need to tell you something. Are you alone? Can you sit down?"

Him: "Ya, whatever. We've got company, what's going on I need to go."

Me: "Just call me after your company leaves, okay?"

Him: "No, tell me what's wrong."

Me: "I'm pregnant."

Him: Silence. "Are you sure?"

Me: "Yes."

Him: "Can I call you back later?"

Me: "Sure." Click.

I honestly never thought I'd hear from him again. I couldn't hold back the tears and asked Morgan to come get me if he called and went outside to where I felt most at home. My horse, Dan, looked up at me with hay hanging out of the corners of his mouth as I rounded the corner of the barn. He was in his stall for the night eating his evening snack. I opened the door and he turned and looked at me as he chewed away. Dan was great for hugs and tears and he never told my secrets. I hugged his neck and cried into his silky fur as he nuzzled my back pockets looking for carrots. "Not tonight buddy," I said as he proceeded to swish his tail, snort, and go back to his hay. He listened as I talked to him and his huge brown eyes showed concern whenever he looked up to nuzzle me. If he could speak, I'm sure he would've said that I would be okay and everything would work out even if the road along the way was bumpy.

I have no idea how much time had passed, but Morgan came rushing around the corner and breathlessly said, "He called, Heather. He called." "He asked if you were ok and I let him have it. He never should've hung up the phone before. The bastard. I never liked him. " I hugged Dan goodnight and rushed back to the house to speak with him. I sobbed on the phone. He asked again if I was sure and told me he threw up after he hung up the phone with me. I told him I'd do another test in the morning, but I was sure. He told me he'd send the money for an abortion and come down to be with me for the appointment if that is what I wanted. I told him I couldn't do it. There was a life growing inside me and I couldn't be the one to end it. It just wasn't something I was comfortable with emotionally. We talked some more about keeping the baby and adoption and he promised to call again the next day to check on me and asked me when I was going to tell my parents. "Not tonight," I said. "Not on my mother's birthday. I'll wait and tell her this weekend."

My brother came home as I was hanging up with Him and asked Morgan and I what was up. I told him and he gave me the best hug and offered me a beer. No joke. He had some warm ones in his trunk that a friend bought for him. I had never seen this side of my brother and actually took two sips before realizing that I was pregnant. The fear came crashing down on me again and silent tears streamed down my face. I handed him back the can and he said, "Oh ya. I'm sorry Sis." We sat in the carport for awhile and chatted, so we wouldn't wake our younger siblings. He reassured me he'd keep the secret and that everything would work out. I went to bed before my parents got home so they wouldn't see me so upset. I know my mom would realize something was up.

The rest of the week dragged by and I just couldn't wait anymore. One afternoon, I asked my mom to walk to the mailbox with me because I wanted to talk to her. She agreed and off we went. I think we took maybe three steps outside before I just blurted out that I was pregnant and started crying all over again. I started apologizing to her for not being more careful and telling her so close to her birthday. I was so scared of ruining her memory of her birthday that year I forgot to realize that she was my mom and her love was unconditional. My mom teared up and said, "I know. I've suspected for over a week. Remember when you were telling me you were so tired and you didn't know why? It kind of dawned on me then that a pregnancy might be the cause." My own mother knew I was pregnant before I did. She later told me that she and my dad had a few scares before they got married and she was going to talk to me about the pill, but never got her nerve up to actually follow through. We cried together and she hugged me close and tight and told me it would all work out no matter what I decided. We agreed to tell my Dad that Saturday. Together. Thank. God.

I remember that the day we told my father it was gorgeous out for a fall day. We were in jeans and short sleeves and the three of us started talking in the drive way. I told my dad while my mom held my hand, but then instead of yelling or calling me careless he hugged me. Tight. When he let me go there were tears in his eyes and he said that I would be okay and so would the precious baby growing inside me. He assured me that we'd figure it out and if adoption was my choice he would be okay with it since they knew what joy a baby could bring to a family, but he asked me to please not abort and thanked me for telling them before I went that route. I assured him abortion was never an option for me. He hugged me tight and thanked me for choosing life.

Next installment: "The Decision"

Adoption Diaries Part 1- Big Sister

November is Adoption Awareness month and it is a cause that is very near and dear to my heart. I've decided to share my story to help spread more awareness on adoption and how beautiful it can be. I became a big sister thanks to adoption and I am also a proud birthmother. Here is Part 1 of my story on how I became a big sister through adoption...

It was a crisp February day as we wound our way through the mountains of Asheville. With every mile the car passed, my heart skipped a beat and I could feel the excitement pulsing through my veins. After what seemed an eternity we arrived at our destination...my mom, dad, and older brother. The four of us couldn't sit still as we waited in the tidy waiting room for the social worker. Within minutes she came out to greet us and asked that my brother and I go into her office with her. When we got there she asked us if we'd be willing to do something special for our parents and within moments I was looking at a tiny face. My brother and I were in awe of the bundle in the social worker's arms and then that bundle was in my arms.

Rebekah, me, A.R., Pete, and Isaac on our wedding day

I was the first person in our family to hold our newest member- my baby sister, Rebekah. We then walked out to the waiting room and I got to present our mother with her newest baby, a daughter. Rebekah wasn't grown in my mother's womb, but she was grown in her heart. I'll never forget the day I handed my new baby sister to my mother. The smile on her face, the tears of joy, and the pride as I held my little sister. I was 13 the day I met Rebekah and I had always wanted a younger sibling. My parents had always wanted a large family, but my mother got very sick when she was pregnant with my brother and I. She was on bedrest most of her pregnancy with me and was told after giving birth to me that having another child would probably kill her. My parents thought their dreams of having a large family ended there.

My mother was always interested in adoption, but my dad thought that he wouldn't be able to love an adopted child as his own so they never persued it. One day while driving home from work, my dad was listening to the radio and there was an interview about adoption on the air. He was intrigued. After many conversations with my mom and then talking to my older brother and I to see how we felt about things, my parents began to research their options. My dad can't explain his sudden change in heart, but he knew he wanted another child to raise and love and my mother was overjoyed at the chance to grow her family.

On vacation in NC to visit my parents, Bekah, & Isaac

They decided to go with a private christian adoption agency and soon began the long process to apply to be adoptive parents. There was mounds of paperwork and forms to complete including a personal profile of our family for prospective birthmothers to read, counseling with the social workers, home visits, and interviews with both of my parents and my brother and I. Finally, after a long, tiring, and often frustrating process my parents were approved to be put on the waiting list for a new baby. As they began the wait- which we had no idea how long it may be- my parents slowly started preparing to become parents once again. They had chosen to adopt a special needs infant who would come to us at just 1 month of age and could be either a boy or a girl.

I don't remember the day my mother found out she would have a second daughter, but I do remember the day she met her as she took her from my arms and held her for the first time. Rebekah came to us when she was just over a month old after my parents had been waiting 9 months (Coincidence? I think not.). She was born in December, the same month as my older brother. She is considered special needs because her mother drank while she was pregnant, was possibly on drugs, and didn't know who the father was. Also, she is half white and half black (why that makes her special needs, I'll never understand). The scary thing about Rebekah's adoption is that it would not be final for an entire year since her father was unknown or called a John Doe. Without his sign-off, the adoption could not be considered finalized for one year. After this waiting period, the courts would sign off that he was absentee and my parents would recieve full custody of Rebekah and the adoption would be final.

That year was filled with great reward for my parents, my brother, and I as we watched my little sister grow and bonded with her, but it was also hard for my parents as they knew that any day they could get a call from the adoption agency that Rebekah's birthfather had stepped forward and wanted custody of Rebekah. If that were to happen, we could lose her. Thankfully, that call never happened and one year after Rebekah was born, my parents received the final adoption papers and Rebekah was officially theirs. However, several months later my parents would get an unexpected call from the adoption agency. There was a special needs boy that needed a home...he was black and white like Rebekah and his parents were together, but unable to care for their newborn infant due to their own health reasons. They chose adoption and wanted my parents to be their son's adoptive parents.

Isaac came to live with us when he was just over a month old. My parents were overjoyed to have another baby in the house and a second son. Isaac was born in March, the day after my birthday. So my older brother and I were born in December and March 15 months apart, then there was a 13 year age gap and they adopted two more little ones born in December and March and also 15 months apart. Crazy, huh?! With the addition of Isaac to our household, my parents decided that their family was now complete. Our lives are forever changed by the wonderful gift of adoption and both of my younger siblings have brought happiness and joy to our family. My mother has the large family she had always dreamed of and my father learned that he could love an adopted child no different than his biological children.

Right now, my sister is a Junior in highschool and my brother is a Sophomore and they are both doing quite well even with their disabilities. Rebekah is a beautiful young woman who loves dance, horses, boys, and art. Isaac is a very active and athetic young man. He plays football and wrestles and is a member of the JROTC at his high school. They both know their adoption stories and the little information we do have on their birth parents, but they also know that they are our family and are loved very, very much. Adoption gave them a chance at a good life and provided them a home which their birth parents could not. I am proud to call them my younger siblings.

11 Years Ago Today...

...I became a mother. It isn't something I normally shout out from the rooftops, but it isn't something I try to hide either. Afterall, I have the stretchmarks to prove it! I went into labor on a Thursday afternoon, but was sent home because I was only 2 cm dilated. Friday morning, after a sleepless night, I returned to the hospital and was admitted. My labor continued all day and finally the doctors broke my water at 8pm. My son was born screaming at 5:26am Saturday, June 6th after over an hour of pushing. I melted when I saw him. Cried. Laughed. Smiled. I held him in my arms in awe at what I had just done. I gave my son the best gift a mother can. Life.

He weighed 9 lbs 4 3/4oz and was 21 1/8" long and arrived over a week late (I was due May 25th!). I named him Jacob and as I gazed at him it was bittersweet. I knew our time together was coming to an end. My son was being adopted by a wonderful family as I was just a teenager at 18. I still shiver when I remember the day I found out I was pregnant. It was on my mom's birthday. My father had taken her out to dinner, so my best friend had come over to be with me as I took a pregnancy test. I already knew the results deep down before I even took the test, but I still couldn't look at the test. My friend looked first and just sat on the toilet dumbfounded and handed it to me. I was 17 and pregnant. When I dropped out of high school, as class valedictorian, to homeschool the last half of my 10th grade year my classmates assumed it was because I was pregnant. I laughed it off, saying it was rediculous. A year later, I was pregnant albeit I had already graduated highschool with my GED and was in college. I was smart. I couldn't be a pregnant teenager. Impossible.

I agonized over the decision I had to make. Abortion was never an option. I decided to keep my son and raise him as my own until I was 5 1/2 months pregnant and started to really think about how exactly I could do that when I had nothing. My parents weren't rich, they were struggling to raise my younger brother and sister and couldn't afford another mouth to feed. I was working my way through Community College, but I knew flipping burgers wouldn't cut it. After many conversations with my mother, my son's father (we were still dating), and a counselor, I decided that my son would be adopted by a family that I picked out. I began searching through the stack of profiles and was amazed how many loving families are waiting out there for a child of their own. I knew who my son's parents would be the instant that I saw their profile. They had lost two children of their own. As toddlers. There was a photo in that profile I will never forget. It was of my son's future mother holding her dying toddler while the child was covered in tubes and looking lovingly into her eyes. I cried. A lot. My decision had been made.

My son's father and I were still dating, but it was long distance. He was very supportive over the phone but only saw me twice during the pregnancy. When I was 6 months along he flew down to see me and then again when our son was born. He was supportive of my decision towards adoption as he was in no way ready to be a father. I think in some ways I am still bitter that all he had to do was show up and sign his name, while I carried our child for 9 months, went through a long and painful back labor, and then took months (years) to cope with my decision and finally be at peace. He should've been there, but he wasn't and that is something he has had to live with. I know that I made the right choice and I'm so thankful that my son has a wonderful family. He is doing so well.

I had a semi-open adoption through the agency where my parents adopted my younger siblings. I received pictures of my son every month for the first year and now, 11 years later, I still get an update and photos once a year. I send him gifts on his birthday and Christmas and he knows that he is adopted. His family and I communicate through the adoption agency. Although we have never met, I cannot thank them enough for doing such a wonderful job raising my son. He is their son now. I will never search for him, that decision is up to him when he is old enough (18). He knows his story, has letters that I've written, and he has seen what both his birth father and I look like through pictures. If he wants to meet me someday I will welcome him with open arms, but if his story/letters/pictures are enough for him, I am at peace with that. He knows he is loved and I think he's a pretty lucky kid to have two moms that would do anything for him. Happy Birthday to my "baby" boy!

H