March 2009, Part Three

Enough whining. I'll return you to your regularly scheduled blog, already in progress ...

Things fell completely apart on March 25th. H and I got into as much of a knock-down drag-out fight as you can get via instant message. It started off when I asked H about the papers I’d had him served with. I’d heard from LDSFS that he hadn’t, and I wanted to know whether that was true. He said he hadn’t filed them.

He said, “I hadn't filed at the time because we started talking socially and you started leaning towards keeping it and the filing was to block the adoption ... at the time I didn't want to block it if that was your choice. Now, I can't block it, but I want something to do with her if your keeping her … As I understood the paperwork, that was to either a) block the adoption or b) be involved in the adoption (such as sharing information). If you are keeping her, I will end up having rights to her. There are things that will need to be filed, but its in our intrests to file the paperwork and get the process rolling once she's born”

“i still haven't made up my mind yet,” I wrote. “i might not until after she's born. in case you were wondering.”

H’s next words shocked me. “if your leaning towards giving her up for adoption at all, please let me take full custody.”

Was he bloody serious? That’s exactly what I asked him. “are you bloody serious?”

He said yes, and I said well I can tell you right now, that’s not going to happen. He said he hadn’t filed because I had told him I was going to keep the baby. I told him that while I had said I was leaning that way, I’d also told him I hadn’t made up my mind yet. He said he was sick of me dragging him around on the issue. I said he could have filed the paperwork any time he wanted. It got worse from there, and I’m not going to get into detail both because it’s private, and because it’s too painful. I signed off after calling him a bad name, and I spent the next half hour or so crying and hating myself for ever being with him in the first place. I experienced the most intense self-loathing I had ever felt before. On the one hand, H had treated me cruelly, and it had been painful. But on the other hand, I felt that I deserved it – that I had brought it upon myself by getting involved with H in the first place.

And I cried for my sweet, innocent baby, who deserved so much better than all of this. She meant so much to me! She was the only thing that kept me going day after day, getting out of bed, getting dressed, eating, taking care of myself.

H had said during our fight that if I kept the baby, he had rights. The way the paperwork had been explained to me was that, if he failed to file, he had no rights. I left a message with S to verify that. She called while I was out and told my mother that by not signing those papers he lost ALL parental rights and I didn't ever have to let him near my baby if I didn’t want to. I felt better after that.
I talked to my mom and to my therapist about possibly keeping my little girl. It made me nervous to think about, but I was excited at the prospect of motherhood. I already loved my baby so much. I thought that no matter what happened, I would take a cue from Tim Gunn and make it work.

I wrote this in my journal:

“Went to see "Knowing" with Mum today. Strange movie. You moved around a lot during it, I'm sure you could hear it (it was loud enough and the seats rumbled in parts). Being a disaster sort of movie as it was I started worrywarting. What if I give you to another family and you're in an accident - hit by a car, trapped somewhere, kidnapped, hurt, sick ... how would I ever forgive myself? But then what if I'm naturally less vigilant than two parents would be and something happened to you in my care? A slip and fall, bad food, an abduction, a car accident ... there were so many scenes where Nicolas Cage's son is in trouble or worried and looks to his father. Can I be that for you? Am I good enough, smart enough? What if I'm not a good mommy? What if I don't bond with you right away? What if I start to resent you for being born and messing with my life's timeline and my love life?

What if you've got emotional problems I can't handle? What then?

Sometimes I wish I could keep you safe in my belly forever. You're warm and safe and comfortable and you get all the nutrients and vitamins you need, you get plenty of exercise and never overeat, you can't really be injured, and I don't have to worry about where you are and what you're up to.

What am I going to do with you? I wish I could somehow see the future both ways. What my life would be like, how things would play out. But some things are only for God to know and I'm pretty sure that's one of them. I have to try to have a little faith and do the best I can.”

A few days later:

“I've been so bored lately. I need a little princess to fuss over and care for. You'll keep me busy, that's for sure. We'll have such fun together, you and I. I'll take you places and show you things and play games with you. And I will love you, no matter what. I will love you, because you are mine, my own little girl. I will understand you. I will help. I will do something about your nightmares and anxiety, although I pray you won't have either. I will do anything. Everything. Because the thought of someone else doing any of it breaks my heart beyond repair.”

I wondered what my life would be like in a few months. Could I handle raising a child on my own? Could I deal with the demands of a newborn?

More importantly, could I find the will to go on if I ended up placing my baby with another family?

Further Jealous Whining

I have a new niece today. I'm sure she's darling. My sister's other two children were nothing short of adorable at birth, managing to avoid that squishy newborn look. My sister sounds good - a lot more clear-headed and coherent than I did after my c-section. I'm afraid I sounded horribly awkward on the phone. I don't know what I said. I hope my congratulations sounded sincere. I am happy for her, really.

And yet, I find myself being selfish again. I find myself comparing today to the day that Roo was born. I think, it must be nice to have people just be happy for you after you've had a baby. It must be nice for people to just be excited and delighted. I got worry. I got people praying that I would decide to let someone else take my baby home from the hospital.

I hate that. I hate that almost no one was excited for me. I hate that so few people were simply, purely happy that I had a baby. I hate ... oh, I hate feeling this way. I hate that I can't just be happy. I hate being so selfish and juvenile and petty. But it's nigh impossible for me not to compare today with that day eight months ago, and find people's reactions to the latter sadly lacking. I think, even though people thought I was making a mistake, couldn't they at least have been happy that this beautiful, perfect, delightful little girl came into the world?

I love how purely and utterly happy Roo's family was and is to have her. She was nothing short of a miracle for them - desperately wanted, daily prayed for, and unconditionally loved. Roo deserves that. But I think she deserved that all along, and I wish I'd felt that for her when she was born. I'm glad to know that she was prayed for even then. I'm sure than P and M prayed daily for their baby to find them. They wanted her even before they knew about her. Of course, I did, too. I just ... I'm losing my train of thought.

I'm jealous, I think, is what it comes down to. I'm jealous at how much happier my new niece's birthday is than Roo's was. I wish that people could have put their opinions and prejudices aside and just been happy for Roo to be born, regardless of the circumstances. She deserved better. And so did I.

The Saddest Happy

My sister is expecting her third child. And when I say expecting, I mean, she's going to have a c-section in about eight hours. She's having a little girl. I'm excited for her. Really, I am.

Sort of.

Mostly I am depressed as all-get-out. I'm almost too depressed to muster up even the slightest bit of enthusiasm for my sister. This little one is something of a miracle baby, since my sister had been told previously that she wasn't going to be able to have any more children. So, I mean, it's great and all. I'm happy for her.

And sad for myself. Because I am selfish, and I wish it was me. I miss my baby Roo. I've cried buckets today. Roo is just so perfect. So pretty and sweet. I love her more than words can express. I wish she were mine. It seems so unfair that she's not.

I hate playing the "life's not fair" card. I KNOW life isn't fair. I'm not stupid. I don't expect life to be fair. But at the same time, does life not being fair mean it has to be complete and utter tripe? Does it have to be UNfair? Why can't one tiny little thing ever work out in my favor?

Roo is a perfect mix of me and H. She got the best of both of us. For some reason I thought earlier about what it would be like if H and I had stayed together. I could see clearly in my mind a family picture of the three of us, Roo in the middle, her features a dainty little amalgam of the parents on either side of her.

I wanted to smack myself for even thinking of it. For thinking, even for a second, that H and I could have ever enjoyed any sort of quaint little domesticity. For thinking so selfishly. Roo deserves so much more than to have two complete screw ups as parents.

I wish I did deserve her. I wish I was enough for her, could have been enough somehow. I wish I could believe that someday I will deserve a husband and a baby, that I will be good enough, that people will tell me I'll make a great mother instead of telling me I have no right to be a mother.

I wish it was me having a c-section tomorrow, with my husband by my side and two beautiful children at home with their grandparents. I wish I could just be happy for my sister. I should be happy for her. I AM happy for her. It's just not a very happy happy. It's a sad happy. I'm getting remarkably good at those. And just as remarkably tired of them.

I hate that all I can think of right now is the insensitive and judgmental things my sister said to me when I was pregnant. I hate that I'm counting down until her baby is nine weeks old, and that what I want badly to do is to call her up that day and say, "Now, could you even consider for a second giving your baby to someone else? Do you have the strength to do that? I did. Don't you ever dare to judge me again."

Is it awful that I've been thinking that for days? That I've been tempted to throw her words back at her? About how I was being selfish and how if I really, really thought about it, I'd see that my baby deserved better. Try choking that one down when you're weeks away from your due date. Try not being bitter when you love your baby more than anyone or anything in the world, and your own sister tells you that, basically, this baby would be better off with any parents in the world but you.

Urg. I hate it when I get all crabby and emotional like this. But you know what else I hate? I hate how most of my family has this attitude like, "Oh, well, you know you did the right thing," and no one seems for a second to be able to empathize, to be able to think, holy crap, Jill did this impossible thing, this amazing thing, and she is such a strong, incredible person. I get that people think I did the right thing (and think that I was stubborn and screwed up before) and they're happy - for Roo, since of course no one is particularly concerned for my welfare - but just once I'd like my sister or youngest brother (both of whom have children) to say, my gosh. How on earth did you do it? How did you survive? I can't even imagine making such a sacrifice. You must love Roo so much. I am so sorry you've had to go through that. I am so sorry I can't be there with you, that you've gone through this alone. I love you.

I find myself at a loss. I am trying so freaking hard to be happy for my sister. I sat for over an hour in the temple Saturday night, trying to make peace with the situation. I found none. I felt God's love, as I always do in the temple, but I didn't get any answers to the questions on my mind - how on earth do I get over myself when I'm the only company I have? How do I put my hurt aside to find joy in someone else's blessings?

I wish I knew. I wish I didn't miss my baby so much. But I don't, and I do. And there's nothing I can do about it.

My little Roo is eight months old today!

I love her. I miss her.

I don't have much else to say about that today.

The Invisible Woman

[I don't usually do double posts, but I put this one on the Mesa Birth Mom Support Group page, too, because I think every woman should see it.]

I don't know how long this one has been floating around the internet, but I just came across it today. I needed it today. It's told from more of a mom perspective, but I think it applies just as well to birth moms. Pregnancy and birth and placement are just the foundations of the amazing people our children will become. We may never see the finished work, never know what heights are reached. But we are not invisible. God sees. God knows.

I've been feeling invisible lately - not to P and M, of course. They continue to be amazing. But with everyone else - especially some of the people on whom I should be able to rely more than any others. I hate feeling invisible. This is a good reminder that I am not invisible to the One who matters most.

March 2009, Part Two

H seemed to have decided for me – I was keeping the baby. He made reference to shopping for furniture and overnight visits and custody. H didn’t seem to understand much about newborns, aside from what he referred to as “boobie feeding.” He seemed interested in sharing custody right away. I tried to explain that babies need routine, stability, and most of all, their mommies. He seemed to be under the impression that we could just pass her back and forth like a Christmas fruit cake. This worried me. Although H mentioned the importance of both of us raising the baby, he talked like the times that she’d be with him, I’d be completely out of the picture, and my input would be moot.

The more the baby kicked, the harder it got for me to imagine ever giving her up. Already she was my entire world. And I’d been through so much, given up so much. How could I give up my baby, too? I asked my mother. She didn’t want to talk about it yet, which just reinforced the fear (which I voiced to her) that she and everyone else who said that this was my choice was just biding her time until I came to the obvious conclusion that adoption is the only way to go. I didn’t care what people said about love and selfishness. I felt that I loved my baby too much to ever give her to anyone else. All I’d ever wanted was to be a mommy. How was that wrong?

I bought Dreft and washed up the baby clothes and blankets I had. I wondered, not for the first time, what my baby would be like. What would she look like? Would her eyes be blue or brown? Would her hair curl? Would she be pasty white or olive-y? Would she be a tiny baby or a chubster? Would she be a good sleeper? A talkative, giggly baby or a quiet one? I was still horribly depressed, but the happiest times I had were when I thought about my baby – playing with her and dressing her up and taking care of her.

In the middle of the month, H and I got into a sort of instant message fight. His past behavior hadn’t inspired a lot of confidence, and I told him so, and that I didn’t want him in my baby’s life, and that I didn’t feel like I could trust him. He didn’t have much to say about that except that if I wanted him out of my life and my baby’s, I was SOL. His attitude, and what I knew about him, made me think very strongly that I didn’t want him anywhere near my baby. At this point, H had finally told his mother, and I worried that she would be a problem. She was a chain-smoker, and I worried that she would pollute my baby’s air and hurt my baby’s teeny-tiny lungs. She’d smoked during her pregnancy with H. What was to stop her from smoking around my baby as well?

H continued to IM me over the weeks, talking custody and child-rearing, which hurt my head. I still hadn’t made a decision, and just the thought of deciding turned my stomach. H had plenty to say on the topic of parenting – he went on and on about how he had friends and family to help out - the whole 'it takes a village' thing, and started in on tolerance (which he misspelled) and other things and all I could think was, not with my baby you don't. I found myself fiercely protective where my little eggplant baby was concerned, and I simply didn’t think H would be a good influence on her.

And to make matters worse, I still didn’t know if he’d filed his paperwork yet. S hadn’t contacted me in weeks. She hadn’t understood my wanting to take a break from birth mother stuff at LDSFS. I'd explained that I felt uncomfortable at group - unwanted, unnoticed, unimportant. She didn't seem to understand. Well, fine, I decided. S didn’t even want me to consider keeping my baby, so forget her. I focused my energy (most of it nervous) on sewing dress after dress for my baby. I was getting more and more uncomfortable by the day – I was really starting to notice the extra weight in my belly, and the stairs in my house were murder. The baby was kicking like a maniac.

I loved it. I loved her. I wondered if fetuses could feel that they were loved. I hoped so, and I did everything I could think of to let her know. I took good care of myself, but I also talked to her, and I sang to her. I read her a few stories. I hoped that the gentle rumble of my voice from inside would comfort her. I rubbed my belly and felt her move under my hand. It was the most wonderful feeling, and I wished it could last forever.