I kept adoption in the back of my mind, but I also started looking at baby names, keeping my options open. If I was honest with myself, I didn’t want to go with adoption. I wanted to keep my baby. And since I was in no rush to decide, I figured I might as well start looking at things from the keeping-the-baby point of view. In my forays into the birth mom support group, I’d gotten to know a birth mom who kept her baby for two weeks before placement. I told myself that I was allowed to follow her lead – if I didn’t want to make a decision until after the baby was born, that was okay. In the back of my mind I thought I might do what she had done.
In the meantime, I decided to take a break from LDSFS and from the whole adoption thing. When H asked me (via instant message) how I was feeling about things, I told him that, at the moment, I was leaning towards keeping the baby. H asked me to give the baby my last name, not his. “i would like mine to die out,” he wrote. He asked if I was getting things together to prepare for having a baby, and I told him I’d done a bit of sewing, and checked prices of furniture on-line. Most of the rest of our conversation was rubbish, including this little gem from H: “i smoked weed because it makes you feel AWESOME!!!”
We discussed potential custody arrangements and I got the impression that he would be mostly hands-off – coming to see me and the baby a few times a month, that sort of thing. I didn’t dwell on it too much, because I had enough to worry about without future hypotheticals in my head.
My baby was a kicker. Her little feet and fists were in constant motion, and I loved the feeling. I loved to go to Target and look at baby clothes and bedding. I bought a few tiny things – sleepers and Onesies and socks. I told myself that, even if I ended up placing my baby, I could use them someday, for another child. If I ever had another child. Privately I thought this pregnancy would likely be the only one I ever experienced (and I still think so, sometimes).
All I’d ever wanted out of life was to be a wife and mother. Obviously, I’d sort of skipped the former, but here was my shot at the latter. Was it so wrong? I felt like everyone around me thought that single parenting was a horrible mistake. It seemed like they wanted to make me feel bad for wanting to be a mother, and it angered me. I was a mess of hormones and more than once I cried myself to sleep, feeling bad not only for myself but for the precious baby in my belly whom no one seemed excited about.
Pregnancy was very lonely for me. I hated shopping alone for baby things. I hated going alone to doctor’s appointments. I hated the feeling that I was the only one who seemed to be happy that I was having a baby. As wonderful as my mother was, it wasn’t the same as having a husband. I started to wonder, to worry. Could I be enough for my sweet baby? Could I love her enough, take good enough care of her? I could be a good mother, but I was just one person. Would I be enough?
H continued to IM me on and off. In one conversation, he said that he had no problem showing an R-rated movie (Kill Bill) to a 12-year old. He said a few other things that worried me. I started to really consider what H’s influence might do to my baby. What sort of things would the baby be exposed to? What things would she hear? What fumes might she inhale? What would she see? What would she be taught about God and morals and right and wrong? It worried me.
The baby kicked more and more each day. My appointments, lonely as they were, went well, and I was assured I had a healthy baby. I wasn’t happy with my weight gain (my doctor wasn’t worried, but I was) so I added more fruits and veggies to my diet. I’ve never been a big fan of produce, but there wasn’t anything in the world I wouldn’t do for my baby. I ate apples and carrots and salad and drank more water than I ever have before. It felt good. I felt good. My baby was happy and healthy, and I still had months to think about what I was going to do with my little kicker.