The notebook

I am feeling much better now. Certainly better than I did earlier.

My mom cuddled with Roo while I started writing in the notebook I got. I filled page after page with instructions and information about Roo, things that P and M will need to know - what brand of formula Roo takes, her schedule, her sensitive skin, her personality. I listed my family health history and wrote out how Roo came to have her name.

The fact that I had so much to say made me feel like a good mother. I know this little girl so well. And for some reason, that made me feel so much better about the choice I've made. I don't delude myself that this is going to be easy in any sense of the word. But I will get through this, and I will be a better person for it.

I am not going to let the loss of my baby ruin me. I will not let it destroy me. I will forever have a Roo-shaped hole in my heart, but I can live with that. I am going to do the best I can to turn my life around, to make something of myself so that I will be the sort of person that Roo can be proud of. I want her to have the best life possible. Why shouldn't I want the same for myself? I do want the same for myself, and I want to be worthy of the amazing blessings that Heavenly Father has in store for me for my sacrifice.

I can do this!

Impossible

I made myself take the time last night to write a letter to Roo. I ended up working on it for an hour and a half. I had so much to say! I still feel like I have more to say. I may write her more than one letter.

It was so hard to write, knowing that when she reads it, she won't be my daughter anymore. It's hard enough to think that I've only got three and a half days left with her. It seems impossible, what I have to do on Wednesday. It seems unfair. I am her mommy! How am I supposed to just sign something and not be her mommy anymore?

I put that in the letter as well. It ended up about five typed pages long. I just felt like I needed to write more and more. How can I explain to her why I have made this decision? How can I make her understand how very much I love her? I don't think I can. I don't think there are words. I will always love her, no matter what. But I know that years from now, when she reads her letter, she won't love me. She won't even know me, I don't think. I don't know what kind of relationship I'll have with P and M, how often I'll see Roo over the years. I would love to see her a couple of times a year as she gets older, I think. I know the time will come when I will need to try to move on with my life.

But for now, that seems an impossible task. How will I ever move on? How will I ever not ache when I think of my precious baby? How can it ever possibly hurt any less to not be her mommy?

I feel like I can't do this. I think, if I was going to place her, I should have done it right after she was born. I can't be a mother for two months and then stop. I love her too much. I am too attached.

I know that adoption is the very best thing for Roo. I just wish it wasn't so hard for me. My mother keeps talking about things we will do after Roo has been placed - fun places we'll go, things we'll buy. She talked about presents for my birthday. But I don't want to go or do anything fun. I don't want birthday presents. I don't want a birthday at all. All I want is Roo.

My tears are selfish ones. All I can think is how hard it will be for me to lose my baby. If I was thinking of her at all, I wouldn't cry. I would be happy, because she is going to have a wonderful life. But I can't help it. I keep second-guessing myself. Was I pressured into choosing adoption? Is this really a decision I've made for myself? Can I really handle this?

Did I choose the right family? Will she be happy, cared for, loved? Will they hold her enough? She needs lots of cuddles. What if they don't talk to her enough? She loves being talked to. I like to set her on the bed and stretch out next to her with my face next to hers and talk to her. Will they do that? Will she get enough attention with an older sister in the house? If she fusses during their dinner, will they leave her to fuss while they eat? She needs to be picked up - I eat one-handed while I hold her, if I must. She loves to nap while being held. Will they hold her while she naps or put her down? I can't bear to think of her being treated any differently than I treat her. I am her mommy, surely I know what's best. But I can't be her mommy anymore. I can't be there to make sure she's being held, cuddled, loved.

It's nothing against P and M. I know they are the very best parents. I think I'd feel this way with anyone, because they are not me, and I want to be the one to take care of her. How am I supposed to go on without my baby? What am I supposed to do? I feel like I'm dying. My father was dead long before his heart stopped beating. That will be me as well. I will be an empty, Roo-less shell.

I can do hard things. I have done hard things before. But this feels worse than hard. This feels impossible. I try to focus on the good in this. On Roo, and how happy she will be with her mommy and daddy and big sister. She will go to primary and learn about Jesus. She won't feel left out on father's day. She won't have to be shuffled from one parent to another, confused about what is right and good and acceptable. I won't have to worry about what she is exposed to, what she is learning.

I know I am doing the right thing, the best thing. I just wish it wasn't so hard.

Running out of time

I have so many things I want to do while I still have Roo. So many things I need to do. I wonder if I'll get it all done in time.

I have been trying to write things down that P and M need to know - sort of an "all about Roo" notebook - what kind of formula to buy, what size diapers, Roo's schedule (if you can call it that), that sort of thing. And I need to write letters as well - to Roo, to P and M. But it's so hard to make myself sit down and write things out. Not because I don't know what to say, or because I am putting it off. I simply hate to take a second away from my baby. I feel like if she's awake I need to be holding her, talking to her, cuddling her, feeding her. And when she sleeps, I have to sleep. She sleeps so little during the day (catnaps, mostly) that I have to take every hour I get at night. And when she does fall asleep during the day or evening, it's usually after I've been holding her against my shoulder, and she sleeps so peacefully when she's held that I am loathe to put her down.

I let my mom hold her as often as she (my mother) wants to, and I eat or blog or shower, depending on the time of day. I know I should take this time to write my notes and letters, but again, I can't. I'll watch my mom hold Roo and talk to her, and I'll talk to her too. I soak up every second I have with her. I stare at her sweet little face, trying to burn her image in my mind so I can call it up when I need it. What I need is more time, I think to myself. But there is not more time. There will never be enough time. I could hold my baby for eternity and still want more.

So ...

I know I need to get back to my story - not just for the sake of blog continuity, but for my own therapeutic purposes - but I don't have it in me lately. Every day now is the last of its kind with my baby Roo. My last Wednesday night, my last Thursday, my last Friday with her. Time is slipping away quicker than I can say. When I made the decision to place Roo, September 9th seemed so far away. Two weeks would never pass. And now I've got less than a week, and so many things I still want to do - outfits to put on Roo, pictures to take, letters to write. There will never be enough time for it all.

There will never be enough time, period. Because I had so many plans that will never be. Milestones that will not be mine to share, smiles for Mommy that I will never see. I have an outfit for Roo that I was saving for my birthday. I was going to take her for walks when the weather cools. I was going to take her to the mall, to the zoo, to Disneyland. There are stories I was going to read to her, things I was going to teach her, presents I was going to buy for her. When I think that I will wake up alone on my birthday - whenever my body wants to wake up, not because of a coo or a cry or cheerful baby babble - my throat burns.

This all seems so unfair! She is my baby, my precious girl. It seems so wrong that I am to hand her to P and M, to sign a paper that says I am no longer her mother. How can I not be her mother any more? It's only been two months but I already feel that I don't know how to do anything but be Roo's mommy. I don't know who I am without her. I think of all the irresponsible young women I know of, single women, who got to keep their babies. I know I am a better mother than any of them. Why are they allowed the precious responsibility of motherhood and I am not?

My faith feels shaky. I have to remind myself over and over why I am doing this. If I loved my baby less I could justify single motherhood. But I love her so desperately that I can only do the very best for her, as much as it kills me. I don't like thinking about it. I don't like the thought that doing what is best takes me out of the picture. It hurts.

I try to remind myself that it's not just me that's out of the picture with adoption. It is H, and his harmful influence. Keeping Roo for myself would mean exposing her to H's influence, and I can only begin to imagine the harm that could do. She is too precious, too special.

I just wish that knowing I was doing the right thing made it easier to do the right thing. I wish that doing the right thing didn't hurt so much. But if it comes down to me hurting now or Roo hurting later, there's no question that I have to say goodbye.

About yesterday

I'll continue my story tomorrow, but I don't want to get so caught up talking about the past that I forget to write about things as they're happening now, so I'm going to interrupt myself briefly to get a few things out of my head.

Sometimes it feels strange that I'm placing Roo so late in the game. Most birth mothers place right after the baby is born. Roo will be two months old when I sign the paperwork on the ninth. I wonder if it would have been easier to do it when I was still in the hospital. I'll never know, of course, but I still wonder. How am I going to adjust to being childless after two months of single parenting? Roo is my whole world.

I woke up yesterday morning to the sounds of Roo talking to herself. I got up and went to her crib. "Good morning, baby!" I said, and I was greeted with the biggest smile I have ever seen on her little face. I was briefly elated, but my heart broke at the same time. I thought, she knows me - my voice, my smell. She knows me as her mommy. What will happen to her when it's not my voice she hears, when M is her mommy? I worry that Roo will suffer emotionally. That she will miss me, that she will be sad, that she will cry. How long will it take for her to smile that broadly for M?

I felt selfish for keeping Roo for so long, for possibly harming her emotional development. I don't want her to miss me. The thought of her missing me, of her crying and sniffling around for me and not finding me, breaks my heart all over again. As hard as it is to think of her forgetting about me, I know she will and she must, and I hope for her sake she does so quickly.

My mom and I met M and P and their little girl for dinner at Red Robin yesterday evening. It was so good to see them again. From the first time I met them, I have felt very comfortable with them. I can tell they love Roo already and I can't imagine how hard it is for them to let me take her home each time we've met. I feel a peace with them - I know they are Roo's family. Roo snuggled up to each one of them when they held her, and it did me a lot of good to see her so comfortable with them both. Roo smiles a lot for P, as though she knows already that he is her daddy.

I love knowing that Roo will have a nursery - her very own little Roo room. And I am excited for her to have a big sister. There are so many positives for Roo. I know in my heart I am doing the right thing for her - the very best thing. If only the best thing was easier for me! But the way I see it, either I can suffer now, or Roo will suffer later. Her biological father would be a terrible influence in her life, and I can't do that to her. She deserves better.

And so she'll have better. In the mean time, I am enjoying every second I have with my precious baby. I hold her while she naps. I take a million pictures. Not since Shiloh Jolie-Pitt has a baby been so eagerly photographed. I talk to her, I tell her stories. I tell her why I am placing her and how wonderful her life will be.

I hold her while I can, because one week from today, she will be in her new home. This is my last Wednesday night with her. I am going to miss her so much! As much as I love her, I will miss her. And I love her more than I could ever have imagined.

October 25th, 2009, 3:47pm

I closed my eyes as I counted out three minutes. It was the longest three minutes of my life.

My heart already knew what the answer was, but my eyes didn’t want to believe it when I saw two pink lines on the pregnancy test. I shook my head and looked again. Still two lines. I sat on the edge of the bathtub for a few minutes, staring at the parallel lines. They didn’t change.

I don’t remember going downstairs or sitting gingerly on the edge of the couch, but I must have done, because that was where I was when my mother got home. She’d been out shopping and I pasted a smile on my face as she showed me the things she’d bought. She chatted about Christmas and the things she wanted to get for my nieces and nephews – her grandchildren.

My smile cracked. I started crying. My mother asked me what was wrong. I shook my head. How could I tell her? How could I say it out loud? I felt sick. I sobbed and sobbed. My mother guessed at the truth.

“Are you pregnant?” she asked.

I nodded. Then she cried, too. We both sat there and cried. I don’t know for how long. She started to talk. I should go to the doctor, she said, to be sure. Then my mother, my dear sweet mother, who must surely have been devastated at my news, forgot herself and did what she could to cheer me up. She started talking about eating more fruit and veggies and going for daily walks together. She told me that everything was going to be all right. I could tell that she believed it, and that helped me to think that maybe she was right.

She also told me I should talk to my bishop. I made an appointment to see him the next week. I can still remember the sick feeling I had as I sat outside his office. But he was so kind, so understanding. His love and support were nearly overwhelming. I’m sure this wasn’t the sort of thing he expected to hear as the bishop of a singles ward. He certainly seemed at a bit of a loss as to what he personally was supposed to do. But he put me in contact with LDS Family Services, and he came to my house to visit me every single month – he still does, in fact.