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.

Looks Aren't Everything, But They Help

I've gotten a few new pictures of Roo lately, which I love. Pictures always make my day. Just the sight of her sweet little face makes me smile. And what can I say? She's a stunner. Absolutely perfect. Beautiful. I'm happy that H's and my DNA got along better than we ever did. I firmly believe that Roo is the result of the choicest genes from both H and me. Roo got the very best of each of us (although whether she got my curly hair remains to be seen) with none of our physical flaws as yet (her forehead is a normal size, and the few teeth she has are healthy). She is absolute perfection. I wouldn't change a cell in her little body. I did good work :o)

And yet ... she looks just like her daddy! Several people have said so, including her daddy's family. I don't know how, I don't know why. I just know that she does, and I love it. She looks like her daddy, but with her mommy's pretty eyes, long-lashed and slightly exotic. I get such a kick out of that, I can't even tell you. No one would ever guess that she was adopted. Not that that's important. I wouldn't care if Roo didn't look a thing like her parents. But she does, and I think it's awesome.

I don't know if this sounds silly or stupid or not, but it's comforting to me how much Roo resembles her mommy and daddy. It's like one more of the many signs I've found that Roo is where she's meant to be. And there have been dozens! Some people would call them coincidences, or say I'm finding them only because I'm looking for them. But I believe strongly that almost every single day my Father in Heaven has found some small way to confirm to me that I found the right family for Roo, and that she is where she belongs.

How grateful I am to my Heavenly Father for allowing me to be Roo's birth mom, and how grateful I am to P and M for being her parents! They could and can do everything in the world for her, except give her a body. I'm happy to have done that for her, and for them. It's the body they would have given her had they been able - right down to the button nose and pretty eyes. She looks more like them than I look like either of my parents, and I wasn't adopted.

Roo belongs with them. She is theirs, and she looks like theirs, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Is it important? No. But is it nice? You betcha.

Don't Open the Door!

I've been in a bit of a funk lately. I think it's because I've been working on more of my story, and although I tend to ruminate, I hate it. I don't like living in the past, and I really don't like reliving stupid things I've done.

But I want to be thorough. It's one of my quirks. It's not enough to me to just say that my pregnancy was a lonely time and I wasn't sure what to do about things. Writing is cathartic, and I know I'll feel better once it's all out.

That said ... I've been going through old messages on MySpace. H and I met on MySpace, have I mentioned that before? I'm never on MySpace anymore, because it reminds me of H, and because I like Facebook better. And because most of the people I connect with on-line have abandoned MySpace for Facebook.

Anyway.

It's coming up on two years since I met H, and I've been reading through the messages H sent me, from the first down to the last, so I can write about things. In retrospect I can see things progressing, see the danger that was almost imperceptible at the time. It's horrifying. My stomach turns more and more as I move through the list. I want to reach back two years and slap myself. Give myself a good shake and tell myself to snap out of it, to use my brain for once and think about what I'm doing. I feel physically ill as I read.

It's a bit like watching a scary movie. I can look at things now and see the stalker with the meat cleaver hiding behind the door, waiting for the horror-film heroine, too tragically stupid to live, to enter the room. I want to shout to her, "Don't open the door!" But it does no good. She can't hear me. She's going to open the door no matter what I do. She's going to be butchered and I am powerless to stop it. I can only look on in horror at the bloodbath on the screen.

That turned into a violent metaphor. Hmm.

Sometimes I wish I hadn't opened the door. I wish I could go back. Arm myself. Give myself something to defend myself against the onslaught. But then ... what of my baby? If I'd known not to open the door, known what was behind it and walked away instead, she wouldn't be here. I don't like to think about a world without her.

I've struggled, thinking about things. Would I make the same mistakes again, knowing what I do now? Would I still have done everything just to get Roo here? I think I would. I know that, if I hadn't, Roo would have gotten here some other way. But I'm greedy and selfish. I want Roo in my life. I wouldn't trade being her birth mother for anything in the world. If I had to open the door to get her here, so be it. She is worth it.