Up

There’s a part of my story that I’ve kept quiet about for a while, but I feel that this is the time to share it. I’d actually forgotten about it for a while, but the DVD release of Disney/Pixar’s “Up” put it back in the front of my mind. My mother and I saw “Up” in the theater when I was heavily pregnant, two days or so from my due date. P and M and I all owe a debt of gratitude to “Up.” It is part of what changed my mind about adoption.



“Up” tells the story of Carl Fredricksen, a 78-year-old man who sets his house aloft with a passel of helium-filled balloons. The beginning of the movie introduces us to a young Carl, who stumbles upon an imaginative, freckly girl named Ellie. We watch them grow up together, become friends, fall in love, and marry. In a wordless montage, we see Carl’s and Ellie’s lives together, including their desire to become parents. They happily decorate a nursery. Then a scene shows a doctor’s office, the doctor speaking, Ellie sobbing into her hands and a worried-looking Carl with his hands on her shoulders.

I don’t think it had ever hit me until that moment how devastating infertility must be for a couple. At this point in the movie, early on, I had already fallen in love with the characters and when I saw them decorating the nursery I got excited. The scene in the doctor’s office hit me like a blow to the head. I sobbed as Ellie had, crushed that these wonderful little characters wouldn’t be parents. What a cruel twist of fate! I thought. I was angry at the screenwriters. How could they do this to Carl and Ellie? Poor, sweet, adventurous Ellie. I forgot for a moment that she wasn’t real. I thought how awful it must be to get such news. I tried to imagine it. I thought that I would likely feel betrayed by my own body. A woman was designed to grow a baby. To discover that mine couldn’t do that? I think I’d hate myself. I’d hate God. I’d feel cheated, angry, depressed, desperate.

I realized then that I was clutching my rounded belly for dear life. My attention wandered from the screen for a bit. Jill, what are you doing? I asked myself, thinking of the crib tucked in a corner of my bedroom. Carl and Ellie aren’t real, but there are hundreds of thousands of real people out there just like them, just as wonderful and just as sad.

I let myself think on it for a while. It sounds awful, but I couldn’t picture either of the couples I’d met with months before as Carl and Ellie. I knew that they must have been dealt similar blows to have been led to adoption. But I didn’t like the thought of either couple raising my baby.

But still, I thought, there are so many couples out there who would give the world for the kind of bad news you got in October …

I thought on it, and I pushed it aside so I could focus on the movie (which is amazing, by the way). But that brief scene haunted me all the way to the hospital. I couldn’t get Carl and Ellie out of my head. Their devastation, their sadness and grief. And then I had Roo, and nothing else in the world mattered. I forgot my life before her.

When adoption forced its way into the front of my mind in August, I had certain characteristics in my mind for Roo’s parents. I’d long since forgotten “Up.” I searched and searched and no one felt right. Then, of course, P and M kept coming to mind. And when I met them, there was something about them that I liked, something that drew me to them. I couldn’t put my finger on it until I handed Roo over to her daddy. Then it hit me.

I’d found my Carl and Ellie. Something about P and M reminded me of that cartoon couple, although to this day I can’t pin down what it was. But when I looked at them, I could picture them in a doctor’s office, getting some of the worst news a doctor delivers, grieving together and then, like Carl and Ellie, finding purpose and hope. It sounds awful but when I met those two couples back in February, I didn’t have any kind of overwhelming sadness at their infertility. But when I met P and M, the thought of them finding out they couldn’t have children just killed me. I hated the thought. I was as indignant as I’d been at the movie. How dare God do this to them?

But like Carl and Ellie, P and M are not bitter or angry. They had faith and they moved forward with adoption. Now they have two beautiful girls and they are a family. I’m so blessed to be a part of that. In short, adoption is awesome, and I highly recommend “Up.” It could change your life!

Wanting

I was watching TV with my mother and a commercial came on for Pampers Sensitive baby wipes. It showed a newborn baby in the hospital, crying for a moment before his mother calmed him down. The commercial made me sad, as so many ads with newborns and older babies in them do. It was different this time, though. Before, I’d see a baby and miss my Roo terribly and wish I still had her.

Today was different. I miss Roo, as I always do and always will. She grew in my belly, and she was mine for nine weeks. I love her dearly. How could I not miss her? But when I saw the baby on TV, I said to my mother, “Oh, I want a baby.” And I realized as I said it that I did not mean Roo or want her back. I wanted to have my own baby. Roo is not mine. She was not meant to be mine. She is P and M’s baby. They are her parents. Although I miss her, and I want a baby, I would never take her back from her parents. What I felt was the desire to have the baby that is meant to be mine. A baby I can keep in good conscience. A baby whose father loves me and married me and will take good care of us both.

It was strange to realize that, much as I miss Roo and love her, I would not take her back. I’m not saying that if something happened and she was offered to me, I wouldn’t take her. I would take her in a second. But in missing her, I no longer wish she were with me. I no longer feel as though my baby has been taken and given to others, and I realized that I haven't felt that way for nearly nine weeks. I no longer feel that she is mine in the truest sense of the word. I am blessed beyond measure to be her birth mother, and I am content with that. I have a wonderful relationship with P and M and I know that if I need it, I can ask them and get a picture or an update or arrange a visit.

I want a baby, but I want more, not just a baby. I want a family – a husband, a home. I want a child who isn’t just mine but my husband’s as well – a man I love more than anything. I don’t want to go to prenatal appointments alone. I don’t want my mother to be the other adult in my baby’s life. If my experiences with H have taught me anything, it’s what I’m looking for in a man. I get discouraged because I feel like maybe I’m too picky, my standards too high, and I’ll never find the kind of man I’m looking for. But as S reminded me, it’s better to be alone than to be with the wrong person. If I have to be alone, so be it. I’m willing to find my life wanting until I find what I want.

Final Thoughts on H

I wanted to get out my "What I wish I could say to H" list and drop the subject for a while - and I will - but I had a few more thoughts on the whole sordid affair, and I have learned something, and I want to process that before I stick H back in my subconscious where he belongs.

I thought that something must be wrong with me, to have this sudden compulsion to look him up on-line. It had been two months and I hadn't cared a bit whether he was even alive or not. I thought that my actions were a sign I hadn't made any progress and that I had, in fact, been moving backwards. But I think I've got it figured out now. I think he came to my mind precisely because I have been making progress. Working through some of my issues with H are a sign that I'm moving forward. Were I not, I'd still be pretending he didn't exist.

What it came down to, I think, is that I needed to know three things about H. I wanted to know 1) if he ever seemed to think about or tangentially mention me or Roo, 2) whether he had changed at all - could he have been a good father after all? - and 3) whether he was seeing someone new.

The first is understandable. He hasn't contacted me since August 22nd. He never once asked me how Roo was, if she was healthy, how the birth went, or if she had any horrible defects from his alcohol-drenched DNA. The second is likewise reasonable. I haven't seen the man in a year now, when he pushed me out the door for saying no. Although what little communication has taken place this year hasn't been encouraging, I had this morbid curiosity about whether he has decided to grow up yet. And the third, I think, is perfectly normal for any woman who's been dumped. Has he found someone better yet? Does she look like me? Why her and not me? Et cetera. I hate that insecurity.

The answer to the first question seems to be maybe, just a little bit. Once specifically in the beginning of September and never again. Good to know where his priorities and affections lie: in the liquor department. The answer to the second is no, he hasn't changed a bit. I'm disappointed but not surprised. And the answer to the third seems to be a no as well. Did I screw him up emotionally? Good, I hope so. No less than he did to me.

I feel I'm in a good place now. I'm done with him again - I have been H-free on-line for nearly a week now. It feels good. My curiosity satisfied, I can once again move on with my life. I feel I'm in a pretty good place with things now. H will always occupy a brain cell or two, simply because we are forever connected by Roo. And I think I'm finally okay with that. I'm okay with not being okay with H. Does that make any sense?

I don't care if it makes sense. It makes emotional sense. H messed with my head, and I will never be the person I was before. But it's okay. I am ready to be done with him for good, as much as it's possible. I'm done letting him hurt me in absentia. Roo and I are both so much the better without him, and I am happy with the way things have turned out overall.

So thanks, H, for the donation of your DNA. No, really, thanks. And goodbye.

Unspoken

Things I wish I could say to H:

That I’m sorry about the way things turned out between us.

That we made a beautiful baby together.

That she has his nose, his ears, his dimple. That sometimes I look at her from a certain angle and she looks so much like him that I want to cry.

That she is absolutely perfect, the most perfect baby in the world.

That she defied genetics, and her eyes are pale blue-gray like mine, and not deep brown like his, and they are the loveliest eyes I have ever seen.

That her hair is dark like his but reddish like mine and it looks lighter every time I see it.

That when she smiles, her whole face lights up, and the whole world disappears.

That I’m sorry about so many things. That I wish things had been different. That we could have been happy together and she could have been ours … but that I’m glad that isn’t how things went, because I believe that things worked out the way they were meant to, and she is where she belongs.

That I think that maybe, someday, if it was important to him, he could probably be a good father.

That the adoption wasn’t personal, not about him or me or us. It was about her.

That despite everything that happened, a little part of me still loves him and maybe always will.

That as much as I want to hate him, I can’t, because whether he meant to or not, he gave me the most precious gift in the world.

Insecure and Lost

I checked the Google Analytics for this blog this morning. I always like to see what keywords people searched for that led them to my blog. One person found me by Googling "feeling insecure and lost" which made me raise an eyebrow. I suppose it's entirely possible that I've used that phrase before but if I have I don't remember. It was also an eyebrow-raiser because lost and insecure are two words that describe how I've been feeling today.

I still have bad days - plenty of bad days, if I'm honest. I prefer to put on a brave face most days but the fact is that things still suck quite a bit of the time, and I just want to give up and crawl back into bed. Today was one of those days. I have felt distinctly discouraged, from the time I woke up this morning from a horrible dream, to a few minutes ago when I happened upon one of Roo's soft toys.

I've missed Roo today. A lot. I think that it's yesterday that did it - telling my story all day long brought a lot of emotions up that I'd had buried for a few weeks. I miss seeing her and holding her. I miss knowing funny little things about her and about her day, what cute things she's done, seeing fleeting emotions cross her little face. I even miss changing diapers. It's a funny thing, because I don't soo much miss the Roo of today, the Roo whose parents are P and M, but I miss the Roo who was my Roo. I miss being a mommy. I don't feel like I'm ever going to get a chance at that again.

Gosh, I miss her. It hurts - it hurts so bad! I'm tired of hurting. I've been hurting for years. Where are all those awesome blessings I was promised for doing right by Roo? When will the tide finally turn my way? I feel like all of my efforts lately have been for nothing. Nothing has changed. Nothing is better. I want to just quit. At everything.

I'm starting to feel like I'm wasting time blogging, too. I hate feeling this insecure but that doesn't keep me from feeling insecure. I've lost a few followers lately and there are several websites that used to link to me that don't anymore. What did I do? I wonder. Have I offended people? Am I boring? I like to think I write well but I guess I'm not everyone's cup of tea. I'm not blogging for acclaim or attention but I do like to hear every now and then that I'm appreciated, that I'm doing okay. That I've made a difference. I don't feel like I'm making a difference. I feel like placing Roo is the only good thing I've ever done in my life, and that it's going to be the only good thing I ever do. I don't think any of the kids I spoke to yesterday got a thing out of my presentation. S asked some of them what they'd learned and no one could come up with anything. It made me angry and sad at the same time. Hadn't I said one single thing that stuck with any of them? Am I wasting my time presenting? Does it matter to anyone on earth but my mother that I exist at all?

Ugh. I hate sounding so juvenile and needy. I don't want people to think that I want attention or that I'm fishing for complements. I'm not. I'm just feeling frustrated and slightly invisible. I was standing with a group of people yesterday and after about ten minutes, someone said, "Oh, Jill, I didn't realize you were there." Am I invisible? I'm not overly talkative in public (unless I get going on something) but I don't think that alone should be enough to render me invisible. I hate feeling invisible, unnoticed. I hate feeling that it doesn't make a difference whether I'm there or not, that my presence has no impact on the space around me.

I don't even know if I'm going to post this. I hate sounding so insecure and lost and ... blah. I'm tired of crying. Am I too negative? Is that the problem? Should I try to be happier, to write happier things? I'm certainly not attempting to be miserable, but I don't always focus on the positive. I worry that that's what repels people from me. I worry all the time that I was far too depressed when I wrote right after placement, that I sort of ruined things for P and M at first, that they couldn't enjoy having Roo because I was in such a bad place. I hope I didn't ruin things. I'm tired of ruining things.

I hate looking into schools and applying for jobs. Aside from the fact that I can't even get an interview, it just feels wrong somehow. This isn't what I should be doing. I'm 26! I should be staying at home with my children. I should be a mom. That's what I want to do - not school, not a job. Mothering. That's all I've ever wanted. Will I ever have a chance again? What can I do?

I'm at a loss. Maybe things will look better in the morning.

I Think, Therefore I Need Therapy

I hate that I’ve been devoting so much time and mental energy to H lately. I want him out of my head. I told this to my therapist on Thursday. I explained my sudden, compulsive fit of Twitter-stalking (which I have since halted) and how I’d been unable to get H out of my mind.

John (my therapist) asked me why I thought that was. I hate it when he does that. He’s the one with all the training. How should I know why my mind works the way it does? But I told him the same things that I wrote here, about how it was H’s birthday, and how it’s been nearly a year since I’ve seen him.

“But that’s the point,” I said. “It’s been a year. Why can’t I just get him out of my brain? I don’t want him in there.”

“Well Jill, this might sound a little obvious, but you had a baby with him. Do you really think you can just forget about that?” he asked.

Yes, I told him, and I would be happy to forget. But John was right. As much as I want to forget about H forever, I can’t. We will always be connected by Roo (even though I like to pretend she has nothing to do with him and that he’s not her birth father). I can’t do anything about it. And as John pointed out, it is normal to have H in my head. We were in a relationship for nearly five months. We created a child together.

I know that, I told John. But why was H in my head now? Why couldn’t I stop thinking about him? Back of my mind? Okay. Front of my mind? Less so. I want H on the backburner. I think that it’s because of how things ended. There’s unfinished business there, things that never happened that should have, conversations that never took place, things that need to be said.

“Well, what would you say to him if he were here?” John asked me.

I thought about it for a moment. “I don’t know that I’d say anything so much as I’d kick him hard in the crotch.”

John raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, I don’t know!” I said. “There are a lot of things I’d like to say to him but I don’t know that I’d be able to get any of them out.” Which is true. I can’t think well around H. That’s probably why I ended up with him in the first place.

But still, I have this strange compulsion at times to track H down, to confront him. To text him or call him or e-mail him, to show him a picture, to say, “Look, this is your daughter. Do you care at all?” But I could never do that. I wouldn’t. I don’t want him to know her, to know anything about her. He doesn’t deserve it.

“Well,” said John, “What would you do if you ran into him somewhere, out in public?”
“I was actually thinking about that earlier today,” I confessed, “And I think I’ve decided I’d probably shriek and run in the other direction.”

John covered his eyes with a cupped hand, clearly wondering if I’d gotten anything at all out of the past four years with him.

But I honestly think I would scream and run. Either that or freeze, stand rooted to the spot while my brain runs a mile a minute, wondering if he’ll acknowledge me, if he’ll talk to me, if he’ll maybe just pretend he doesn’t see me.

I doubt very much that I’d be able to say to him any of the things he needs to hear from me – or rather, the things *I* need him to hear from me. I’m not even sure what they all are. I wish I could figure them out. Maybe then I could say them to him somehow – one of those letters you never send – and push H to the back of my mind where I want him, instead of the front of my mind where he can hurt me again.