What’s wrong with this?
It seems exciting, right? It’s the type of news you get that’s so big that you just can’t hold it in any longer. You immediately take to Instagram, where you will receive all kinds of support and encouraging words. You just can’t contain the excitement, I understand that, but… you have to contain yourself. I know what you’re thinking, “You’re just raining on my parade and picking apart everything we do. She even told us that this is our baby! She’s definitely doing this adoption; she is confident in her choice and she promised.”
Okay. Hear me out.
Whether she tells you that this baby is yours or not, that woman is carrying her very own baby. She looks at herself in the mirror every day as her baby grows. She feels her baby kick, sometimes so hard that it knocks the wind out of her. But really, she never had much wind to begin with, because she’s working full-time and trying to hold everything together. She’s stretched thin. Her daily routine is enough to rip apart the seams of her life, but add in the emotional aspect, and she’s a freakin’ wreck. So naturally, avoiding automatic self-destruction, she avoids the emotions. She holds her head up high and does not waver, especially when she speaks to the family she has chosen to raise her baby. She so badly craves their trust and desires to be seen as an equal individual. She continuously tells herself that this baby is their baby, not her own. One morning, she goes into the hospital to be induced. She labors intensely for hours upon hours. In her own mind she wonders if this baby will ever be born, and even wonders why she’s doing all this work for a baby that is not even hers. Then, at 5:34 am on a Tuesday, the doctor holds a sweet, innocent little boy up to her. She sees him and weeps. Whose baby is that, with the brown, squinty eyes and the perfect little round head of hair? Whose baby is that, the one that doesn’t make a sound and contently gazes into her eyes? She then realizes that is her baby. No papers have been signed yet and there isn’t a thought in her mind except that she can’t believe this baby boy is part of her… forever.
This baby boy becomes your child when his mother signs the most heartbreaking documents of her entire life. He becomes your sweet, bright-eyed son when his first mother places him in your arms. This may be hard for you to hear, and I hate that because I never want to lecture or convey hostility on such a delicate subject. I know that you are fighting your own battle. Infertility has broken your spirit and flipped your dreams upside down. I would never wish to make this long and painful wait for parenthood harder on you. However, in order to progress ethically and advocate for women just like me, we must do the hard things. Believe it or not, you are stripping the mother of her voice and sometimes her right to choose when you acknowledge that the baby is yours before he or she truly is YOURS. This is a choice that weighs so heavily on us, before and after we put pen to paper.
I have now been working for an adoption agency for over a year, and in my short time in this field, I feel like I have seen it all. I have seen expectant mothers confidently making promises about placing their baby with a family, building a strong relationship, and then at the last moment, they decide to parent. It’s important to know that you are not immune to this, and it’s always a possibility. One of the hardest truths you will have to come to terms with is this: she may decide to parent this baby, and if she does, you have to love her and want the best for her anyway. Choosing to celebrate this woman’s choice, no matter what choice she makes – that’s a demonstration of the purest kind of love. Prepare yourself for the chance that this may not happen, and that this baby is not yours yet. It honors this woman, this child, and it preserves your heart.
I am a 26-year-old birth mother living in Indianapolis, Indiana. I placed my son with a wonderful family in May 2016. I decided on open adoption after an abortion procedure miraculously failed. After placing my baby boy, life became tough. I had no worries or doubts about his well-being because I knew I chose the perfect family for him. However, when the grief set in, I was lost and distraught. Ultimately, I chose to pick up the pieces and take a step forward. In my short but continuous experience, I have found that a healthy balance of helping yourself and helping others is abundantly therapeutic.
