Some Love for Adoptive Parents

It's been so long since I've written here, but sometimes there are things I just need to get out into the world, just in case someone someday somewhere is supposed to read them. There are definitely issues happening in my adoption world, but maybe I'll save those for another post and go beyond my own story now.

Tonight I was invited to speak at AWAIT (a support group for parents hoping to adopt) and share my experiences as a birthmom in an open adoption. I've gotta say: Adoptive parents are TOUGH. Like the resilient, strong, amazing kind of tough. They wait years and years, spend thousands of dollars, countless hours and an incredibly deep well of emotional energy all in hopes of the possibility of a gift that happens completely by accident to people like me. Wow. Being a birthmom is hard, but waiting to be an adoptive parent.... I do not envy them. But I do think they're awesome. One woman said something that struck me to the core:

"I love my baby SO much and I don't even know where he/she is or when he/she will come"

She said it with tears of hope and love (and I'm sure a little anxiousness) in her eyes with such sincerity. I've been seeing so many really negative posts in social media and adoption regaling horror stories of awful adoptive parents-- so much so I've had to stop following certain birthmom groups-- that it was incredibly refreshing to see these men and women just longing for a little one to love. Every story was different, but that was their common thread.

I think it's very important to hear stories from the other sides of the adoption triangle-- birth families and adoptees-- to help reduce the fear and unknown associated with (especially open) adoption. But I also noticed tonight the filter through which they heard my story.The mediator put it well, when after the meeting she pulled me aside and said,

"You say 'I held my daughter and love my daughter and feel intensely bonded to/protective of my daughter. But at the end of the day, I believe I carried her to be their child' and all they hear is 'I believe I carried her to be their child'".

At the end of the day I don't blame them for this filter. After all, how much harder is this insanely expensive, emotional quest to find your baby when also thinking about the painful realities, especially for the woman who is to give you that baby.

Anyways, moral of the story is that adoption is hard, but there's so much love in it aaaand adoptive parents are rockstars.

The Balancing Act

In my imaginary conversations with E, home alone, in the dark, in my bed, I used to tell her "I think about you every moment of day." For a while that was true, but somehow I just realized it's not anymore.

It's been ten months since I've seen her-- the longest time in her almost-five-year life. I still think about her a lot and my heart aches to get back to her when I do, but there's been a shift. I heard grief once described as a shadow: you can try to run away from it or hide, but it's always going to be there. You just learn to get used to it and live with it.

She's at the age now where she's started asking questions about the adoption. Her mom keeps me posted with the highlights.

Referring to me as "the person who gave birth to me".

Saying I need to come straight over after getting back to the West Coast ("after you unpack" haha! Thanks E).

I felt okay about going to the other side of the country for a year because she didn't really need me and I needed to see what life was like outside that world, but a few weeks ago it hit me that I really really needed to see her, and not being able to just drive over was killer. Now with her asking questions and needing answers from me, I am ready to get back. Like, NOW.

It's a hard balance as a birthparent. On the one hand, you've chosen this life for you and your child so you can each do things you otherwise might not have been able to. For me that list includes graduating high school (check!), then college (check! check!), traveling the world (work in progress), having the freedom to pursue exactly what I want to do with my life.... For her the includes having two loving, stable parents, having an incredible sister, a phenomenal stay at home mom... It's just difficult when following those dreams--the reasons I chose adoption in the first place-- pull me away from that piece of my heart walking around in the world. When sometimes the pain of the lack of her is so thick it's almost tangible, all I want to do is run back to my hometown so I can see her everyday, but my brain tells me, this is what I'm supposed to be doing. This is what I chose.

I'm not sure that part will ever fully heal, but I think I'm okay with that. It's a reminder of who I am: a birthmother, and what I have: an incredible, adorable, scary intelligent daughter.

4+ years later

The thing about being a birthmom is that you never forget it, but everyone else does at some time or another.

My daughter turned four in June and two days later I moved from being ten miles away to nearly 3,000. I'm living my own life-- doing things I would have had a significantly harder time doing if I had chosen to parent those four odd years ago, the things I told my self were reasons to chose adoption. Graduate college. Study abroad. Fall in love. Travel wherever the wind takes me. Now I've done all those things and it doesn't fill the void left in my heart June 27, 2014- the day she left the hospital and me.

The thing about being a birthmom is that you never forget it, but everyone else does at some time or another. After first placing, (almost) everyone is sympathetic to how painful being separated from the child you carried and bonded with for nine months is. After a year, a lot of people seem to think you should be over it, but some tender-hearted friends/family still ask how you're doing, especially on holidays, especially especially on Mother's Day. After two, the numbers dwindle, but aren't extinct. After four.... I feel as though everyone has forgotten that excruciating experience I went through. Of course there are fellow birthmom friends who understand and my brother and his wife surprise me time and again with their consideration of me in that regard, but for the most part, it's no longer a subject of conversation.

I know I am blessed. My daughter's family is amazing (I cannot stress this enough) and our two families have only grown closer with the passing years to the point that a stranger might assume we'd always been family. I should be happy. I am happy. But there is no more recognition of what I did. It feels so selfish to say that, but somehow people telling me what a good thing I did made it hurt just a little less in that moment. It gave purpose to the pain. I made my daughters life better. I gave her family the greatest gift. Blah blah blah.

Four years later, everyone else has happily settled into their new roles, but my heart feels as torn and raw as the day I watched that red Subaru drive away, leaving me in a cold concrete hospital parking lot, with nothing but my screaming heart.

To be fair, most days are good. For a whole year I was perfectly happy to see her once a month (aka whenever I wanted) and I thought I was healed. Turns out, I was just ignorant and took those relationships for granted. Now that I don't have that luxury, I'm simply left with pain and the kind of dreams you wake up crying from because they tap at the deepest fears you never knew you had. I'm scared my daughter won't remember me. I'm scared she won't love me. I'm scared I will go my whole life, unable to heal this broken heart.

I do NOT want you to tell me how blessed I am. I am not coming to you because I am blessed. I know that. I never forget that. I am coming to you because I HURT. The kind of hurt so deep in my heart I'm not sure it will ever stop. The kind of hurt I can never explain to you because I don't really understand it myself. All I know is that it feels like my heart is literally, physically breaking.  And I don't know how to stop it.

Those days

And then there are those days when someone asks, "how could you be so mean to give your baby away" and "don't you love her?" "Don't you miss her?" Why yes, in fact I do love and miss her. But she wasn't mine to 'keep' or 'give away'. She was always meant to be part of their family, I just helped get her there.

Family

I sometimes forget to write about the good things because it's the bad times I need to flush out of my system, but fear not! There definitely are good things about adoption.

A few weeks ago Emilia's Aunt passed away somewhat suddenly. It was right around Big Sis' birthday and we'd had planned to all celebrate that together so in an effort to keep things normal for my favorite newly eight-year-old, my parents and I had dinner at Em's house. Despite the tragedy and loss in the air, more abundant was the love. These people truly are my family. When they cry, I cry. When they laugh, I laugh. I am so incredibly blessed that not only did the adoptive family welcome me and my family with open arms, but also my family welcomed the adoptive family. I know and appreciate the rarity of this.

As we were leaving, I gave Big Sis a huge, per usual and said, "I'm so proud of you, my beautiful eight-year-old!" Beaming up at me, she completed the thought with "...Step-daughter". While I know she obviously isn't my step-daughter I thought it was kind of beautiful of her to say. It shows we're not related by blood but we are family through and through. She is so many things to me: a sister, a daughter, a niece, a sister to my daughter... It's so difficult to put adoption things into logical terms, as open adoption has only been around a few decades and no vocabulary has been standardized. Somehow this wonderful little girl always knows exactly what to say to me. She is incredible and has been since the first moment I met her. Words may fail,  but this love that binds us goes beyond anything I could've hoped for when looking at that little "+" on the pregnancy test over three years ago (!!).

Polarity of Birthmotherhood

*Disclaimer: I am not trying to minimize any birthmoms story or pain, and I recognize there are quite a few generalizations made in the following. Please understand this is a cry of my heart, not a judgement of anyone else's.*

During my 3+ years of being involved in the birthmother circuit, I've met a lot of them. Some briefly, and some have remained my friend for years, but all of them have an incredibly unique story to tell. I've seen birthmoms who try to hide from the adoption, who drown their emotions in alcohol, who are completely content and blissful, who have open adoptions, who have closed adoptions, who see their birthchildren once a year, who see their birthchildren once a week, who love to talk about the adoption, who hate to talk about the adoption, who live in the past, who live in the future, who are angry, hurt, broke, scarred, loved, loving, inspirational, courageous, strong, fearless. I've met a lot of birthmoms.

A large portion don't handle placing their children well (which I completely understand; most have come from unfair, painful family situations themselves, and it is incredibly courageous they chose adoption)-- they return to drinking, doing drugs, or just plain denial. Another camp takes the opposite path-- they become incredibly mature, take control of their lives, and move forward. In open-adoption instances, the first group typically has rocky relationship with the adoptive family and the latter have a very strong, familial bond.

And then there's me. Somehow I don't feel like I fit in to either camp. And if I can't fit in with birthmoms, who can I fit in with? They (theoretically) understand the depth of one of the most important decisions of my life in a way no one else can even begin to imagine. But I have little beyond adoption in common with the revert-partiers, as I can't allow myself to be around that sort of situations anymore. And even the perfectly-adjusted group seems just a little too perfect for me. Being a birth mom is not the greatest thing I've ever experienced, sorry. It still hurts. I'm not over it. I'm not fine. I love the adoptive family and we are extended family and I love seeing my baby girl, but I am still broken. After almost three years it still hurts almost as much as that day I sat in a hospital parking lot and sobbed until my face was numb.

Obviously I'm not in the same place I was then. I finished an associates and am working on finishing two bachelors now. I stay away from partying. I go to church. I smile and laugh when I am blessed enough to see my daughter and her family. But it's not easy watching another woman mother your child. It's not easy seeing the picture perfect family you helped create. It's not easy going through life feeling like a piece of you is missing. I am trying to be strong and brave and okay, but most of the time I just feel like I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing.

The Ride on the Way to "Okay": Burgeoning Questions

Each day/month/year of adoption brings new issues, new joys, and new sorrows. After over two and a half years, here's where we're at:

The past week-ish I've been having mini-breakdowns because I hadn't seen Emilia in a while, so when I finally did it was like I could breathe again; I could feel my whole body physically relax. This used to happen after about two seconds of leaving her, but now it's closer to a month or so, depending. I figure, that's pretty good given that mothers (by any definition of the word, but especially the "carried her for nine months and birthed her" definition) being away from their children is one of the most unnatural feelings in the world-- We're just not programmed for it. Add the fact that Emilia is two and with that age comes a territorial nature over any "special thing" be it toy, book, or visitor and you get more than a little bit of sibling rivalry over lap-time with Tante Hillary [need to remember to write a whole post about that... :)].

An hour or two into the visit, Em's mom pulls me aside and asks if I can pay a little more attention to Emilia's big sister (now age 7 1/2; birthmom uninvolved). I totally understand this and love the girl as if she were my little sister and want to hang out with her etc, but it's so hard when every molecule in my body is still tuned to Em and kind of needed that more than anything else at that moment. I try really hard not to show favoritism toward Emilia, but the fact is- She's my birthdaughter. I love her sister more than I can even put words to, but there's something about biological mother and child that you cannot manufacture in any other relationship, and you really can't ignore. It's how God made us to love as parents and why we can put up with our own children far more easily than others in many instances or simply stare at them, something I never understood until having a child (though keep in mind, I speak from very limited experience as a "parent"). Thankfully, for now there's a built in time for me to spend with just the big sister while Emilia naps, and we have a grand old time and I do enjoy it.

Em's mom and I were able to have a chat later in the day about how the big sis is doing with issues of adoption. They're very open with both girls (to a level they can comprehend at each age) regarding their adoptions and birthparents, which I love. I think it's so healthy not to keep it in the dark. We also discussed how Emilia is at the age where she's going to start asking questions about whether she grew in Mommy's tummy and whatnot. Even I can see her little wheels turning about such topics.

Skip forward a bit.... The girls and I are rough-housing, Em's mom is on the couch nearby working on the computer.


Emilia tackles me and says "My mommy"
Completely taken aback I say "Oh yeah? What's your mommy doing? Sitting on the computer?"
Big Sis: "No Hill, she's talking about you"
Me: "Well I'm not her mommy, I'm her birthmom"
Big Sis: "You used to be her mommy"
Me: "Nope, I've always been her birthmom and your mom's always been her mommy"

And so it begins....

Skip forward to that evening, after I'd left. 

I get a text from Em's mom about something Big Sis said that night: "Why doesn't my birthmom want to see me, when Hillary really really wants to see Millie?". Later in the conversation Emilia pipes in "Hillary is my birthmom". Seems like a sneak-preview of what's to come. It breaks my heart, but I can also understand why Big Sis' birthmom isn't emotionally able to see her. It's hard. It wonderful, but very hard. I also know she's in a very different life-situation than I am. All around it's a tricky situation full of love and joy, but also pain and loss. I'm just so grateful these girls have the mom that they do. If anyone can handle it, she can (whether she believes this or not). It doesn't mean there won't be pain. It doesn't mean we'll stop hoping Big Sis' birthmom will come around. But in the end, I truly believe it does mean  we're all going to be okay. The ride on the way to okay, well... That's another story.

Two Years Later

I realized it's been far too long since I posted any updates here, but a pretty phenomenal new birthmom I know inspired me to do so. Thinking back to the first hours, days, months after I placed Emilia I only remember a blur of tears and staring at pictures. After being forcibly removed from my cocoon of sadness by my loving friends, I put on a face of 'normal'. Holding back the tears, stowing my pictures and the stabbing pain in my heart-wearing the mask of being okay- until I was safely hidden in my bed. Then one day I realized, it wasn't a mask any more. Somewhere along the road, a month, two months down the road, I finally had some happy days. A lot of sad still, but some happy. It's now been two years and three months since I placed Em (...meaning I got pregnant just about three years exactly ago...weird). Rather than struggling with feelings of missing Emilia and wishing I could hold her in my arms, I'm struggling with feelings of guilt over not feeling like that anymore. I chose adoption so Em could have a better life, but also so I  could have the life I envisioned- Go to college, be a 'carefree' teenager/twenty year old, travel, meet my future husband, etc etc. And now I'm living that. I go to a college I love, live on my own, am planning on spending four months next year in Germany, and date whomever I want (still working on the future husband thing). I still miss Emilia. There will always be that hole in my heart in just her shape, but it doesn't hurt so much. Instead of crying when her wonderful adoptive mom sends me pictures I (usually) smile and think about how happy she is and how completely loved and cherished. That's all I could ask for. I see her and her family about once a month now, but I don't find myself counting the days any more. Don't get me wrong, I love our visits and wouldn't trade them for anything, but our relationship has also evolved into something more beautiful than I could ever have imagined.

Emilia and her sister were flower girls in my brothers wedding this past August. Her whole family came and her mom later told me about a conversation she had with one of my aunts that I think exemplifies the situation. She commented how awesome my family is to which my aunt replied "they're you're family too". Yes, Auntie. How right you are. And our entire family is indeed awesome.

The Light at the End of the Tunnel

Emilia's adoptive mom and I had coffee the other night-- no kids, just us ladies. Truthfully, I was a little stressed going in to it as these meetings are typically super high-emotion (duh) and this proved true, but in a very very good way. We each kept saying things that the other was feeling too (always nice to know you're on the same page) and talked about how the puzzle is complete now that we're together. I respect this woman so incredibly much; she's an amazing mother, friend, wife. She always follows her heart and doesn't let the negativity of the world around keep her from this. Sure, she has flaws and makes some mistakes, but what I admire most is her ability to admit this and talk about whatever issue arises. She's taught me to talk about how I'm feeling which not only strengthened our relationship, but my relationships with all my friends and family. She fills a missing piece in my life no one else could, and I believe will all my heart we were destined to be family. She not only adopted my daughter, but also me and has accepted me into her family with undeniable grace, love, and humility. While giving my daughter a home, I got a family as well-- another set of parents (though I love my own deeply- Mom, Dad: don't be offended you, could never be replaced), a little sister who lights up my life with her brilliant 6-year-old mind, and two ridiculous cats. The greatest thing anyone has said to me is when Emilia's dad told me I was not a guest in their home- I was family. I thank God, in all His mysterious wisdom, for bring us together and saving my life.

Adoption.

When will I be able to get off this rollercoaster? I'm getting nauseous. The ride isn't fun anymore. Seriously.






Oh yeah, never.

Basically.

Basically I just miss Emilia like crazy but then I look at pictures her mom posts on FB and I almost don't recognize her. Like she doesn't feel like my baby anymore. Like this little girl that I'm missing and feeling completely broken about doesn't really exist anymore. So what's the point.

Family

As I prepare to move southward for school, I spent nearly all day, three days in a row, visiting Emilia and her family. While it's incredibly hard to say goodbye for now, those three days were some of the happiest I've had. I got to see Emilia walk eight steps by herself. I got to put on a lemonade stand with her big sister. And I got to simply be a part of their family, feel exceptionally loved, and know (as I always have) they were meant to be part of my family forever.

Baby Steps.

19-august-2011

            My daughter took her first steps today. It's hard to convey a cohesive explanation for how that feels to a birth-mom. I did not get the overwhelming joy of witnessing these first feeble attempts at bipedal movement, but heard of it second hand via text [let me not minimize the amazingness of hearing about it at all-- I know many birth-moms are not so lucky and I am whole-heartedly grateful for these small windows into my sweet baby girls life]. Some most easily grasp the excitement of the situation. Other may grasp theoretically the idea of the pain and loss incorporated. But no one, aside from another birth-parent, can truly know the confusingly overwhelming swirl of emotions that occur upon hearing big news like this, which Emilia's birth-father aptly described as "disorienting". It hits you like a sucker-punch to the gut and as you lay gasping on the ground all you can think is how badly you ache to see that little person, to whom you gave life and how proud you are that they're growing up, yet simultaneously re-realizing they are not your child.

           Over the last few months, things in my world of adoption have miraculously switched from significant stress, sadness, and emotional chasms, to one of free-flowing love, respect, and a happiness I could never dreamed of a year ago-- a transformation I can only attribute to the Lord and the way He works in both my and the adoptive mothers hearts. To be able to watch my little girl develop, smile, laugh, play with her big sister; to see how undeniably loved and happy she is; rates higher than any gift I have or will receive.

             If you asked me a week ago how the adoption was going, I would have said something like "great! I love the time I get to spend with Emilia and her family, but I'm also learning to love the time we spend apart and be happy in my own life. The pieces of my heart seem to be repositioning themselves back to their original place in my chest and slowly returning to working order. I'm looking forward to going away to school next month, and even though I know I will miss Emilia, I'll still see her relatively frequently and I think that's enough now". As I'm writing tonight that's all still true, I just didn't realize my heart pieces are still a little bruised and there are still days (like today) where they seem to scatter all over again.

            Just like Emilia slowly learning to walk, I'm slowly learning to find my new normal; my new happiness. She and I can stumble our way through this chapter of life-- sometimes falling a little, sometimes a lot; sometimes picking ourselves up, sometimes needing a little help and a hug. Each day our legs will grow stronger beneath us and we'll fall less and less until one day we will run side by side-- smiles on our faces and love in our hearts and know without a doubt, we not only survived, we conquered.

In an alternate universe...

Despite my certainty in my adoption choice, my mind can't help but wander to what might've been. In that alternate universe where I chose to raise Emilia, she wouldn't have stranger anxiety around my parents. She would know them and love them even at one year old. I know she will know and love them eventually it's just heart-breaking to see her shy away from them. Not only did I take her away from my arms, I took her away from theirs.  And sometimes that's too much to take.

Falling

I want to tell her everything I'm feeling. The lack of control. The complete anguish. The part of my heart that's missing because she's holding it in her arms, while my chest lays gaping and my arms empty. I want to tell her all this, but I can't. No one else can undertand the pain of this adoption better than her, but every joy for her is a pain for me. Every joy for me is a pain for her. If I say all these things that overflow from my heart, it will break hers. There's no way to communicate that even though this feeling nears the asymptote of unbearable, it doesn't mean I don't love her and think she's an amazing mom. It doesn't mean I think I made the wrong choice. I just means I'm falling apart.

Why am I doing this again? Oh that's right...

Sometimes I have to look at pictures from the hospital to remind myself she was mind for a time and he's my DNA. That's why I'm putting myself through this. That's why I can this undying passion for someone else's child.

...


Searching for some resemblance between the baby who was mine and the toddler that's now theirs. You've grown so much baby girl. Grown away from me?

(an actually) Happy Mothers Day

I was somewhat dreading this day, thinking it would be yet another reminder of my baby that's going to call another woman 'mom'. I had a picture of what today might look like, partially hoping to spend it with Emilia, but that didn't happen and I'm glad now. I am not her mom. I do not wake up at 2am when she's sick and hold her upright in a rocking chair so she can sleep. I do not change her poop explosions. I am not the one she calls out for in her little baby voice- 'mama'. But I am her birth-mom, and that's something no one else can claim. It doesn't have to be a battle for recognition between adoptive and birth moms. We each have our own place, and (though it sucks majorly sometimes) mine is not always with her.

That being said- I have awesome friends. I truly see God's hand at work in my life, putting exactly the people I need into it. This morning I awoke to texts from said friends wishing me a happy mothers day. I have not been forgotten simply because my baby isn't with me. I'm going to spend the day with my awesome mother, making her feel as loved as possible. And I know Emilia will be doing the same for her mother for years to come.

 So, HAPPY MOTHERS DAY BIRTH-MOMS, who had the strength to do what's right for their children and HAPPY BIRTHDAY ADOPTIVE MOMS, who did what we could not and daily guard over our most precious gift.

One of Those Days That Makes it ALL Worth While...

Today was fairly amazing. As I drove to Emilia's house I thought about how I'd been feeling a bit distant from her adoptive mom--what with a baby for her and a ridiculous school schedule for me, time for "grown-up" talk seemed to evaporate when I needed it most. BUT (here come's part one of what makes it all worth while...) today Em's sister stayed at a friend's for a bit and Emilia nappen so we got a nice long chunk of time to seriously chat. Yeay! Nothing too heavy or emotional, but it felt like old times which I needed with everything so topsy tervy since Emilia was born. After an hour or so, Emilia woke up and I sat on the floor with her playing. THEN (part two!!) SHE STOOD UP ON HER OWN! For the first time ever!! Okay, for those of you who aren't birth moms, let me enlighten you into the phenominalness of this situation: birth moms, if they're lucky (and have chosen an open adoption), will hear about the big firsts (rolling over, crawling, teeth, standing up...) second hand shortly after they occur. Some don't even get that much. So the fact that Emilia was literally right next to me and stood up unsupported for the very first time is pretty revolutionary. Score one for birth moms!! Later, her sister came home and some serious tickle-fighting fun ensued which is always a good thing involving many smiles. Needless to say, today kicked major ass. :)

In the silence...

Sometimes the silence of my house at night unnerves me. I've been sitting here thinking about how I would probably miss this quietude if I had a baby now, and yet every molecule of my being wishes to hear an infants sleeping sigh, grunt, or even cry to be held. The other day I had coffee with some amazing young moms. They fed their kids and played with them, as that is their reality. They told me about dreams of full-nights rest and time to themselves, while (to borrow a quote from my dear friend Amy <3) there is "nothing to keep me from sleeping through the night" and yet I ache for it. Is it just that the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence? Or it is that having my sweet little girl has awakened a hunger in me that will not be satisfied until I'm a mom? I keep waiting for this stabbing pain to go away, or at least dull a bit, but it stays strong.

I miss Emilia, yes, but I know she's where she's meant to be- with her incredible family. Recently I find myself grieving a baby that does not yet exist. Can I really continue in this way until the boxes of my life long to-do list are checked-- finish school-- begin career-- find amazing man-- date for appropriate amount of time-- marry said man-- wait appropriate amount of time before trying for kids-- before finally reaching the box I dream most of checking? I've heard it said that holes created in your heart by grief never shrink, your heart just grows larger making them less significant, but what happens if the hole is so great my heart can't function? There are so many issues to deal with before I'll even get close to starting a family. I'm nineteen years old. Most girls my age date around for fun, worry about school, don't obsess over their future. When I next date (goodness knows when that even might be), I'll always have the thought in my mind "is he my future husband? Would he make a good dad?" That's a lot of pressure to put on a guy. Plus, whoever I care about I want to care about Emilia, but one man in her life is already unreliable, I could never introduce her to someone who might be gone tomorrow. I have so much respect for single moms dating. The issues are even more so prevalent there.

I have all these great things I want to post about adoption, but somehow only the pain comes out in my blogs. Maybe because I share the good parts every day whenever I meet people who are involved in young pregnancy and/or adoption. Some day I will share these thoughts here too. Particularly the turning point in my greif that happened on December 26th 2010. Stay tuned :)

Christmas

Every Christmas I have to the same struggle with what to get my family members and friends as the perfect gift. This year has brought even more challenge.

What do I get for the mother of my daughter that says "Thank you for raising my baby- the most important thing in my life- for loving her as your own, for waking up in the middle of the night to feed or change her, for committing your time, energy, love, patience, and sanity, to make her the person she's meant to become for the rest of her life"?

Everything I think of seems cheap. Insufficient. Insincere. Many will want to say "oh, but you've given her your first child, what more of a gift could you give than that?" But there is so much love and gratitude in my heart for this woman I didn't even know a year ago but am now so close and emotionally intertwined with I feel there must be some way to show that and thank her for being the most important person to that little girl who is most important to me. I know she'll love whatever I chose I just want it to be perfect!