I knew I would care for her. I recognized that the decision she was making was one of the most difficult decisions she would ever make. Before we were chosen, I grieved for the woman who would birth the baby I would raise. While I often cried because the wait was hard and long, while I sometimes felt the pain of realizing that pregnancy wasn't something I would experience, I cried frequently for her as well. We were concerned for her well being during and after the pregnancy. We made sure that the agency we chose would have scholarship opportunities as well as offer counseling and post birth support.
But if I'm being completely honest, I shamefully admit that somewhere in the deep corners of my selfish soul, I hoped that she, whoever she was, would eventually disappear. Having to share the title of mother with anyone else didn't feel fair-- just because someone could birth their own child they got that right but I didn't because my body had failed. Secretly, I hoped that she would provide medical and family history and then slowly disappear.
I would read adoption related blogs and articles and cry (I have done a lot of crying the past few years, as you can tell) because people would point out how horrible adoption is because children were "ripped away", women were "coerced", lives ruined because "biology is best" and babies shouldn't be handed to "baby snatchers" or "privileged white people who just want the perfect baby". There was a part of me that really took these things to heart and made me feel guilty for wanting to raise a child from their first day on earth and that, too, contributed to my secret wish that a future birth mother would slowly disappear, because maybe the guilt would subside. I have written about the reason we chose infant adoption before, so I won't go into it, but even though the main reason we feel called here is we feel there needs to be someone willing to give a good life, love and family to a kid from day one when they can't get that from their biological family.
But then I heard her voice. I saw her face. I met the woman who would one day tell me to go to my son just moments after she delivered him. She was beautiful, strong, decisive. She admitted at one point that she considered changing her mind, worried she would never see him again, but stayed strong because she trusted us and loved him. I'm forever grateful for her decision-- because of her my life is changed forever and in the most beautiful way.
I had no idea before we were chosen how attached I would become to the mother of my son. I had no idea how I would think of her daily. How when Josiah raises his eyebrows just like she does or his big brown eyes (that look just like hers) would look at me at just the right moment she would pop into my head. I didn't know that I would wonder what she was doing, how she was feeling, where she was at. I didn't know that if I didn't hear from her for a few days I would start to worry. I never thought I would feel fiercely protective of her, not wanting others to think poorly of her but still understand that she made the right choice.
I won't tell you that the woman who gave birth to my son is a saint. She lives a difficult and tumultuous life, often making choices that aren't morally acceptable or healthy. I am grateful that Josiah isn't growing up in that environment because it's unpredictable and scary and though she had love, she was not in a place to provide care.
I can't compare it to any other relationship really, because there is none to compare it to. She gave me the gift of parenthood by entrusting us with caring for her son. He is now my son because she allowed it to be. She did this for reasons that were lovely and reasons that aren't so lovely.
I had no idea before we were chosen how attached I would become to the mother of my son. I had no idea how I would think of her daily. How when Josiah raises his eyebrows just like she does or his big brown eyes (that look just like hers) would look at me at just the right moment she would pop into my head. I didn't know that I would wonder what she was doing, how she was feeling, where she was at. I didn't know that if I didn't hear from her for a few days I would start to worry. I never thought I would feel fiercely protective of her, not wanting others to think poorly of her but still understand that she made the right choice.
I won't tell you that the woman who gave birth to my son is a saint. She lives a difficult and tumultuous life, often making choices that aren't morally acceptable or healthy. I am grateful that Josiah isn't growing up in that environment because it's unpredictable and scary and though she had love, she was not in a place to provide care.
I can't compare it to any other relationship really, because there is none to compare it to. She gave me the gift of parenthood by entrusting us with caring for her son. He is now my son because she allowed it to be. She did this for reasons that were lovely and reasons that aren't so lovely.
But I can tell you that I love her. I did not expect it. I'm grateful for it. And I can say confidently now that the selfish desire to be his one and only mother is no longer in my heart. I hope she is a part of his story from this point on, for his sake, for her sake, and for mine. I look forward to our future with her as a part of our family.
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