Being a birth mom doesn't define me. Even though, it probably should. I mean, my job doesn't define me, my hobbies don't define me. My faith sort of defines me, but not in the most traditional ways that are obvious to people.
Whenever I read about how other birth moms are struggling with their feelings I feel guilty for not being as upset as them. I mean, I get more upset about it in different ways.
If something doesn't add up, for example, if a visit or pictures was promised, and then they didn't deliver on said promises right away, or in a reasonable amount of time, as promised, then I get a little upset.
Because that's not fair, and I hate it when I am lied too. I just can't accept it.
Now, I know that life sometimes gets things delayed because unexpected things come up, and I understand that if it is explained to me. I just can imagine that things are going wrong if you don't tell me.
Anyways, that's not what I wanted to write about.
I was thinking about the first times after I gave birth and placed Parker because I have been reading so many stories about it lately. And all of these new birth moms, and even experienced birth moms are often telling stories about how hard they cried and how much they miss their placed child.
I mean, I miss Parker, but I rarely imagine him as part of my life.
I feel sort of a cold rejection when I read stories that I can't relate to but wish I could.
When I hear a story about a birth mom leaving the hospital alone, I feel guilty that I left the hospital not even a full day after I gave birth, in the company of my dear friend.
And what I remember, I wasn't melancholy. I was tired and very hungry.
When I'm hungry, I can rarely think of anything else than what I want for my next meal.
The day that I left the hospital, Parker was still there, so were Jacob, and James, and Laurie(future adoptive parents at the time) and the social worker, Cathy.
The room was a bit crowded for me to get some sleep.
When I left the hospital I don't even really remember walking out.
Just that feeling that I really wanted and shower and a good meal and a good sleep.
I knew that Parker was not leaving with James and Laurie until at least the next day(they actually left that evening, but it wasn't originally planned that way) and Jacob was going to be with his first born as well as his sister(with whom he was staying for the night) who had everything you could need for a baby(she was pregnant with IVF twins, had a C-section 4 days after I gave birth)
I was confident, in that day, that everything was in place.
That day was really a blur for me. I remember eating chicken fajitas and having a strange horror dream where Parker was in danger(it was just a dream)
It seemed like that visit I had at Jacob's sister house(Natasha is her name) happening in a blink.
I was unexpected as Jacob was supposed to spend time with Parker overnight, but he decided that just 5 hours was enough time. He hadn't slept for two days, I guess it was a rational decision.
I remember kissing Parker, all snug in his brand new car seat, on both cheeks, and then on the forehead.
I did it as a sort of blessing, when noone was looking and everyone was chatting and distracted with the putting coats and shoes on.
We all left out the door sort of together, only to let James and Laurie, with Parker safely buckled in their SUV, for the second time(they apparently drove Parker to Natasha's home, along with Jacob), drive off before us, back to Laurie's mom's house that was only a few blocks away. I don't even know, to this day, when they really left for Sherwood Park, up by Edmonton, that day, or the next morning. Both are possible.
I think the separation of Parker and myself was so happenstance that I never had the chance to think about it that day. Not enough to be sad about it at least. It was all so logical for me.
I had to leave the hospital before him, being there was torture because they didn't have food for me and I was all ... icky ... from giving birth. Jacob needed special time with Parker anyways, and I wanted him to have that time, out of respect, so that he wouldn't give anyone any trouble about the adoption(which didn't exactly work, but in the end, he relented on his insane parenting plan and gave up selling it).
It worked out for me that Natasha was willing to help care for Parker, she wanted to meet her nephew anyways(a surprise to me!). It worked out that Laurie's mom lived close to Natasha and that Laurie and James could easily stay with her.
Everything worked out for me and seemed very logical. My feelings didn't come into play until months after that day. I worked in blissful indifference to the fact that my son was not with me.
I felt grateful that he was being extremely well cared for and that I knew exactly where he was and what his room looked like. Just knowing all the things that he needed were all there, it made it sort of impossible for me to feel badly about my decision.
Hearing stories of woe from other birth moms is always a wake up call for me.
That I should care more, be more upset. Even though, I have my times of crying.
I cry like mad for a few hours every few months or something, and then, I'm fine and it's like I was never upset in the first place!
Am I a monster for not having been a wreck for the first few months after placing Parker.
Is it unfair that in most things in life, things just 'work out' for me.
I mean, others complain about not getting their 'due' at work, and I do not complain, but I get more, more hours, more privileges, more consideration. I think it's because I rarely complain, and I do what everyone else is supposed to do but thinks it's 'going out of there way' or 'not their job'. I just do those things that others seem offended to be asked to do, because I know it's what I'm supposed to do, nothing more, and very little extra if that.
There is so much that just 'works out' for me that I never expect.
My credit is extended when I need just that little bit more, food is offered to me at times when I may of gone without, things are offered to me when I would have gone without, and often, these things happen in spite of the fact that I never ask for help, or rarely so.
Actually I feel embarrassed when I get things I didn't ask for, things that I need.
I wonder how much they must of watched me struggle to be so annoyed to be compelled to give me that new pair of shoes, or seen me swoon and stagger with weakness because I forgot to eat while doing a task(housework, etc) and rolled their eyes at my stupidity in not stopping to eat earlier.
And other things like that.
I wonder if I am a horrible person for often living as though Parker is not my son.
This is why I need pictures of him framed on my desk, on the fridge.
I'd put them on every common surface if I could, I need to remember that he lives.
I mean, there are many times when I have this strange sensation, as though I'm forgetting to do something.
I feel a restlessness to do something, care for something. I think it's probably because my inner instinct to care for Parker is finally crying out in me.
I am not naturally emotional, but that doesn't mean I don't care. On the contrary, I don't mean to brag, but I notice the needs of others far sooner than others do, and I usually try to do something about what I notice.
I care in a more solid way, not like emotional fog that comes and goes. I care the same all the time, not more, not less, but always the same. Is that bad? I hope not.