When I ended Part 2, I led you to believe that this part would be about the day I delivered a baby girl. And while it is, there is a funny story that I must share before I jump into that.
I was approaching my due date. While I wasn't huge by any means, you could definitely tell I was pregnant. Every morning I waddled my ass down the street to my sister from another mister's house. We would then proceed to go to our bus stop - her walking all nice and normal. Me? Not so much.
We took the bus every day and we had the same driver every day. As much as I hated the man for making us listen to Howard Stern every morning, I did appreciate the fact that he seemed to look out for his precious cargo.
One morning in particular, we boarded the bus. He stopped me at the top of the steps and informed me that he was a volunteer fireman. If anything were to happen, he would know exactly what to do. That was not exactly the man I wanted to deliver my baby, or any baby for that matter. But I did appreciate his words.
Shortly after that, not sure when, but maybe a week, 2 at the most, I woke up in pain. Nothing severe, but enough to be annoying. The fact that it was 5 in the morning only added to the annoying factor. I am not a morning person by any means!
Thank goodness I still lived at home and had my mom to help me. She asked how much pain I was in and if the pains were consistent. Enough and yes. We grabbed my bags and headed for the car. Half way out of the driveway I felt the sudden urge to...
Call my sister from another mister. Did you think I would say push? No, we'll save the story of my 2nd birth for another time! I'm sure she would have figured out what was going on if I wasn't at her house by a certain time. But I still had to call her.
I'll spare you the details of the actual birth itself. It was nothing out of the ordinary. I had my epidural, the only time I had an epidural, and after a few more hours than expected, a baby girl was born. For obvious reasons I can't share any pictures, but trust me when I say she was absolutely perfect. 10 teeny fingers, 10 teeny toes, and a teeny bit of blond hair on her teeny head. Yes she was small, 6 1/2 pounds, but she was healthy and perfect.
I'm not sure if it was hospital policy or if it was my situation, but the baby slept in the nursery at night. The nurse would bring her into my room when I asked and take her back when I asked. I spent those 2 days in the hospital feeding her and changing diapers. I also loved to watch her sleep. The boyfriend (now husband) also came to visit. Watching him hold her broke my heart. I could tell it was hard for him as well. But I think if we didn't spend a little time with her we would regret it for the rest of her lives.
My last day in the hospital was full of so many emotions. I was happy to be going home. I'm the odd one who actually likes hospital beds, but they still don't compare to my own. As happy as I was to go home, I also didn't want to leave. I knew when I was finally wheeled to the entrance of the hospital, there would be people there waiting for me. Not people who were taking me home. They were people waiting to take a baby home.
I was quite capable of walking myself out of the hospital, but I had to follow hospital procedure. I didn't always like to follow the rules, but I really wasn't in the state of mind to argue. On the back of my wheelchair hung my bags. Balloons were tied to the handles. A teeny pink bundle was nestled in my lap. Through the hospital we went.
We came to the front doors and I knew it was time. Time to make the exchange. The smiles on the faces of the new family helped remind me that this was the right thing to do. We were in no position to provide a child with all the opportunities they deserved. This couple could provide what we couldn't. They took their teeny bundle. The balloons, too. There was no reason I need to keep any pink congratulatory balloons.
I have never considered my first baby, now a young lady, mine. She has and always will belong to the people she knows as her parents. But that doesn't always make it easy for me. For years I had good days and bad. It didn't help hearing abortion rumors when I did return to school. Who says that shit? I found out who it was and it took everything I had to not kick his ass. And I wasn't a fighter.
Now that we have 2 of our own children, it can still be difficult. I wish they knew more of their sister. We do have pictures around the house. They are aware of who she is. My son is only 5 so his level of understanding is not all that deep. Through the years we have visited. I'm not sure if I mentioned if before, but we decided on an open adoption.
For the past year or 2 we have only sent cards and pictures to each other. As any parent knows, life happens. I know she is involved in activities, as are the 2 I have at home. Add to that the weather (last winter here was nothing short of brutal!) and family things, and visiting is not as easy as we sometimes hope.
I know she knows who we are and our 2 kids know who she is. Deciding to go the adoption route was a difficult decision, but to this day I still feel we did the best possible thing. I still have my bad days, though not as often as I did in the beginning. But that doesn't mean I regret anything.