An Adoptive Mum’s Birthstory

The phone call came in June, about 2 weeks after I had accepted a full time teaching job. We had been matched with a birth-mother in Virginia Beach, VA. She was due in September, about 6 weeks into the school year.  I informed my new incredibly understanding Principal and new colleagues of the situation. Then life went back to normal.

The birth mother was scheduled to have a c-section on September 12^th. I planned everything down to the last minute. On Friday the 9^th I left my classroom, substitute plans laid out for the next 6 weeks. The car was packed. My husband and I drove with our two dogs from Fort Morgan, CO to Virginia Beach, VA.

We arrived in Virginia on Sunday afternoon and drove directly to the birth-mother’s apartment. We had met once before, when we had flown out for an ultrasound. We took her to dinner. The evening was wonderful.

Early the next morning I picked the birth-mother up to take her to the hospital. We casually chatted all through the check in process and pre-surgery checks. She was wheeled away while I suited up. My husband met me outside the operating room and we anxiously paced the halls, aware that something momentous was about to happen, but fearful about what was occurring through those double doors.

I was summoned.

Within about a minute my son was delivered via c-section. I will never forget the sound he made as he emerged from her uterus. He quacked like a duck. The birth-mom and I both looked at each other and laughed. She smiled, and with tears in her eyes said “Fiona , meet your baby boy.”

Words cannot express the adulation I felt at that point. I held my son tightly as we walked to a closet sized side room. They checked his weight, his length and did the Apgar test. I trembled the entire time. I was in shock. In awe. I was a mum.

I accompanied my son into the nursery, terrified to leave his side. I observed intently as nurses carried out their tests.

I was the only non nurse female in a room of dads. I received many a quizzical glance. The nurses talked about me and “our situation.”  I watched as my husband stood nervously on the other side of the glass, unable to enter the  nursery, hold his son, or hug his wife.

There were two bracelets to get access to the nursery that matched my son’s bracelet. One was given to the birth-mom (who was cruelly recuperating in the delivery ward amongst moms being brought their newborn babies.) The second was given to me. My husband was not able to go into the nursery.

The nurses asked me if I wanted to feed my son. Terrified, I asked if my husband could do it. I have fed babies before, but never a brand new one. The wonderful nurses agreed and wheeled him out in the little plastic see through bassinet to the little room they had set aside for us to base ourselves for the next few days.

I am not going to lie, despite our wonderful relationship with the birth-mother there was still the lingering knowledge she could see the baby at any point in time and could check him out of the nursery. We knew she wouldn’t, but we had been through so much disappointment and heartache before that it would have been naive of us to not feel a little apprehensive. She never did go in and visit him. She viewed him as our baby and when she wanted to see him, she called me to ask me to bring him to her.

Provisions are not usually made at a hospital for adoptive parents. It’s an awkward balance for the hospital. We have no legal claim to the child. We have no rights whatsoever. We are purely at the mercy of the birth-parents. We were very fortunate the wonderful nurses managed to find me a spare room with a bed at the other side of the ward from the moms who had just given birth. My husband held and fed our son for the first time. The moment will forever be ingrained in my memory. It was a beautiful moment. One I will cherish for the longest time.

Then we made the phone calls. Our families had been on our roller-coaster with us for the last 3 years. Through the fertility testing, the failed adoption and the heartbreak that ensued.

I vowed when we started the process again I would not subject anyone else to it. We did not tell a single family member until we sent them a picture of our son with the caption “meet your grandson.”

I was in the hospital for 3 days before my son was discharged. My husband stayed in the hotel with the dogs . I did not leave my son’s side. I watched him as he slept, terrified he was going to stop breathing. I think I lost about 10 pounds just from not leaving the hospital room. I was not letting him out of my sight.

Discharge was terrifying. All of a sudden the nurses who had become my support system were no longer there for me when I freaked out because he had not had a wet diaper in the last 2 hours. One in particular had become a good friend. She was so understanding of our situation. She told us she had a friend who had given a baby up for adoption when she was a teenager. She spoke in a way though that you knew it had been her. I raved to her about birth-moms and how they are the most special people in the world.

I begged her to come with us. I was seriously freaking out. Most people have about 9 months to prepare for a baby. The little fortress I had built around my heart had prevented me for being excited. Now what? How do I bond with this baby who has spent the last 9 months listening to someone else’s voice? Who has a connection with him I will never come close to?

I was sleep deprived, stressed beyond belief and responsible for this sweet little boy. What if I messed up? What if I forgot to feed him? The doubt was overwhelming.

Despite usually being a very scientific and rational person, I was freaking out about freaking out. I am a control freak. Everything was recorded in a book. When he ate, how much he ate, what time I changed a diaper etc. I still have it. A memento of my neurosis.

We stayed in our hotel for the next 7 days. When you adopt you are not allow to leave the state until your paperwork is complete with both the sending and receiving state. We were stuck in a hotel room with a newborn and 2 dogs. We were in a state where we had no friends or family. It was just the five of us.

In hindsight, I wouldn’t have changed it for the world. That bonding time with our son was critical. At the time it was isolating.

The next day, our son’s birth-mother was discharged. I met her at the hospital and drove her home. She was in great spirits, excited to get home. Two days later it was her birthday. I took her out to lunch while my husband looked after our son. We spent hours talking. While we ate, I sat thinking that this woman has just given us the most phenomenal gift. She will never understand the magnitude of what she has done for us. All my life, all I ever wanted to be was a mum.

Our son’s birth-mom is truly a living angel. She lost many friends and was judged by so many for what she did for us. It is heartbreaking to know what she went through. To this day I would do anything for her. I cannot express accurately the love I have for her. The love my entire family has for her. We are still in contact. She has spoken to our son. He knows all about her and that she is the reason he is a part of our family.

My son’s birth story may not be the typical story but I would not change it for the world.

In honor of the upcoming Labor Day weekend, we’re sharing our birth stories. Though each of our experiences are different, childbirth is beautiful in all its forms. It creates new life, both in our newborns, and in the lives changed forever through motherhood.

Read more “Labor Day: Birth Stories” from Corpus Christi area moms.