Trust

      The biggest lesson God taught me through all of this is to trust. It started with my parents. As a girl from an abusive and broken home, it was very hard for me to trust anyone, especially since I was sexually abused when I was sixteen by a guy whom I was acquainted with and my own mother called me a "lying little bitch" (one of her favorites) and said that she would testify against me if this was brought to court. This was a few months after literally trying to strangle me because I wasn't cleaning the kitchen fast enough for her. I came to school with a black eye and bite marks (yes, bite marks) and that's when my most beloved teacher got involved and reported the incident. Thankfully, that's when my parents came in. I had been living with my Aunt and Uncle off and on for a couple of years, but when this all came out, they decided it was time to take permanent guardianship of me. I am so incredibly grateful to them. I honestly do not know where I would be without those wonderful, graceful, loving people in my life. And the miracle is, I have trusted my aunt since the first day I met her, I was about four years old. In my life, I had never had a maternal figure who understood me as well as she does. I am so grateful to God that this woman is in my life, and in my family, because on the whole, she makes all of us better. As for my Uncle, he has always been the outstanding father figure in my life, being the first man to hold me and my own father going to jail when I was nine for unpaid child support and dying two years later. I can always trust him for a laugh or help when I need it, and I am so very grateful to him for that.

        And then Ethan came along. Right after I got to a point where I said to myself "I'm a senior. I don't need a boy to muck up the works and distract me while I'm trying to get into college." He saw me in a play and we talked while we were striking the set after. Apparently, he couldn't sleep- I was keeping him up! Me! The funny thing is, we sat next to one another in our tenth grade chemistry class and never said a word to one another.God is just funny that way sometimes, I suppose. Anyway, we talked for a few weeks and our senior English teacher moved us next to one another. I am convinced she was doing some matchmaking. Then he asked me to lunch one day and surprised me with a rose and asked me to be his girlfriend. I was so overwhelmed and so surprised, I had no idea he even liked me! However, something in me told me very clearly to say yes to him, and I did. I was so surprised by him. His childhood is the polar opposite of mine- the oldest son from a loving, warm family. Quite honestly, he scared me to death. A few days after he asked me out, he took me to a coffee shop and asked me to tell him all of it. My whole story. He wanted to know about the abuse and the loneliness and how I found God through the after school ministry I volunteered at. He didn't judge me, or recoil at what I said. He just listened. And genuinely cared. And then he revealed his own struggles to me and how he fights them daily, too. In hindsight, it was amazing. Just amazing, this level of honesty. I had never experienced that with anyone else. Not even my family wanted to hear every gory detail, but this then boy did. However, in the moment, I was absolutely terrified. I broke up with him about a month after we started dating. It wasn't that I didn't like him, I liked him very much. It was that he scared me. I had never been pursued that way before. I also blame the tongues of snakes whispering in my ears to break up with him- some not very good friends who talked me into it. However, within a few short months, I stopped talking to those people and cleared my head and my heart and started being friends with Ethan. I grew to trust him so much. I was heartbroken when he asked another girl to go to prom with him and be his girlfriend. However, I had the perfect prom with all my acting friends. Very soon after prom the girl dumped Ethan, quite rudely I might add (perhaps I'm biased, however), and we were spending more and more time together. I was his first girlfriend. I'm not his only one, but I'm his first. And I'm praying his last. We got back together, but kept it quiet for a while, but I doubt anyone didn't know before we made it public. We took months and months just to kiss. It was so strange to me, as someone who under the influence of older teenagers, was taught how to kiss when I was just twelve years old. Kisses meant nothing to me by the time Ethan came along. Until I had to wait for them. They're so special to me now. Each and every one of them. Before I became pregnant, I had learned to trust Ethan with all my heart. Which was just the first step.
        When I did find out I was six months pregnant, it was God's turn to teach me how to trust. Before then, I was always such a worrier, worrying about money and bills and college and where I was going to end up and how I was going to get there, etc. I would have panic attacks over what I would wear to school, I was so stressed out all the time. Then, in the scariest situation I have ever been in, I naturally started praying. And it worked. I had to start trusting God to get me and Ethan and the baby exactly where He wanted us, and something inside me kind of awoke and went "seeing as God is the Divine Creator and Master of this universe, I'm pretty sure he can handle this one. " That sort of strange peace that He is in charge filled my life. I relaxed. I prayed. I enjoyed how lazy I got to be while I was so fat. And I trusted Him. And I still do. I know He will get me where I am meant to be and it will be in a way that I would never imagine on my own. Because He is better than whatever scenario runs through my little human head. I cannot wait to see what He has in store for Ethan and I, but in the mean time, I am going to enjoy myself in this newly found peace that has filled my life. It has been such a blessing of His to change my life this way. And really, who could argue with that?

Her Brother

Her Brother

I love her brother. So, so much. He was also adopted as a baby and he is almost three. He is the sweetest, big-hearted boy I have ever met. He is so smart and full of love and happiness. When we first met him and his parents, he had so much fun at the Science Museum we went to. He just kept zooming off this way and that, overwhelmed and awed at everything he was learning. When the time got closer for me to give birth, he would come kiss my swollen tummy and tell his sister how much he loved her. When he came to the hospital, he was calling her name down the halls, looking desperately for her. When we were blessed enough to visit them when she was about three months old, I spent most of my time playing with him. I would put his arms around my shoulders and pick him up on my back and run around the house like a plane and every time I set him down he would beg me "let's do that again!" So naturally, I would. At one point, I set him down on his bed and he grabbed my face and kissed me and said " I love you." Naturally, I melted into a giant puddle. I love that little boy so much! He is such an amazing brother and I could not have asked for more. I know in my heart that he is the one I can trust to protect her when they are in school and he will do it with the lion heart I know he has. I am so sad that his birth parents are not really involved in his life. But I am so grateful that his real parents love Ethan and I so much that we may get to know him, as well as our girl. We have, in a way, become his adopted birth parents, and that is the way we intend to treat him- equally with our girl. Any other way would be unfair, and rude. 

I was so surprised to hear from Ethan that he knows who I am. Apparently, when his mother asked who Ethan was, he said "Margie!" Apparently, we are the same person to him, which I am okay with. He also recognized me in a picture! I could not believe it. This sweet boy knows me, after meeting me only a few times! I feel so special. I am so grateful to God for that. I cannot wait until we get to see them again and this little boy can fill my heart with joy once again. And I thank God for him. For the adoptive parents, that they were blessed with this child. And for my own girl, that she will have the best big brother I could ever imagine. And I hope that his ability to remember me is a precursor to how that little girl will know me. 

The Paradox

There is such a paradox that comes with being a birth parent, and at times, it is we who struggle the most with it. The paradox is this: the child is mine, but I will never be hers. She is my daughter, but I will never be her mother. To her, I will be Margie, her birth mother. Never 'mom'. That will not be me. And that's a hard thing to wrap one's brain around. I would go to the ends of the Earth for the health and happiness of that little girl, and I feel at times that I already have, but she will never be able to understand that. It is such a foreign and unknown relationship, and at times, it terrifies me to have it. She is so young now, but as she ages, will she like me and Ethan? Will she thank us? Will she hate us? Will she even care who we are? I know her parents will do everything they can to make sure that her and her brother know us, but will that help? It is so scary to simply not know how she will feel about me when I love her with so very much of my heart. I pray to God that we will have a healthy relationship. That she care about us. That she may know our other children when that time comes. And I pray that God help Ethan and I understand this, and that we may do our part the way we are supposed to.

Consideration

           As I look back and process those few days I had in the hospital, I notice something that I wish I hadn't done. I wish I wouldn't have been so considerate. Don't get me wrong, I was very glad that everyone who came to see us all in the hospital got to meet her, but in my drugged and exhausted state, I often felt incredibly overwhelmed. I mean, it was all day, 10 a.m. to 9:30 at night or later, there were people traipsing in and out and I had to play pass the baby over and over again. And I wasn't brave enough to say, "no thank you, I would rather I got to hold her now." Or, "I really think you have had enough time with her, may I have her so we can nap?" I do not know why I didn't. But I didn't. I let her go to everyone but me. Sometimes I ask God why I had to have a c-section. The pain medications I was on really left so much of that infinitesimally tiny time I had with her so foggy. And it makes me so sad. Of course, I'm sure even if I didn't need the pain medications, my hormones would have fogged my brain. But that concept just is so saddening to me. That no matter what, I was never meant to be mentally clear in the time I had her. I would have done so much more. It makes me so grateful that her parents gave us an extra night with her. It was really just because I was having a rough time recuperating,  and I'm sure that could be in part  because I didn't get much of a chance to rest. I think one of my favorite times in the hospital was when it was just the baby, her mother, and I. Ethan got cabin fever and wanted to go out with his family, so I called Rachel and asked her to come be with us. It was so peaceful and comforting to me to spend time with these two wonderful beings just as they started their lives with one another. I learned so much just watching all of the other mothers who came take care of that little one. And I am very grateful for that.

If there is one thing I can encourage any birth mother to do it is this: take your time. I don't care if any one's feelings are hurt, if some relative that really won't have a relationship with the child wants to take up the only time you have got for them to be yours, do not let them. As long as you are still in the hospital, you are still in charge. It's your party. As for the adoptive parents, see them with the child. God will give you the comfort of seeing them and show you how wonderful this situation can be if you look outside yourself and start looking at the blessings God has showered you with. They will understand if you need a little more time with the child. I assure you.

As for me, I think next time we will have a waiting line for people who want to see us. I can't handle ten people at once again. So if you're planning on showing up, in the years from now when that will happen, be prepared to take a number.

I am so grateful that I had so many people to care and who wanted to see the child. Even if I was overwhelmed and drugged and tied to a bed in the most exhausted state I have ever been in. Even if I am sad I wasn't more forceful. God reminds me that I still have a relationship with that little girl. That I will see her again. Because that is just how blessed I am and how loving and wondrous open adoption can be. And I thank God so much for that.

My body

I think one of the scarier things looming over my pregnant, hormonal brain was my appearance. As I ballooned more and more I got so terrified I would never look the same again. That I would never get the weight off. That the baby weight would cling to me like my sadness and every one would who met me would still see what I had just gone through. I know it's vane of me, but I won't pretend that pride isn't my biggest fault. I was an acting student at the time: I had to look good. And Ethan being the sweet, wonderful, sympathetic man he is, and my partner in crime, he gained almost as much weight as I did. It was hard for both of us after the excuse was gone. We started going to the gym and tried to eat better, but progress was slow, at least at first. I cheated; I dropped quite a lot of weight as soon as we left the hospital, but Ethan had to struggle with it. It was so admirable of him, though. A few months ago he started counting his calories and trying to make a change in his life. When I asked him why, he said, "because I want to look good enough to deserve you." Wow. I love that man. It pushed me (slowly, I'll admit) to start counting my own calories and trying to get more active. And I must say, I am so glad that I did. I am so much happier with the way I look than I did at the beginning of the summer. Now, I'm not saying I'm happy because I look hot or sexy or skinny. I am happy because I feel good. Because I fit into the size I want. Because I look good enough to deserve Ethan. And because I look the way I picture myself in my head. It's a wonderful feeling. Immediately after having my girl, I was at about 150 pounds. Now I'm at a very comfortable 120. It feels so great! However, I'm not saying I am the same as I was before. I have changed, and I can't ever go back, but I am not ashamed of my stretch marks like I was (that does NOT mean I will ever show them off) or the scars I bear. I am different. But that's okay. I was so scared I would never feel beautiful again, and I still have days that I don't. But it takes one look from that man who loves me to reassure me that I really, truly am a beautiful creation of God. And really, what more could I ask for?

Grief

I fear that sometimes people think that I am perfectly fine with everything. That I have fully processed this loss and that I am healed with God's strength. And though sometimes, even I think that is the case, I still fall apart from time to time. It's when I am alone is the most dangerous for my rationality and happiness. That little Pandora's Box that follows me around will open up and consume me completely for a little while. Like today for instance. I am going to have to fight my grief until I make it to sleep tonight, because I know that Ethan and his family are headed to that sweet little house in Texas to dine and converse and be with the family that I wish I could see everyday. While I sit here, alone, wishing so much that I could see them, too. It's not that I'm sad I wasn't invited on their family vacation- frankly, I wouldn't want to go. It's that they all get to see her. And touch her. And kiss her. And them. And her brother. And I just experience pure, irrational grief over that idea. I don't know why it hurts me so much. And I know that they aren't going to see her just to hurt me. I know that this was the best time for them to see her. But the fact remains: it hurts me. Quite a lot, actually.

Never wanting to be a nuisance

I never want to be a nuisance. I hate feeling that I am in the way or that I am a bother to anyone. I think that in the long-run, however, this fear of being a burden hurts my relationships. I feel that sometimes I overdo it and therefore lose touch because I am too scared to annoy people. I do this with my own parents, my aunt and uncle. I always try to give them space, because I know how much they like being in one another's company, and I hate feeling like I'm in the way of their time together. However, this has, I think, alienated me somewhat from them, especially since I went to college and am never home anyway. In the same way, I almost never talk to the baby's mother. It's not that I don't want to talk to her, I do, very much, and quite often. But I don't want to get in the way. She has a baby and a son who is almost three to keep up with, for goodness sake! I just don't want to elbow my way in and make anyone feel uncomfortable with my presence, especially a relationship as delicate as the birth mother/ adoptive mother is. I just don't want to screw up, and in the end that prevents me from taking a chance at all.

The reality of the sadness

This is incredibly important to understand: I do not grieve because she lives with that family. I do not grieve because she isn't mine. I do not grieve because I regret giving her up. I grieve because the loss I've experienced is almost like having a child die. It's pure sadness. I am just sad. That is it. There is no hidden reason. I am sad. But then, I remember that God is there with me, holding me as I cry in the dark, and I remember that I will survive. That this sadness I feel has a huge silver lining. That I helped make my newest favorite family whole. And those tears of pain turn to joy as I try to pick myself up, close the lid of the box, and continue on until the next time the pain catches me. It's a daily battle. Don't get me wrong, when I smile and gush about how wonderful I feel and how much God has blessed me, I'm not lying. I honestly am happier than I ever have been before in my short time here on Earth. But that doesn't mean that magically my hormones will go away. Or that it won't sting from time to time when I see how much she has grown since the last picture I got. That is being human. I alone am not the strength in this equation. It is all God. All of it. And I am so grateful for it. I am grateful for the grief. I think it helps remind me how much I love that little girl and that family God has blessed. It helps me process her absence from my life. And it helps me turn to God in my sadness and have Him fill my heart with the peace and comfort that gets me through my days. It hurts to grieve. But no matter what anyone says to me, I always feel better on the other side. Because I love them. and her. And Ethan. And most of all, God and what he has done for me. Because it's so much better than anything I ever expected.

A Blessing In Disguise

His Family

Before we found out I was pregnant, Ethan's family and I had been starting to get closer. I spent quite a lot of my summer over at their house. That's why I was so heartbroken when the truth came out. Not because of me, but his mother. I just knew it would never be the same, she would never welcome me in her home again, that she would resent me and try to talk him out of loving me at every chance she got. But she didn't. Instead, she came to me and asked my forgiveness for things she had said to others out of anger. She wouldn't accept my casual brushing it aside, my claims that it was only natural that she hate me and that she should say whatever she wanted about me. She was determined; she wanted my forgiveness. And then, through the grace of God, she asked me if she could start discipling me. Me! The girl, who from my point of view, had ruined all her hopes for her son, had ruined her relationship with her first grandchild, and the girl who had given her the most grief she had ever suffered in twenty-three years of marriage. She wanted to get to know me through Christ. To teach me with her knowledge of the Word, my weakest part of my relationship with Christ! This woman, who loves me as Jesus would ask her, took the time to cultivate our relationship with one another. I am so shocked, even now, at that kind of forgiveness. And I am so grateful. To have this sort of friendly relationship with someone who I would really like to be my mother-in-law is so incredibly rare, and I am so blessed enough to have it. And it helped me realize that this family isn't perfect. They, too, have dysfunction. The difference is that they go to one another and are honest about their issues and they take the time to care about one another. And I hope to model my own family after them. As for the rest of the family, my time with them has strengthened all of our relationships. Though there is still some tension here and there, I'm glad to say how much I love and care for these people, who nary a year ago I thought would curse my name at every opportunity. I'm not sure how much they really like me, but I'll bet they care about me, too. Which, frankly, is a miracle in itself. So I thank God for this baby that shook the foundation of his family. It brought us closer than I ever thought we would be, and it has brought another family to watch out for me. A family who really and truly attempts to love God with every action they take and every situation they face. A family who will last the ages. And a family I can admire and love with every dinner we have around that fabled dinner table.

Her Family

The Worries I Had for God

I was so fearful in the beginning of this process. I had no trust for what God had in mind for me. I was so scared, especially after talking to my boyfriend's parents about it. They were furious. I honestly didn't expect to be welcome in their house anymore. They were such a perfect family before I besmirched their image with a bastard child from their only son. His father was an Elder at church, his mother a huge leader in the women's ministry. And I thought they hoped I would only be a phase in their son's life. Me, the damaged goods from a broken and abusive home, wild and free from restraint. The fearless, wild-haired girl who couldn't be talked into dressing or acting like the demure church mouse of a girl I was sure they had in mind. Their immediate reaction: talk to the pastor of the church. Then we had a meeting. Ethan's sisters were kicked out of the house and we sat down so I could show them the murky sonogram of the fruit of sin growing inside me. His mother wanted to keep her for herself, but I never would have gone for that. They presented us with options (as if they were in charge-much to my disdain); 1)immediate marriage and dropping out and raising this girl, or 2) adoption. I told them of the family I already knew was hoping to adopt another child and how I felt that this is where we were meant to go. But I, too, was scared. What if they didn't want me to know the child? What if I didn't like their parenting? What if they spoiled her and she grew to be a terrible person? What if I didn't like the couple themselves? What would I do?

God's plans are always beyond our wildest dreams

I was so nervous when we finally met them. I had spoken to her once on the phone and the adoption agent had already met with us and gone through the initial paperwork and then discussed with us the psychological repercussions of what we were planning to do. They wanted to spend most of the day with us. I was so excited. And they brought their son, a two year old whom they had also adopted. And as we went about our fun day of breakfast and a museum and dinner together, I began to understand that God had his hands on this situation, fully. I loved them. They are such wonderful, loving, intelligent people who care so much for the children they thought they couldn't have. And I love them. I wish sometimes I lived closer to them. Not to see my girl, but to have lunch with her once in a while. To invite them to dinner from time to time. She really is such a wonderful and inspiring woman, whom I know loves those children just as much as a person can. When I was in labor, she stood on one side of me, my love on the other, and she said to me that she was so sorry I was going through all this pain. It was unfathomable to me. This woman, who had been through fertility treatments and miscarriages and years of waiting for God's intended man to find her, and she was sorry that I was in the pain of labor? I told her how glad I was that I could do it for her. And I meant it. I am so grateful to God for the part I got to play in answering this couple's prayers. It is the most meaningful thing I have done with my life thus far, and it has changed me to the core of my being.

The "mistake"

The hardest part of this has been trying to get people to understand how much I don't regret what actions I took, or the situation that arose. People asked a few weeks after I had her if I had "learned my lesson yet". I was floored, and so offended. I do not regret entering that kind of relationship with the man I know God intended me to be with. I do not regret getting pregnant. And most of all, I have never, not for a moment, regretted giving her to that family. She was their's from the get-go. She was never intended to be all mine. And I think God gave me that understanding early on. And I am so incredibly grateful for that. This was all part of a plan much bigger than myself, or my sin. If the baby's mother had never met my aunt's parents, I wouldn't have known them. If my mother hadn't introduced my uncle to my aunt and if they had never gotten married, I wouldn't have lived with them in high school and loved God the way I do. If I hadn't been cast in every play I tried out for in high school, or if his sister hadn't been cast, we wouldn't have talked while tearing down the set that night and God wouldn't have kept him up thinking about me, we would never have even dated. There are so many little 'what-ifs' that could have changed this story, but God put them all together for a reason. And she is the reason; a perfect little bundle of laughs and smiles that melts the heart of all who meet her. And I thank God everyday for that. 

The Story

She was perfection. Eight pounds, five ounces. And after 21 brutal hours, and an emergency c-section, she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Even if the first words said to me regarding her were "Look at her head!" (from my sweet, goofy future husband). The night she was born, she didn't cry. She just looked at all of us. These three families crowded around, eagerly awaiting her presence. The moment she was held by one of us, the moment she won them over. I knew as soon as I saw her with them that I had not been led astray. This was God's plan, thirty years in the making. And as soon as I got the chance to finally have her to myself, the moment I realized that she was real. That it hadn't all been a dream. That the day in the doctor's office three short months before where I was told I was pregnant and that was the source of the pain in my stomach had really happened. And it was when he held her that I knew: I never wanted this man to leave my life. I wanted to wear his name for the rest of my life. And I sat back in that bed, slightly dazed from the morphine, and I started thanking God for this pain that I would live with for the rest of my life.