Home | Be Informed | Adoption | Birth Moms {My favorite super-heroes}

About three years ago my husband and I announced to our families that we had begun the adoption process.  We were so excited to tell everyone–of course we thought they’d all be thrilled.  And they were.  However, I remember driving home from a restaurant after we’d told his brother and his wife and I suddenly felt horrible.  We’d just blurted this news out like it was no big deal–the best news in the world.  And of course to us, it was.  But here’s the thing–my husband’s brother and wife are birth parents….they made an adoption plan for a baby when they were 17 & 19…..and I started thinking that maybe us adopting a child would bring back all kinds of painful memories, we shouldn’t be flaunting it, and the guilt just kept piling on. 

However, three years later I know that those feelings existed only because of my inexperience with adoption and ultimately with birth parents….birth moms especially.  I didn’t know how much I would grow to love birth moms and all that they stand for, and do, and give up, and were able to teach me.  I just didn’t know–how could I?  I’d never really talked that much to my sister-in-law about her experience–it just wasn’t talked about that much.  At least that was my perception.  But truthfully I’d never taken the time to ask because again, it felt uncomfortable, I didn’t think she’d want to talk about it……I was just un-educated on the whole topic…and I was wrong. 

But here’s the thing I’ve learned……this sacrifice, this selfless act, this ultimate display of love, this extremely mature way of taking responsibility for your actions that birth moms engage in is a huge part of them.  It alters the course of their life and who they are and I know now that many of them want to talk about it.  My sister-in-law did. 

And I’m so glad she did.  I’ve learned so much from her over the last three years about being a birth mom, the adoption process as she sees it, her thoughts (that are daily) about the child she chose adoptive parents for, and how proud she is of her decision.  And she should be.  I’ve always loved her…..but the conversations we’ve had regarding this and what she’s shared with me about it have elevated her as my “super cool sister-in-law that I’m so glad I get along with,” to “one of the strongest and bravest women I’ve ever known who knows how to make gut-wrenching decisions in the name of loving a child.”

She has graciously agreed to share her story with all of you about being a birth mom.  If I could orchestrate a
“cyber”  standing ovation at the end of her story I would.  I think you would too. 

*************************

Today’s the day.  I’ve always wondered when it would feel right to share my story publicly of being a birth mom.  These kinds of stories aren’t always easy, neat, complete, or understood by others.  However, I believe this kind of story to be one of the most important and I’m thankful I’ve been afforded a platform like this to shed more light on what it really is to be a birth mom and how grateful I am for the gift of adoption.  I don’t think our society hears from birth moms often enough.  They don’t really get to see adoption from the other side—the side that we play.  And I think that’s unfortunate because I truly believe that if those looking to adopt, those with an unplanned pregnancy, and those who were adopted heard more frequently from us, domestic adoption might not seem so scary, so hard, so sad, so intimidating, and so mysterious.  And…..so infrequently considered…..from all parties.

The term ‘birth mom’ used to send shivers down my spine because it would bring back all of the pain I suffered the day I said goodbye to my baby boy.  I was 17.  My boyfriend at the time, who is now my husband, was 19. He was there with me the day I endured the physical pain of giving birth, as well as the emotional pain of saying goodbye to this precious gift.  My mom, my dad, my brother….they stood by me too.  I remember my mom got in the shower with me while I was in labor and held a washcloth to my forehead trying to help me get comfortable….and we were both just standing in the water crying.  My family stood by me throughout my entire pregnancy; supporting me, encouraging me, listening to me, confirming that adoption was the right decision, and loving me.

I say “entire pregnancy,” but I was one of those teenage girls who suffered from a horrible case of denial and “didn’t know” I was pregnant. I was a basketball player in high school and it was my senior year.  Our athletic director and our principal (who both happen to be close friends of my parents) were the ones who went to my parents and shared their concerns with them that I may be pregnant.  My mom said she’d take me to the doctor the very next day.  Denial was still plaguing me, so I happily agreed to go.

At the doctor’s they confirmed that I was expecting a baby. My mom cried, I cried and our doctor cried. My boyfriend, my dad, my brother, my coach, and a few of our friends were called instantly. My dad got home from work and collapsed with me on the couch and we both sobbed. I was the youngest of two, and the only girl. I definitely could be termed a “daddy’s girl.” I think he took it the hardest. My boyfriend’s parents came over also and cried silently on the couch. They didn’t say much.

The following day my mom kept me home from school to just rest and sort through my feelings and to avoid the scrutiny and opinions that high school kids are so good at doling out unsolicited. My mom also signed me up for counseling right away. She called Catholic Social Services and I had an appointment set for the following week.

The next week I faced going back to school. My best friend picked me up for school so I didn’t have to face the stares alone. About a half block away from the school I had to have her pull over so I could vomit. I was scared, nervous and…well…pregnant. We laughed as I got back into the car. What else were we to do? We walked in and I was pleasantly surprised. I got the warmest welcome from MOST people, especially my principal, athletic director and teachers. I was beyond relieved, and made it through the day.

When we went for my first ultra-sound it showed that I was 8 months pregnant, with a due date of December 26, 1994. Eight months???? Like I said….I had mastered that whole denial thing. It was November, and I had one month to make a very tough decision; one that my parents and my boyfriend, and my boyfriend’s parents had been discussing. Should we keep the baby, or find a couple who was not able to have children, and relinquish our rights to parenting this child? Should we make an adoption plan for this child? Talk about doing some major praying. Not to mention some major counseling.

My boyfriend and I met with Linda, our counselor, and told her that at this point; he and I had come to the conclusion (not an easy decision, but one that we knew was right) that adoption was the best option for our baby, and for us. We were not yet ready to be parents…we were teenagers, and we knew there were tons of people who were desperately hoping to have children. We were given four photo albums filled with pictures and letters from couples who laid out their lives in photos and letters in hopes that SOMEONE would pick them to do the almighty, God-given job of being parents. These people were willing to be so open and vulnerable….desperately wanting a child….wanting us to pick them. We sat on my bed going through the albums over and over, and over again. We both kept going back to one particular photo album. It was then that we knew God had helped us with this gut-wrenching, yet somewhat (as weird as it sounds) rewarding choice. It was the end of November at this point, and we were gearing up for the holidays knowing what they would bring.

We met with our case-worker and told her our decision. We were going to give birth to our baby, not see him after the birth in the hopes that it might just be a little easier, but know that this child would go home with the parents we had chosen for him.

On the first day of my Christmas Break I woke up at 2 am with the most horrible cramps. Then they would go away. Then come back. I knew it was time. We called my boyfriend at his parent’s house, and my brother, who was at work. All of them eventually made it to the hospital-even my boyfriend’s parents who had not been supportive of our adoption plan and wanted very much for us to raise this baby and live in their basement. It was very difficult for my boyfriend to not have the same support from his parents that I had from mine. It put him in a very awkward position.

I know they were hurting. We all were. There were times my boyfriend and I would argue because he felt we should maybe keep our baby-but he is also one to try to please his parents and very much did  not want to disappoint them any further. But when I would really get serious and push him on this…and ask if he wanted to keep our baby, or relinquish our rights to the couple we had chosen, he would always say that he agreed we were making the right decision for our baby, and us.

At 7 p.m., on December 19, 1994, our baby boy was born. He was healthy, and weighed 7 pounds 5 ounces. He was instantly whisked away to the nursery. We did this for numerous reasons. One was because we both knew if we saw him, we’d want to hold him. And if we held him I knew it would be so hard to let him go. The nurses all told me how gorgeous he was (of course!) and how he was doing great. They were very supportive of me and my decision and what this would mean for our adoptive family—they were just amazing.  I was feeling an array of feelings-from relief, to the ultimate sadness. Relief because the physical pain was over, and sadness because I just let a part of me, and my boyfriend go. We had made him. I loved my boyfriend.  I loved this baby.

At the time that our adoption was carried out things were done differently than they are today and because we hadn’t been able to meet the adoptive parents we’d chosen yet since everything happened so fast our baby boy went to foster care from the hospital until his final placement. That ripped me apart. But, I was also told that the foster parents were VERY loving and they promised to take more than good care of him. And ultimately I knew…….we had made the best and most loving decision for this child.  I kept telling myself that.

The month that followed was the toughest. We were challenged on a regular basis by my boyfriend’s parents (and others for that matter-people or “friends” who thought they just KNEW we were making the wrong decision) to change our minds. But at the end of our 30 day waiting period we set up an appointment to meet our baby’s parents. Our caseworker set up a nice, quiet little room in our agency and it was there that a tall, dark-featured man and his cute wife walked in with the biggest bouquet of flowers you’ve ever seen. They were both crying, and we all hugged. And cried some more. Then we started talking more about who we were and what sort of upbringing our baby would have.  We agreed that this would be a semi-open adoption, with letters and pictures being sent to us every six months or so.

I graduated from high school and went to college. My boyfriend and I remained together and against all odds were married ten years ago…six years after everything that had happened.

Fast forward to today. Our birth son is 16. Pete and I are happily married with three children of our own-Chase is 5 and our twin girls, Madelyn and Maya are 2. About a year ago, I found our birth son on Facebook. I friend requested him and he accepted instantly. My heart was beating, I cried and I panicked and called Pete-my voice of reason at all times. I tend to think with my heart, and he his head. My heart very much wanted to have some sort of contact with our birth son. And we did. We even exchanged phone numbers and began texting back and forth. Pete was in on it too. It was a dream come true, for very many months. Unfortunately, our birth son’s parents aren’t too thrilled with the idea of us having contact with him just yet. SO, we’ve hit a few bumps in our journey’s road. It’s okay though.  I trust his parents completely….I chose them for him.  He is doing well, has a great life, seems like an amazing kid and I don’t doubt that one day we will have a more significant relationship.  I think about him every single day. Probably every single hour. I pray for him, and his parents, and look forward to the day we can all reunite.

Now, instead of sending shivers down my spine, the term ‘birth mom’ only makes me proud. Proud to say that I am one and that I was able to give the best gift anyone could receive.  Proud that I took responsibility for my actions in this way.  I recently got a tattoo with all of my children’s initials—even my birth son. I look at it every day, very proudly. I’m no hero, but I know the joys of being a parent, and I’m glad I was able to allow two very loving people to be able to know those same joys when I was far from ready to appreciate what being a parent means, entails, and demands.

–Marci Terryn

************************

Home | Be Informed | Adoption | Birth Moms {My favorite super-heroes}