A Coerced Adoption

I started dating a guy near the beginning of my senior year. He pressured me a lot to have sex with him and we were moving way faster and way further than I ever wanted to go. He knew my stance; he knew that I never wanted to have sex before I got married. Because of my naivety, I didn’t even know what the actual act of sex was. He eventually raped me on prom night, but not in the gruesome way that everyone assumes, it was more of a manipulative way. This behavior continued for a month and then I was pregnant.

I did not have a good relationship with my parents and felt very unwanted in my own home, so I truly felt like my boyfriend’s version of “love” was all that I deserved since it was better than what I was getting at home.

When I told him, he immediately looked up how much child-support he would be forced to pay. I refused to get an abortion even though he was adamant that that’s what I needed to do. At one point I eventually feared for my life and for the baby’s life, so I brought up adoption even though I told him that it was my baby and I’m gonna keep the baby—even if he wasn’t going to be a part of our life.

Once that word has been said, the adoption word, everyone in my family and his rallied behind that, completely forgetting that I was growing an actual human being inside of me that I wanted. We fought for months about it, and my stance continued that I wanted to parent, his stance continued that he wanted me to abort even into the third trimester.

I made plans anyway in case adoption was what I had to do, and I chose a family from an online profile through my agency. I met my agent about three times before I gave birth and she was very full of attitude, but not support. She gave me the recommendation to look up the church’s stance on unplanned pregnancy to help me with my decision, and everything I read was that either I had to marry my rapist or I had to give my child away. All the literature said that I would be a complete failure to my child and to god if I kept my baby. I voiced my opinions to my family that I still wanted to keep this baby and I didn’t want to go through with the adoption, but they said that it was too late since I already communicated with the family—that I couldn’t let them down since they already got their hopes up that I will give them a baby.

My boyfriend started beating me during my last month of pregnancy and I realized that if I did keep my baby, either me or the baby were going to die at the hands of my boyfriend.

When it came time to give birth, I was so excited to finally meet my baby, and yet so terrified because I knew the clock was ticking for my motherhood.

Less than 24 hours after my baby was born, my agent came in to have me sign my rights away and to sign forms that said that I wasn’t being coerced, but it was right in front of my boyfriend who was threatening my life and my mother who was saying I wasn’t allowed to back out.

I asked to stay a second night at the hospital, but 27 hours after he was born, I was clutching onto him, bawling and screaming at my mom and my boyfriend to let me keep my baby, and they shushed me and told me to put him in his carrier because the adoptive parents were about to come in, and that I shouldn’t waste their money on a hotel for another night.

To this day, my ex best friend continues with the opinion that I would’ve been awful mom to my son.

 But my mother and my sisters have finally seen sense, but hold fast that they thought it was too late and they thought adoption was what I wanted. Despite my begging to keep my baby for months.

I was finally able to escape the clutches of my boyfriend a year and a half later, 18 more months of abuse in every possible way you can think of. He would beat me if I cried over missing my baby, he would yell at me if I said that I missed him, he would throw my pictures of my baby across the room if he caught me looking at them. I’m amazed that I got out alive, but I definitely did not get out whole or unscathed.

I attempted to go to a birthmother support group that was held by my agency, but there was no support. It made me feel like they thought I made the right decision, and that the grief that I was feeling would only be temporary and that I would get over it after I realized it was the right decision. They failed to understand that it was not a decision. It was a desperate act to save the life of me and my child, and not one I wanted to make.

BEN: A Visit

SO! I finally got to see my sweet baby Ben! It's been a very long 7.5 months, so I've been wanting and needing it. My husband and I packed up Adeline and drove the 3.5 hours east to the other side of Washington, and checked into our cute hotel.

We met up at the boat loading dock on the Columbia River and went out on the boat for four hours with the whole family. Ben was SO sweet on Della. He calls her "baby Adeline" and it melts my heart. Della is not used to being around children so she was very keen to watch the boys play.

I was trying to get baby to sleep, and Ben kept coming over and trying to keep the sun out of her eyes by covering them, which in turn made her cry, so I tried to teach him to cup his hands to block the light.

Ben was obsessed with her binkie too, because you can stick your finger in it. Any time Delly got a little fussy, he would come over and stick it in her mouth and say "It's okay baby Adeline!"

The next day, we went over to Ben's house to play, and the boys kept showing Della all of their toys. When I pulled my camera out, Ben was very eager to get his picture taken with her.

Mostly it was just the three of us Houstons getting quality time together. But that's okay because we needed a break from the distractions of normalcy.

I didn't have the talk I wanted to. I worked myself up for literally weeks on what I wanted to say, and then it never felt like the right time.
I know Ben knows me, loves my baby, and thinks it's hilarious when Zach falls in the water off the wake board. I know he's comfortable with me in his home, and in his space.
That will have to be enough. 

 

 

My Seat at the Table

As a birthmom, I hardly ever feel like I have a true seat at anyone’s table. 

Can I sit with the girls my age? Probably not; I don’t fit in to their college lifestyle, and have totally different problems to deal with. 

Can I sit with the moms? Definitely not; I have no stories to tell about our babies’ little quirks and milestones. 

Finally, what about the adoption community’s table? Again, I just don’t feel like I have a true seat there; my story is too different.

Adoption is supposed to be this choice that we feel empowered about. It’s supposed to be about how brave we were to choose the best life for our child. We’re supposed to find ourselves in this unplanned pregnancy, go through it weighing out our options for a couple months, and then finally decide to place our baby for adoption, look through a couple profile books, send some messages, birth our baby, and place. Then, since it’s most likely an open adoption, we go through the motions of getting our life back, while cherishing these cute moments of our baby living his best life with his adoptive parents in the form or pictures, skype calls, or even blessed visits. We’re supposed to go to therapy, and birthmom support groups, and heal.

But I can’t sit at that table. I don’t belong there.

My adoption wasn’t an empowered choice. It was a desperate attempt at survival.
I didn’t get to weigh out my options—well I did, but it was more “do I want to get beat up over this topic again, or should I just remain silent to try to save myself and this innocent, unborn baby?”
I didn’t get to start a new life after placing, not for a year and a half.
My therapist was a disgusting joke, and my birthmom support group wasn’t structured toward healing.

I follow all these amazing people and companies in the adoption triad on Instagram, people that have taught me so much, people I wish I could sit at the table with. Yes, we share some similarities with our stories and our grief. But I sit there and cram my head into my hands, screaming internally that even they can’t know what it’s like.

Were they threatened to get killed throughout their pregnancy by a guy who said he loved them?
Were they punched in the head and the stomach for the entire last trimester of their pregnancy?
Were they screamed at and verbally abused every second of every day that they were stuck with the regretful sperm donor?
Were they in their hospital room begging to keep their baby while their mom and sperm donor shushed them into submission?
Were they sitting on the bed, weeping over the few pictures they took of their babe in the hospital, only to have them ripped away from the sperm donor, pushed off the bed and screamed at for having feelings about the baby still?
Were they abused in every possible way for the next year and a half?

If you were, I’m so deeply sorry you had to live that life. I feel your pain.

You see, there is just too much trauma in those 2-3 years of my life. I can’t determine how I truly feel about adoption because it’s all webbed into how deeply I loathe Andrew, how scarred I am from his abuse, how rejected I feel from my family, how worthless I feel from the church, and truthfully, not knowing where my seat is at the table. I’ve been so lost.

I love to share my story, because I know it’s a bit different from what companies/adoption groups like to show. My story isn’t hearts and flowers. It’s purely pain and misery. No one really wants to hear that side of adoption, and I don’t blame them. But unfortunately, coercion is real. Abuse is real. What looks like a choice was really a desperate last act to save the baby.

I wish I had been strong enough to leave Andrew when his evil started showing, but I honestly thought I was so worthless that no one else would want me.
I wish I had kept my baby, but I can’t fully 100% convince myself of that because I needed some serious support to provide for him, and he is so gosh darn happy with his incredible parents.
I wish that after placement, I would’ve left Andrew then at least, filed a well-deserved restraining order, and saved myself from complete bitterness toward everyone and everything.
I wish I didn’t feel so empty.

I wish I could sit at the table my adoption community friends have saved for me without still feeling like I don't belong. 

Adeline: Birth Story

We found out we were pregnant with Houston 4 during the first week of April, 2018, a year and a half and 3 angel babies after we first started trying to start a family.

Fast forward—

At my most recent checkup at 38w5d, I was only 2cm dilated.

On the morning of December 2nd, (39w1d) I woke up to regular contractions, 4 minutes apart, lasting 30 seconds. After an hour, they got more uncomfortable, so I left the bedroom and laid on the couch where I could moan in pain without waking Zach. By 9am, 3 hours after waking, I’d done enough googling to classify this as real labor. I was so surprised because we were 6 days early, and I hadn’t had any contractions previously. But, I didn’t want to be that person that goes to the hospital too early with false labor.


I hopped in the shower, and then woke up Zach, saying “I think the baby is coming today.” He didn’t believe me. He kept asking if I was sure, if he should call in to work, etc. I told him to get ready like this is real, and we’d go to the hospital to make sure it was true labor before he called out.
We arrived around 10a, went to triage in the birth center and was hooked up to monitors. I was at 5cm! And my contractions were the same consistency, just getting more painful. The on-call OB allowed me to stay, and I got to go to my room.

Nurse Taylor asked me what I wanted to do about pain, and I explained that I’d birthed naturally before (because I asked for the epidural too late with Ben, and it never got the chance to kick in), and would love to get the epidural early this time. The anesthesiologist came in 15 minutes later, and the epidural worked perfectly. I was honestly so lucky because the medicine dose was PERFECT. I could feel my body, feel the contractions, but I wasn’t in any pain. 

By now, it’s 11a, Zach has officially called in sick. We turned on football for entertainment. At 1p, nurse Taylor came in and checked me, and I’d progressed to 8cm. They ordered the delivery supplies cart to be brought in and everything to be prepped as much as possible since I was progressing quickly. The Seahawks game started, and I texted my mom and sister, Jen, explaining that I was admitted, and already at 8cm. They both immediately tried calling me. Jen was due to fly up on Thursday for a week, but now she had to change her flights to come early. Unfortunately, she would miss the birth, but she was able to come visit me that night after she got in late.

Around 3p, I started feeling pain again, which was disheartening because I really wanted the medicine to work. I hated the position I was in, but didn’t want to bother Taylor to come turn me. Eventually, though, the baby’s heart rate was dropping too much during the contractions, so she came to check up on me. I was finally put back on my back, and now I’m 10cm + 1, 100% effaced and literally having the baby.
The doctors were paged, a baby nurse rushed in, and my bed was collapsed and feet were in stirrups, all in about 2 minutes. The OB came in and checked me too, asked me to give a good practice push, and then she stopped me, because the baby was literally that close to coming out—no practice needed.


On the next contraction, I got to push for real, 10 seconds, 3 times. Her head was fully out. Without a contraction they asked me to push one more time to deliver the rest of her body. And she was here!

Adeline Ruth Houston

December 2nd, 2018

At 3:48pm

Weighing 8lbs 2.2oz

20” Long

I was in shock. It was too easy. Too quick. She was really here! She had the cutest little cry and sweetest face. This moment that I had been looking forward to for 4 years was real, was here, and was perfect. Zach was so happy and we were both crying.

I don’t remember much after that, it’s all a haze. But it was beautiful.
I texted my friend Naomi, and told her we delivered and we set up a time for her to come the next morning to take pictures for us.

This birth experience was truly incredible. It was peaceful and fun. It was ideal. And I don’t think I’ll get that lucky again.

I have healed pretty quickly. But, I have been absolutely tormented by breastfeeding. I was in so much pain for a week, literally dreading having to feed her. I had it in my head that I was failing myself and Adeline because I couldn’t do something so natural and easy that all these other women can do. I was just in so much pain, weeping every moment of the feeding. We eventually went out and got a manual breast pump, hoping I could continue to give her breast milk through a bottle. It worked. I pump now, 3 times a day, and give her a bottle. It still makes me so sad that I can’t just whip my boob out and feed her, that I’m missing this connection with her I’m supposed to have. But I’m just trying so hard to give her nutrients without encouraging a PPD complete breakdown.

Fed is best. And I know that. I feel that deep in my bones because my precious baby Ben was strictly formula fed and he is beautiful and healthy and perfectly chunky. But I just keep seeing FAILURE tattooed on my forehead. I worked up the courage to try again, to see if she’d latch better, to see if it’d be still just as painful, and it wasn't as bad as before but I have open sores again that never seem to heal. Maybe once everything actually heals; hopefully she won’t have forgotten me.

We are so in love with our little miracle! I want to thank every person who's shown me love and support throughout this journey to become a mother, for all the advice given, for all the gifts, and joy and love. It's so hard to believe how much time has past since Ben, how different the circumstances are this time around--I never would've believed it (but I definitely would've hoped for it!) 

It is so wonderful having a husband that loves and supports you through the pregnancy, and loves the baby, and helps you take care of her and yourself. I'm overjoyed to be a mother. It's the best. 

National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day

National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day is observed annually in the United States on October 15. It is a day of remembrance for pregnancy loss and infant death which includes, but is not limited to, miscarriage, still birth, SIDS or the death of a newborn.

The first time I’d ever heard of this national remembrance day, I was 18, and pregnant with Ben in Utah. Someone had tagged me in a post for a Facebook group made up entirely of women who had babies to remember. They shared pictures, mementos, tattoos, and stories about the short lived life of their pregnancy or child. It was a heart wrenching thing to read, and even more to be a part of. I made a little post, apologizing for not quite fitting into the group, but still feeling the loss of my infant through adoption. The wonderful thing about women like that is that they loved me and supported me like I belonged. Because losing Ben the day after he was born felt a lot like death.

Last October, I remembered losing Ben, but also the loss of Houston 1 and 2. This year, I have Houston 3 to remember as well. All my beautiful babies.

The community that I’ve found and been able to be a part of on Instagram has helped me put words to my feelings, and grow beyond my one-sided perspective. I follow adoptive parents, other birth moms, and hopeful adoptive parents, as well as agencies/support groups. I like to share things that really stick out to me, either because they word, so perfectly, the things I’m feeling, or because I want others to educate themselves on the complexity of these feelings and relationships. 

Adoptions and miscarriages touch our lives and those close to us more often than we can imagine, and knowing what to say, what not to say, and how to love the people going through it can really lighten their burden. Because when you’re in the thick of it, you feel all alone.

BEN

Now, I know Ben didn’t die, but my mind was so completely traumatized by losing him that I legitimately cannot connect the three year old I know today as the perfect baby I bore in the hospital. I don’t know how other birthmothers feel, but this is how I feel; it’s like he died. I walked out of there with an empty wound, empty arms, and so many tears. I grieved my loss. I ached with every ounce of emotion my body contained. And when I was dried up, I was like a zombie, until more tears could be produced. Maybe I feel this way because I was forced to give him up. I don’t know. The end lesson is, trauma is real, it seriously affects your brain, and your memories, and your emotions day to day as you remember. To this day, I wake up sometimes, thinking I have a child, searching for understanding, until the weight of losing him crashes down again, and I have to get up and move on, like it’s natural.

HOUSTON 1

When I miscarried 1, I was sad because I really wanted a baby. I was able to wrap my head around it pretty quickly because, logically, I understood that it was very soon after removing my birth control, and my body might not have been fully built up to support a child. Also, I had had a pretty serious fever for 3 days right as I found out I was pregnant, and lost it a couple days later. Fevers that early in a pregnancy are very bad for babies. So putting those facts together, I was able to step back and feel sad for my loss, but still hopeful for my future family.

HOUSTON 2

2 wrecked me. I was just completely devastated. I still have nightmares about the day I lost 2. I was only 20, and in perfect health, and yet I had my second miscarriage, and a very rare kind where I carried my mostly dead baby for 4 extra weeks. And then for 2 months after that, my hormone levels were still so high, that if I had taken a pregnancy test, it would have read positive.

I remember the ER doctor’s face. I remember yelling at him and my mom “how many do I have to lose?!” I remember him frantically searching for tissues that I used entirely.

3 months of loving this baby. I loved this baby so so so much. Whenever I feel sad about my miscarriages, I always think back to this one.

HOUSTON 3

When we got a positive test result, I was determined to not get attached because I knew it would die. And yet I got attached anyway (because hey, it’s still my baby after all). I was in a very public setting when it all happened, and I still cried my eyes out and screamed, even though I knew it was going to happen.

I cannot count the tears I’ve shed over my three babies and Ben. Grief is a horrible pain, a numbing emptiness, and a never ending, aching reminder of what could’ve, and should’ve been.

I don’t know what lesson I was meant to learn from losing not only Ben, but my three miscarriages too. Did I really need 4 examples? Did I not properly learn a mother’s love after Ben, that the it needed to be carved into me deeper? What did I miss?

There is a woman I follow on Instagram, named Elise Harris, who lost her twins halfway through pregnancy. She got their names tattooed on the inside of her arms, and said this about them: “I thought about getting my tattoos and ultimately decided that they were for me. Everyone else gets to physically have their children with them. They get to carry them in their arms and hold them. But I don’t. But having the tattoos of their names on my arms is a way for me to also have my children with me physically. To hold and to carry always.”

I talked to Zach about me getting a tattoo for a long time; we even went and met with an artist and talked about the process and my design. When I finally decided to do it, I was pregnant with H2, and therefore couldn’t get it. And then I rethought my ideas, now to include these Houston babies. So now, once Houston 4 is born and no longer breastfeeding, I can finally get my tattoo. Because I want them in my arms like it should've been. 

HOUSTON 4

This pregnancy has been SO much harder than I’d anticipated. I’ve been working at least 40 hours per week, in an understaffed department leaving me with the majority of the heavy lifting—literally. Good news is, I’ll be super fit for birthing and my arms are strong so hopefully carrying around a 8 pound nugget won’t be too hard. She’s incredibly active; she never stops kicking. I’ve gained more weight in these 31 weeks than I did my entire pregnancy with Ben.

My emotions have seriously caught me off guard. I think everyone close to me has been hoping this baby will provide some good healing to my heart. But, my depression is still much more significant than I’m comfortable with. My thoughts get really scary sometimes. I’ve been grieving Ben and my Houston babies a lot.

I stopped wearing my necklace because one day, I just got so freaking mad that that is all I have of Ben; I want more, I want HIM, not some necklace.

I get really irritable when people ask me how many kids I have or if this is my first. Because I have had 4 babies. This is my 5th. But I just tell them that I do have a boy, and then they act like my family is complete now that I have a girl too.. and I just want to die.

I’ve been having anxiety too. 

I had a panic attack at work and was crying on the floor, on the phone with Zach for 30 minutes one day.

I’ve talked with one of my mama friends on Instagram about connecting to this baby, because it feels so unnatural to actually get to keep her and take her home and she’ll be a real person, my person; will it be instantaneous? if it isn’t, does that make me a bad mom? Can I keep her to myself until I feel safe and bonded? Because everyone is going to want to see her, but that scares me, because what if they take her?

What if they don’t think I’m going to be a good mom, like they did with Ben?

Am I allowed to not have my dad bless this baby at church? Because that’s going to be a super awkward conversation.

Do I really have to go on a road trip less than a month after she’s born for step-family in-laws? What if people kiss her and she gets a cold and I don’t know what to do?

And.

What if she leaves me like all my other babies?

What if she hates me, and doesn’t bond?

I feel like I have no control, and suppressing all these crazy downs while dealing with super the great high of actually being able to have this baby, it's all driving me crazy. 

Anyway--today is a good day to love on those women around you who have miscarried, or lost a baby. Pray for them, say hello, send them a card. Even if it isn't specific, just love on them. 1 in 4 women have had a miscarriage, 1 in 8 couples are struggling with infertility. There's probably someone close to you that you could help today. 

A New Season

Zach and I are so so so so unbelievably excited for this new season in our life because I AM PREGNANT! Houston #4 is on its way, and every week feels like we are leaping and bounding towards parenthood. We got the news on April 5th, with a beautifully strong positive test result. I was feeling hopeful, sad, positive, scared, doubtful, but still overjoyed at this opportunity again. While some couples struggling with infertility pray for a positive pregnancy test, we just pray that it will actually last, since our last three haven't made it past that 8 week mark. I was able to get a 6-week ultrasound since I'm high-risk due to multiple miscarriages, and I got to see the little baby. After that, our intuition told us this was the one. We were both extremely positive that this baby will actually be in our arms, coming home with us. Throughout further appointments, we crossed our fingers that there was still a heartbeat, and each time, our doctor was able to find it, strong and healthy.

As of now, we are 18 weeks along, almost halfway, and have our 20-week anatomical scan scheduled for the end of the month. We are so excited to set up the baby room and decorate (in more than just grays.) We are grateful for every movement we feel, every chance we have to hear its heartbeat, and every bottle of ginger ale curing the symptoms of this beautiful pregnancy. 

I only show if I eat lots of food. Even this far along, I'm tiny and skinny. 

Hawaiian Honeymoon (1 Year Later)

Zach and I never officially went on a honeymoon last year; our trip to Europe was with my family 100% of the time. So I booked tickets to Oahu back in January and happened to pick the best week to leave for both of our jobs! We got to avoid crazy busy weeks.

The trip started off quite crazy though. We left Seattle at 5:50am and arrived in Oakland, just to find out that our flight to Oahu was moved up an entire hour, AND had left 10 minutes early. Basically, we missed the flight. I had several freak out moments when no one was being helpful and all the Hawaiian Air staff were gone from the airport until 5pm that night for the next flight. While I was on hold with customer service, we had to book new tickets to get there that day, since we had an AirBnB and car payed for and I wasn't about to waste money. After a lovely chat with Hawaiian Air, he finally conceded to a full refund!

While we were able to do a lot of the things we wanted, I got super sick the first day, practically feinted, and then was just completely exhausted for the rest of the trip, taking naps every day, and struggling to eat. And then Zach weighs to much to ride the horses, which is ridiculous since he really isn't that big. Although if you saw my Instagram, he did let me post a picture of him calling him a beached whale.

Laie, Hawaii Temple

The grounds were SO beautiful. Last time I was here 8 years ago, it was closed for renovation. I'm so glad we went back. We also visited the Polynesian Culture Center (thanks Krissy) which was amusing, but we didn't get to stay for the show because we were so tired. We go to bed here at 7-8p, and the show didn't start till 10p Seattle time, so we left early. 

Pearl Harbor Memorial

I got really sick this day, and the attractions cost SO MUCH MONEY so we did everything we possibly could that was free. There were two small walk-through museums, and I'm so grateful for the memory refresher on how tragic everything was surrounding WWII. 

My grandpa Steinhilber fought in the war, but over in Europe, in Battle of the Bulge, and with Patton. History has always been interesting to me, but a foreign concept since I've never been affected by war. Learning that my relatives took part and their impact always astounds me. 

Dole Pineapple Plantation

My favorite fruit is pineapple. And I will use any excuse to go on a chu-chu-train. 

Waimea Falls

My mom and dad went here on their honeymoon, so I really wanted to go too. Luckily the walk/hike was only 1.5 miles so I was actually able to do it, even being sick. 

Over all, it was a good trip. It was nice being with each other and not having to work. It was nice to relax and not feel guilty about finishing the kitchen or staying up too late.