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.