Placement Pt. 1

There are many misconceptions and stigmas surrounding the word “Birthmother”. People think of birthmothers as one of two things: a woman addicted to drugs or a woman who didn’t want their child. Shows like TLC’s “Birthmothers” does not help this when they show a very pregnant woman shooting up, smoking weed or doing any form of drug without stopping them.

                It is true, some women do not want their children and do decide to give them up for adoption. In those cases, it is sad and it is very tragic but sometimes it is for the best.

                In my case, I would have done anything I possibly could have to have been able to raise my baby to be healthy and happy.

                I found out I was pregnant in December of 2011, after skipping months of periods but having no other clues as to my possible pregnancy. I suspected I might be, but with my history of PCOS and the possibility of my having Endometriosis (I have a long family history of it); I simply thought that this was normal. I normally in a year skip three or more periods and don’t think anything of it. Of course, normally when I skip, I haven’t been sexually active.

                So when I found out, I was scared. I had just got a temp job for minimum wage, after all. I was broke. I had moved down to where I lived from a place where I had a secure job but no secure housing to a place where I had no job but secure housing. I spent three months donating plasma to pay rent, eating scraps as I tried to secure employment. I was dropping weight (which I didn’t mind, I was and still am overweight). To me, life was miserable, with nothing bright to look forward to. Especially with my trouble getting financial aid, I couldn’t go to school. Which was the entire reason for me moving down in the first place.

                I was confused, I was scared and overall, I was angry at myself. I had not taken care of myself in the least bit during crucial development periods of this fetuses life and part of me wished that it would go away. That the life I had obtained after moving from where I had been would go away. But it did not, and I could not abort a life that moved within me, that could be healthy, that could be loved. I could not bring myself to do it.

                I chatted with a friend of mine in England about all of the possibilities. She mentioned abortion, of course, and offered her support by saying, if I could get there, she would care for me during physical and mental  recovery. We looked up pricing and I cringed not only at the prices but at the mere idea of going through with it. We then talked about keeping, and what that would entail. Slowly, we shifted over to adoption, because I was certain that in my current situation, I would not be able to keep it. 

                Adoption is very close to my heart. My grandmother was adopted. My sister was adopted. My childhood friends, both of whom are more like sisters to me, are adopted. I have seen both sides of adoption. The happy and the unhappy. I considered this closely and wondered how I would go about contacting a couple, an agency, a lawyer… someone! She wasn’t sure…she lives in England. Laws and systems are very different over there. We both began looking on google.

                I came across a few websites that looked promising; a couple of the sites I found looked a little shady as well. I found a site with a gay couple who stood out to me. Their names were Jon and Ed and they were amazing. They had a little son they had adopted previously and their profile was everything I could ask for in a parent. Steady jobs, stable income, two parent home in a nice part of NYC and with plenty of extended family to love the child.

                I emailed them first. I am an inherently shy person. On the internet, I am loud; I am boisterous. In real life I have a very hard time talking to new people and even relating to the people around me. I mean, once I find a common ground, I get along with people just fine. It may take me a while though… I am just awkward!

                So I emailed them, explaining my situation and that I had not had medical confirmation of my pregnancy yet. They were kind people, loving. They let me know about them and their lives, sending me pictures of them and their family and offering to call. Again, I am a very shy person so I was a little bit nervous. I also at this time did not have a phone. After a little bit of convincing, I was able to use my sister’s. We talked for a little while about me and my interests and their interests and who I was. It was kind of nice to not have to talk about the fact that I was pregnant. Up to this point the only people who knew that I was, was Clair (my British friend), Kate (my sister) and her boyfriend at the time. Being able to talk to them without the fear of harsh judgment was what I felt that I needed at the time.

                I had no idea how the rest of my family would react, so I neglected to tell them. In hindsight, that was not the brightest thing to do, but when you’re scared and feel like those closest to you will be harsh and not understanding, you do stupid things to avoid the potential of pain.

                After talking to Jon and Ed for a little bit, they asked that I sent a picture of myself. I let them know that the baby would be half black and that I didn’t have a picture of dad and they were fine with that. They just wanted to know what I looked like for now. I sent it and our time chatting grew a little bit longer through emails and I began to feel a real connection with them. They were, as I thought, meant to be my child’s parents if I could not be.

                I began contemplating what would happen during the months of my pregnancy if I didn’t tell my parents. It would be awkward, I may not have the best relationship with them, but I talk to them often so they would definitely think something was up if I did not keep in contact. Jon and Ed encouraged me to tell my parents about everything, including my choice.

                When I went to get the official test to confirm pregnancy, I made up my mind and decided that after I got the confirmation, I would tell my parents. My sister Sarah picked me up and we told her first. Her reaction was kind of funny and we talked about things on the short ride home. My stepmom said she was worried when I said I wanted to talk to her but not over the phone and said that it was one of two things. I don’t remember the first one but the other one was that I was pregnant.

                After sort of laughing and saying “number two,” my sister Cheyenne got uncomfortably close to see if she could feel the baby. Which she could. We moved into the living room and began to talk about my stepmom’s suspicions of something being up and what I was planning. She was not too happy about the choice of couple, but didn’t really say anything. I could see it in her face, but she was good about not voicing her opinions. She decided after a little bit of convincing from me to tell my dad. Not my favorite time. I heard he did not take it well. When he came to talk to me, I felt as though he was not looking at me the way he used to. He avoided any possible eye contact with my stomach (which seemed to have decided that ballooning out immediately after I said “ok, I’m pregnant” was a great idea).

                I switched jobs and got onto AHCCCS, Arizona’s healthcare program. I contacted Jon and Ed’s adoption lawyer and she sent me a packet of information and forms about my health and family history to be filled out.

                If I remember correctly, I told the birth father before all of this that I was pregnant. If Facebook messages are right, then I told him in January. He asked if I would abort it when I told him my plans. I told him no. I told him about the family and he was sort of unhappy that they weren’t going to be black and then asked what I would do if he said he could raise him. Having given this some very painful thought, I told him I couldn’t do anything about it but that what I was planning was not only the best for his future but for ours. He agreed to signing papers if he needed to, and I wasn’t sure whether or not he was agreeing because it was what I wanted, or because it got him out of the picture.  

                I cannot necessarily blame the birth father for reacting how he did, as I did not tell him until I was far along. But then again, I didn’t know until I was further along. I had to have his permission to place the baby, though and that proved to be tricky. (More on that later).

                I filled out as much of the medical and family paper work as I possibly could.

                And that is where I hit a snag with them. Their lawyer advised them to not contact me again until I had sent back in those forms. But I had still not seen a doctor (I had to wait for confirmation that I was approved for insurance and for the card, a process which could take up to one month). In order for me to send back the forms, I would need to sign a release for ALL of my medical history. If I had a personal OBGYN, this wouldn’t actually be an issue. I, of course, couldn’t afford to see a doctor by myself.

                During this time, I began to feel abandoned by the potential parents of my child. I sent them emails and texts, letting them know I was worried, as well as their lawyer, and I did not hear back from them, except for the lawyer letting me know that she had advised against further contact until I got those forms sent in.

                I think that was really the tipping point. I had been emotionally not doing well, fighting constantly with my sister (who was also my roommate) and her boyfriend and had been feeling like I was a failure for even being in the situation I was in. I began contemplating keeping it again, formulating a plan in my mind that would involve me living at my parents for about a year while I attended Vet Tech school and worked nights. I discussed it with my dad and then my stepmom and we painfully shot the idea down. That was probably the hardest day for me up to that point. I was hormonal and just sobbing into the phone.

                With a little nudge from my parents, I decided to look in state for potential parents. I wanted an open adoption, after all, and them living in Arizona would be easier.

                I found a few couples who seemed ok, and was hooked up with one through my sister, Sarah. The other one, Jon and Liz, I found online. I emailed Liz and we went back and forth. I gave my number in the initial email (if I remember correctly) and let her know she was free to text me but I wasn’t quite ready to talk talk yet. She was understanding and we went back and forth through email for a while to set up a time and place to meet. I asked if my stepmom could come with and she agreed.

                The other couple was very talkative and upbeat, ready to adopt their second child. Possibly third, if their other birthmother decided to place with them.

                I met with Jon and Liz first, having Filliberto’s and talking about what we liked, did etc. and what we both expected out of the adoption. I let them know that I am very involved in the Gay community, specifically for rights and that it would be important for me if the child grew up knowing that, even though you may not be accepted in all walks of life, that being gay is nothing to be ashamed of. I also told them that I wanted to be as involved in its life as possible. Luckily, they wanted that too. We discussed religion as well. They were open, caring and truly longed for a child. I was instantly drawn to them and their sincerity.

                Later that night, I went out to dinner with the other couple. They were as rambunctious in person as they were on the phone and reminded me of my sister Sarah. Their child was walking and curious about everything. They were about as open to my expectations as Jon and Liz were, and were closer to me than Jon and Liz. I liked them, I truly did. But while I could see them as good parents, I couldn’t see them as the parents of my child.

                I mulled over the decision, going back and forth with my stepmom as to who each of us liked and the pros and cons. I was hesitant and not sure what to do and she saw that. So she gave me a deadline. I had two days to decide. I called my grandma and my dad and talked to both of them, telling them about each couple and asking advice from both of them. They both, of course, told me that it was my choice and that I needed to make the choice I felt was right. (They both compared Jon and Liz to my older sister Bre and her husband, though, and I liked that thought).

                And I felt that Jon and Liz was the right choice. As did my stepmom. I gave them a call the next day (the day after that?) when I went to grab groceries. Liz answered her phone and I couldn’t tell if she was bracing herself for bad news or was just excited to hear what I had to say. I told her that I would like them to be the parents of my child and I think that she started crying. I’m not sure, but she definitely sounded elated.

                She thanked me and asked what she could do to help me and at that time, I honestly didn’t know. Aside from the obvious. After a few moments of talking with her (and several dropped calls on my end), I let them go to tell their families.

                I felt good. Probably the best I had felt in a while. Like it was meant to be them. I could see them with the kid and it made me happy. 

I'm going to stop here for today. It's a long tale, and I will pick it up again soon.