I’ve heard it said that women quickly forget the pain of childbirth, it’s what allows them to have more children. They are able to focus only the joys of the baby being placed in their arms, each perfect tiny finger, each tiny toe, and the sweet curve of tiny little eye lashes. I’ve found that to be true, the time I spent waiting and the pain of the actual birthing process melted away, it is overwhelmed completely by the joy I felt of holding Michael in my arms for the first time, and even the joy I felt in seeing Beth and John meeting their son for the first time. The pain I was totally unprepared for, the pain that still sometimes aches, came almost two days later.

I woke up after my second night in the hospital alone and feeling achy and frankly, a little bit crabby. There was no Uncle Jerry, no parents, no well wishing friends or coworkers, just me and a nurse taking my temperature. (I cannot begin to express my confusion at the process of being woken up to have my vitals taken all night after a delivery, but I guess that’s why I am not a health care professional.) She had a few pills to administer, though no pain meds, not even a Tylenol, since this morning is the day that the attorney would arrive and I would relinquish my parental rights, forever.

I had waited for Micheal’s arrival with eagerness and excitement, I waited for the attorney with dread. My Mom got there that morning before the attorney and just as we waited together for Michael to arrive now we waited to legally give him away. It was horrible, we both watched the TV and tried not to talk about anything, waiting for the sword swinging over our head to drop.

The attorney arrived before lunch with a court reporter in tow, this was unexpected. I thought I would be signing paperwork, I didn’t realize that I was going to have to give my testimony. I can’t tell you how surreal the whole thing felt to be sitting there with my Mom next to my bed, while the court reporter set up her little type writer thing. (Just like the ones you see on tv!)

If you recall, I had chosen the attorney I worked with carefully and I must tell you that I felt like I picked well because even as the court reporter was setting up, the attorney came over the explain what was going to happen. She was a very small woman with dark hair and warm dark eyes, she projected confidence, competence, and compassion. In retrospect, she knew what was coming – I really didn’t.

Just like if I was in court, I was “sworn in” and I had to answer questions about my mental state, if I felt coerced in any way, and then we got down the nitty gritty. The attorney read the adoption papers out loud and I had to answer questions about if I understood or if I agreed. During this process, my Mom started to cry and with tears running down my face I gently asked her to leave. I can’t stand for anyone to cry by themselves, and I knew that if I started crying now I would never be able to stop.

With tears in my eyes, I help up well through the rest of the process until the attorney asked me if I understood that I was terminating all of my parental rights to Michael. (Of course she said it more professionally than that.) With tears streaming down my face I said I understood, and I did understand, but the wording seemed so wrong. I felt like I was on record as saying – I didn’t want him, and I hated that. I hated the way it sounded and the heartache it caused because the truth was so much more complicated.

The truth is that even though I always felt like my adoption plans were part of a bigger plan, it still hurt to hear those words out loud. The truth is that even though I always felt like Michael was meant to be Beth and John’s son, he would also always be a part of me, I liked to think that he was the best part of me and Rob. The truth is that I loved him so much I wanted him to have more than I could give him and that wretched legal paperwork could never convey that.

Shortly after the tears started flowing the i’s were dotted and the t’s were crossed, and the attorney and court reporter packed up to leave. When they opened the door to leave, I saw John and Beth in the hallway with two beautiful dark haired little girls that I realized must be the attorney’s daughters. Beth and I locked eyes for just a moment and her eyes filled with tears, I smiled the very best, although slightly shaky, smile I could muster at her before the door was closed between us.

I was on the verge of starting to cry in earnest, when the door opened again, and John came in. I confess, I liked John but I hadn’t really gotten as close to him as I had to Beth. She was who I emailed with all this time. Since we didn’t have that bond, I could tell that John felt a little awkward.

“Is there anything we can do for you,” he asked in a quiet voice.

I cannot tell you how touched I was by this small gesture. The paperwork was signed, Michael was theirs, but clearly to Beth and John I was more than just the vessel that carried their child – I was a person, a person they knew was in pain.

“Could you see if I could have my pain meds now?” I asked him, “I’m a little sore and I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

“Sure,” he said.

John stood there for a moment and I knew that he wanted to say something. He searched for the magic words to comfort and ease the pain. However, there were no words, and so he left.

A few moments later I heard him at the nurse’s station and I couldn’t help but chuckle. John was a mild mannered and very polite man, but I heard as he was adamant that someone get down to my room and get those pain pills administered STAT! Apparently one of the nurses had the bad graces to bring up that they were waiting on the attorney and though John was quiet he was firm, that someone needed to come down to my room immediately. I believe he stood at that nurse’s station until he watched her walk down the hall towards my room.

I cried myself to sleep after the medicine had been administered. From the moment I had decided to place my son for adoption I had known that moment was coming, but there is no amount of preparation that can make it hurt less to say good bye to someone that you love

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