I was off work for two weeks after Michael was born, I slept alot, I ate healthy and unhealthy things. I had Ben there to make sure that I got out of bed at least a few times a day, because he had to be walked. Mostly, one day from recovery was much like another with a few, rather disjointed and notable exceptions.

For example, one day I had bopped on down to the laundry room to move my laundry from the washing machine to the dryer and a young man from the complex asked if I had just had a baby. I smiled and said yes and asked how he knew, and the young man blushed as he nodded towards my chest. I had started lactating (despite the meds I was taking to keep that from happening). I was very embarrassed and when I got back to my apartment I cried. It’s one cry that I am blame 100% on hormones because I really couldn’t tell you exactly what I was crying about – anything and everything. I was crying because I didn’t think I would ever be able to go back to the laundry room! (A completely rational response!)

There was the day that my web guys came over after work. The phone call giving me a fifteen minutes “head’s up” had woken me up from a nap so I was vaguely crabby. Then I opened the door and felt like I had let a troupe of monkeys into my apartment. There was someone pulling Chinese takeout containers out of a bag, there was someone in my kitchen taking out plates and calling out to people to ask about utensils, and there was someone in front of my DVD player. It felt like they were everywhere, too loud, too into everything.

The boisterous group hustled me into my own living room and a plate of Chinese food was placed in my hands and Ken and Tim settled in on either side of me, while Josh sprawled across the floor. There was a little laughter and cutting up while they kicked off the movie, something nice and SciFi thus avoiding any emotional stuff, and then it was quiet. When the food was gone, the plates were whisked away, and then Ken stretched an arm out along the back of the sofa, so his warmth radiated around me. It wasn’t a flirty move, but rather a calm and reassuring move that let me know they were there for me. Somehow, these geeky computer guys knew that being there without saying anything is just as important as long, heart to heart talks.

I had lots of moments like that after Michael was born, and gone. There were lots of friends, ready to welcome me back into life as I was wading back in. There were moments, like the ones above that I will never forget, and moments less clear but no less important that I don’t remember anything more than the feeling that truly I was blessed with good friends and loving family.

However, the next life altering moment happened right before Michael was two months old. I went to get my mail and I had an envelope waiting for me, it had a beautiful letter from Beth and it was full of pictures of Michael. I was so excited to see his beautiful little face, and to see Beth and John beaming at me. He was happy and he was going to be all right.

I did what seemed to be the most logical thing in the world, I grabbed the envelope and headed out to my parents house to share them with my Mom. She smiled when she looked at the pictures, and she looked at each one carefully.  After she was done looking at the pictures we moved on to talk about something else, and then she got very quiet and thoughtful.

“I would’ve done that,” she said, “for your birthmother.”

I think in the time since Michael had been born and we had said goodbye, her understanding of what a birthmother was had grown and changed. She understood that somewhere out there, my birthmother might be thinking of me and wondering what happened to me, if I was happy, what I grew up to be.

Of course, there were no semiopen adoptions at the time, but the seed had been planted, and after I left my parent’s house I turned that thought, my birthmother, over and over in my mind.

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