Posts Tagged ‘Birthmother’

As I enter the home stretch of my pregnancy, I get to go see Dr.A every week. Every week I go in, with very little to report and I always seem to be right on track for where I need to be. Dr.A has taken to teasing me that if he had more patients like me, he would be out of business, everything has been by the book. Well everything until this week. The scale has never been my friend, but even more so now that I’m pregnant. I tend to pretty much ignore that part of my visit all together, so when Dr.A walked in reviewing my chart with his eyebrows knitted together, I felt butterflies start fluttering in my stomach.

“Joy, have you had any problems this week? Felt differently? Feeling emotionally stressed perhaps?” He asked me.

“Not that I can think of,” I said. My hands were feeling a little sweaty, as he studied my face.

“Well, I can’t help but notice that you gained three pounds this week,” he said looking down at the chart, “which is more than you’ve been putting on. Did you have more sweets or eat anything unusual?”

This was just embarrassing! I thought as I scrambled through all of my meals looking for something out of the ordinary, at no point had I bought a cake and eaten it by myself.

“Nothing, well except for watermelon.” I said.

Truth be told, as it got hotter outside, I had become a little watermelon obsessed. Ever since I found out I could get a big bowl of precut watermelon at the grocery store.

“How much watermelon?” he asked, and his eyes were twinkling with laughter.

“Umm, you know those big bowls they sell at Albertson’s?” I said, he nodded “I think I’ve had three in the last week.”

“That would do it,” he said chuckling.

“I thought fruit was healthy?”

“Well some fruit is more healthy than the others.”

I couldn’t decide if I wanted to laugh or cry. I had been trying so hard to make sure I had a healthy pregnancy and now I had poisoned myself with watermelon. Really, I was so proud that I had resisted the urge to buy ice cream or popsicles. It was really bothering me.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Janet, Dr.A’s nurse said as she squeezed my hand reassuringly before I got off the table, “it will be just fine, your son is fine.”

“I just feel so stupid,” I said sheepishly. Again she smiled at me and patted my hand.

I guess in pregnancy, you don’t really cross the finish line until the baby is born and in your arms. Something I just sort of take for granted since everything has been going so smoothly. I contemplated that, the whole car ride to the office. The health of my baby was really important to me, I had been trying to make sure that while I was carrying him I was giving him everything he needed to be healthy and strong and here I was drowning the poor kid in watermelon! When I got to my office, I had resolved that I wouldn’t buy anymore of the big watermelon bowls until after my son was born.

Imagine my surprise when Ken walked into my office a few minutes after I got there with a big smile on his face and a parfait sized cup of watermelon!

“We noticed that you seemed to be craving watermelon, so when Josh went out to grab some breakfast, he picked this up for you.”

I thanked Ken but I couldn’t help but laugh as he handed me the cup. I guess my steely resolve on watermelon would have to wait until tomorrow.

I have a friend that I don’t talk about very often because we have the oddest relationship ever, I call him Uncle Jerry because he is 20 years older than me and on some level I know that if we weren’t “family” our relationship probably wouldn’t make much sense. Jerry tends bar at the sports bar that I have frequented off and on, since I was old enough to drink – it’s a hole in the wall, but they have pool tables and dart boards and it’s not a “meet market.” I like him because he is a practitioner of, what I call, the Southern Art of Story Telling. You can take Jerry down the road so he can pick up a newspaper and when you get back he tells this epic story that makes it sound like a quest worthy of a fairy tale. Our relationship is strange, but he’s family, well kinda.

I had told Uncle Jerry about my pregnancy fairly early on. He knew that Rob and I had broken up and knew I had moved down the street, but since I didn’t plan on spending any time at the bar over the course of my pregnancy I thought I would let him know why. He never liked Rob and was quick to offer me his love and support, another reason why I consider him family I suppose.

Of course to that point his love and support extended to infrequent phone calls to see how I was doing but other than that I didn’t see very much of him, so I was surprised when he called me on Mother’s Day Sunday to ask for a favor. (My parents were in New York City, they go for two weeks every May and we celebrate Mother’s Day when they get back.)

“I forgot my lunch, could you go grab me a sandwich before the bar opens?” He said.

“Sure, from where?”

We sorted out the arrangements and I confess, despite him offering me free lunch from my favorite sandwich shop, I wasn’t jazzed to go to the bar, even if it wasn’t open. (I’m not very big on the lingering smell of cigarette smoke.) Oh, the things we do for love.

A moment after I arrived in the bar, I was again reminded why I considered Jerry to be family. On one of the side tables there was a beautiful little flower arrangement and something that resembled strawberry shortcake. (Jerry later told me he bought and ripped up an angel food cake and then topped it with strawberries and whipped cream himself.)

“Happy Mother’s Day,” he said as he extended his arms wide to give me a hug and I promptly burst into tears.

Jerry patted my back clumsily while telling me how happy he was to celebrate my “first Mother’s Day” with me, and it’s funny that despite the pregnant belly, and the knowledge I was carrying a bouncing baby boy I just didn’t really see that “Mother’s Day” applied to me. I guess that seems odd, but I didn’t really think Motherhood happened (or more accurately was acknowledged by other people) until the baby was in your arms.

He told me stories all through our little Mother’s Day luncheon, mostly stories about regulars I knew but hadn’t seen in a while, but he sprinkled in some of my favorites for good measure. I laughed so hard that at one point I was holding my sides.

“You aren’t going into labor, are you?” he asked with genuine alarm.

“No,”I assured him, wiping away tears of laughter.

I left just as the bar opened and the first few patrons made their way in.

The next day, when I went to work, I had an emailing wishing me Happy Mother’s Day from Beth (and John too, she assured me!) and she asked if I had a nice Mother’s Day and I smiled, thinking of a dark bar and an old bachelor’s strawberry shortcake when I replied to her by saying “I really did!”

It’s funny how at the beginning of the pregnancy, time seemed to stretch out vast before me, like it would never be time for my son to arrive and now that April is almost over I can’t believe that in just over a month he should be here. I also can’t believe that I went from the girl that no one could believe was pregnant to this awkward, waddling woman! I think my son and I are both having problems getting comfortable lately. I don’t think he has much room to move in there and at night I seem to be having my own problems getting comfortable.

I’m also having a hard time finding peace and comfort in my relationship with Rob, we haven’t talked since the fiasco went down with his family. When we broke up while I had no delusions that we were “friends” – I did believe that with a little time and space, we might actually be able to be civil towards one another, but the pregnancy didn’t seem to give us much time or space to heal.

I’ve often tried to put myself in Rob’s shoes, to try to figure out where he’s coming from, but I have to admit that this man that I thought I knew so well, that I had planned a life with seems like a  stranger to me. There’s a time when I thought I could’ve trusted him with anything in the world and now the three pregnancy promises he made are just three more promises in a long string of promises that he made and broke. Still though, I wondered if he’s going to miss his son. I wondered if he worries about what he’ll say the day he meets him. Though mostly I just wondered what’s going on in that head of his!

Ask and you shall receive.

Rob called me, after our extended silence, and asked the usual questions but then he lingered on the phone.

“Would you like to go out to dinner tomorrow?” he asked.

“Um, sure,” I said, recognizing that an olive branch was being offered and knowing that peace needed to be made between us.

We met at a barbecue place that we used to frequent, (Rob was often on the Atkins Diet so a place where he could get heaping plates of meat was just what the doctor ordered!)  and spent several minutes trying to make idle chit chat. I wondered when this had gotten so complicated, when we were together we never seemed to run out of things to talk about, and now we couldn’t even seem to make small talk.

“I need your advice,” he finally said, while digging into a pile of smoked pork.

“Okay,” I said skeptically.

“I’m having problems with Emily,” he said and he launched into a laundry list of concerns that was developing. For example, Emily cried when she opened canned biscuits, because she was anticipating the ‘pop’ which always scared her. He offered to buy her a gun because he was concerned for her safety and she said that she would rather he spend that kind of money on something sparkly for her. She had a meltdown when they went horseback riding and they encountered wildlife on the trails.

As he kept going down the laundry list I was surprised to note that I didn’t feel anything. There is a time that even hearing her name was enough to set my teeth on edge but instead I felt nothing at all. Is this what it’s like to be friends with an ex? I listened as I would listen to any girlfriend talking about their relationship woes. I asked intelligent and insightful questions, meant to make him really reflect and consider what he was feeling, and where the relationship was going. I was so proud of myself, I could do this – I could be his friend.

“Maybe she’s just not the girl for you,” I said after listening to him give me reason upon reason for why they just weren’t a good match.

“I knew it,” he said, sitting up and dropping his fork to his plate with a clatter, “you’re jealous.”

And just like that, it all went out the window.

“Jealous of what?” I asked, my face growing hot with embarrassment that I had let my guard down around him for one minute.

“Of my relationship with Emily.”

Oh boy.

“You know what Rob, you are the man who made a career in the military, while we were together you taught me how to string and shoot a long bow, your living room is decorated with medieval weapons, and you have an extensive collection of guns that you shoot, frequently. I don’t think it takes a rocket scientist to see that perhaps your interests don’t mesh well with a girl who has a minor meltdown every time she opens a can of biscuits. Pointing that out to you doesn’t make me jealous, it makes me a good friend.”

I rose to my feet ready to leave.

“I’m moving,” he called after me.

“When?” I asked turning back to look at him.

“In two weeks,” he said.

“Will you be back?” I asked, and the unspoken part of that question was – for the birth of our son.

“I’m not planning on it,” responded.

I nodded, in understanding and I looked at him. When I met Rob, I thought he looked like a superhero – tall, broad shouldered, and square jawed. I thought that he was fearless and that together we could take on anything. He radiated strength and fearlessness to me than and now he just seemed so full of fear.

“Thanks for dinner,” I said and I turned my back on him and I left.

I had wanted a picture of Rob and our son for his baby book, so that one day when I told our son his story that would be a part of it. That we loved him from the minute, we knew he was there. However, as I drove away from the barbecue place I realized that story I painted in my head was a lie – I loved my son from the moment I knew he was there; through the vomiting, the indecision, the worry, the doubts, the hard decisions, the dreams, the wishes – I loved him, Rob did not. To Rob, this wasn’t a baby or even a part of him, it was the last thread that bound us together, a thread that he was ready to have cut. It was a hard truth to swallow, but there it was.

I contacted Mary at the attorney’s office the next day to make sure that they knew Rob was leaving the state, and to make sure that he kept in touch with them, so they knew where to send his paperwork.

Our son wasn’t born yet, but the thread was severed – the chapter in my life about Rob was over and closed.

Aside from the dramatic episodes I’ve shared with you, you know “Baby Daddy Drama” and such, the third trimester of my pregnancy had been relatively uneventful. I go to work, I come home and Ben greets me with a happy dance that makes him look like he’s hopping. Then Ben and I go for a walk in the woods next to the apartment complex, I keep a leash on him at all times (waiting for us to scare up something and for him to decide to take off like a shot) but he seems happiest to walk right next to me with the leash slack. After his walk, we have dinner and then I curl up on the sofa with a book, movie, or TV show and relax. (Before bed Ben gets another shorter walk.) Sometimes there are dinner or outing with friends, sometimes errands, but for the most part – life is quiet and life is good.

I mention this because the other day when I came home, Ben did not meet me at the door. I called him, as I took the leash down and he didn’t come.  My heart started racing and the baby started moving restlessly. I found Ben in the bedroom, his long greyhound snout had what looked like dried slobber on it and his eyes were wide with fear. When I called him, he came to me but as soon as I tried to touch his nose he ran away from me into the corner. I panicked.

I grabbed Ben’s collar and snapped the leash on and we headed for the car. I made it to the vet in record time and when Ben and I burst through the door, either the sight of the wild eyed dog or the heaving pregnant woman caused them to immediately take Ben to the back. I stood there, holding on to the counter breathing deeply.

“Ma’am, it’ll be fine, don’t get too worked up.” the receptionist said in a soothing voice and I could tell she was worried I was going to have my baby right there at the reception desk.

Ben was back before I knew it, and the Vet Tech was smiling. She put a piece of off white plastic in my hand.

“This was stuck in the roof of his mouth, I suspect when you get home you’ll find something chewed on that wasn’t one of his dog toys.” She said smiling.

The piece of plastic looked suspiciously like the rod from my blinds when I said that the vet tech started laughing with me.

On the ride home, with a very tired greyhound stretched across the backseat, I was happy that for that moment that was all the drama life had thrown my way for the moment. Oh sure, I could handle crazy ladies in the book store, and birthfathers who want to change the adoption plan but it was nice to not have to.

Rob and I don’t talk very often. I can honestly say that he does make an effort to call every ten to fourteen days to see how I am doing and once I say I’m fine, he gets off the phone as quickly as possible. Emily has come and gone, he was going to be moving, so he was staying busy. Frankly, I’ve been a little relieved because it’s hard to get on with your life and move forward when your past keeps popping up over and over again.

I mention this because Sunday while I was standing at a gas station, putting the gas cap back on my car but basking in the sunshine and thinking about how lucky I am to live in the South in the Spring, my phone rang and it was Rob. He was about a week early for his check in phone call but I still answered, I don’t know what I was expecting but I was unprepared for what I got.

After the expected pleasantries (you know “hey, how’s it going?” “good, you?” “good.”) were exchanged, Rob blurted out with “I just got off the phone with my parents and we’ve made some decisions about the adoption.”

I felt the world start spinning and I got in my car and pulled it away from the pump and out of the way.  I was confused for many reasons, the first being that we had agreed that he wasn’t going to tell his parents about this whole pregnancy situation. It was the last of three agreements that we made that had been unbroken. I could tell by the tone of his voice, that I was not going to like what was coming.

“What decisions have you made about my son?” I asked, with as much calm and quiet as I could muster.

“Well, my Dad doesn’t think that I should give the baby to strangers to raise, especially since my brother and his wife are currently going through the process to adopt a baby.”

“I see,” I said. Rob’s brother, John was the proverbial Black Sheep of the family he had an addiction problem, had stolen from his parents and been kicked out of the house, gone to jail, and Rob and his Father thought I was going to hand my son over to him to raise on the promise that he had turned his life around. The world around me was still spinning but everything was awash in shades of red.

“That way Elizabeth could get pictures and updates, and maybe my daughter could even be a part of the baby’s life.” He said.

“Excuse me?” I asked, breathing deeply and trying to focus and make my anger go away, trying not to lose my temper. Elizabeth was his ex-wife why was she going to need pictures and updates?

“Well when I told her about this whole adoption thing earlier this week she got upset that our daughter wouldn’t get to know her half-brother. She wants to know how and where the baby is, and how he’s doing.”

I have always known I have a rotten temper. I have always prided myself on the amount of self-control that I have that I don’t lose my temper more. However, the people closest to me know that when I am really angry and really calm – it’s probably best to head for the hills. On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being minor annoyance and 10 being postal – I was about 15, nuclear and ready to explode.

“Rob, I can’t talk to you about this right now,” I said “obviously you’ve had time to prepare yourself for this conversation, I haven’t. I need some time to digest.”

“No Joy, we’re going to talk about his right now,” he said loudly.

“I assure you, we’re not. I’ll call you later.” I said and then I hung up the phone.

I don’t think I was ever as angry in my whole life, as I was right that minute. My hands were shaking and my son was shifting from one side of my swollen belly to the other, I suspect that he was getting a flood of emotions from me at that minute, and I was ashamed that none of them were very good. I hugged my belly and I thought of Beth and John, my son’s parents, because I really believed with my whole heart that they were meant to be my son’s parents, so what was I going to do about this? I certainly wasn’t going to let Rob’s Father control what I did with my baby.

I called Rob back a few hours later but only to tell him that I would call him tomorrow so we could discuss things. I simply told him I had a few things I needed to work out. In actuality I had a plan, and that was to offer him a counter proposal, one that would hit Rob where it hurt most.

When I arrived at work on Monday, I had two emails from Rob’s family. I had one from his Father telling me I was a slut and a whore and he was glad my plan to “trap his son” had blown up in my face and that he was going to make sure some good came out of my selfishness. (Quite honestly the email was much longer than that, but that was the gist of it. To this day it is still the cruelest email I have ever received.) The second email was from Rob’s sister, who I had met once – we stayed at her house for a weekend, telling me how hurt and disappointed she was my behavior. I did not respond to the sister from Rob’s sister but I did take the time to point out that I had moved out and come up with my adoption plan all without his son, I never, not once suggested we get back together let alone try to get married. I assured him I would pray for him, because with so much hatred in his heart clearly that’s what he needed – prayers. What the heck had Rob told these people?

I called Mary at the attorney’s office to let her know what was going on and to put my mind at ease that really the only people who could stop Beth and John from getting my son were Rob and myself. She assured me that was the case. I also told her that Rob’s ex-wife wanted “updates” and she said it was highly unlikely but really that was up to Beth and John. I told her that I would let Rob sort that out. (Frankly, I still thought that one was a little over the top.)

That evening, I got myself into the safest place I could think of and braced myself to do battle. In my heart I was fighting for my son’s future and for his happiness. I sat down on the floor with my back against the sofa, Ben snuggled next to me so I could pet his soft fur. (I found petting Ben to be very calming.) Then I called Rob.

“Hey,” I said brightly, “I’m ready to talk.”

“Okay,” he said and I could tell he was suspicious.

“I think you and your parents are right, I don’t think a stranger should raise my son, so I talked to Cathy today at work, and she said that at the end of the month I was going to be getting that raise she’s been talking about.”

“That’s great,” he said and I could tell suspicion was giving way to confusion.

“Well, with that raise and what you would be legally obligated to give me in support, I can keep the baby.” I finished.

Between you and me, I was bluffing. The raise was still a carrot dangling over my head, I was still not interested or equipped to raise my son by myself but I refused to be back into a corner by this man and his family.

There was silence.

“So you better tell your family to play nicely since I’m going to be around for a long time.” I added, in a voice that sounded so sweet and so bright my teeth ached. If he had seen the fury on my face, he would’ve known it was a bluff but since he had wanted to do this over the phone, it had helped me out tremendously.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“Oh I got some emails from your Father and sister today, they seem unimpressed by my choices. You really should encourage them to be nice to the mother of your child since obviously I’m not going to let my son visit people that call me a whore or talk badly about me. We’re going to have to work together to parent him.”

If I hadn’t had him when I mentioned the money – I had him now. I could almost hear him blanch over the phone.

“Now Joy, wait, you don’t really want to keep the baby do you?” He said, I could practically hear the back-peddling.

“I have always loved my baby and wanted what’s best for him, you and your Father made me realize it might be me.” I said.

Rob spent the next half an hour “convincing me” that Beth and John were the right parents for our son. I pretended to put up and admirable fight because I didn’t want him to know that he had just played right into my hands, but by the end of the call we were back on track. He also agreed to talk to his family and get them to refrain from any future emails. I told him I would appreciate it greatly. I told him if he wanted updates for his ex-wife he was going to have to call the attorney and see if Beth and John would be interested in doing that. (He never did.)

If I had thought, for one minute that any Rob’s Family’s plans for the baby had anything to do with love for my child – I might have been more receptive but I suspected that really it was more of pride. My suspicions were confirmed and my doubts were put at ease the next morning when I got the last email I would ever receive from Rob’s Dad. It was sent before Rob and I had reached our agreement so I never bothered to tell him about it, but the highlight was -

“Just because you are pregnant with my son’s child doesn’t mean you are anything to this family. The only thing you will accomplish in this life is giving birth to a child from someone of my son’s caliber who you preyed upon when he was emotionally weak.”

Yes, my behavior was not entirely on the up and up, but when I looked at that email I knew that at least I was making decisions from a place of love. I don’t think Rob’s Father could say the same.