You know what? I don’t think I told you that I actually finished Boo’s life story and had it printed and delivered it to him. I took me a while to get the last perfect picture but I finally did it. That only took 7 years.
I included his one and only sonogram, the picture of his birthmother and us, the day he was born, etc. I did not include a picture of his biological father, even though I have one somewhere that his birthmother sent me. We never met and he did not come to the hospital when he was born. I guess if he had, I might not have my son here with me. Sigh, I only wish I had taken more pictures at the time. He loved it! He didn’t ask as many questions as I thought he would. But we had a really good chat about everything.
I do remember how strange it felt to have this teeny tiny infant in my care and even though I was smiling in every shot, I also felt quite sad, too. That bittersweet feeling become an obstacle for me (never mind my age or the issue of finances) in entertaining the idea of another adoption. It was hard to let go of this idea that I would magically become this unconditionally happy woman despite the loss it meant for my son and his birthmother. I held it together like a rock in the face of this woman sacrifice and tears. Why does everyone keep telling me I should be happy now? I had an idea of what I would feel and what transpired was most decidely different. I read a blog post from a woman who did not have the ideal birth experience that she had prepared for. She felt robbed somehow of the blessed experience for events that were beyond her control. Maybe I had felt something like that. Like, hey look I have a baby but….. why do I feel so traumatized? Expectations versus reality. I learned a great deal about equanimity.
I remember the wash of unconditional love I felt for him as I held him, the awe of it all, how humbled I was at being given the opportunity to mother, how badly I wanted to remove his loss. I wanted to be perfect, not make any mistakes. I would not be afforded another opportunity in this lifetime. I was terrified of failing him. And yet sometimes I did. And then I get off the floor and did better. I now know it’s just part of the job, the hard part of being an adoptive mother, knowing you won’t be the answer to his question of where he came from. He will one day look to you for answers that you hope you can answer. To be the bridge he crosses. You just hope he comes back.
I had built up this book to be such a momentous big deal, but Boo just seemed to be happy to marvel over how tiny he was once. His big foot next to my wine glass. His dog nuzzled next to his sleeping body. He liked his life story and was eager to share with only those closest to him. He didn’t see our doubts, our fears, our hopes. He only saw how much he was loved. Which I suppose, was the whole point.