32 years later, this birth mother shares her story and how she found perspective and happiness out of the darkness of adoption sadness.
After I placed my son for adoption, I thought I’d never be happy again. Decades later, I am grateful for the gift of perspective.
Perspective. Point of view. The way you look at things. Is the cup half empty or half full or are you just glad that you have a cup? Does the word fierce have a positive or negative connotation?
On the morning of November 17, 1984, I was done. DONE. My baby’s due date had come and gone eleven days prior. I was huge, had to pee every ten seconds, couldn’t breathe, and was simply miserable. I detested those women who say that they love how they feel when they are pregnant. I’d had “morning sickness” 24/7 since the second I conceived for 42+ weeks. This baby needed to come out, NOW!
My perspective changed later that day as labor got into the full swing of things. I knew it was going to hurt, but I didn’t expect this. It could stop now. I didn’t need to have a baby today. Later that evening, I was the proud owner of a disgustingly squishy belly as I took in the delightful smell of my newborn son. Love, joy, amazement, rapture and being dang proud of what I created exuded from every cell of my being.