What Does This Mean?

I was laying in bed last night and I couldn't sleep. Something was on my mind. I felt like I had forgotten something, but couldn't place what it was. I thought to myself, "the alarm is set, the second alarm is set, gym bag is ready, teeth are brushed... did I floss? Yes, teeth are flossed. Laundry done... potentially hazardous misunderstanding with boy of interest- resolved... man, he's amazing. Stove is off. What am I forgetting?" Something was not right. Something felt very wrong. I hate that feeling, but I couldn't place it. When I woke up this morning and went to the gym to get my butt kicked by Mr. Bicepts-Larger-Than-My-Head Trainer Man, it finally came to me as I was doing my cruntches. I forgot to write a letter to my baby for his 5 month old mark. How did I forget? What does that mean, that I forgot? It makes me sick that I forgot. And, the thought process since the realization of what I forgot, has not been rational in the slightest, but it's all I have. Dearest readers, I am sitting at my desk here at work, and I am contemplating whether or not I should allow utterance of my thoughts into this blog entry. The thoughts that are crashing through my head right now feel like the confirmation of my biggest fear in life. How do I translate them into a way that will not... crush my soul? And, if I do speak them, what consequence will come of it?

I went and saw Baby Boy and his parent's at the beginning of this month. He is perfection. I was so worried. My biggest concern for this meeting was, what if I didn't know how to hold him anymore? When we were in the hospital, holding Baby Boy was completely natural, he fit perfectly into my arms... better than a puzzle piece, he fit like a piece of myself that had been missing for so long and was finally found. He belonged in my arms. What if I didn't know how to hold him anymore? That was a ridiculous fear. When Baby Boy's parent's handed him over to me on April 2, 2010, he looked from me back to them, as though he were trying to figure out what makes the earth round; and then he looked back at me and I began talking to him and smiling and then he reached his little hand out to my lips and I kissed his perfect little hand. It was natural holding him. Once again, he fit perfectly into my arms. He grunted and growled a lot as everyone talked around us- I think I participated in the dialogue- I remember talking, but I was completely enveloped in this little baby boy, this little blue-clad bundle of perfection. I immediately undressed him down to his onesie because I had to check out the chub of his legs, and dearest readers, he is all chub. I have never seen a baby with no neck... I've never seen a baby with no ankles or wrists... but, most importantly, I have never seen a baby with dimples where his elbows should be. He is the epitome of chub and there is no way for me to explain perfectly why this brings so much joy to my heart.

As a birth mother, I think it's easy to fall into the false belief that the child you placed for adoption is feeling as completely lost and helpless as you are. Questions that mortify the soul invade your mind. "What if he is searching for my voice and can't find it" because you yourself search for your child's voice in everything that is around you. "What if he can't sleep at night because he misses me and needs me" because, you yourself, haven't slept for 4 days because you miss him so bad that your heart feels like it stops beating. "What if he isn't thriving and adapting and bonding" because, as a mother who placed her child in the care of people who are more capable than you to give him everything he deserves- for as much love as that action took- you are trying to adapt in a world that is completely different from the world you used to know and you aren't thriving because you don't even know how to function anymore... and you are afraid to open your heart up to anyone else, because the last time you did that... the last time you did that, it turned into a nightmare that you are still living. And, that's the point I'm trying to make. That's why something as simple as my child having dimples where his elbows should be brings so much joy to my heart and comfort to my weary mind. He is definitely thriving and adapting and bonding. I have seen so many pictures of his siblings loving on him and his parent's cuddling him, and in all of those pictures, what I notice the most is the light in all their eyes- that light in their eyes that means that there soul is joyous- what else could that light mean, but joy?

In the honor of remaining true and honest to you, dear readers, I will utter the fears of my soul as to what I think my forgetting his five month mark means. I've been thinking a lot about it. I've had a change of thought. This morning, when everything dawned on me, I was concerned that my forgetfullness was a reflection on me as a mother- that it meant that I would be a horrible mother- who forgets her child? That's sick. And this belief pains my heart, and part of me still believes it and confirms that he's better off with someone who won't forget him. Part of me believes that it is a result of the natural disconnection that is supposed to occur in birth mothers towards their children placed through adoption and, honestly speaking, that brings about an entire new Pandora's Box that is better left unopened... but I'll open it. I knew this disconnection would occur, I never imagined it would hapen so quickly and it scares me that it has. It feels like a whole new kind of abandonment. Like, I'm abandoning my child all over again... even though, I didn't abandon him in the way that we see on the nightly news... but, to me, and to a lot of birth mother's, that is how that moment of parting between the birth mother and her child feels, like the mother is abandoning her child. And so, to forget so easily, feels like an entirely new drug of abandonment. It doesn't make sense to you, I understand that this doesn't make sense to you. I am the interpretor. I am trying to translate my feelings and fears into a way that could possibly be relatable... I'm not doing the greatest. But, now, as I've been pnodering this blog, the majority of me feels that my lapse in memory is due to the fact that I am at extreme peace with what I witnessed when I got together with Baby Boy and his parent's and I saw how much love was there between them and him. He is their son. They know what his different cries mean. They know where his tickle spots are. They know how to soothe him when he seems inconsolable. They made him laugh. He was laughing so hard. He is happy and loved. What more could any mother ever ask for her child? So, maybe my forgetfullness is a combination of all the above, I don't know. What I do know, though, is that my baby is happy and he is loved. He has so many tickle spots, and his laugh is musical, his laugh awoke my soul with it's music. My baby has dimples where his elbows should be. His smile warm me better than the sun and it's definitely brighter and reaches his eyes. I am blessed.