Tomorrow is my birthday. As I showered today I wondered what it was like for my biological mother. She went threw my pregnancy alone, her family didn't want her to put me up for adoption, but this was the right choice for her. I was born via section. I don't know anything more then that.
I wonder what she went threw, alone. Did she hold me. Did she love on me. Did she say anything to me.
I've been angry at her for most of my life. Because I didn't have a 'mother' the nurses at the hospital force fed me. I came home drinking over five oz at a clip as a newborn.
I wonder if she felt loss, or if she had solace in her decision. I wonder if she will think of me tomorrow like I'm thinking of her today. And while I have abandonment issues from my adoption, I feel bad for her and I'm proud of her.
I'm proud that she was brave enough to go threw my pregnancy alone. I'm proud of her for being brave. For giving my parents something they needed. Me.
My mother (my adoptive mother) suffered four still births. She made it to the late second or third trimester and she would loose the baby. She cries to this day, forty years later, about the babies she lost. She's still raw and I can't blame her. She was always told to 'get over it.' She never got to hold her babies. She never got to love on them. She had milk come in and no one to feed. No one to comfort. She had a baby born 'in pieces' as if her own body attacked them.
And she rarely talks about it to anyone other then me.
It's hard for me to keep hearing it, but I listen.
I listen to her because no one gives her a voice. No one gives women like me a voice.
Women like me that have lost. Well, I say fuck that. I'm not going to be silent. I'm not going to be embarrassed anymore. I'm not here for your comfort. I was pregnant. I loved that baby and it wasn't it's time, but it will be. And I'll be damned if I'm going to let the fear of loss prevent me from celebrating a moment.