Wednesday, December 25, 2013

I decided to start this blog because... well... it's necessary. I have always felt like my life, my past, my trials and successes, didn't matter in the grand scheme of the world. I am one person among millions, and that's just in my city. I am not set apart by anything in particular, not special in ways anyone would really notice. I don't turn heads, inspire anyone with famous works, publish in any major... well anything. But lately it seems I hear one thing very consistently... "I am in awe of you". I don't feel awe-inspiring, I look at my recent decisions, the ones people find amazing, and I in turn feel anger. I feel guilt. I feel shame. But, it's not about me. It's about using my story, my life and mistakes, to help others. If someone can relate to me, and what I've been through, and use it to move through a hard time... then that's what matters.

I can't shake the feeling that I am a bit late in the game as far as writing. If I had started writing when any of the major events in my life started, I could have written a book by now. A likely fantastic work of fiction that would captivate a reader and put the most twisted soap opera to shame. Only problem is... that fiction is my reality. And there's truly no way to go back to the beginning of the events that shaped me. Heck, I would have had to begin blogging while still in diapers. So I start here. Because starting here is better than not starting at all

Brace yourselves, folks,  it could get a little crazy.

Today, it's B's first Christmas. He is in Iowa with his parents, as they celebrate and feel the joy of being a family of 3 this holiday season. Something that I know even last year, they didn't see coming for this year. They tucked him into bed last night in those adorable candy cane striped pj's. Maybe they went to bed themselves, maybe they watched him sleep, and felt blessed. They will wake with him in a couple of hours, and help him open his gifts, telling him how Santa had been there. And they will feel immeasurable joy at this tiny human being. And I am so happy for them, and I am so thankful I could give that to them.

But also today, it's the wee hours of my first Christmas without him. Santa has been here, and J's presents sit beneath the tree. I have kept it together for his sake. I did well, until I put him to bed several hours ago. And until I saw my sweet B in his cute pj's, a little santa hat on his head and his mommy's caption "so tired mommy... put me to bed so Santa can come". Oh, how it hurt. Like placement day all over again, the wound ripped wide open. I knew it would be hard, I cried on Thanksgiving, so I knew I'd cry today. I wasn't prepared for the depth of the pain. To not even make it through Christmas Eve. I wasn't prepared for my heart to literally hurt, for the tears to begin pouring down my face without warning. I wasn't prepared to feel like I was losing him all over again.

But that is my reality today. I am a birth mother. J isn't my only child. No amount of Christmas cheer, peanut brittle, and lego building with J will sugarcoat the fact that half of my heart is missing. I will sit and open presents with J, smile at the joy and excitement on his face. I will help him construct lego towers as he drinks hot cocoa. And then I will take him to his guardians, and go home to an empty house. I will sit amongst Christmas decor, and I will think of B. I am already doing just that. Sitting here as J sleeps next to me, sweetly snoring through his congestion. I am blogging my heartache as the rest of the house sleeps, and I feel empty. I feel some of those feelings from placement creeping in. Earlier tonight, someone said to me "I am sorry you felt like you had to do that, and that you chose to miss his first Christmas". I wish so much that people knew how their careless words hurt.

I didn't choose this hurt. I didn't choose to sit here as my sweet baby B is a thousand miles away with his parents. Choosing a better life for him isn't choosing this pain. This pain is just an incredibly unfortunate side effect. I didn't choose to miss out on helping him open gifts, laughing as he cares more about chewing the tags and paper than he does about the toys inside. To miss out on pictures, and baby's first Christmas onesies. I never chose to feel like I want to curl up and cry forever. But I do. I doubt I'll say much about it, I am unwilling to put any kind of damper on their day with him.

But nothing is going to make this okay. I am missing our baby's first Christmas.

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