My Little Hiccupping Lump.When I learned she was pregnant, I thought my life was over. My parents are pretty strictly religious, and this was considered the "ultimate failure". I went along with it, even reconnecting to the birthmother a bit.
One night-I got a call, "I'm going to the hospital, it's time"
I hung up, trying to think of what to do. My mom took one look at me and said,"What is it?" I wept. I told her there was a girl giving birth to my daughter, that she was going to be adopted. Her response,"Well, let's go." lol My mom was awesome.
I went in and held the birthmom's hand, tried to help. I was 16, she was 19, and it was all terrifying. I just held on to her hand, rubbed her back, held a leg. Basically followed instructions.
Then, there she was. The tiniest thing I had ever seen. They took her away to do whatever with her, and I went with the birthmom to recovery.
They brought her in awhile later. I picked "Sarah" for the first name, that of a dear friend, she picked "Annelies" but I don't remember the meaning anymore. The birthmom held her for a long time, we talked, we laughed, pointed out tiny details.
The birthmom got tired, and I sat down, afraid to hold in my gangling unsteady hands this tiny breakable thing. What if I dropped it?
I began to rock. She just sort of looked up at me every so often, then she'd snooze. After awhile she got the hiccups.
I was lost. Oh my god. It's broken. What do I do? lol
I gave her a bottle, hiccups, still, so I just put her on my chest, leaned back, and patted her tiny fr
God... I sat there, a 16 year old boy trying to sit still, except to rock in the chair. Patting patting. "Hic" would come, so loud. It terrified me.
Yet, I could think of nothing else. Time didn't creep, it raced. I was lost in this tiny thing on my chest. Feeling things I had never felt, what I know now to be a father's love.
They came and got her for bathing and such. The birthmom was tired, so Sarah was kept in the nursery. I kept the birthmom company, wanting to hold the lump more, but not feeling it was my place.
Finally, morning came. They brought Sarah in, and we took turns holding her. Around 11, there was a knock. They had come.
That moment. That is the moment seared into my mind. I knew. I knew I had nothing to offer this child. That it was the right thing. That it must be done. The few moments it took to hand her over were the longest few I have ever had, or ever expect to. I willingly gave this lump, this source of newfound love and joy, to this stranger, to let others raise her. It's the hardest thing I have ever done.
I sort of could contact the family, got updates. But what do you say? I'm 17 and have a trainwreck for a life, Happy 1st birthday?
I wish I had kept more contact, than the few sporadic notes I did send, which may never have been given to her. As a parent, I'd have held them back. lol
They did well with her, though. She is a talented singer, songwriter, pianist. She recently graduated high school with a 4.4 gpa.
I will not take the claim of being "dad". I never did the job, but those few hours. Yet, the pride I feel at her accomplishments is so very strong. Her name was changed to "Grace" and I think it fits her well.