It’s almost 1 am. I’m up and thinking.
New information.
New facts.
New revelations.
A big bubble in my “birthmom” life has been popped. Things I thought to be are showing me that they really aren’t. I can’t seem to wrap my head around it all. There is turmoil right now but also cautious hope and excitement. Something very good has happened but it could also be very bad…it depends.
I’m feeling more used than I’ve ever felt, though. Huge betrayal, huge, and not just to me. To her.
All I have is time…waiting…waiting…waiting. How many more days until she has a say so of her own? Not ready to write yet? Pffft. So not true. More than ready, with or without you. Maybe you’re not ready.
What a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive. Isn’t that what Marmion wrote? But now I’m tangled in your damn web and I don’t know what to do. I want to trust you and fill you in but I also don’t want to do further damage to an already fragile perception of me and, more importantly, an already fragile perception of a little girl’s self-worth.
Thanks for putting me in this position. It’s great. I love it. It’s so damn fun.
Ripples like tidal waves are beginning to move through our household. Overwhelming emotions.
Does she have someone to help her with such feelings? Certainly not the people she’s supposed to be able to trust with them.
“Did our grandma sing the blues?”
Yes, she did. Songbirds run in this family.
I wonder if she ever wants to ask, “Did she want me? Did she love me?”
I wonder if she ever wants to say, “I don’t know how to feel! I don’t know what to do! I wish they understood!”
I want to so badly, so so badly. But I can’t. I can’t take the risk. Not just for me but the risk to her psychological well-being.
She quietly mouths, “Look at me! Here I am! That’s us!”
But my hands are tied. All I have is time. Time to wait, time to hurry up, time to wonder, time to wish.
I wait while the clock just keeps ticking.
The years are almost up. Everything will be on the table. Secrets will be no more and the truth shall set us all free.
Musings of a Birthmom: The Honest Ramblings of a First Mother 
The pain is so raw and real – I can’t image what a birthmother and their biological child must feel when they finely touch- no matter what age! Beautiful
LikeLiked by 1 person
I can’t imagine. I wondered for years if his parents were being as open with him as they said they would be. When he contacted me he relayed to me stories his mom told him about while I was pregnant and after I delivered. She told him what I named him. Told him everything she could remember and told it honestly. I am grateful, and in your place I would be furious. Idk that I could hold back. You are definitely the better person. The time that is left will be over before you know it and she will be yours. ❤️❤️❤️❤️
LikeLiked by 1 person
❤ ❤ ❤
LikeLike