August 1990

I remember the day clearly. Sitting in the bathroom with the home pregnancy test...staring. Thinking if I just looked at it long enough, the pink plus sign would disappear as quickly as it appeared. It took about 5 seconds even thought the package said wait 3 full minutes for a result. I knew there was no doubt. The missed periods that I tried to talk myself out off actually did mean something. The fact that I only wanted McDonald's cheeseburgers, no pickles and Diet Coke was actually a clue as well. As they say, denial ain't just a river in Eqypt.

I was terrified, mortified, stupified...all of the "fieds" that I could possibly be. I was single, living in Los Angeles, partying and not at all thinking of being a parent. I was 24 and I knew how babies are made so the fact that I was pregnant should not have been a mystery, but still I sat there staring just wondering "how the hell did this happen"?

The decision to put him up for adoption was made immediately. His father and I barely spoke anymore and I could not imagine fighting for child support, arranging visits that would span 3000 miles-he lived in Atlanta and he traveled extensively. This was not the ideal way to start a child's life. Being a child of divorce, I wanted to give him the best opportunity at a fabulous life. The fact is, that from the moment I found out I was pregnant, I loved him. I loved him more than I could ever imagine possible. I was sad for him that I could not do better, so I made a choice to do something about that.

I went to a private adoption agency in Northern California. It was surreal. They sent me "profiles" of 5 families. There were pictures and bios and religious information. I was on complete overload. To be honest, at first I picked a family because they looked "nice" and they had a lot of money. He had been a co-producer on "Return Of The Jedi". I didn't grow up with money so I just thought I could at least give him that.

I met them, Jim and Melissa, at the Daily Grill in Los Angeles. I was the first birth mother they had met. I thought it went great and my thoughts on the way home were "where do I sign up"? Not so fast. I don't know if I didn't fit the bill or if she truly just wasn't ready for the final adoption step, but they turned me down. Can you imagine? They said they didn't want my baby. I was due in Novemeber. Yep. I had 2 months to find a family. I would take longer than 2 months to find a home for a puppy. I didn't really feel anything for the other 4 "finalists" so I asked my adoption counselor to send me a couple more. She told me that there was a couple she thought I'd love but wouldn't tell me which ones they were. I guess she can't promote one couple more than another so it was up to me to choose the right family even though I desparately wanted help. It was a monumental decision and I wanted it to be over.

I knew them right away. They were a beautiful couple, together many years and their "family" photo included a dog and cat. She looked a little like me, but that is where the similarities They were Jewish. I am not. They were vegitarians. I love a big slab of prime rib. But somehow, I knew these were the people who would raise my child. There was no doubt, no fear, no second thoughts. All I could think of was how great this was going to be.

He was born November 24, 1990. His new parents were there with me. I was induced so we had plently of notice and time to get them there. She stayed in the room the entire time. I could not imagine someone I had known 3 months being so wonderful. The day after he was born, I went home. They brought him to see me. I was living with 2 roommates at the time and his parents understood how strange it would be for them to never see him after they had gone though the pregnancy with me.

I never held him. I new that if I did, I would keep him. I could not do that to him or to them. This "thing" in my life was the saddest, happiest, hardest, easiest, scary, empowering thign I have ever done. I remember seeing him in the nursery and being heartbroken that I would not raise him, see his first steps, send him to kindergarden and high school. I would not be there to talk to him about girls and life and love. I could not have known at that time how wrong I was.

We chose an open adoption and open it is. He just graduated from high school and I received a full set of graduation pictures. He is going to college on a scholarship, has 3 sisters, has lived overseas, has fabulous parents and friends. He has had girlfriends and who could resist him? He is handsome, smart and plays in a band. He has always known he was adopted and exactly who his birth mother is. I have pictures from the time he was born all the way through this 19th year. He talks to me every now and then. He called me the day that he tried out for his school's drum line and found out that he was receiving a scholarship. I felt like I didn't deserve to be proud, but I was anyway.

Today, before I wrote this blog, I wrote to my adoption counselor a letter and told her thank you. I feel certain that those two words do not express what I truly feel about my experience and my gratefullness. Because of her agency, my child has lived the best life imaginable. He has experienced things that I can only dream of. He has become the adult that I have always wanted him to be. His life is only beginning. I cannot imagine what he will do in the future. He has so much ahead of him that would not be possible if I had made that selfish desicion to keep him with me.

If you know anyone who needs support when making a decision to place a child for adoption, support them, love them, be there for them. It is the hardest decision a woman could ever face. Love does not mean that you need to hold on to the child. Love means giving the child all of the advantages in life--even if you are not the one who can provide them.

Everything But The Shrimp Forks

Sometimes there is one moment in a relationship that is frozen in your memory. It is a small, seemingly insignificant second but somehow it summarizes your life. We were together for three years. We were even married. Somehow I don't remember the first time we met, kissed, had sex, fought or did anything else. I just remember the day he told me about the shrimp forks. At the time, I thought it was a story that I would love forever because it made him vulnerable to me. It's amazing how things can change. Now the shrimp fork story just makes him pathetic.

My ex travelled. The story goes that he came home early from the road and his live-in girlfriend had moved out. She had divided the CD's alphabetically. How do you choose? If you take Jimmy Buffett (which is essential), you can't have The Ramones or Sade or Pink Floyd. How you decide something like that? Apparently, it was an an easy task for her. The stranger, more important decision was made in the kitchen. She took half the dishes, the glasses, the cooking utensils. Then she got to the silverware drawer and she took everything except the shrimp forks. It devastated him. It wasn't that she left. It wasn't that she took her daughter (not his) with her. It wasn't the loss of the Scorpions or The Clash (I can't remember what end of the alphabet he got). It was that she only left the shrimp forks.

I don't own any shrimp forks; but if I did, I am sure I would look at them every day and never think of their importance. I think that's how he looked at me. He looked at all of the other things in the drawer and passed over me because I was small and could only be used for one purpose. What happens when everything else is gone and all you have is that one thing that you once thought so insignificant? That's a hypothetical question. I'm not really looking for an answer.

I think that the point of this whole story is that I don't want to be the shrimp fork ever again. I don't want to be the tiny little thing that someone looks at and makes a conscious decision to leave behind for someone less fortunate to find and use (or even worse, to find and throw away because it has no purpose). The question is "how do I avoid it"? That's a real question. I am looking for an answer.