DEAR SOL: HERE IS YOUR FAMILY

Well, it finally happened:

#14 on the list of My Worries, from this post written waaaay back when I was pregnant.

 

The day when our family is compared to the other families at daycare.

Yesterday was like any other day; I left work to pick Sol up from daycare.  I walked in and saw my little monster walking up to me (omg, she's walking! let's take a second to raise the roof for my future marathoner!)

Sol perched on my left hip, diaper bag slung over my right shoulder, I was pulled aside by Miss Shannon, who mentioned to me that they're asking each child to bring in photos of his or her family over the next week.  These photos will be posted up on a wall alongside all the other kids' family photos.  They're doing this to help each child to learn about his or her family, to help each child associate a name with each person, to have the family "right there" with each child at daycare.

Family photos. 

Welllllll.
Isn't that special.

I slapped on the most outrageously fake smile and said, "Okay."  And I walked out the door.

My heart instantly sank and my throat tied itself into one large, ridiculously impossible knot.  The same knot I felt for months while I was pregnant.  The same knot that was originally tied by the man who abandoned me.  The same knot that manifested itself every night for 9 months, reminding me that I was different, that my child would be different.  The same knot that reminds me of every break my heart has suffered, every evil word spoken to me, every awkward "I'm pregnant and single" conversation I had to endure, every afternoon spent sobbing on my living room floor, every night spent lying in bed, tracing soft lines on my growing belly and crying into my pillow.  The same knot that I feel when I see a perfect nuclear family who's so cute and "together" that I want to vomit, or cry, or maybe both.  The same knot that you get when you're fatherless.

That knot tied me up the whole way home.  And it held that same restrictive power over me for the rest of the night.  It consumed me as I fell asleep, and it was still there this morning.  Sol will not have pictures of her father.  She will only have pictures of one set of grandparents.  Sol has half a family.

Family photos: proof that Sol is different because of things I did.

 I got to work this morning and searched my computer to find pics of our family.  And as I shuffled through the photos, I could feel the knot slowly begin to loosen.  With each happy photo of smiling faces surrounding my daughter, I too felt happy.  And I felt guilty.  And stupid.  For allowing that pesky knot to take control of me and cause me to forget what a great family we truly have.  Hodge-podge and unconventional though it may be, we have a ridiculously large family.  Sol and I are unbelievably blessed to be surrounded by good people who love us dearly.  

Blog/Facebook comments never cease to amaze me; as I read them I see just how much Sol is loved.  She may not have a perfect family in the traditional sense... but in my opinion she has something even better.  She has hundreds -- maybe even thousands -- of people who know and love her, most of whom have never even met her.  If only there were a wall big enough to post pictures of every member of our amazing family.

(If you want your photo on her wall at daycare, just let me know... 

how cool would it be to have her wall FILLED UP? haha)

Family photo day?

Bring.  It.  On.

Dear Sol,
 here is your family:

 I am your mother.  I love you dearly and always have. 
I want the very best for you in life, and I want you to be happy.
That is all you need to know.

 

This is Grandma CC.  She was there when you were born.

She cut your umbilical cord and gave you your first bath.

She says a prayer for you every night.

Her heart nearly explodes with all the love she has for you.

 

This is Grandpa Ken.  

He waited impatiently in the waiting room the night you were born.

He was the first man to hold you.

He never stops thinking about you.  He shows pictures of you whenever he can.

He calls almost daily to talk to you.

(I can't wait for you to start talking so you can actually talk to him...)

 

This is Aunt Liz.  She was with me when I first heard your heartbeat.

She was the first one at the hospital when I went into labor.

She held my hand as you took your first breath.

She loves you more than you will ever know.

Aunt Liz is holding your cousin Ellie.  You and Ellie are going to be best friends.

 This is Aunt Amanda.  She was the first one in our family to know about you.
She was also there, holding my hand as you entered the world.
Her whole office knows about you because she never stops talking about you.
She is proud of you and loves you.


This is GG Helen.  You will always have a very special place in her heart.
She has loved you for a long, long time.


This is GG Loretta.  She has many grandchildren and great-grandchildren,
but she has more than enough love to make each of them feel special.
You are no exception.  She loves you very dearly, and has always loved you.


 This is Uncle Gregg with Cooper.
Uncle Gregg was there the night you were born.
(but he didn't hold you because "he was sweaty from playing volleyball,"
but I think he was actually scared to hold such a tiny person)
Uncle Gregg loves you and your chubby self.
Cooper was the first one to know about you.
He sat with me alone in Aunt Liz's living room and listened to me cry.
He gave me hugs and, in his own canine way, he told me that it would work out.
You will love Cooper.  He gives the best hugs ever.

This is Uncle Matt.  We call him Mattitude.
He is hilarious.  He taught you to blow raspberries.
You didn't stop blowing raspberries for months.


This is Aunt Kenny.  She is your godmother.
She has loved you since before you were born.
She was so excited to meet you that she drove a long way
to be at the hospital the day after you were born.



This is Uncle Mike.  We call him Uncle Rafiki.
He loves to hold you up a la Lion King.
He came with Aunt Kenny to see you the day after you were born.
(and he's apparently a model on the side...)

 This is Aunt Stephanie.  She is one of my best friends.
She loves you mucho and wants the very best for you.
Her daughter Genesis will be your best friend :)

 This is Aunt Joleen.  We'll call her Auntie Jo.
She is VERY smart.
She loves to take you to the Beer Exchange.
She has been an important part of your life for almost your entire life.
She loves taking you to Target and putting ridiculous hats on you.


This is Aunt Leah.  She is amazing.
She loves you SO SO SO much.
She loves to come over and play with you.
She's going to teach you to dance!!

This is Aunt Chel-C.  She was the first one to know your name :)

She loves photography and loves snapping photos of you.

She sends you cool presents, and will teach you all about the She-Woman Man Haters Club.

We are founding members.

This is E-Machine.

E is very special to us too.

He likes cars and cows, and he can tell you all about them.

You two will be very good friends... most of the time.

THE ONE WHERE MELANIE COMES BACK TO LIFE

Okay, okay, okay.  After far too many phone calls/emails/texts saying, "Heeelllooooo... where are the new blogs?"  I'm back.

I've been in a rut.  A residual rut from my last uber-depressing post, The One Where Melanie Screws It All Up.  I've been crazy-mega-busy at work, and amidst all the shopping for Christmas gifts and groceries, I've been trying to find a store that will sell me 2 or 3 extra hours in a day, but alas, I return empty-handed every time.

And every night is one of those "wake-up-every-night-at-2-3-and-4-am-because-you-think-of-something-else-you-have-to-do" nights.  And Sol gets sick - conveniently enough, when I'm literally the only person from my department in the office that week, so I literally can't call in or work from home.  And at the end of the most non-stellar day possible, I get fabulous emails with not-so-fabulous words from a not-so-fabulous person *cough*deadbeatdad*coughcough*.  And then I go home to a wailing child with a temperature of 102, who refuses to sleep longer than an hour at a time.  And I don't know what she wants or how to help her, and I end up crumpled up on the floor next to my crumpled bath towel from that morning, pulling my hair out and sobbing in frustration, which (surprise, surprise) doesn't make Sol stop crying.  And I just want to have a real conversation with another human being.  I want to sit on my couch with another adult and have random pointless conversation and talk about things that happened to me that day.  I want to tell someone about the funny license plate I saw, or the food that someone brought in and it smelled gooooood, which was surprising, because it was chicken.  I want to ask them if my hair looks better like {this} or like {this}.  And I want to do all this while donning sweatpants and a sweatshirt I acquired while working at a pumpkin farm.  But alas,  it's 11:47pm and I'm silent, alone in the kitchen, busy making a dessert for the office potluck tomorrow, and I'm still in my sweater, jeans, and boots that I've been wearing for 16 hours straight.  I've turned my phone off because I just don't want to talk to anyone.  And I don't even have time to eat, much less write anything for my #$%^ blog.  And I'm hungry because I haven't had a bite to eat all day, but at this point I'm so tired that I just need to cover the dessert and go to sleep. My world is killing me, and I'm exhausted.  Mentally, emotionally, physically exhausted.  I am worn down with life.

And then something happened this morning.  I woke up at 5am and stayed awake.  I watched a couple episodes of Full House while lying in bed.  And I took a shower and got everything ready for the day (including the dessert I slaved over).  And I went up the stairs to put on my watch, and I heard "ba! ba! ba!" from the tiny bedroom next to mine.  And I ducked into that little room and I saw the chubbiest-cheeked little face peeking at me over the railing of the crib.  And as I walked into the room, that little face broke into the biggest smile I've ever seen.  And she reached out to me with her ever-growing arms.  I whisked her out of her crib and held her close to me.  And she removed her pacifier and offered it to me, and I pretended to bite the end of it, and she ROARED with laughter because she thinks that's the funniest thing that's EVER happened.  And her hair was sticking up five ways from Sunday, and she pushed herself away from my chest and studied my face with her ever-curious fingers.  And it was like she was reaching straight into my chest and tugging on my heart.  And at that moment, I felt patience.  And peace.  And love.

She makes me feel complete, and on mornings like this, she makes me feel a little less alone.  She makes me hate the daily grind a little less, and love my life a little more.  And she makes me realize that I need to stop dropping to the floor in fits of frustration and despair, because she sees me.  She sees that I'm sad.  She sees that I'm lonely.  And while I know with every thread of my being that she is NOT the reason for my sadness, she doesn't know that.  I don't ever want her to think she's an inconvenience, or that my life would be better without her, or that she's the reason for the tears that so often find their way down my cheeks.  She doesn't make me sad; she brings me back to life when the world seems to be killing me.

So that was a bunch of rambling, but the point is, I'm back.  I'm writing.  And I will continue to write.  I very seriously considered never writing another blog ever again, but that's one of the dumbest ideas I've ever had. Stay tuned; I have much to say after 2 weeks of silence.

{random side note: maybe I should've named this post "The One Where Melanie Overuses the Word 'And' "}

On a brighter note, check out my office!  Holy festive, batman.
Imagine trying THIS at my old job.  In ya face.

SUNSHINE AFTER THE RAIN

I wish time travel were a real thing.  I wish I could snap a photo of my daughter's face and pop back to July of last year to show the terrified young woman (me) exactly what she would have if she could just stick it out a few months longer.  Although... I guess it really wouldn't matter, since I held out and chose to bring Sol into the world anyway.  But I'm sure the pregnancy would have been a lot easier if I had known exactly what I had to look forward to. 

I chose to keep my pregnancy a secret for a long time.  Looking back, that was pointless, because things didn't really start looking up until I broke the news.  I wrote a letter (from my post Breaking News) to tell my loved ones about my pregnancy.  And I should tell you that the letter wasn't my idea... it was my mom's (my mom is always coming up with fabulous ideas like that).  And what a great idea it was!  So many phone calls, cards, letters, texts, etc etc... the outpouring of love and support that I received in response to the letter was more than I ever dreamed would happen.  Maybe it was because I was ashamed of myself, or maybe it was because I had someone telling me from the very beginning that no one would love me if I told them I was pregnant.  Maybe it was a little bit of both.  Regardless, I never expected to have so much support. 

I'm sure the major wireless carriers had a field day after I sent out my "big news" letter. I myself received countless texts/phone calls. And I'm sure there were maaaaany others being sent out among my family/friends, given the bomb I had just dropped (from my friend Al: "I must admit, you could have probably given me several guesses about what big news might be brewing among the Bierlein clan, but this would not have made my list of top 10 guesses. I think I bruised my jaw when it hit the floor"). But every message I received was ultimately one of love/support/excitement (from my cousin Emily: "The thing to remember is that it is not HOW a baby gets to this earth, it is that the baby is on this earth!"). 

Since I've shared my story through this blog, I've heard from so many people who have either been in a similar situation or known someone who's been in a similar situation.  And each time I hear someone else's story, my heart has broken just a little because very few of them had the support that I had.  The things that some people can say to/about an expectant mother... I shudder to think that humanity can be so cruel. 

Pregnancy is scary.  And your emotions are on a rollercoaster anyway.  You cry for no reason when you're watching The Office (true story!).  You laugh at the most inappropriate times.  And if you're doing it alone, you're terrified every step of the way.  There's so much to think about, so much to know, so much that will be changing. 

I was recently talking to one of my friends who is also a single mom, and we were discussing just how much information a new single mom has to take in.  Fortunately, I'm a sucker for researching even the most ridiculous topics, so I was able to find a lot of the answers to my questions through the wonderful world of Google.  FMLA, child support, government assistance, child care databases, child care assistance, legal custody, physical custody, insurance/benefit information, tax information, affidavits of parentage, blah blah blah.  There was so much to learn and so much conflicting information.  Before Sol was born, I spoke with two different family law attorneys regarding the questions I had about all of the above.  And the attorneys even gave me conflicting information!  This whole experience has given me a keen interest in becoming a family law attorney.  I'm not sure how seriously I feel about it, or whether it will ever come to fruition, but I have an idea:

I would love to go to law school (any takers to fund that endeavor???) and educate myself on all the ins and outs of family law: custody/paternity/adoption/etc.  I would ABSOLUTELY LOVE to head up an organization to support expectant single mothers.  And not just for low-income mommies-to-be.  An organization that can help pregnant women (from all walks of life) plan their future with baby.  An organization that can help all women see that an unplanned pregnancy is not the end of her life.  An organization that can offer help to women who feel forced into abortion.  An organization that can help women make a positive choice after seeing the positive test result - even if that means a knowledgeable, helpful referral to a caring adoption agency (remind me to tell you someday about my experience with adoption agencies).  An organization that's founded not only on the desire to help young pregnant women, but also on the basis that I know what they're going through and can relate to their fears, frustrations, joys, etc.  An organization that can offer legal, financial, and psychological counseling for mommies-to-be.  An organization that can help all pregnant woman see that there is always sunshine after the rain.  I've seen the rain, and I've seen the sunshine.  And I can tell you firsthand, the sunshine will make you forget all about the rain.  I wish someone had been there to tell me everything I needed to know about the legal and financial aspects of the road ahead of me.

If anyone has any advice or words of wisdom, send them my way (such as, aside from marrying a rich doctor, how to make money while doing this? pro bono doesn't exactly pay the rent...).  Any advice will be well recieved.  Maybe this isn't such a crazy idea after all.

ALWAYS SOMETHING THERE TO REMIND ME

My baby is officially one month old!  In her first month, she gained exactly 2 pounds, lost an umbilical cord (gross), lost some hair, and grew some sharp little fingernails (ouch).  As always, I love her more and more every day.  I didn't even realize it was possible to love one human this much.  My whole world revolves around her. I take her out in public, and my heart swells with pride as people "ooh" and "aah" over her.  Everything is going well - better than I expected, actually.

And even as things are going so well, I still read through the journal I kept while I was pregnant.  I find myself holding my daughter in my left hand, my right hand flipping through the pages of the book that tells the story of how she came to be, complete with all the sadness, anger, and hopelessness that accompanied the pregnancy - and it seems like the greatest paradox in the history of the world.  How could I have felt this sad, this lonely, as I was pregnant with Sol?  If only I'd known just how easy it would be to love this little person. 

At this point, it seems a little counterproductive to continue reading my pregnancy journal, doesn't it?  Why relive the loneliness and sadness if everything is going so well?  That's an excellent question, and I'm not even sure I have a good answer.  But I can tell you this: even if I weren't reading the journal, the sad feelngs would still be there - they would still bubble up every so often.  Even if I don't read my own descriptions of how hopeless I felt during my pregnancy, I remember those feelings pretty vividly.  I remember them every single time I see a happy family - a baby with both a mother AND a father - or even a pregnant woman and her beaming husband/boyfriend.  I feel the ache deep in my chest, and my throat tenses up as I smile at the glowing family in front of me, though inside I'm wishing it was me in her shoes.  I know the feeling well.

I felt it when I was shopping in the maternity store in the mall - where young men would be standing outside the fitting rooms, waiting anxiously to see their wives come out and model the clothes that flattered their new curves and showed off the bellies that carried babies-to-be.  I always shopped alone.  There was never a man waiting outside the fitting room for me.

I felt it whenever I sat alone in the waiting room of the OB-GYN office, watching the other patients sitting there with their husbands and talking excitedly about their babies-to-be.  And while my sister Liz came with me to as many appointments as she could,  I always wondered what it would be like to have my baby's father there with me, to be excited about what was happening to me.  I felt it the first time I heard my baby's heartbeat, and every time after that.  Tears welled up in my eyes every time I listened to the little life in my belly.  Each time I imagined what it would be like to have my baby's father there, holding my hand and listening with me.

I felt it when I registered for gifts for my baby shower.  I had my sister Amanda there with me to register at one store, and I registered at another store by myself.  I watched as other couples excitedly scanned their favorite strollers, but it only reminded me that my baby's father wasn't there to offer his input or help me decide which pack 'n' play would work best.

I feel it when I see happy couples proudly announcing the due date of their baby.  They aren't worried about shame or disappointment, or how their friends will react.  Their news is happy news, and they don't need to write their families a letter to explain the situation.

I feel it when I see a brand-new set of parents out with their baby.  I see the father holding his daughter and proudly showing her off to everyone in his vicinity.  I hear him talking to her in his cutesy-cute "baby" voice, and I hear him telling everyone at the table all about the wonder of the birth of his baby girl.  I see him cradling her in his arms and making no attempt to hide the amazing love that he holds for his daughter.  I see him take great pains to strap her safely into the car seat (one he helped pick out, no doubt).  I see him carry the car seat and the diaper bag out of respect for his wife, the new mom.  As I pack my own daughter into our secondhand car seat, juggle it with my purse and diaper bag, and head home without anyone to help us, I wonder what it would be like to have her father around to share the "new baby" excitement with.

I feel it whenever I see Sol's dad's name pop up on my phone.  Every single time, a very small part of me hopes that he's calling because he wants to be in her life.  It would make things easier... or would it?  Miss Solaya and I certainly find ourselves in an unusual situation.  And with every single call, I wonder what it would be like to just have a father in her life, no questions asked.

I feel it as I look through gifts Sol has received from our loved ones.  I feel it as I look at all the "I Love Mommy" and "Mommy's Little Sweetheart" outfits.  Although no one has mentioned it to me, I know that people had to look closely at the words written on each outfit before making their purchase.  In the stores, there are too many sets of adorable onesies with "Daddy Loves Me" written on them - and it makes me feel badly that our family/friends have to stop and think about the words on Sol's outfits before buying them.  I feel awful that I'll never be able to just pick up a set of green striped onesies and buy it for my daughter - I have to check whether it mentions anything about the daddy that's not involved. 

I feel it as I try to fill out things like Sol's baby book.  Everything is about "Mommy and Daddy."  Look through the baby book section at your local big-box baby store.  They don't sell baby books specifically geared toward single moms.  I wonder what it would feel like to have someone to help me fill this book out.

I feel it when people ask me about Sol's father.  Whether we're out in public or meeting someone who sort of knows us but doesn't know our story, we get the same sorts of questions.  Well-meaning strangers will ask how excited Sol's dad is (I answer with "Oh, he almost can't believe it, he's so excited").  Acquaintances or younger children will ask where my husband/boyfriend is (I answer with "Oh, he's in Kalamazoo").  Maybe it's lying, maybe it's just avoiding the lengthy and uncomfortable conversation that would soon follow.  It's not their fault that they ask such perfectly acceptable questions - why would anyone assume that someone with a brand-new baby is single?

And yet, the reality is just that: I'm a young mom, and I'm single.  I don't have any idea what I'm doing.  And every time I look around, I'm reminded of all that.  Whether I read through my journal or take in my surroundings, there will always be something to remind me of the situation I'm in.  I will never have a chance to forget the choices I made, nor the choices that Sol's dad made.  I'll always be reminded that I wasn't enough to keep him around.  No matter where I am in life, I will always have this dream of what it would have been like to go through my first pregnancy the "right" way - with someone there to love me and my changing body, to tell me I was beautiful, to tell me he loved me and couldn't wait to meet our child.  I'll always feel cheated out of my first pregnancy.  While the end result is so wonderful and perfect, the road to get there was anything but ideal.  It's definitely not easy to be a single mom, and it's not easy to have so many reminders that her dad doesn't want to be around.  I know that we won't be alone forever, though, and while I'm not rushing to find someone, I can't help but dream of what it will feel like to have a complete family.  And I'll find someone good.  She deserves it.

Compliments of Barking Bird Art

SMITTEN WITH SOL

Let me guess.  You've been wondering about Sol's dad, whether he's come into the picture at all.  The short answer is yes, somewhat.  And I've been stewing over how to write about it.

For about four months last fall, I heard nothing from Sol's father.  In late December and into January, I began to hear from him again, fairly often.  On February 2, he called to find out about his daughter, as he had heard we were in the hospital.  Over the past four weeks, he's called almost daily to ask about her.

Almost 2 weeks after Sol was born, her father (who swore up and down that he didn't want to see her) came to my home to take care of some paperwork, with no talk of meeting her.  While we were finishing things up, Sol started to cry and I went (alone) into the other room to console her.  While in there, he came around the corner, sat down in the room where we were, and just looked at her.  I asked if he wanted to hold her, but he said no.  Sure enough, though, a couple minutes later he was reaching out to hold her.  I placed Sol in her father's arms and watched as she wrapped her tiny hand around his finger and gazed up at him with her big blue eyes. 

I sat there in silence and watched him look back at her, kissing her forehead and nose, smoothing her hair, caressing her back, stroking her tiny hands and feet.  I have no idea exactly what was going through his mind, nor do I really want to know.  One thing was clear: he had fallen in love with the daughter he had asked me to get rid of so many months ago.  A very small part of me was secretly hoping that he was feeling tortured inside, that he was feeling just a little bit of the pain that I felt when he had demanded that I abort our child last summer.  I wanted him to feel absolute remorse for begging me to end her life before we'd even met her.  I was hoping that he was looking at her beautiful face, her perfectly formed body, and coming to the realization that she wouldn't be in his arms if I'd listened to him so many months before and gone through with the "only option," as he had so eloquently put it.

As much as I hate to admit it, part of me wants him to feel as tormented as I did this summer.  I want him to look into his daughter's eyes, to hold her and realize what it was he had been asking me to do.  Knowing him, I assume I'll never get an apology for making me feel like the child I was carrying didn't deserve to live.  And as I said, I know I'll never know exactly what he was feeling as he met his daughter.  But as I watched her hand wrap around his finger, I could see that he was smitten with Sol. 

He didn't say much.  He noted that she looks just like him (she does resemble him, I'll give him that), and he said that she was begging him to take her home with him (yeahhhh... I think not).  And being the gloriously ever-comedic man that he is, he politely requested that I leave her in a basket on his doorstep and he would take care of her forever and ever (which, by the way, I'm not even slightly considering).  Here's a man that never allows himself to be proven wrong.  And it only took an 8-pound bundle of baby to make him realize: this time, he couldn't have been more wrong.

That was 2 weeks ago.  He's come back once more since then to see her, but that's it.  I don't know what the future holds, whether he will want to see her or not.  If he wants to be a part of her life, great.  If not, there are plenty of others who love her dearly - that's absolutely clear.  She'll never know a life without love.  We're all pretty smitten with Sol.

DO I MISS IT? MAYBE.

News flash: mommyhood is NOT easy. But it's definitely not as difficult as I was expecting.  I'm officially a mom now. I'm not pregnant anymore. My daughter is now 3 weeks old and she's the greatest thing that's ever happened to me (as cliche as that sounds). Yep, even at 2am I adore her. Near the end of my pregnancy, I was really worried that I would miss being pregnant and have a difficult time with the transition to mommyhood.  But as it turns out, I'm loving being a mom. 

Don't get me wrong, there are things I miss about being pregnant:

• Now that I'm no longer sporting the baby bump, I can't park in the bright pink "expectant mother" parking spots anymore (well, I could, but last time I parked there when I wasn't pregnant, I ended up with a positive pregnancy test shortly after. Karma, anyone?).  
•  I miss getting more than 3 hours of sleep at a time.  My girl likes to party all the time (at night, anyway).  Yes, Sol sleeps - but during the day.  She certainly keeps me on my toes at 3, 4, and 5 in the morning.  
• I actually miss the crazy dreams.  Mine are pretty boring now - no magic cilantro paste that can save me from the dinosaur-sized horses at my cousin's outdoor wedding (yes, that was a real dream).
• I miss going to a public event and sitting wherever I please.  Now, I sit near the back or near an exit and spend 95% of the event scanning the room, "scoping out logistics."
• I miss using my purse.  It's only been 3 weeks and I've given up on the purse thing.  Now, my purse is the diaper bag. I'm a mom.
• I miss "I'm just gonna run in really quick."  There's no such thing as that anymore.
• I miss being able to prepare food when I'm hungry.  I miss having time to sit down and eat something.  Today, for example, I ate breakfast at 1:49pm - after waking up, bathing Sol, dressing Sol, feeding Sol, getting dressed, going to a new member class at church, attending the church service that followed, coming home, feeding Sol (again), bathing her (again), and dressing her (again).  And that "breakfast?"  It consisted of a tossed salad, straight out of the package.  Yum.
• I miss Baby B dancing around in my belly.  I miss lying in bed, feeling Baby B kicking, and wondering whether it was a boy or a girl, or what he/she would look like.
• I miss the anticipation of D-day.

But as much as I miss being pregnant, I'm really enjoying the new chapter that I've begun.

• First and foremost, I love waking up to a little bundle named Solaya.  While I miss the anticipation of meeting my baby for the first time, I love knowing her.  I love knowing this little person who depends totally and completely on me.
• I love having an appetite.  Near the end of my pregnancy, I remember telling my mom that I couldn't remember the last time I actually felt hungry.  I was either sick, stricken with heartburn, or just plain full.  Now I'm hungry all the time.  And given my affinity for eating a tremendous amount of food, I couldn't be happier. 
• I love taking Sol out in public and having people "ooh" and "aah" over her.  Yeah, she's wonderful :)
• I love the fact that I can fit my feet into my shoes again.  I almost can't believe just how swollen my legs and feet became.  FACT: I couldn't even fit my feet into my winter boots at 9 months pregnant.  Below is photo evidence of aforementioned swelling:



9 months pregnant



2 weeks into mommyhood

• Above all, I love looking back on my pregnancy and realizing just how wrong I was. I was wrong with every bout of sobbing, every time I felt alone, every time I thought I couldn't handle this. I had no idea how much support I would have, or just how much my friends and family would love Sol. I think about the man who told me that no one would love my child because no one would be happy that I was pregnant. I think about how wrong he was. I feel sorry for him. Every time I look at my daughter, I think of how much he's missing. I get to enjoy this beautiful girl all day, every day.  Nothing can top that.  She's my whole world.

I WORRY

1. I worry about my car. Affectionately dubbed “The Starship,” my car is a rather new purchase, a dependable and compact Honda Civic that somewhat resembles something from the Ringling Brothers. In case a Civic weren’t small enough, consider the fact that it’s a coupe. I took it to the local baby superstore to try out various infant car seats in the back seat. Only one worked. Now, I’m not saying that the majority of car seats were snug, or that there wasn’t much room when I tried them; I’m saying that both front seats were impossible to lock in place when the car seat was installed properly. So even if Baby B. is buckled in safely, I’ll be sliding forward and backward as I man the Starship. Needless to say, my car seat options are mighty slim pickin’s.

2. I worry about my finances. Babies are expensive. And even though I hold a special place in my heart for Microsoft Excel and I adore creating spreadsheets, I detest my semi-weekly review of my current budget vs. après-baby budget.

3. I worry about the first night. I don’t think I know anyone else who’s raised a baby totally on her own, right from the very beginning. I’ve heard from people who have “had someone there, but he wasn’t much help,” etc. But even if their support persons weren’t much support, they still had someone else there. I’m absolutely terrified of the first night I’ll spend alone with this new little person.

4. I worry that I end too many phrases with “That’s what she said.”

5. I worry about baby-proofing my home. Example: At this very moment, I have a Nicaraguan machete leaning against the wall on the floor near my dining room table. What am I supposed to do with that?

6. I worry about how I’m going to get a tan. Skin cancer awareness groups, avert your eyes… I like the tanner. A) I may not be able to afford it anymore, and B) I can’t bring the baby to the tanning salon with me. Now what?

7. I worry about my wardrobe. Now that I’ll be spending all my time and money shopping for the little person in my life, how am I supposed to maintain my own fashion? Call me a materialistic bum if you want, but I won’t deny that I’m worried about it.

8. I worry about not having time to myself. I worry about no longer knowing peace and quiet.

9. I worry about being single. Like any other young woman, I want to find love. I want to find Mr. Right. I thought it was hard before. I think it just got a gazillion times harder.

10. I worry about being selfish. (see numbers 5-9)

11. I worry about fighting the urge to down the whole jar of baby food myself while feeding Baby B. My name is Melanie and I’m a huge sucker for baby food pears and plums.  I was born this way.

12. I worry about blaming Baby B. for the changes he/she will bring to my life. I worry that I’ll forget to remind myself that Baby B. is a human to be loved, not an inconvenience to be managed.

13. I worry about setting a good example for Baby B. How am I supposed to teach Baby B. all the right things when I’m far from perfect? Isn’t that hypocritical?

14. Above all, I worry about the day when my child asks me where Daddy is. I worry that Baby B. will wonder why every other kid in daycare sees his/her father, even if only part-time, and Baby B. has never met this “dad” person. I worry that Baby B. will wonder why he/she wasn’t good enough for Daddy to want to be a part of our life. I worry that Baby B. will resent me for making poor decisions, or for not choosing adoption so that Baby B. could have a mom AND a dad. I worry that Baby B. will grow up missing out on a huge part of childhood because we’ll be absent a parent. I worry that I won’t be enough. I can hide the machete and do without tanning sessions. I can fight the urge to eat the baby food pears, and I can go without a new pair of jeans. But I can’t be a dad. I guess I’ll just have to be the best mom I can be.

TWO HEARTS INTO ONE

June 20, 2011: Dear Baby, Today I had my very first appointment.  They did an ultrasound just to make sure that everything was okay so far.  Everything was fine, and I saw you for the first time.  You look like a little baby - not just a clump of tissue.  I heard your heartbeat, and I hated myself a million times more for ever thinking that my life would be better without you.  You have a heart, and it's beating.  You're alive, and you live in me.  We share a body.  I'm supposed to support you - that's how it's supposed to go.  I've heard your heartbeat.  You have a heartbeat, Baby.  You're so tiny and you depend on me for life.  It kills me to think that anyone could hear their baby's heartbeat and not realize that the baby is alive.  You're so small and helpless.  Please don't hate me for not being happy about this.  I hate myself enough for it.  I'm so selfish.

Lately I've been poring over the journal in which I scribbled all my thoughts, my hopes and fears, during the first few months of pregnancy.  I'm unsure whether this is God's good humor or whether it's just a dumb concidence, but on the very first page is the following inscription:

The journal was a gift from Baby B's father -- one he gave me long ago.  Below the inscription he wrote this:

"Two hearts into one."  Funny how that turned out, isn't it?  (Is "funny" the right word there?  Maybe "interesting...")  Two [very different] hearts came together to create one perfect, tiny heart.  And when I think about how topsy-turvy my thoughts were before I saw and heard that tiny heart beating for the very first time, it makes me very sad.  I want to go back in time and tell that young woman that this was not the end of her world; on the contrary, this was the beginning of a pretty amazing journey.  Obviously I was scared, worried, and angry at myself for even getting myself into a situation like this.  This was not what I had planned, and I was not ready for a baby - I could barely take care of myself.  And yet, there I was, looking at my future, watching the black-and-white screen that showed a little heart beating inside me, and I couldn't tear my eyes away from it. 

That feels like it was so long ago, that I was in a totally different world as a totally different person on that day when I was able to see my baby for the first time.  My emotions had gone crazy.  I was elated and scared and terrified and awed, all at the same time.  I couldn't believe what I was seeing on the screen.  And to be honest, when I look at my most recent ultrasound picture, I can't see anything but love.  I can't imagine feeling anything but love.  And while I'm still a little terrified, that's normal for a new mom.  I have no doubt that things will work out.  My faith is strong and I'm prepared to face the vast unknown that comes with bringing a baby into the world.

I write this at the risk of many people telling me that I'm wrong for even sharing something like this - for sharing the ups and downs of my unplanned pregnancy.  There might be many people out there who will call me a terrible mother for it, but I don't care.  I'm glad that I'm able to look back at those sad entries in my journal and be proud of the choice I made.  Maybe that's my point: everyone has a choice when faced with a scary situation.  The choice you make is up to you and only you (no one can make that decision for you).  But no matter what you choose, you're the one who will ultimately have to live with the consequences of your decision.

I'm about 3 weeks away from meeting the consequences of my decision-- meeting the most beautiful person I'll ever know.  And to me, that's certainly something to celebrate.  Indeed: two hearts into one... even if it didn't happen the "right" way, and even if Baby B. will grow up knowing only one of those two original hearts, that little heart will be beating in the outside world in a few weeks, and its owner will be met with more love than anyone could ever imagine.  To everyone who's expressed his or her love to me and Baby B: thank you.  Baby B. is already the luckiest little person in the whole world.

POSITIVE...? QUITE THE CONTRARY.

Many women have, at some point in their lives, feared the little blue plus sign.  I was one of them.  They say the plus sign is a "positive" test result, but if you're not planning on a pregnancy, your reaction to that plus sign is anything but positive. 


Not long ago, I was talking to someone who was recently surprised by a positive pregnancy test.  She's 30.  She and her husband are educated.  They already have kids.  They have a beautiful home and great jobs.  To sum it up, their life seems pretty sweet.  However, they weren't planning on having another baby.  She was telling me the story of what happened when they found out she was pregnant.  She and her husband were both shocked.  They were upset, they weren't talking, and they could hardly sleep.  She woke up the next morning to find him gone.  Naturally, the first thought that popped into her head was that he had left her.  She felt alone and scared.  As I listened to her story, I was choking back tears and my heart was breaking for her.  I know what it's like to be in her position - to feel abandoned and terrified of what's to come.  However, I'm very happy to say that her husband did NOT leave her; he had gone in early to work because he couldn't sleep.  They're very happy now and the whole family is excited for baby-to-be :)
That story is proof: it doesn't matter if you're 16 or 26, married or unmarried, if you have kids or don't have kids. That plus sign can be hell. 


I saw my plus sign on May 25.  And I can assure you that what followed was NOT positive.  I kept a journal for a few months starting immediately after I found out I was pregnant.  Until recently, I refused to look in it because I was afraid of what I would find in there.  And for good reason, because the entries were so drenched in hopelessness that they were nearly impossible for me to read through.  I won't post the entire journal, but here are a few entries:

May 25, 2011: Dear Baby, today I took a pregnancy test and it was positive.  Your daddy wasn't happy.  I was very scared.  We both just sat there and wondered what we're going to do.  I don't know if I'm ready to be a mom.  I don't know what to do.
May 26, 2011: Dear Baby, I don't know what to do.  Your daddy didn't show up to work.  He said we were over.  He's looking for a way out. 
May 27, 2011: Dear Baby, your daddy left today.  He's never coming back.  I'm not stupid.
June 9, 2011: Dear Baby, today I'm 24.  And I feel so much older.  Your daddy and I had plans after work today.  But he left me at my apartment and drove off.  On my birthday.  I called and begged him to come back - I wish I were stronger.  I felt very alone on my birthday.  I'm 24, alone, and very sad.  Happy birthday to me :(

Even as I type those entries now, seven months later, the tears still come.  I was sure that I was alone in this.  I was sure that my family would hate me.  It's funny how an obstacle can seem so big that we can't see beyond it.  I wish I had been able to see past the fear and uncertainty of my pregnancy back then - even if only just far enough to reach out for help.  If there's one thing that I've heard over and over again since I shared my news, it's this: don't be afraid to ask for help. 

We're human.  We are not wired to handle everything alone.  We are social creatures.  We're designed to support and be supported.  And after all my ups and downs these past few months, I solemnly swear that I will never try to handle anything alone again.  Gelato and sobfests in my car didn't fix the problem.  It wasn't until July 18 when I decided to ask for help. 


July 18, 2011:  Dear Baby, I called your aunt Amanda and told her everything.  She was very supportive and she was very mad at your daddy for telling me that his choice was the only choice.  I cried to her on the phone for hours.  I cried and cried untili it felt like I couldn't cry anymore.  She cried, but only because I was alone and had been alone in this for so long.


My sister Amanda was my saving grace. She loved me and helped me see that this was not the end of the world.  After I told her what I was going through, life was better.  Though it took a while for that plus sign to truly feel POSITIVE, I was on the right track.  I just needed a little help.  Sometimes that's all we need.

I write this to show what an amazing gift family can be.  When support is needed, turn to your family.  Your family will love you unconditionally, no matter what.  Your family will bring you back to reality and help you back on your feet.  There's nothing negative about that.

BREAKING NEWS

I wrote a letter to my friends and family this past August - a letter in which I broke the news that I was expecting a baby.  I come from a small town where juicy rumors spread quickly, and although I now live in a larger city on the other side of the state, I knew I still needed to share the news myself.  I wanted my loved ones to hear it from me rather than from some other source.  Here's what was sent out:

To my family:                            

 

I’m writing this letter to my nearest and dearest.  I’ve got some big news, and it’s best that you all hear at the same time—and that you hear from me instead of through the proverbial grapevine.

I’m expecting a baby!  I’ve recently shared this news with my mom and dad, my sisters and brothers-in-law, and my grandmas.  After telling my immediate family, I wanted all of you to be the first to know.  My due date is January 30, so Baby Bierlein will be arriving in just under 5 months!

I’m sad to say that the baby’s father will probably not be in the family picture.  Obviously, I never expected to be on a journey like this—and there will be struggles—but I know it will be easier with the help of my amazing family.  I know they will surround me (and Baby Bierlein) with unconditional love and tremendous support as I raise this child on my own.  They have already showered me with love and support, and for that I’m so very grateful.

You’re receiving this letter because you’re very special to me.  I know that this is probably not what you had hoped for me.  And although I’m nervous and scared to be headed down this road on my own, I’m also excited to be bringing a baby into the world.  No matter the circumstances, a baby is a miracle and a blessing, and my family and I are going to celebrate this baby’s life.  We give thanks to God for the gift—a surprise indeed, but nevertheless a wonderful surprise.  Please keep me and my family in your thoughts and prayers.  It’s not going to be an easy journey, and Baby and I will be needing lots of well-wishes, loving thoughts, and support from our family. 

 

I love you all dearly, and I’m happy to share this news with you.  Every day, I’m more and more thankful for my wonderful family.  You’re all so special to me, and I thank God for each of you. 

The responses from the letter were absolutely remarkable - phone calls, text messages, cards, and emails overflowing with unconditional love, support, and encouragement.  Looking back, I can't imagine how things would have gone if I hadn't written the letter that brought on such an amazing response from my family and friends. 

I couldn't deny that people loved me, and they loved my baby too.  And although I was still terrified, disappointed in myself, and angry at my boyfriend who had chosen to walk away, I suddenly realized that I wasn't alone in this.  I would never be alone, and I would always be loved.  I was on my way to happiness.