work

Everyone’s hours are getting cut at my work. We already make so little money there, and it’s just going to get worse. (I make a base pay + commission, but the commission is structured to be impossible to earn unless we’re insanely busy, as during the holidays or when we have a huge sale. I’m one of the top salespeople there, and I usually make my base pay of $8.) I’ve been wanting a new job for a while now, anyway, so this is just the impetus to search. I would love to work somewhere higher end and continue to sell suits and other men’s dress wear. It’s something I enjoy and I’m good at it, and how often do you find that in a job? However, my options are limited, and the options I do have probably won’t work out. So, per David’s suggestion, I might apply for a bank teller. I’ve never considered doing that until he suggested it, but I think my years of experience in retail would be relevant to a bank, it would certainly pay better than my current employer, and it would be a nice job that would look great on a resume.

I’m still not sure what I want to do with my life. I want to do something interesting and challenging that has the potential to be flexible, but those are qualities that are hard to find in a career, and at the same time, I’m an extremely hard worker who could get used to just about anything and would find success anywhere. It’s not bragging, it’s true. So, simultaneously, I don’t care what I do or what I end up doing. I just need to figure something out.

Where am I going with this?

I was thinking about how I would feel about the adoption if I became successful versus not. I already know that if I didn’t achieve some kind of success in life, it wouldn’t make me feel better about the adoption. I still would’ve tried my best. My family is solidly upper-middle-class and could have helped me out for a while, if I hadn’t been too proud to ask. David would have helped, too, and he earns $18 an hour. And even if I find a good career, I will never out-earn my son’s parents. L works in a high-profile career and I’m sure he earns six figures. C probably makes less than that, but not by much.

But here’s the rub.

If I remained low-income (which I highly doubt, by the way) then it would look as if I made the right choice. If I got a good job and became successful in that sense and in others, it would still appear as if I made the right choice, as if I couldn’t have done it with a child to take care of, no matter how untrue that is.

There’s no winning.

Does anyone have any questions they want me to answer, or ideas for something I should write about? I feel like writing, but there’s only so much I can say without getting updates. I was crossing my fingers I might receive something small at the 9 month mark, since I got a few pictures at 3 months. But that has come and gone, so I will have to wait another 3 months, for his first birthday.

birth certificate and finalization

This is something I started writing a few weeks ago.

Well, this is an embarrassing story to tell, but I didn’t know how sealed the original birth certificate was. I should have known that “sealed” means “lost forever.” For some reason, though, I thought there was a chance I could get a copy of it. A few weeks ago, I tried searching around the internet to find out if I could obtain the original one. I couldn’t find a precise law about the way that it worked. I know the original OBC is sealed, but I didn’t know if it was sealed from me. I put in a request anyway and just decided to see. Now, I know people are probably thinking, “jeez Ariel, of course you can’t get the birth certificate” and I knew there was a chance of that. But I also thought there was a chance of getting it. It’s just another depressing trinket for the wooden box in my closet, right? Nothing important.

I was surprised by how much it hurt to not get the birth certificate. It’s one more thing that makes our connection less tangible. The lady from the Office of Vital Records called me a few days after I submitted the request, saying she couldn’t find it. She sounded baffled. I said, “Okay, never mind then” because I knew exactly why she couldn’t find it.

“Well, was he born here or somewhere else?” the lady pressed. I told her he was born here, but he was adopted in [state name] and his parents named him [full name].

“And are you the…birthmom?” “Yes.”

After a moment, she said, “I found that entry. The adoption was finalized on February 12th. You can get the birth certificate up until it finalizes, and then it’s sealed. I’m sorry, they should’ve told you.”

Yes, indeed, “they” should have told me a lot of things. I didn’t ask her to, but she was nice enough to refund my money back on my card. They technically could have kept it because you pay a “search fee” when you request a birth certificate.

Of course, the record existed openly within my reach for 6 months, and it still exists somewhere, in an encrypted, court order protected kind of way. But if the lady working at the Office of Vital Records can’t find it, it’s the exact same thing as if that paper was burned. As if that part of the baby’s life with me and David was erased. I’ve read 1984 several times, and I’m reminded of the rewriting of records, the alteration of deleted people as “unpersons,” and the incineration of original documents. The original birth certificate, in the memory hole. The birth name, unimportant. My name and David’s name were on the lines that specified “mother” and “father,” on a document that existed for 6 months, and I never got to see it.

And the baby has a new name, officially. I named him after David, because I love the name and David’s dad (the birth grandpa) is also a David.  I really shouldn’t have picked a meaningful name. It hurt a lot more when C and L chose a different first name for him. It’s sort of amazing, how stupid I was then. Aside from hating that they changed his name, I hate the name itself. It makes me think of Harvey the giant rabbit. It’s just a stupid name, especially with their last name.

I’m over the birth certificate thing, now. I don’t need it. What’s one more reminder that I have no connection to the baby? We are not together, and that alone is a loud enough reminder. I do feel bad that I could’ve gotten the original birth certificate, if I had thought of it, but it never occurred to me. He probably won’t care about having it in the future, but if he does, I’ll have let him down. In yet another way.

The mentions of adoption finalization made me sad, too. I had to remind myself that it has nothing to do with me, because my parental rights were terminated one day after birth, effective immediately upon signing. Being an unparent was already as final as it gets. It had to do with C and L becoming his legal parents. I wondered how that went. They must’ve been excited. They must’ve dressed up to go to court and celebrated afterwards. I wouldn’t know.

It’s weird to think how, up until that point, the agency was still having regular contact with them and checking in. The agency didn’t contact me after I left the hospital. I wonder what they’d say if C and L asked about me. I have no doubt they would’ve fed them lies about how well I’m doing. I wonder how long it would take them to find out if I died, or if they would assume that I disappeared. I suddenly realized that if something ever happened to one of them, I would certainly find out on my own, but no one would tell me and I would not find out very quickly. It’s better not to wonder about that.

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secret stuff

I always thought password protected posts were lame, and I still do. I have no desire to be mysterious or to keep things from people. I don’t mind people knowing my first name or whatever else. Maybe I’m naive, but I simply don’t think anyone is going to stalk me. They would get bored pretty fast.

HOWEVER! I’m changing an old post to password protected (the one where I shared the letter I got from C and L in its near-entirety, which I felt guilty about). Additionally, I’m going to have a password protected post every so often, and it’s not because I think I’m a super secret double agent, it’s because I want to be very open here.

Incidentally, my dad calls me Miss A, and I love it because it sounds like a spy name.

Let me know if you want the password!

Edit: some folks figured this out, but if you don’t want to share your e-mail in the comments, my e-mail is everyoneactdead at gmail.

happy

Thank you to everyone who left me comments on my last post. I feel much better, for the moment anyway, and I have you to thank.

I cry every stupid day or close to it, but I would only classify two days out of the week, on average, as being unbearable. I feel horrible for not appreciating the good in my life more often. There are plenty of things right now that I love about my life and make me feel happy.

- Tax refund money. I’ve gone on a few shopping sprees for things that were sorely needed, and that’s always nice. I appreciate having money so much and I really tried to spend it wisely. I replaced old bras and panties, bought some new clothes for work, got a tattoo, and best of all, I got a new mattress, pillows, and sheets. You see, for the past 2 years, I’ve slept on a sofa pull-out because I live in a studio. I inherited the sofa and the mattress from my grandparents. It’s as old as I am. Every morning for the last 2 years, I’ve woken up with neck pain. Now, I sleep so well. I love my new memory foam mattress, and I can’t shut up about it. The pillows are also memory foam, and they rock. I can’t stand cheap pillows. The sheets are 600 thread count Egyptian cotton sateen and they are the best sheets I’ve ever had. I’m so happy I invested in a decent set-up.

- Now that the weather is nice, I’ve started running outside again. It’s impossible to be depressed after going for a run in the park.

- I’ve been watching youtube tutorials and practicing vintage hairstyles, mainly so I can wear them to work. I enjoy bouffants quite a bit. The bigger the hair, the closer to God.

- I mentioned I got a tattoo. Well, it’s for the baby. I’ve planned on getting a tattoo to remember him, and I quickly decided on a lily, with a little bud growing from it.

My toes look filthy, but they aren’t. They’re stained with the ink that bleeds everywhere during the tattooing process. And yes, it hurt like a motherfucker.

I often wonder why life can’t exist in a vacuum, and why something that happened in the past (giving away the baby) continues to have such an impact when it doesn’t directly affect me on a daily basis, and most things that occur in my daily life are, overall, good things and I have a lot of happy feelings. I wish I could live in the moment and just be free.