baby daddy blues

July 11, 2013 § 14 Comments

It takes a lot out of me to update this blog. Especially when I have so little to say, except more of the same.

I had a conversation with David about the baby, finally. It was actually a couple of months ago and I never talked about it. I tend to update behind schedule anyway, and this took awhile to process. It had been so long since either of us had spoken out loud about it.

I am often visibly sad and when David asks what is wrong, I refuse to talk or I offer up something lame about my stressful workday. I know that’s unhealthy. I just hate being so obnoxiously sad all the time. And our last talk about the baby, in October, was an epic fight. We had not gotten back together at that time, but we were becoming close again until that. His horrible words were the reason we continued to stay apart until the New Year. Even after that, I was convinced that David was over the adoption, and why talk to someone who doesn’t understand my feelings.

Before anyone demonizes him, I’d like to reiterate that I don’t talk to anyone. Friends and family, they’ve all said ignorant things to me and were no more understanding than David. They all believe I did the right thing. What can I say to that?

The topic finally came up one night because David brought it up. He was sick of asking me what was wrong, when he already knew. And for the first time in months, we talked about it. There were good and bad parts of the conversation. I think he is heavily in denial. I was glad we at least talked even though it makes me sad we disagree on important things. I wish it was an easier topic to talk about so there would not be months of carrying so much pain on my own. And I’m curious to know what he thinks. After all, I never hear a damn word out of birth fathers. It’s easy to assume they don’t care.

I’ll begin with the differences. David thinks we did the right thing and we weren’t materially prepared to have a child. He also claimed that people who are starting a family should own a house or be able to. He also believes I will come to peace with the adoption and know it was for the best. David thinks being adopted is no big deal–the baby will have no problems, his parents will have no problems, nothing will be different for him, he will understand why we gave him up and he won’t hate us. I do have sympathy for this viewpoint. I used to think this way. David also thinks that, with time, C and L will be more open with us. I wouldn’t place a lot of hope on that one.

The good news is, David does know I am sad without me saying anything. He thinks I’m right to be sad. He thinks it’s criminal that we had no time to change our minds, that I signed away my parental rights in a hospital bed. And he said C and L should not have traveled all the way here, to sit in the maternity ward and make me feel pressured. I couldn’t agree more and I was happy he understood the smallest things.

It’s interesting his views don’t match up–like he thinks we did the right thing and yet I know he would’ve changed his mind quickly after signing. And financial security before family? Please. David’s mother quit her job, started drinking, squandered their savings, and went batshit insane when he was 15. Should she have given him up for adoption once she became financially insecure? Or when his parents divorced? It would have been the selfless thing to do.

I was fascinated by David’s perspective when he talked about being ignored by C and L at the hospital. “When we had lunch with them, I was ignored but you were the pregnant one, so that made sense they would care more about you. And then you were recovering from birth, while nothing had happened to me. But when we left the hospital, they hugged you as you cried. I just stood there and they didn’t say a word to me. It felt like I was the asshole loser who knocked you up and I wasn’t important.”

Birth fathers are absolutely treated like this. He is so right. I never realized before how true that was. The agency ladies told me many times, they didn’t need his signature. It was better if they had it, but it was unnecessary. How horrible that really is.

I’m not going to defend David back then. He did act like an asshole and a loser. We were not together when I was pregnant and he made it clear he didn’t care about the baby or me. He was far too busy drinking every night and dating other women. But he wasn’t some random guy I came across, either. He had been my boyfriend for 3 years. He had equal say in choosing the adoptive parents. And he cared enough to be at the hospital. He was in the room and cut the cord.

It was my body that did the work, but we left the hospital as equals. Two broken hearted parents. Genetics are 50/50. The baby wasn’t 80% mine.

It may not seem like it, but this was a huge conversation for us to have. And the fact that David was the one to bring up the subject of our ghost son–it blew my mind.

The really sweet thing he said was that he was sorry for not giving me a card on Mother’s Day. He considered it but didn’t want to stir the pot. He also said I’m responsible and loving, and when he says we did the right thing, it has to do with himself, not how I would be as a mother. I think he’s wrong either way. But that was all I wanted to hear.


quiet down

April 26, 2013 § 14 Comments

I haven’t been able to write anything for a while now. I have five different drafts saved and I can’t type more than a few sentences before I have to do something else. Even all these months later, it doesn’t take a lot for grief to overpower me. I don’t know how to think about him, this little person that I can’t bring myself to address anymore, and not have it ruin my day. I’m starting to think that a blog is not enough as an outlet. I hoped it could be enough, but it has also enabled me in ignoring my feelings and never talking about him in real life, which doesn’t lend well to my sanity. But I can’t do anything else, not when everyone else is completely fine with the omissions, and I am literally the only one who notices a big hole everywhere.

I can’t talk to anybody about it, especially not David, with whom it matters the most. I wish we could discuss him, but it’s like a forbidden subject with us. The one thing I’ve opened up to him about is that I always want to die and I think of it often. I see these intrusive thoughts as vultures who will hover over me at all times, to the point where the thought is there in my mind at inappropriate moments, and once I do feel sad, it swoops in for a feeding. David told me I need to get help, which I think is funny. Not wanting to be alive seems normal to me, and it also does not mean I would do such a thing, because I wouldn’t. Even the word “help” is funny. What kind of help does he think there is? I saw a therapist regularly, a few different ones, from third grade until I was a sophomore in high school. I remain unconvinced in its value. Antidepressants are not an automatic ticket to Bliss or Easy Times, or even to the less mythical location of Not Suicidal. Besides, all of these things cost money. Money that I feel should not be spent on chasing after mental normalcy.

David does not regret the adoption like I do, although I won’t pretend to be an expert on what he thinks. Whenever he is sad, he does not bring it up or admit to being sad if he is asked. He just plays video games, or scrolls through reddit on his phone, or something else mind-numbing. So it is hard for me to venture a guess at whether he is sad or not. During the first month, I know he was. A few days after the birth, he told me he wished we could get him back and how much he missed him. Now, I think he has moved on past it. I once asked him if he ever thought about the baby, and he said yes. But he didn’t elaborate, and I doubt he thinks of him too often. And despite his initial regret, David has said, more than once, that he thinks we did the right thing and that the baby is better off. All in all, I find it incredibly frustrating to talk to someone like that and I get angry sometimes over the Siberian wind chill that is David’s emotional support. So, the subject is not mentioned.

I mean this blog to be a space for me to get everything out, but I don’t know if it’s beneficial to indulge in feeling sorry for myself when I have not acknowledged it out loud in months.

january girl

January 20, 2013 § 11 Comments

David and I got back together officially on New Year’s Eve, although we’d talked about it for a while before. Some people know and others do not. I’m not sure who falls into which category. I have no desire to talk about or share our relationship with any of my friends, at least for now. I don’t need their opinions about it. If I’m happy, they should support me. My recent history with David has been a convulsion of hurt and turmoil, but, what? We’re not the first couple to have a less than perfect relationship. There are plenty of literary precedents. Cathy and Heathcliff, Nickie and Terry, Frida and Diego, Scarlett and Rhett. Everyone I know should be able to understand difficult relationships from their own experiences, too, but I guess it’s easier to cast a critical eye away from yourself. David and Ariel, Ariel and David. That’s the way it’s supposed to be. He is the only person I could ever see myself with. I’ll always love him.

The biggest worry I have is that I can’t talk to him about this, about anything I’ve written in this blog. I don’t have a single person in my life it’s safe for me to talk about with. It’s created a distance between me and everyone I know. They might not notice, but I do. I’ve cut everyone out of such a huge part of my psyche. It’s necessary. Whenever it comes up, the conversation reaches a dead end immediately. I just want someone to listen to what I say and understand. I’m not especially interested in hearing how strong I am. I don’t care if someone thinks that I’ll move on from it soon. I just want to be able to talk about you, my baby, without the person feeling uncomfortable or irritated with me. I just want to be able to answer the question, “what’s wrong?” No one wants the answer. I guess I feel like they should know already.

I had my birthday this month, 24 on January 11. I worked that day, went out to dinner with my family, then had a few drinks at my favorite bar with David and a mutual friend. I got some good books and DVDs. It was decent, as long as I ignored the fact that it was my birthday. If I thought about how little I’ve accomplished relative to how many mistakes I’ve made, and what I thought I’d be at my age compared to what I am, I felt really depressed. If I treated it as another day, I was fine.


me! 1 day old

I hate him

October 16, 2012 § 8 Comments

“I only held him for like 5 minutes, he’s not that important to me.”

– actual quote tonight from David

This was in addition to telling me I shouldn’t be sad because he’s not sad, we did the right thing and I’m basically stupid for wishing I’d done differently. He also told me he hates when either of us broaches the subject because I “go off the deep end” on it. He then said that my grief was a burden on him because he could see how certain things affected me and he couldn’t stand it. Not like he couldn’t stand it, as in, he’s such a caring person, he can’t bear to see me in pain. He meant, he couldn’t stand my grief because it annoyed him.

Every time I think he’s done everything possible to hurt me already, he proves me wrong. The one person who should understand my pain, and he doesn’t. And he is angry with me for my emotions. Which, by the way, I have never forced on him. We never talk about it. I don’t ask for support or comfort, even when I need it desperately. The only place I talk about it is here. I know he doesn’t want to think about it or talk about it, so we don’t. In the two months since your birth, I’ve only mentioned it a couple of times, and we didn’t talk for more than a few minutes.

I take back everything I’ve said about loving him or missing him, or how he would make a good father.

I agree with him in the sense that I shouldn’t regret what can’t be changed, but in this case, that’s a thousand times easier said than done. I want to and I will strive to be at peace with this. But sweetheart, I know what you mean to me. I don’t talk about you incessantly or even occasionally. But you are in my heart and I have you there always. No one has a right to say I shouldn’t.

Sometimes I wish I was like David and I could just not care. It must be nice to have so little emotion. Then I remember my heart is only broken because it once felt something splendid.

the bitter end

October 9, 2012 § Leave a comment

Valentine’s Day 2011

My relationship with David has been more tumultuous and rocky than I feel like describing here and it ended long before you were born, early this year. Recently, I made a conscious decision to move on. It’s been really hard for me, to face the reality that it’s over between us. For him, it’s easy. He’s been over me for a long time. He was never as depressed as I was about it. I’m horribly in love…or pathetic.

It’s painful to realize that we will never be together, we will never have any more children, I’m not always going to be in his life and he’s not always going to be in mine. If he had made some kind of effort, any at all, I would’ve married him at that moment. But he didn’t. I can’t make him love me. He is done, so I have to be done too. But it makes me so sad. I created life with a man and he’s gone, and we’ll never do something so beautiful together again. You are the only child conceived between us, the only remnant of our love. And you’re gone too.

If David were a drunken one-night stand, I wouldn’t care, but we loved each other for a long time. He is gorgeous and amazing. I wouldn’t want to have a baby with anyone else. I miss him, but I know he doesn’t want to be with me. In that way it is for the best.

I don’t think I could ever love again. I don’t trust easily, if at all. I’ve been in two relationships that were over three years long, and I feel like I’ve experienced everything, none of it would be new and exciting. I have changed since the last time I found a boyfriend, at age 19. I’m not fun and sociable and interested in meeting new people. In fact, it’s rare that I like most people enough to spend more than a few minutes with them. Playing the “game” disgusts me now. I don’t have confidence or magnetism, and whenever I am in public, I’m invisible to others. It’s something I perfected in high school. I can’t bear the idea of sharing personal histories. Most guys wouldn’t be okay with my past, that I had a baby and I placed him for adoption. It’s far more likely to have a child and be able to find a partner than attempt to deal with this. Even if someone was okay with it in theory, it would be difficult for him to understand the complexity of emotion surrounding the adoption. How could I have made a choice I regret so deeply? I’m not sure I can explain. No one knows what to say to me because so few people have a clue. It’s not their fault. Being a birth mother is not something that can be easily related to.

Finding love isn’t something I need to worry about right now. But I worry anyway. I don’t want to be alone for the rest of my life and I know I might be, and that’s scary. The worst part is, I don’t ever want to try. Why would I? To sit around and laugh about my failures? To prove to myself what I already know, that I could never open up to anyone again? To see just how far below my standards every guy is?

I’m trying not to be angry or depressed or really feel anything about this. But I am angry. It is so easy for David. He spent my pregnancy fucking other girls and getting drunk. He is over me. He loves you very much, but he is content with the adoption. He will have no trouble continuing his life. There is no stigma or shame for him in having a baby that he is not raising. He is charming, unscrupulous, and handsome. He has friends and he makes friends everywhere he goes. And here I am utterly incapable of having a relationship of any kind, of living life happily. It takes everything I have just to exist from moment to moment.

I guess I’ve learned in the past few months that life isn’t fair. I’ve always known this but still somehow assumed that I deserve or that I am guaranteed certain outcomes in life, especially if I try to be a good person. I’m not the only one, either. Even most adults older than me still tend to believe this. And now that I know better, it hasn’t been an easy lesson.

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