Eleven years ago today, I was teaching in a rural Texas high school and waiting to get a very important phone call... which came soon after I arrived at school that Thursday morning. I arranged for my aide to take over the class, then I called Rick excitedly and told him to get ready. We made the five-hour drive to Austin, Texas that warm, humid May day and arrived at the hospital to find that our baby had been born an hour earlier, and it was a GIRL! We had chosen "Martha Elizabeth" as our girl name, so we peeped through the window and saw the puffiest pair of cheeks with some tightly-shut wrinkles that might've been eyes and a little button nose... tightly bundled in a blanket and wearing a little knit cap. Our baby!
We weren't officially her parents yet, however, so peeping through the glass was all we could do. The nurses couldn't even hold her up for us to see, or even confirm that she was, in fact, our baby. We visited our attorney that evening and he drew up the papers for the birthmother to sign. The next afternoon we got to hold our little girl for the first time. The first night I spent as a mother was nerve-wracking; I had never been particularly entranced by squeaky, squalling infants, and every noise she made echoed loudly in my head -- eliciting an autonomic response that was to become very, VERY familiar to me in the following few years of my life. I got up to care for her... I didn't even consider whether or not I actually wanted to. I just did. Suddenly I was no longer my own; I was thrust rather suddenly into that selfless state of nobody-hood where this tiny life held ALL the power.
Caring for Martha was, in some ways, a very academic exercise for me. I didn't have the benefit of nine months to prepare for her arrival, nor did I have the accompanying hormone surge of instantaneous love. I approached motherhood in much the same way I approached most other things in my life -- I did some research, found a "method" which seemed to make the most sense, and stuck to it. I was a mother now, and I had a role to play. Being a perfectionist, I wanted to do it right... no, not just right, but better than anyone else too. She was always immaculately dressed and coiffed, her hair gently moussed into a row of curls on top of her head and garnished with a perfectly matching bow. She was a textbook child. I smugly viewed other parents as obviously less-informed, their children doomed to disobedience and lives of sloth and despair because they were not fed on a four-hour schedule and their mom wasn't keeping meticulous records on how much formula was consumed. We rarely strayed far from home because she simply HAD to nap on schedule.
My first serious stab of protective, horror-stricken motherhood came much later, when she was two. We were vising a water park and she ventured further into the deep area of the gradual-depth pool than she could safely navigate. I saw her writhing little form under the water about ten feet from me and exploded in a rush of fear, snatching her up before the lifeguard could even get into the water. Martha was fine, but I dreamed vividly of the incident for months afterward.
Today she's eleven. I can't help but think of her birthmother today and wonder if she's okay. I would like to be able to tell her that her baby has grown up into a lovely and vibrant girl... that her choice to let us be her baby's parents was one I'll always be grateful for. Life with Martha has certainly never been dull, that's what. God has used her to shape my character into the much-mellower, much more tolerant, much more understanding person I am today.
Prozac has also been rather helpful.
I took my planning time from school to drive over to the kids' elementary school and I brought treats for everyone in Martha's class to celebrate her birthday. We really can't do anything fancy like a sleepover party because we just don't have any room, so this was a way I thought was the best one to head down. Her classroom stock has gone waaaay up now that her mom has brought goodie-bags with candy, brownies, and a Kool-Aid juice pack... can't hurt, I'm thinking. I'll post pics of the event after I get home this evening.
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