I wish I could tell you the exact details of the days that followed, but part of the way I coped with the depression and anxiety was just to go through the motions. I do remember coming home from school one day and an adoption counselor was there to discuss adoption. My mom had arranged it because everyone believed that was the best option for me and this precious life. I remember the adoption counselor being kind. Now looking back, I see the empathy she had to be able to sit with me, to see me and see my pain. When she left my home that day, I knew open adoption was the best option for my baby girl. I called her dad and let him know this was the path I would be taking, and I invited him to be a part of the journey.
The next appointment was scheduled with my adoption counselor. She brought a huge stack of what reminded me of scrapbooks. My daughter’s father and I began looking through the books. The very first book I picked up had a scratchy cover and was a beautiful light green. The couple on the front had something about them that captured my heart. I flipped through their book and read the letter they had written to the birth mom. I knew they would be one of my top choices. I don’t know how many more we looked through that day, but my mind and heart kept going back to the very first book I looked at. I couldn’t imagine my daughter with anyone else, and I had a feeling this couple would be a perfect fit.
We scheduled a dinner to go meet with them. This was the most important interview of my life, and I was only 16. I remember getting dressed and wanting to look perfect. I wanted them to be perfect. I just wanted perfect in the most imperfect situation. Her birth father and I arrived at Outback Steakhouse and our adoption counselor was there waiting for us. We waited a few minutes at the table, and then they appeared. My heart was pounding through my chest. The baby girl inside my belly was doing cartwheels and seemingly trying to catch the butterflies fluttering in my tummy. I remember asking questions about how they would raise her and what they were all about. We left dinner that night with warm embraces and a quick, ‘We will talk to you soon.’
I walked in brokenness and fear as my due date was approaching. I wanted time with my daughter in the hospital, as much time as I was able to have. Everyone agreed and I began writing my birth plan. I should have been preparing for Winter Ball and picking the perfect dress and shoes, but instead I was writing a birth plan and going through birthing classes with my mom. This was simply not the life any of us had ever dreamed for me.
