I don't know why I do it to myself, but sometimes I can't help but watch those danged ‘ol reality television shows about babies. What can I say? I'm a glutton for punishment. When my husband asked me why I put myself through the pain, I didn't have a good answer. I love babies, I said. That was my best defense.
After watching the emotional story of a young, teenage couple who chose to put their baby up adoption, the moment inevitably came where they had to hand the baby off to the adoptive parents.
Now, just let me say – I think that adoption is a beautiful thing.
Okay, so they are handing the baby off to the adoptive parents, and because they were worried about changing their minds, as soon as the baby was delivered, the boyfriend threw his arms around his girlfriend and hugged her, blocking her few of the baby. They lay there, just having delivered their first child through blood, sweat, and tears…and they just wept. “We can do this.”, they kept saying. “She'll have a better life…we have to do this.”
The nurse held the baby up and said, “Look at your beautiful baby!”
But they didn't. They just held each other. Sobbing. Weeping. “We don't want to see…take her away.”
I have tears rolling down my face as I type this. I can't even describe to you what my face looked like as I was watching this scene unravel. I. Lost. It. Big. Time. I'm talking like serious sobs with moans. Alligator tears. That funny squished face that you make when you're really, seriously, uncontrollably crying.
Georgia stopped playing with her plastic banana and looked up at me. She laughed, ran over, and grabbed my knees…laying her head down. Then she climbed into my lap and kissed my face. Twice.
And I died a thousand happy deaths.
Again, I respect these teenagers for making the best choice that they felt they could for their daughter. They were able to bless an infertile couple with the gift of a lifetime. They were able to bless them with the child they could never have on their own.
But, my goodness.
The thought of giving that precious child that you so carefully carry all those months away…well, frankly, it rips my heart out of my chest.
I can't imagine not seeing her face every day.
I can't imagine not having her to hold. To kiss. To snuggle. To love.
Being a mother is a calling. God has called me to care for the every need of this child – emotionally, physically & spiritually – while she has been entrusted to Stuart and I. Ultimately, I know that she belongs to the Father, who cares for her even more than this mother can comprehend. But for her time here on this Earth, I will protect her and comfort her to the best of my ability, while completely relying on God's strength and parenting graces.
As a mother, I hope to be selfless. It's not about my post-pregnancy body or my post-nursing-negative-AA-bra-size. It's not about less “me” time, or having to sacrifice “my” social life. It's Not. About. Me.
It is about raising this child to love the Lord. It is about preparing her as an arrow to be shot forth for His glory. It is about handling this responsibility with grace & glory.
Yes, I do realize that this doesn't really have anything to do with the story I told you above…but in reality, after watching this show, all I could do was smother her little face with kisses. And cry.
Because she is our gift from God.
And for that, I am humbled & grateful.
There is a chance I may still have a hormone problem.