The lease is about up on the nine month rental of my uterus as a living space.
I am glad.
This is where I could insert a bunch of complaints about being awake, sciatica, heartburn, and all kinds of swollen parts, but that would mean that maybe I didn't learn a damn thing the last five years about gratitude or blessings. There's always the "open mouth, insert foot" lesson that grates on every nerve of a woman who wants and can't (for whatever reason) have (yet).
And though it might seem contrary, this pregnancy has re-confirmed to me over, and over, and over again the AWEsomeness of adoption. I love our birthmom more now than ever.
As a pregnant woman making the choice to place, what do you say to every freaken stranger who asks you about names, your due date, and whether its a boy or a girl? Good hell! It would take a lot of strength not to break down every trip to the grocery store.
If I had a nickel for every time I've been asked how much longer I have this week, I'd cash them in and take his first vacation in the Bahamas. But for as done as I'm getting with the soccer punches on my cervix, there is no physical hurdle that compares to the act of placing a child.
A birthmom gets the worst of both worlds. You've got to love bigger than the whole earth for something like that.
That's what I needed to get off my chest at 2:56am.
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