The next step was talking to the birth mother on the phone. She had some questions for us. We had some questions for her. And just to make things more interesting, Victoria, the birth mom, was having early but painful contractions. Demetri and I sat on our bed, side by side, hand in hand, each on separate phone extensions. I’m not going to share the specifics of the phone call, it involved too many personal details for all involved. But I will tell you that Victoria’s voice was thin and strong at the same time – like a thousand folded origami cranes that have the power to make a wish come true. I sounded too cheerful, too ready. My husband, Demetri, sounded kind, patient. He sounded like he is – the kind of guy that wears work pants and wool sweaters and likes to tinker in the garage.
We did not have that ‘instant connection’ with Victoria that I had so often read about. And it hurt me. The conversation was flat, halting, empty. It left me feeling raw around the edges with a tender, fleshy hole inside. The social worker, who mediated the call, reminded us that Victoria was in pain. She told us that what might be the happiest day in our life was going to be the hardest day in Victoria’s life. And there’s just no way to balance that. None. But despite the guarded phone conversation, or maybe because of it, we had a match. Victoria picked us. We picked her. We picked to have something in common for the rest of our lives.
So, we thought, we’ll have a baby in two weeks. We marked the due date on the calendar. We went to bed thinking about all we had to do. In the morning we decided to go out and get some basic baby stuff. We consulted Demetri’s two sisters who each have three kids. We consulted my BFF and her husband who just had their daughter 4 months ago. We were told to buy lots of baby pajamas but nothing with a waist band. We were told to get the little shirts with snaps and the cuffs that fold over the hands. We were told to get a thermometer with a flexible tip and depth marker. And it was around the suggestion the thermometer that I began to get scared. Then, we actually went to the baby story and I passed quickly from scared into terrified and panicky. We couldn’t even tell which clothes were pajamas. We had to make several phone calls. Demetri’s sister finally said, “Just look for things with snaps and built-in feet.” We also bought a couple of baby gown bags because someone said it made diaper changing easy. And socks. Tenny, tiny socks. There were more consultation phone calls about what constitutes a swaddling blanket as opposed to a regular blanket. There were Google searches about baby bottles and BPA. We bought the smallest size diapers they made. We bought a sturdy canvas baby bag to put everything in.
We came home exhausted. My mom made us chicken, twice baked potatoes, green beans, and watermelon for dinner. We went to bed early. We slept well. We woke up and decided to paint the hall way so that when the baby came home in a few weeks the house would look nice. Like she could even see that far in front of her face. But we didn’t know that at the time – we hadn’t read the parenting book yet. We were holding up paint swatches in the sun coming through the window, trying to decide between moon mist and linen, when my cell phone rang. It was Brenda, the social worker calling to check in. She said these words exactly, “You can go to Rhode Island and pick-up your little girl. She was born an hour ago.”
Our suitcase was filled with dirty laundry. We carried the baby bag on the plane with us. And nothing, nothing, could have pried that bag from my hands. Two hours after getting news of the birth we were on a plane. 72 hours after finishing our home study we were on our way to pick up our daughter. And 11 hours after she was born we saw her for the first time. Sometimes babies come early. Who knew?
- Joslyne Decker
