"Come on, Heather," the doctor shouts from between my knees. "Push."
"I can't," I cry. "I can't do this."
"Yes you can," my mother says.
"Just one more push and you'll have a baby in your arms," Dr. Vicandor says.
"No," I say. "As soon as they're born, take them away."
"Are you sure?" my mother asks. "You can change your mind. I'll help you."
"Mom, I'm 18 and I got accepted into an Ivy League university. I'm—" I get interrupted by a contraction.
"Push," the doctor yells.
"10... 9... 8... 7..." the labor and delivery nurse counts.
"The head has been born," the doctor smiles.
When the nurse gets to one, I throw my body back and relax my head against the pillow to rest until the next contraction. I take in a couple of deep breaths, exhausted from labor.
"I'm not ready for a baby," I finish my thought from earlier. "This baby deserves better than me."
"I just know how hard this has been on you," my mom says.
"I can't give this baby what the [last name] can."
"Your father and I—"
"Mom!" I shout, interrupting. "I've made my decision."
The saddened expression on her face tells me I've upset her, but I don't have time to apologize because another contraction surfaces. I grip on to the bed handles, curl up into a ball, and push.
"You've got to push harder than that Heather to get the shoulders out."
"I'm trying," I scream.
"You can do it sweet pea," my mom says. "Push."
I feel a release of pressure and hear a tiny wail come from the little person that's been growing inside me for the past nine months. This is supposed to be a happy moment for me and the baby's father. I'm supposed to be older and married. We're supposed to raise this baby together. Find a name together. Argue about who will get up with the baby in the middle of the night. But instead, I'm an 18-year-old, newly high school graduate, who was stupid and naive, and thought she was in love.
The doctor tries to place the baby on my chest, but my mother is quick to stop her. I had to force myself to look away from between my legs, away from the child. I let my gaze travel from the ceiling to the door at the side of the room and continue to cry.
The wailing coming from the other side of the room gradually gets louder, making me cry even harder. All I want to do is comfort my screaming child.
"What's going on?" I ask my mom, afraid that something might be wrong.
"The nurses are cleaning the baby off," she answers, placing a hand on my cheek, stroking it with her thumb.
Dr. Vicandor comes over and takes her place back between my knees.
"Ok, Heather," she says. "We have to deliver a few more things, alright?"
I nod, keeping my head in its direction. I don't want to accidentally see the baby.
"Just a few gentle pushes and everything will be over with, ok?"
"Ok," I manage to say.
"Whenever you're ready."
As I do what I'm told, the crying quiet downs a bit and I catch a glimpse of a tiny pink bundle leave the room.
Pink.
I had a little girl.
The nurses get me cleaned up and wheel me to my recovery room. It's there that I have an emotional breakdown. I let out everything I kept locked away to get through my labor.
The crying never stopped, it is only now that I let it take control. I cover my face with my hands and weep into them.
My mother crawls on the bed and snuggles up next to me.
"I'm so sorry, mommy," I sob.
"Hey... no, no," she comforts me, running her fingers through my sweaty hair. "You don't need to be sorry. You have nothing to apologize for."
"I disappointed you," I continue to cry.
"You absolutely did not," she says, sternly. "You would not believe how proud I am of you. You're so strong."
I don't say anything. All I can do is cry. Cry for myself. Cry for my family that I let down. Cry for my brand new daughter that I can't take care of.
"So you're not ready to have a baby right now," my mother says. "When the time is right and you're ready... you'll start a family."
"Is the family here?" I ask, clearing my throat.
"Yeah, they got here about an hour ago when you started pushing."
"Will you go... check on her? Make sure she's not still crying?"
"If that's what you want, then yes. I'll go check on her."
"Thank you," I try to smile.
"Are you going to be alright?"
"No... but I will be."
Once my mother exits the room I pull out a pad and pen and do something I never imagined I would do, write a letter to the baby girl I just gave birth to.
I want her to know that I didn't give her up because I didn't love her. Because I did. From the moment I saw that positive sign on the pregnancy test, even though I was extremely terrified, I was head-over-heels in love with her. And because I did love her so much, I knew I wasn't the best option for her. She needed parents who could buy her every outfit on the rack, every toy her heart desires. She needed better than me.
To my little girl,
I want to start by saying I love you. Three simple words, yet they are so powerful and meaningful. Know that I absolutely do love you. Nothing can, or will ever change that. And nothing you do will make me love you any less.
When you were conceived I was so in love with your birth-father. I was young and naive, and I thought that sleeping with him meant we would be together forever. I was wrong. But I got something so amazing out of it. You.
When I started having suspicions that I was pregnant, I told your birthfather first. He, of course, being the typical teenage boy he was, denied even sleeping with me even though we had been dating for a year and a half. After our altercation, I wanted to deny every sign that pointed me towards you. Not because I didn't love you, but because I was 18 and hurting. The boy I had given more than just my heart to, wanted nothing to do with me and the possibility of us.
One afternoon when I finally mustered up the courage, I went to the pharmacy after school and bought a pregnancy test. The judgmental look on the cashier's face was almost as hurtful as the one your birth-father wore when I told him about the results. That night I went home and did the scariest thing I thought I would ever do in my life, I told my mother and father. It took my father a few days to finally be able to look me in the eye again, after all, I was his one and only little girl. My mother, on the other hand, had been already been suspicious of the little secret I had been keeping and couldn't have been more supportive throughout everything. She wanted me to keep you. I wanted to keep you. From the moment I saw that little plus sign, although extremely terrified, I was madly and deeply in love with you.
A month later, a very important letter came for me in the mail. An acceptance letter to Harvard University. I was so happy and proud of myself. I had done the impossible and gotten into an Ivy League university. But then I remembered something else very important. You.
Going to this university would certainly get me where I needed to be in order to take care of you one day— to give you everything your heart desired. But who would take care of you until I could? Even though my mom offered, I couldn't just dump you on her. You were my responsibility, not hers.
I wanted so much for you. I didn't want you to grow up without a present mom. I wanted to take care of you myself. I didn't want you growing up and thinking that your grandmother was actually your mom, or hating me for doing what was right for me. I thought about what life would be like for us. What type of life we would have. Even though I knew keeping you wouldn't work, I still planned on doing it. I pretended to be interested in adoption, but the more I looked at it, the more it seemed like the right thing to do.
It was then that I made an important and very, very difficult decision. I wanted you to have all the advantages that life has to offer.
Although I am very young, I am old enough and mature enough to know that you deserved two parents that fiercely want you at this time in their life. As much as I do want you, baby, I realize that at this time in my life I am not what you need.
A few months later, I felt you flip flop around in my stiff tummy for the very first time. I followed you as you grew. First, you were a pea. Then a lemon. Then a banana. I took advice, read twelve books, and quit drinking coffee even though I desperately didn't want to. I talked to you and sang to you. We were growing together. We saw the world through the same pair of eyes but in a new way. I opened my heart and let love invite you in, but I had to remind myself I still wasn't ready. You deserved so much more than me.
But no... how could I give you, my own flesh and blood, away? I just couldn't.
I picked out your lovely, amazingly wonderful parents and continued to provide the best environment I could for you to grow in.
Then May 25, graduation day, came and I started feeling tiny little pains in my lower back and my stomach started cramping and feeling tight. I knew you were beginning to make your entrance into the world, but I wanted—needed— to walk across that stage and collect the diploma that I spend the last school year fighting to get. Teachers tried to convince me to do online classes, students would stare at my rounded belly like they had never seen a pregnant woman before, and the other girls whispered behind my back. I overcame it all. I walked up on that stage, shook my principle's hand, and received my high school diploma.
As soon as I stepped off the stage, a really painful contraction hit and I clutched my belly. Still holding on to you, I rushed over to where my mom was sitting with the rest of my family and told her I was in labor. Both her and my father jumped out of their seats and rushed down to help walk me to the car. When we got to the hospital, the nurses put me in a room and had me change into a gown. The doctor came in and checked to see how everything was advancing, informing me I was already dilated 5 centimeters. One of the nurses came in and started an IV while my mother called your parents that you were on your way.
When my contractions started getting more intense, and boy were they intense, everyone left the room except for my mother and your mother. A nurse came in every so often to check me and tell me how dilated I was. Finally, after hours of contractions, I was finally told it was time to start pushing. Your mother left to tell your father and wait out the rest of the journey outside. The nurses start prepping the room for delivery and the doctor came in. She put me in a position where my feet were up in the hair, which was quite awkward and difficult when I had a giant ball of pressure between my legs. Then the pushing began.
At that point, I was crying. I was crying hard. I was pushing and pushing, but you were so determined to stay inside the warm little home you had for the past nine months and I was losing motivation fast. I was told over and over again to keep going and soon you'd be in my arms.
And then I felt a release of pressure and something slip out of my body. You had made your debut and I heard your precious little whimper. I had to force myself to look away, but I turned my head and continued to cry. I knew I shouldn't look at you or hold you because if I did, you'd melt my heart and I would change my mind. Doing that wouldn't be fair. Not to you, not to me, not to your parents.
The nurses cleaned you off and took you to go see your parents. I didn't know you would be leaving so soon, so I didn't get the chance to move my head and I caught a glimpse of you wrapped in a tiny pink blanket, still screaming your head off. That's when I knew I had a daughter.
After a while, they wheeled me back to my recovery room and all I could think about was seeing your little, scrunched up, red face. I so desperately wanted to hold you, even if it was just for a few seconds. However, deep down I knew I couldn't. I loved you too terribly much to take away the future you deserved.
Always remember how lucky you are. You have two parents who love you as much as I do.
I promise one day I will be there to answer any of the questions you have. I will be there to tell you everything you need to know about your birth family.
I want you to know that every decision I made concerning you, I made out of love. Remember I love you. I loved you then, I love you now. I will always, always love you and care about you. Forever you will remain a part of me.
Love your birth-mother,
Heather
I fold up the paper and set it aside. One day while the couple adopting my baby would be visiting, I will have my mother give the letter to them. I want them to read it and understand that I want my daughter to have it and be able to see it and read it herself when she was at an age they felt comfortable with doing so.
The day I was discharged from the hospital, the nurse handed me a piece of plastic while we waited for my mother to pull the car around. The nurse said she cut off the baby's ankle band when the baby was leaving for home, but the adoptive parents had forgotten to take it with them. She thought that maybe I might want it. I gladly took it from her and decided I would keep it with my box of ultrasound pictures and diary entries from when I was pregnant.
I knew that this bracelet would let me know, that out there somewhere, my baby girl was happy and loved very much.