A Birth Mother

This week at the clinic a woman delivered a baby boy. She held him and breastfed him for the first hour of his life. During his first day he didn't have a name. The staff at Glory Reborn named him John. John's mother made the very difficult decision to give him up for adoption. She made the decision during her pregnancy due to financial reasons.

John's mother is a 34-year-old with two other children. She has an elementary school level education and is estranged from her husband. She knew she wasn't able to properly care for another child.

We had initially thought that baby John would go to one of the local orphanages the day after he was born (where he would likely be adopted from internationally) but the orphanage first needed to screen the mother for HIV, so the baby had to stay at Glory Reborn for another day. The mother also was not yet discharged. The staff took care of baby John while the mother rested alone. She initially was using a bed in our postpartum room with other moms and their babies.

On Wednesday evening during the night shift she heard her baby crying and fussing and she walked around the clinic looking for her baby. Hilary was in the midwives room feeding John. The mother asked me if she could see her baby. I said, "Of course." I brought her into the room where her child was being held and cared for. He was fussy and my gut feeling told me he knew that something was amiss. Where was his mother? Where was her smell? Her warmth? Her voice? This little seven pound infant must know that he's lost the only thing he's known in his short existence.

As John's mother looked at him she started to cry. With my hand on her shoulder I told her, "Talk to him. He would love to hear your voice." She looked at him and spoke a few soft words - something like, "Hi baby. It's okay baby." Something amazing happened. John immediately calmed. He opened his eyes and looked directly at her face. There was a knowing in his eyes. A knowing who this person was. It was the person he longed for. We stood there with this mother, looking at her baby and crying for what felt like an hour. We asked her if she would like to move downstairs so she wouldn't have to be around the other babies and wouldn't hear her baby crying as much either. She agreed.

When I let myself really think about this I cry. A deep, grief-filled cry. I cry and grieve the fact that this woman is in a position to have to make such a difficult choice because of poverty. I cry about this child losing the most significant person in his life and how this must impact him and how it will impact him for the rest of his life.

I tried to encourage this mother by telling her that I know several families who are adopting babies like hers and that he will be very well cared for. I told her I admired her for her decision and how incredibly difficult it must be. I don't know if I would be as brave as this woman. But as much as I know how loved this child will likely be, I still can not feel like this is the way it should be. It just isn't. Ideally, this woman would have been able to make the choice to not have another baby and would have had access to affordable family planning options. Second to that, this woman should be able to keep her baby and get the help she needs to care for him. Of course, when these things aren't options, then I think adoption is a beautiful and wonderful thing.

But I feel as if I've witnessed something very special. The love of a birth mother. And her difficulty in giving him up. I will cherish this experience. For it's possible that our child will come to us with no known history. One day I will share this story with my child, to help them understand what their birth mother must have gone through.