I’m jealous. There, I said it.

Today I saw super pregnant woman with what looked to be a full grown man crammed into her uterus, and, while I was both horrified and in awe of the physics that allowed a 5’2″ human being walk with 70% of her body mass hanging three feet out in front, I was jealous.

Today I read this post about a couple of young women who were completely taking their pregnancies for granted and it made me angry. I remembered similar instances from my past. Moments where I thought I would slap the next friend who gleefully announced that she was unexpectedly pregnant. As if it is really as easy as all those sex ed folks from high school would have you believe. Unexpectedly pregnant. Ponder that.

Today I couldn’t get my mind off of a baby that a friend of a friend called me about. The birth family was considering an adoption plan. They wanted to know if I would be interested in the child. I gave them names of people who could provide counseling and legal advice. They decided not to move forward as they didn’t want to deal with lawyers. They said they might just drop the child off at the fire station or some such nonsense. Days later the child ended up at the hospital with brain injuries from being shaken. Parents may or may not be in jail. The baby is now going to have lifelong consequences from the brain injuries it sustained. Last I heard it was being taken into protective custody by the state. I’m assuming it survived, but I don’t know.  All because they didn’t want to deal with an attorney.

As if attorneys are the issue.

Dear stupid people of the world, Lawyers are not inherently bad people. Some of my best friends are lawyers. Some of them even do adoption cases for free. If you are considering an adoption plan for your child, you owe it to them to make an actual plan with actual legal protections involved for all parties. Dropping the kid at the gas station and hoping for the best IS NOT a plan.

How is it that those people have kids, but others can’t?

Before any of you get all high and mighty and bring up the fact that I chose to adopt, I know that I can technically grow a kiddo. At least I think I can. I have the parts and all, though that is certainly not a guarantee. Those of you that know the whole story know that mine is a sort of chosen infertility. I take a medication that causes horrific birth defects. This medication is integral to my daily survival. Skipping it is not an option if I want to stay alive and stroke free, and, having survived a tiny stroke in college, let me assure you that I most certainly want to pass on any future stroke activity. So, we chose not to go the pregnancy route. OK, in full disclosure, we embarked on an irresponsibly dangerous though medically supervised plan to attempt a home grown version of kiddo 1.0, but after a friend had a stroke during her pregnancy I came to my senses and called our adoption agency the following day. Even though I know it was and is the right choice, I’m still sometimes resentful of other people’s baby bumps. Sometimes. Like today.

Today I read about the happy news that a family I know through VN adoption connections is adopting a beautiful little girl from Thailand. Um… I want to adopt from Thailand. I have an aunt from Thailand! Pick me! Pick meeee! Hell, I want to adopt from anywhere that doesn’t have an excruciating wait. At the moment though, only Korea would even consider us due to my bionic heart parts, and the wait time between referral and travel is over a year and that is simply too long for me to attempt to stare at a photo and retain my sanity. The wait is too damn long.

Now I have the giggles because I’m imagining that as said by the SNL version of Jimmy McMillan of The Rent Is Too Damn High party. The wait is too damn long, and the rent is too damn high.

While I was busy being in an ugly place, I saw a link on facebook to the Threads of Feeling page and was immediately put in my place. I first learned of the fascinating online exhibit via Dawn Davenport of Creating A Family:

The vast majority of mothers failed to heed the instruction to leave an identifying token, perhaps because they were too beaten down by rotten luck and grim lives to imagine a time when they would be able to provide a warm, clean home for their baby.  All the same, 5,000 of the babies came with some something attached.  The hospital promised that “great care will be taken for the preservation” of the item, and by golly, great care was indeed taken.  These pieces of fabric were recently re-discovered in the archives of the hospital and form the largest collection of 18^th century textiles surviving in Britain, and probably the world.

… … … … …

Out of the 16,282 infants admitted between 1741 and 1760, only 152 mothers ever reclaimed their child. One of these 152 was Sarah Bender. When she left her son, she also left a piece of elaborate patchwork, made up of bits of printed fabric, on which she had embroidered a heart in red thread. She retained the matching piece. Eight years later, she showed up at the door to the Foundling Hospital and presented her piece of patchwork, and left with her son.

Eight years later she left with her son.

O.M.G.

I am a sobbing mess over here.

Sure, if you get all caught up in the hows and whys of leaving a child there to live and then not coming back for eight whole years, and you allow your mind to ponder the intricacies of those choices, and you spend a minute or two in How Dare They land, and why wasn’t adoption an option, and you entertain the notions of all of today’s complexities and laws and social constructs it might make you angry, but don’t go there. Don’t do it. If you do you’ll spoil the beauty of the sentiment.

You should really check out the online exhibit as it is phenomenal.

Phenomenal.

Something I never thought I’d say about a scrap of cloth.

Unless it was green.

As previously stated, green suits me.

As an aside, you should check out Dawn’s podcast. I usually listen to them and almost always learn something new.

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