As I View Birth

So, my sister finally had her baby on the 18th (not under the best of circumstances, though I don't know how exactly that factors in). For me, and, I think, for some (if not many) preferential adopters (at least the young ones among us), being anywhere near pregnancy and birth is just. so. not. fun. I've tried to make the best of it, or at least, to hide the worst of my self-centered angst from my sister and the family, to just get down with the party, and to be happy (again, under the circumstances, which I don't care to go into at the moment).

It's not been easy.


I've been immature sometimes, at least in my head.

I've avoided making possibly superfluous connections to genetics (and this I stand by--somewhat--he is, after all, a baby, and they kind of all look similar), even while everyone else was reveling in the fun of "did he get E's gas?" and "did he get J's hairy back?", etc.

And yet, I think, as I sit here in the airport during the third hour in what will surely be many hours of delays, maybe this is a good experience (well to be fair, I've tried to think before, and it hasn't worked that well). Perhaps this is something that will make me stronger. I am seeing birth, and you know what? Maybe it's actually fortunate for me that I've been privileged (in some morbid way) to see conception, pregnancy, and birth under less-than-ideal circumstances (as "less-than-ideal circumstances" is generally how we idealize the process of making an adoption plan).

I've seen--no--I SEE my sister sit and cry over the culmination of the pregnancy that she did not want to bring to term.

I see the incredible depth of love that, despite any past context, can and will not be made shallower.

I see her look at herself in him.

I see her hope for herself in him.

I see her despair for herself in him.

I see her look for her own faults in him.

I see her look for her own weaknesses in him.

I see her look for the strength of her partner in him.

I see her fear the possibility that the flaws of her partner will rise in him.

I see her know that this is, perhaps because of and perhaps despite the influences of both the self and the partner she looks for in her child, a brand new human being.

I see her contentment as she breathes him in.

I hear her say, "you are a new person."

I see her take ownership (for lack of a better word) for this being. I hear her say, "you are mine."

I see her take responsibility for her child.

I see her hope her partner will take equal responsibility for their child.

I see someone who is still unsure of her love for herself.

I see someone who is not unsure of her love for her child.

I see her, in a change that only took one moment, decide to choose her child over her partner, and decide to choose her child over herself.

I see her who looks for a balance between her own happiness and that of her child, when those needs conflict, and errs on the side of her child when they do.

I see her sadden and brighten, at different moments, when she looks at her son.

I see the incredible array of emotions that co-exist in her heart, and see that love, distilled from all of these varying emotions, is the emotion that she holds toward her child.

I see how intractable (and I'm not trying to decipher or question the reasons, here) the tendency of our society is to look, and to find hope, despair, and fear, in the eyes, the face, the actions of those whom something so obvious and tangible as the process of conception, pregnancy, and birth connects.

Although this is, still, not something I desire to engage in, I hope, and hope sincerely and humbly, that seeing and being a part of this will help me be a better adoptive parent.

*I realize as I look over this that the statements are, indeed, all *I* statements. *I* am not my sister, her partner, or her child. *I* realize that my observations will always be tinged with *my* own emotions. *I* hope you understand.*