Motherland, Day 5: Thankful and thought-full

Today was intense.

It started with a provoking process session that focused around inequity and privilege and the guilt that some of us feel about it. It is clear in Taiwan that many (but not all!) people idealize, and even idolize, America. For example, the field of counseling psychology in Taiwan is modeled after American programs and studies. "Indigenous" research is an emerging area. It is important to build a body of research that reflects Taiwan's cultural perspective.

Another example: I stopped in a night market shop this evening that looked cheaper than a dollar general but had American clothes: AE, random university-branded attire, etc. I saw a pair of infant Jumping Beans sweatpants for the equivalent of $8 USD, twice what they would cost at Kohls! And all of the attire looked like rejects from a 75% off sales bin.

For me, while I can say that I understand I am privileged, I don't always know if I feel or believe it, because I never felt privileged growing up. However, when I am here, I cannot disregard or be ignorant of the fact that many Taiwanese perceive me as coming from a place of privilege. So for me to complain about my struggles may seem ungrateful.

After process time, I listened to a presentation from a professor on gender issues and career counseling. The most interesting part was that she shared her personal experience building a career, becoming a mother and juggling work and life. While I admire her accomplishments, maybe even envy her a bit, I couldn't overlook the sacrifices that she and her family have made because of her career. Her husband worked two hours away for awhile, leaving her in Taipei with two sons. She also spent two years in the U.S. with her sons, while her husband remained in Taiwan. Yes, it was hard for her, but I couldn't help wondering how it affected her sons to be without a father for so long ... and how her husband felt about it.

After lunch, I met my two new Taiwanese friends, and they accompanied me to the Child and Juvenile Adoption Information Center. At first, it seemed like the intermediary didn't have any new information. But then it all started tumbling out. It's crazy how small details -- like my birth mother's birth date -- can fill in blanks in my history, such as how old she was when she had me. I need to time absorb all the new information, but it includes learning I have not one, but two half brothers.

There was also more today: the reflexologist and dinner at a place famous for beef noodles. All good stuff, but my head is full, and I need to just think awhile. I will try to write about the other stuff tomorrow.

My final thought is one of gratitude for the new Taiwanese friends I have met. It helps me feel connected, even though I don't quite fit in. I hope one day to be able to repay their kindness and generosity.

Child and Juvenile Adoption Center

Retail therapy

Comfort food: Beef noodle soup. 

Dear Miss M

This week, you learned how to climb out of your crib. Actually, I'm surprised it took this long. You've been physically able to do it for awhile (throwing your leg over the rail and threatening to escape), but you have a healthy sense of caution that, I think, prevented you from taking the plunge sooner.

I'm thankful for your caution, as I hope it will save us trips to the emergency room as you get older. But I also hope that, as your mother, I can create a strong enough sense of safety and security so that you are not afraid to take risks in life.

Next month, I'm taking one of the biggest risks of my life to date. (Marrying your father and choosing to be your mother were probably the other two, but those are stories for another day.) In the new year, I will travel to Taiwan. I want to learn more about the people and the culture and the food, of course. But also, when I arrive, I will be meeting with a woman from the Child and Juvenile Adoption Center, who I hope may have more information about the circumstances of my adoption.

Choosing to search for information has been so scary, and yet, it is from you that I have gathered the strength to proceed. I've never felt connected to anyone the way I feel with you. Through you, I am learning to love myself. I see myself in you, and I am endeared to you. And I can't help wondering from whom we both inherited our eyes, our hands, our goofiness and our love of music.

I know as you grow up, you will become different from me, despite our shared genetics. It's a certainty not only because I see my strong-willed, independent nature in you, but also because I am determined for your childhood to be different from mine.

Of course, half of your genes are inherited from your father, who also couldn't be more different from me. We opposites attracted and, somehow, we were gifted with you. I hope you will inherit his ability to enjoy life in each moment. And I hope you inherit his ability to love because his unconditional, accepting love transformed my life and created yours.

In a few years, when you're old enough to understand, I hope that your dad and you and me can travel back to Taiwan as a family. I want you to be proud of me and where I came from. I want you to feel secure in your identity. I want you to have roots and, most important, wings.

Race and ethnicity

Oct. 3, 2012

Reading about yin and yang reminds me of the balance I need to find in my own life. Becoming a mother threw all of my roles out of balance — wife, sister, friend, professional. But the biggest challenge is internal. It’s a lack of balance between my small self and my big self, my emotions and thoughts, my inner child and outer adult. Some days I feel I know neither who I am, nor who I really want to be.

I looked up Richard Lee, and I searched the library online to find a handful of his research papers. So far, the most informative is a 2003 article from the journal The Counseling Psychologist, “The Transracial Adoption Paradox: History, Research, and Counseling Implications of Cultural Socialization.” It is 35 pages, and I’ve only gotten a third the way through it.

“Cultural Socialization in Families with International Adopted Children” (Journal of Family Psychology, 2006, Vo. 20, No. 4) was also interesting and helped me answer a question someone posed Sunday. I can’t remember her exact phrasing, but she essentially asked why I am still interested in Taiwan. The question surprised me. I think I said something about how I wanted to learn about the country of my birth. But it got me thinking, why do I care about it?

A few statements in Lee’s second article grabbed my attention:

1) “McRoy and Zurcher (1983 … observed that White adoptive parents of African American children who were color-blind (i.e. did not perceive racial differences and racism as salient issues) were less likely to live in racially integrated neighborhoods and to make an effort at teaching their adopted child about what it means to grow up as Black in the United States.”

2) “Enculturation refers to both the belief in and practice of promoting ethnicity-specific experiences that encourage the development of a positive ethnic identity, which has been found to serve as a protective factor against racism and discrimination (R. M. Lee, 2005).

3) “… racialization refers to both the belief in and practice of promoting race-specific experiences that help children develop coping skills to protect them from racism and discrimination (Crocker & Major, 1989.)”

The impact of growing up without a positive ethnic or racial identity lingers. It seems quite obvious to see that on paper, and yet I don’t think I grasped until now how learning about the country and culture of my race helps overcome my own negativity toward it. It’s hard to acknowledge the negativity I have felt, off and on — it’s a reminder of racism I’ve personally experienced, and I feel ashamed of my own prejudice. Knowledge of Taiwan is knowledge of myself. Pride in Taiwan is pride in myself.

52 weeks

The past several weeks have flown by. I started writing this entry two weeks ago. And now Miss M's first birthday has already passed. I can't believe my baby girl is a year old.

Exactly one year ago, we were preparing to leave the hospital. It was the calm before chaos. Sleepless days and nights. Learning to breastfeed. Laying next to her, mesmerized by every breath, every jerky move, every blink of her bright eyes.

Fifty-two weeks later, Miss M is a cruising, babbling, silly little girl. If she's not pushing her V-Tech walker, she's dancing to its music. She likes cups and balls and chewing on her Robeez knock-offs (thank goodness I didn't splurge on the real thing!). Her favorite word is "dog." It's the first thing she says when I pick her up in the morning. "Dog?" It's also what she chants when we get home: "Dog? Dog? Dog?" as she high-tails it to his room.

In addition to dog, she regularly says "mama," "dada," "all done," "uh-oh," "ball" and "up." She has also been known to say "open," "hi," and "bye." She will high-five and clap when she feels like it. She signs for "milk" and "all done."

She takes after her mama in that she knows what she wants, and when she wants it (or doesn't). It is both endearing and frustrating. It's cute when she says, "All done," but exacerbating when she says this after only one bite ... of the fifth or sixth food you've tried feeding her for dinner.

It's hard for me to remember life without Miss M. I finally understand why so many women say motherhood makes them a better person, although I am still conflicted by this statement. I love her more than I have ever loved anything in my life. And I love myself since having her. I feel like a better person, and yet I know I'm not a better friend or wife or professional. How can I be? I have less time to devote to my friends, my husband, my job.

Miss M has filled a void I couldn't articulate prior to having her. For 30 years, I lived with an absence of a history, of roots, of a biological connection to any other human being. Realizing my daughter has my hands, for example, was a profound experience. Her palms, her knuckles, her fingernails ... they're just like mine. She scrunches her eyebrows like me. She is goofy and opinionated like me. I know she is different from me in at least as many ways as she is similar, and yet it amazes me to see myself in her -- traits I now realize I inherited, not learned. It is an amazing connection and awareness that may be hard to understand unless you have lived without it.

I didn't know I was incomplete until she made me whole.

Nine

I can hardly believe my daughter is 9 months old. It's incredible how quickly these past 9 months have flown by, especially compared to the months preceding them. Or perhaps it's not the speed of time so much as the enjoyment of it. I love being a mother. Except for occasional reminders from friends who are still enjoying life without children, I hardly remember mine. Miss M is my morning sunshine and evening delight.

Does this mean my transformation is complete? If so, I couldn't pinpoint the moment it happened. Perhaps it was the day I put an entirely pink load of laundry in the dryer -- clothes that were pink when I purchased them. (The horror!) Or perhaps it was the day I first extracted one of her boogers with my bare finger. (The satisfaction!) Maybe it was during those first nights at home, when she was wide-eyed awake, and we were bleary-eyed enthralled by her every newborn move. Or maybe it was the first moment our eyes met -- both pairs dark and puffy from the strain of labor.

I love my baby girl. I would give my life for her in an instant. And I hope, when she grows up, she knows it.

Six months

Six months ago, I met my beautiful baby girl, who returned my looks of awe and adoration with an expression that asked, "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" I don't, but I sure do love her. Happy half-birthday, Miss M!

306

That's how many ounces of frozen milk I threw away tonight. Miss M won't drink it, and after tasting it myself, I don't blame her. Apparently, my milk has high levels of lipase, which causes it to turn rancid quickly. Unfortunately, I didn't figure this out until my freezer was full. And even then, I held onto it thinking maybe, just maybe it could be saved. I tried mixing it with cereal tonight, and as soon as the spoon touched her lips, she wrinkled her face up like I was trying to feed her bananas again.

What a bummer.

I've been selfish

I am so not a "go with the flow" kind of person, but I wish I could be. So for four months, I've been trying to go with Miss M's flow. Or so I tell myself. Really, on Saturday mornings, I've let her sleep in because I want to sleep in, too. And the past few weekends, we've dragged her to the mall and other places because I wanted to. Not because she needed to. So it's no wonder she stopped eating and sleeping when I wanted (and sometimes needed) her to.

It's possible that the so-called four-month sleep regression and a persistent cold (from which we are both suffering) have also played a role. But today, I am stepping up and accepting responsibility because I'm the mother, and I realize I've recently only been considerate of my child's needs when it was convenient for me.

Yes, I know children are flexible, and I should not feel guilty for the weekend trips to spend time with family. I should not feel guilty for needing to get out of the house. I should not feel guilty for wanting her to fit into my life, as much as I have to fit into hers. And I don't (feel guilty, that is). But I can't not acknowledge how my actions influence in my baby's behavior.

So last night, I set an alarm. Even though it was a Friday night. Even though it was late when I finally got her to go to sleep. I set it, and I woke up early. Then I woke Miss M, and I fed her and changed her and played with her. And the rest of today, I'm doing everything I can to adhere to the same routine she follows on weekdays. That means putting her down to nap in bed, and waking her to eat at regular times. And giving her bottles and pumping, instead of breastfeeding.

Starting today, I will not care if people think I'm a rigid first-time mom or a slave to my daughter's schedule. I'm convinced she is more like me than her dad in this area -- more comfortable with predictability -- and effective today, we will have that.

So it is written. So it will be done.

To Santa, or not to Santa

I was 6 when I learned the truth, (no) thanks to an older and wiser 7-year-old in my Sunday school class. "Devastated" does not even begin to describe the depths of my despair and disappointment. I remember sitting on my mother's lap crying through a circular discussion that must have lasted an hour. At the crux of this conversation was my inability to comprehend why my parents lied to me.

Now, as a parent, I feel a duty to Santa responsibly, if at all. The idea of no Santa seems kind of Scrooge-like. I don't want my kid to be that know-it-all 7-year-old shattering the dreams of an innocent 6-year-old. And, 30 years from now, I don't want Miss M to look back and feel like she missed out on an important part of childhood.

But I also don't want my daughter to feel as betrayed as I did that sad Sunday morning.

So where's the middle ground? In my best-laid plans, we would somehow follow Miss M's lead while being careful not to fuel the fantasy. Will Santa come to our house? Probably. But our Christmas won't be one that depends on him ... if I can help it.

Three months

Today my baby girl is 3 months old. I can't believe it's already 3 months, and yet, I also can't believe it's only been 3 months.

When I was 3 months and 3 days old, I was put on a plane with a stranger to be flown halfway across the world and handed off to another stranger. I don't know how else to say this — it haunts me lately. I look at my baby and I wonder, how could anyone part with something so precious? And then I wonder, how would my baby handle it if she were handed off to strangers tomorrow? Here I have spent three months trying hard to ensure a stable, loving environment for her. I worry about sleep habits and eating routines. I worry about leaving her at daycare so long. Will she remember me? Will she feel abandoned? Does she know who her mommy and daddy are? I want her to feel secure and safe and loved.

A shrink once said to me, upon my sharing I was adopted, "How traumatic that must have been for you." At the time I thought she was full of it. (She was my second-least-favorite of all the therapists I've seen.) I mean, I was just a baby. I turned out fine. How can a baby be traumatized at 3 months? But now I realize new parents are inundated with books that emphasize specific parenting habits from the moment a child is born. Does any of this matter?

It makes me sad to imagine how my baby would feel if I abandoned her tomorrow. I need to believe she loves me as much as I love her. But I guess I don't know. I love my husband dearly, but he doesn't understand why I think about this stuff. Heck, I don't understand why. But I do, on days like these. Maybe one day I will go back to that shrink and she will tell me why these thoughts go and come and go again ... and why I am so desperate for my baby to love me as much as I love her.

There are so many things to love about Miss M. Among them:

• Her crazy kicking legs
• Her deep breaths when she gets excited
• Her coos
• Her sour milky breath
• Her sweet baby smell
• Her chubby hands that look like mine
• Her gummy smiles
• Her expressive eyebrows 
• Her little mouth chewing and sucking on her big fists
• Her pouty mouth, and her little line mouth (aka "the no-more-milk mouth")
• Her neck rolls ... and wrist rolls, and thigh rolls
• The way she smiles after spitting up
• The way she smiles when I wake her
• The way she peers out of the little hole in her carseat cover, like "Where are we going?"
• The way her fists come together but can't grasp anything yet
• The way she gets excited when she realizes I'm getting ready to nurse her
• The most peaceful expression on her face when she sleeps

It makes me want to snuggle her. But that's one thing she's not so great at. She'd rather see what else is going on. It's heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time.

Miss M goes to daycare

I got my first newsletter today. Yes, our daycare provider, who has only 3 clients (she also cares for her own two daughters), apparently puts out a newsletter. One more reason for me to like her. Here's an excerpt:

Baby M had her first day last week. She is beautiful and as sweet as can be and we are all happy to have a new little one to our group. The big kids did a great job practicing gentleness with her and she seemed to enjoy watching the kids play.

Being such an expert, I couldn't agree more that Miss M is as beautiful and sweet as can be :) And it makes me smile to think of the other girls "practicing gentleness" with her. It's like she has 4 big sisters. I guess that almost makes up for her mother going back to work.

Speaking of work, I have to admit, it hasn't been as bad as I thought it would be. I've put in a few partial days so far -- we are trying to fill that open position, and it's been nice to slowly transition back. Next week I'll do three full days, and the following week I'll be back every day.

My feelings have yo-yo'd all over the place. On one hand, it feels good to be back in the professional proverbial saddle. It feels good to shower, and put on make-up and real clothes for the day. And I feel very lucky to have found our daycare provider -- she is, so far, a perfect match, and is certainly more experienced at mothering than I am. Yet she is so respectful of how and what we want her to do, I haven't felt at all threatened by or jealous of her. Yet.

On the other hand, life in the cocoon of Miss M is pretty easy. I don't have to solve other people's petty problems. I don't have to put on make-up or tear through my closet trying to find something that fits my post-partum body. And I don't have to swallow my jealousy when another woman witnesses my baby's milestones first.

It comes down to this: When I'm here, at home, I just want to stay here. But when I'm there, it's not so bad. I have so much to be thankful for, and going to work actually helps me see that more clearly.

Love and licorice

I wrote an entire entry this morning ... in my head, while showering. Unfortunately, my brain has lately been more of a sieve than a steel trap. And that's too bad, because it was a really good train of thought. At least, I think it might have been. I can't remember.

Anyway, I just ordered 6 boxes of licorice-flavored tea online. (Amazon Mom has pretty sweet deals.) I despise licorice. Especially black licorice, which is pretty much what this stuff tastes like. I've always hated grabbing what I thought was a grape jelly bean (my favorite!) only to discover mid-chew that it was licorice. I used to spit them out. OK, I still do.

But I sure do love my baby girl. And this stuff really does increase my milk supply.

Now, if only someone could invent Mother's Brain Tea. Preferably in a fruity flavor, but it probably wouldn't matter. I'd drink it if it was good for Miss M.

Wardrobe dysfunction

So, it appears I'm going to be stuck in maternity pants until JT brings muffin-top back.

This breastfeeding "diet" isn't working anymore!

The only constant ...

The only constant is change. So the saying goes. And such is life with Miss M. I treasure the weeks where we settle into a nice routine. I treasure them more when the routine disappears.

Last week, she dropped down to 5 feedings a day. She was eating late (9 or 10-ish), and going to bed and sleeping until 5-6 a.m. One night, she even went 11 hours between feedings (measured from start to start). Then Monday we had our two-month appointment and shots. The rest of the day was wonky -- she was fussy and sleepy. She took one side at 7, and one side at 8, and went back to sleep. I expected her to wake around 10-11 for a final feeding, but she slept until 3 a.m. She did it again last night.

I shouldn't complain. She is still going 8 hours between feedings, which I'm told is pretty great for a breastfed baby at two months. It's just not falling at such a convenient time for me.

Friday afternoon I'm going to work, and we're doing a half-day with our daycare provider. I'm anxious and irritated. And I'm insanely jealous that this woman will soon be spending more waking hours with my child than I will. I resent my job. I resent my dependence on money. I resent the whole world, because love really isn't enough to get by on. I'm trying not to take it out on my husband (who is currently unemployed). But I'm not doing a good job of that the past few days.

I'm blaming it on the return of those 3 a.m. feedings.

Pity party

Who am I? Honestly, I don't know these days. I want to be a balance of everything: caring mother, loving wife, fun friend, hardworking professional. "Professional" is on hold until I return to work. This new "mother" role consumes most of my time. "Wife" comes in at a distant second. (Thank goodness my husband is a kind and patient man.) And "friend," well ...

I'll just be honest: My feelings are really hurt right now. I had been looking forward to a friend's Halloween party for several weeks. If Miss M's feeding schedule allowed, I was hoping we'd be able to make an appearance, briefly, with her. I figured at best, we'd have 30 minutes, an hour tops, before the baby would demand we headed home. We had coordinating costumes planned. It would be fun to get out with the baby, to pretend to be cool parents amongst cool friends.

It didn't occur to me that the cool friends might not welcome Miss M at their cool party. I mean, yeah, it would be weird if we were playing beer pong at 3 a.m. with the baby in the corner. Or if we had a toddler or otherwise mobile, interactive child in tow. But I didn't think an hour with a 10-lb newborn would be a problem.

I was wrong.

Maybe it's my fault for waiting until the night before to ask if it would be weird to bring the baby. But I didn't expect the answer to be "yes." And I was miffed she had to even ask if we would still make it. Of course not. I have a 7-week-old who is cluster feeding again. I'd be doing good to get her off the boob long enough to make it to your stupid party. And even if I were willing to leave her with a babysitter, it would be impossible to schedule one for that random one-hour window when I don't even know what time it would happen.

So yesterday, I was sad for many reasons. And today, even with the cute trick-or-treaters we've seen, I'm still a little sad. How can I be a friend, if my "friends" won't have me?

Yes, I know I'm being melodramatic. And yes, I will probably read this in a few days and want to blame hormones for what is probably totally irrational thinking. But this is how I feel right now.

I hope in my pre-motherhood days that I never made any of my mother friends feel this way. And if I did, I am so, so, so sorry.

Independence

Time is flying by. I can't believe I'm already halfway through my maternity leave. I never thought I'd feel this way, but right now, I would be happy to never return to work again. I could spend all day gazing into her eyes. I know it won't be long before she begins to pull away. The other morning, I overheard a woman on television say the greatest joy of having children "is not deciding who they are, but discovering who they are." Amen.

Week six was a major turning point. My best friend, who currently lives in France, flew all the way across the Atlantic with her seven-month-old just to spend a week with me and Miss M. We went shopping, I breastfed at the mall, and I even left the baby for a brief period with Grandma K.

Other milestones:

• First smiles! It happened Monday or Tuesday. She smiles often in her sleep, and sometimes randomly while playing. But she is just now beginning to smile in response to us. Dad got the first smile; mine was later in the day. They are hard to coax out of her, but I can't wait to see more.
• Sleep tight. I hesitate to write this because I'm probably jinxing myself, but over the past few days, her feedings have stretched overnight to where we can get 5-7 hours of sleep sometimes. Amazing.
• Head strong. Miss M is holding her head up well. A little wobbly, particularly if you tip her backwards, but if you lean her forward, her neck muscles are strong enough to hold her head up for a minute or so. Modified tummy time on her boppy must be working!
• Growing! Now in 0-3 month clothes. We switched to size 1 diapers about 10 days ago, and after a few recent leaks, I'm already wondering if she's nearing size 2. She won't go to the pediatrician for a few more weeks, but when I tried my bathroom scale, she appears to be about 10 pounds.
• Back to work ... to visit. Coworkers met her Thursday. It was fun to introduce her around. So many things had to fall in place for it to work out -- what time she woke up, how long she ate, etc. But we made it happen, and she lasted three hours before needing to eat again.
• Mom and dad hang out with grownups. We took Miss M to a house party last night and cheered our underdogs to a win over the No. 1 team. Mom even had a few sips of beer! It was quite tame from the parties we used to throw; there were four other kids present, including the hosts'. But it was still a fun time, and I enjoyed hanging out with my friends.
  

A new chapter

Miss M is nearly four weeks old, and it's amazing how much she's changed. Or, really, how much I've changed. My "old" life seems so far away, and surprisingly, I don't miss it. My days have been hijacked by the eating and sleeping schedule (or lack thereof) of an eight-pound infant. Since Chris went back to work this week, it's a major victory if I find time to poop and shower. But I'm figuring it out, and feeling proud when I master these small things. Last night, I even managed to make a trip to Target, baby in tow. It was my first time behind the wheel since before she was born. I felt so accomplished!

It's such a change from my professional persona, who measures accomplishments by awards, dollars and cents, and satisfied clients. "On time and under budget," as my boss says.

Who is this new woman?

love

Miss M made her grand entrance Sept. 10, five days before her deadline, but not a day too soon for mom and dad.

I am in love. We are in love.

And yes, everything they say about forgetting the horrible parts of pregnancy and childbirth is true.

One look at her expressive eyes, her hungry mouth, her infant froggy legs already stretching out ... and I'm ready to do it again.

"I'm adopted. Did you know that?"

Of course you didn't. And maybe that Margo Tenenbaum quote is only funny in the way that irony, of the unexpected variety, can be funny. Can't tell you how many times I've almost blurted that out myself. Frequently at most unrelated and/or inappropriate times.

Anyway, I've been thinking about this more often again. Especially as I've been forced to relinquish my body to the needs -- nay demands -- of this living being inside. Try as I may to retain my own identity, this large cantaloupe (according to my WTE app) growing inside me seems to dominate everything. It's the first thing people see when they look at me, and the first thing they bring up when they talk to me. I'm no longer their colleague or boss or friend or daughter-in-law. I'm their pregnant colleague or boss or friend or daughter-in-law.

If I'm being honest, it's the first thing I see about myself, too. And I don't even have to look in the mirror. I'm acutely aware of this baby every time I wake up to pee, struggle to put on my pants, break out in a sweat simply sitting in my office, drag myself up two flights of parking garage stairs ... the list goes on.

How ironic that I spent 30 years developing and becoming comfortable with my identity, and in just eight short months, this baby threatens to hijack it.

I know this sounds melodramatic. The rational side of my brain (dominated by pregnancy hormones lately) says no one can hijack my identity. This baby may redefine it. Even enhance it, if I allow her to. But as much as I yearned for this, fought for this, deliberately embarked on this, I can't say motherhood is a place I'm ready for. Perhaps it's not even the journey to motherhood, but the title, "Mother," which incites such conflicting emotions for me.

All this leads back to a single question that has lingered on my mind as long as I can remember, sometimes receding into the dark crevices of subconsciousness, now bursting to the forefront:

How does a mother relinquish her child to strangers?

More specifically, how did my (birth)mother do it? And why?

On good days -- when I watch my friends with their children, when I allow myself to daydream about the family I'm creating, when I feel the baby move gently inside of me, when I catch my husband looking at me with pure adoration his eyes -- I feel an unnerving, possessive instinct, and I think there's no way I could relinquish this child, my child, to anyone else.

But on dark days -- when it feels like the baby is brutalizing me from the inside out, when I am overwhelmed by everything I'm supposed to be doing to prepare for her arrival, when I am reminded of my own childhood, when I am annoyed by the fact that no one seems to see me for anything besides this baby -- it is easy to imagine how much I might resent my child. How depressed I could easily become if I am not overcome by warm fuzzies the moment she enters the world. How hard motherhood is going to be. How scared and insecure I already am.

And I think: Maybe that's how she felt. Maybe it was easy for her. Maybe it will be harder for me to cling to this child than to let her go.

I must cling to this child. I must love this child. I must embrace this journey to a destination denied to so many; rejected by others.

I must.