“You just put your lips together – and blow”. – Slim, To Have and Have Not, 1944
One of the many recruiting tactics the agency used to lure me into the job of â€œbirthmotherâ€, was the promise of never ending updates throughout my daughters life. Semi-open they called it. I would get pictures and letters FOREVER. Fool that I was, I believed them. No one had pointed out to me that semi-open really meant semi-closed. More importantly, I was never told this was legally binding, never shown a single document that obligated them to come through on their promise.
Duh. My bad.
I guess the ignorant teenage mom should have known better. Should have known to ask for legal counsel and should not have trusted the agency. Its my fault, not theirs, right?
Immediately upon surrendering my daughter I began to anxiously await the pictures and the updates. Was she okay? Was she breathing? Was she still alive? Did she cry a lot?
Nothing came. I called the agency. They never took my calls.
I wrote rude letters to my caseworker. They went unanswered. Finally, I got really wacko and freaked out. Maybe even threatened suicide. Finally, Caseworker Colleen sends me an update. I now know this was the only obligation the family had. To provide an update to the agency for the first six months. To the agency, NOT to me. I have that much in writing.Â I doubt the afamily ever knew such promises were made to me.
I received in the mail a greeting card and short handwritten note on yellow legal paper. The card cover had a stork and a baby in a bunting. The words on the card read â€œA baby is a gift blown from the hand of Godâ€.Â Inside, were words allegedly written by her adoptive parents.Â To this day I have no idea if they wrote them or of the agency just made it up to shut me up. The writing looks strangely like that of the caseworker I once asked my daughter about this. I had scanned the card and asked her if it was her aparentâ€™s handwriting. She never answered me. So, I still donâ€™t know.
Even back then, the card infuriated me. Even though the few pictures that fell out were wonderful. I carried them for years. I gave two of them to her father. But that frikking baby blown from Gods hand crap got me. It still does.
First, at that time I was in full hand to hand combat with God. He took my child. Whats this? Some sarcastic message from the heavens? No God. My daughter was not blown from your hand, she was pushed from my vagina. She was taken from my milk laden breast. I donâ€™t recall seeing you, God, in the room. If you were there, I can sure as shit guarantee you that I would have been a believer. But you werenâ€™t there. Unless of course, you were in my crotch, holding up your hand and blowing her out. Is that how it works? Is that the miracle of childbirth? God nestles deep in the uterus, sucks in one big ass gulp of vaginal air and blows really hard?
Jeez oh man. They lied to me about that, too. I thought I had something to do with labor and delivery.
Puhlease. Blown. Heh.
Someone was blown off alright.
After God blew my daughter off his hand, he and the agency promptly turned and flipped me the bird.
Now, isnâ€™t that special?