I met my husband in 1985. I had recently graduated from college and moved to a small resort area about an hour south of my parents home. There were two developers on the resort; he worked for one and I worked for the other. I hated him on sight (that's a whole other story!) but he eventually won me a spaghetti dinner. One day led to another, one week, one month and eventually we were sharing housekeeping.
Throughout this time (about a year) I learned all about his daughter. She was two years old when he and her mother separated. She was 4 years old now. I watched him over that year do everything humanly possible to see his daughter. He had an attorney out of state who he sent money to every month. He had pictures everywhere and stories to tell. She was a lovely child, long blond hair, big brown eyes, round cheeks. He missed her and occasionally cried when speaking of her.
Eventually, after lots of expense and trips out of state for court appearances (first to prove paternity, then to gain visitation rights, then to prove the little girl was being kept from him) and after paying private investigators and search services and eventually listing her with the Adam Walsh Society, he and I both thought she was lost forever.
One day, out of the blue, he received a call from his X, the child's bio-mom. She said one thing to him and we'll never forget it: "You're the one who wanted the family, not me. You can have her." Apparently all the hiding had caught up with her and she just got fed up.
The next two weeks are a blur. While my then SO was scurrying about on the telephone with his attorney, making arrangements with his employer to leave at a moments notice, reminiscing with friends about memories he had of his daughter which were now two years old. I was in a state of panic. I had worked alongside him for the past year doing everything I knew how to help him find his daughter so he could visit her. But now she was coming to live with him and I was completely freaked about it.
The day came when the attorney called and said everything had been signed and the little girl was ready to go. She said my SO shouldn't waste any time getting there though because the bio-mom was unpredictable and could run with the child again. He packed and was on the road within an hour.
We were in VA. He was driving to FL. I knew he'd be gone for about three days. Those were the most difficult three days of my life. I was alone in our apartment with the pictures of that little girl staring at me and I was 23 years old.
Almost immediately I packed my 1979 Honda Accord with all of my stuff; just threw it in there; and walked back into the apartment to look around one last time. Then I unpacked the car. In the morning I packed my car again and sat behind the wheel and thought and thought and thought. Late that day I unpacked the car again.
That night I packed the car one more time determined to take off. I knew I couldn't let that sweet child lay one eye on me and make one assumption that I'd be there for her if I couldn't be sure I would. I knew that child needed consistency and love in her life. I knew she had been through too much for a 4 year old child - enough to last a lifetime. I knew she didn't need to lose another female in her life and she didn't need a string of them passing through it either. I knew everything about that child's needs without laying an eye on her. But I wasn't confident about my relationship w/ her dad and that's what kept me packing up.
I don't know what made me unpack that last time. Maybe it was the thought that it was a challenge I could manage. Maybe I hoped I could make a difference in that child's life. Maybe I hoped we could be a family. Maybe it was those big brown eyes and chubby cheeks.
In any case, I finished unpacking and fell into bed after 4 a.m. At 6:30 a.m. I heard him come into the apartment and was immediately awake. He was carrying his suitcase and a bundle of blankets and hair. Inside was the little girl I had seen in the pictures. She was sound asleep. We put her to bed in the room we had made up for her and he sat down on the couch. He said he'd unpack the U-Haul in the morning (what U-Haul?) He said she didn't speak a word to him all the way up the road from FL.. not a single word. He said she was beautiful and tired and afraid and he was blessed to have her. It was June 30, 1986.
In the morning, as I fixed breakfast and he slept, the little girl slowly woke up and peered out from the bedroom in my direction. Her hair was twisted and needed brushing. Her face was stained with something pink juice of some sort, obviously... her eyes were as big as plates and she was swimming in one of her dad's t-shirts.
I tried to coax her out of the bedroom, but she wouldn't come. She would talk to me though and that was the beginning of my education into her past (that's another story, too.) Eventually we determined that eggs were okay, but cereal was better and she was hungry enough to come to the kitchen as we didn't serve food in bedrooms here. A small step, but a beginning.
Later that day, my SO unpacked the U-Haul which had been packed floor to ceiling with all of the little girl's clothes, toys, bedroom furniture, lamps, pictures, baby clothes, receiving blankets, cloth diapers, booties. From the looks of it, her bio-mom had decided to allow my SO custody and everything else. Sorting through the stuff in that U-Haul was like sorting through the first 4 years of that child's life. I couldn't imagine that the child's bio-mom had kept a single item to remember the child by... it was staggering.
Finally our lives began to settle down somewhat. My SO went back to work and I didn't (it was just a short-term leave then...) The child and I began spending our days together and doing completely normal stuff - grocery shopping, playing in the sandbox, visiting the library, fixing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and taking naps. I called her by her name. She didn't call me anything.
One morning, after she'd been with us for two weeks, as I was fixing breakfast, I asked her, "Dear I'm fixing you pancakes this morning. Would you like orange juice or apple juice to drink?" There was a long silence... so I repeated, she didn't answer. We're having pancakes for breakfast. Do you want orange or apple juice? I looked down and there she was at the corner of the kitchen, looking up with those big brown eyes at me. "Honey... which do you want? And in this small voice she said "Can I call you Mommy?"
That's how I became my daughter's Mom. That's how it happened for us. I've never forgotten that morning, though T has forgotten it by now. She's never lost her love for my fat pancakes either, although she likes them with maple syrup and I don't. And the juice? Well she never could decide between orange and apple. That morning (after I stopped hugging her) she had asked if she could have both and I let her. After all, we'd already decided that I'd be her Mom, so deciding to allow her to have both apple and orange juice was easy.
It was the beginning of a very full life for us both.
Throughout this time (about a year) I learned all about his daughter. She was two years old when he and her mother separated. She was 4 years old now. I watched him over that year do everything humanly possible to see his daughter. He had an attorney out of state who he sent money to every month. He had pictures everywhere and stories to tell. She was a lovely child, long blond hair, big brown eyes, round cheeks. He missed her and occasionally cried when speaking of her.
Eventually, after lots of expense and trips out of state for court appearances (first to prove paternity, then to gain visitation rights, then to prove the little girl was being kept from him) and after paying private investigators and search services and eventually listing her with the Adam Walsh Society, he and I both thought she was lost forever.
One day, out of the blue, he received a call from his X, the child's bio-mom. She said one thing to him and we'll never forget it: "You're the one who wanted the family, not me. You can have her." Apparently all the hiding had caught up with her and she just got fed up.
The next two weeks are a blur. While my then SO was scurrying about on the telephone with his attorney, making arrangements with his employer to leave at a moments notice, reminiscing with friends about memories he had of his daughter which were now two years old. I was in a state of panic. I had worked alongside him for the past year doing everything I knew how to help him find his daughter so he could visit her. But now she was coming to live with him and I was completely freaked about it.
The day came when the attorney called and said everything had been signed and the little girl was ready to go. She said my SO shouldn't waste any time getting there though because the bio-mom was unpredictable and could run with the child again. He packed and was on the road within an hour.
We were in VA. He was driving to FL. I knew he'd be gone for about three days. Those were the most difficult three days of my life. I was alone in our apartment with the pictures of that little girl staring at me and I was 23 years old.
Almost immediately I packed my 1979 Honda Accord with all of my stuff; just threw it in there; and walked back into the apartment to look around one last time. Then I unpacked the car. In the morning I packed my car again and sat behind the wheel and thought and thought and thought. Late that day I unpacked the car again.
That night I packed the car one more time determined to take off. I knew I couldn't let that sweet child lay one eye on me and make one assumption that I'd be there for her if I couldn't be sure I would. I knew that child needed consistency and love in her life. I knew she had been through too much for a 4 year old child - enough to last a lifetime. I knew she didn't need to lose another female in her life and she didn't need a string of them passing through it either. I knew everything about that child's needs without laying an eye on her. But I wasn't confident about my relationship w/ her dad and that's what kept me packing up.
I don't know what made me unpack that last time. Maybe it was the thought that it was a challenge I could manage. Maybe I hoped I could make a difference in that child's life. Maybe I hoped we could be a family. Maybe it was those big brown eyes and chubby cheeks.
In any case, I finished unpacking and fell into bed after 4 a.m. At 6:30 a.m. I heard him come into the apartment and was immediately awake. He was carrying his suitcase and a bundle of blankets and hair. Inside was the little girl I had seen in the pictures. She was sound asleep. We put her to bed in the room we had made up for her and he sat down on the couch. He said he'd unpack the U-Haul in the morning (what U-Haul?) He said she didn't speak a word to him all the way up the road from FL.. not a single word. He said she was beautiful and tired and afraid and he was blessed to have her. It was June 30, 1986.
In the morning, as I fixed breakfast and he slept, the little girl slowly woke up and peered out from the bedroom in my direction. Her hair was twisted and needed brushing. Her face was stained with something pink juice of some sort, obviously... her eyes were as big as plates and she was swimming in one of her dad's t-shirts.
I tried to coax her out of the bedroom, but she wouldn't come. She would talk to me though and that was the beginning of my education into her past (that's another story, too.) Eventually we determined that eggs were okay, but cereal was better and she was hungry enough to come to the kitchen as we didn't serve food in bedrooms here. A small step, but a beginning.
Later that day, my SO unpacked the U-Haul which had been packed floor to ceiling with all of the little girl's clothes, toys, bedroom furniture, lamps, pictures, baby clothes, receiving blankets, cloth diapers, booties. From the looks of it, her bio-mom had decided to allow my SO custody and everything else. Sorting through the stuff in that U-Haul was like sorting through the first 4 years of that child's life. I couldn't imagine that the child's bio-mom had kept a single item to remember the child by... it was staggering.
Finally our lives began to settle down somewhat. My SO went back to work and I didn't (it was just a short-term leave then...) The child and I began spending our days together and doing completely normal stuff - grocery shopping, playing in the sandbox, visiting the library, fixing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and taking naps. I called her by her name. She didn't call me anything.
One morning, after she'd been with us for two weeks, as I was fixing breakfast, I asked her, "Dear I'm fixing you pancakes this morning. Would you like orange juice or apple juice to drink?" There was a long silence... so I repeated, she didn't answer. We're having pancakes for breakfast. Do you want orange or apple juice? I looked down and there she was at the corner of the kitchen, looking up with those big brown eyes at me. "Honey... which do you want? And in this small voice she said "Can I call you Mommy?"
That's how I became my daughter's Mom. That's how it happened for us. I've never forgotten that morning, though T has forgotten it by now. She's never lost her love for my fat pancakes either, although she likes them with maple syrup and I don't. And the juice? Well she never could decide between orange and apple. That morning (after I stopped hugging her) she had asked if she could have both and I let her. After all, we'd already decided that I'd be her Mom, so deciding to allow her to have both apple and orange juice was easy.
It was the beginning of a very full life for us both.
Isn't it amazing how those little bundles capture your heart so completely. You and your wife were truly blessed! Wait 'till your baby has a baby!!! I just could not believe the emotions I felt when my baby girl had a baby girl ... it was so far beyond all imagination and all description!!! And ... yes ... I am a VERY young 50+ grandmother (56 to be exact!!!!!)
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