Writing

Tonight, while the Hubby-Man was making dinner, he gave me a little blast from the past. And I quote:
"If you don't want your baby, then we'll try to find a home for it."

I don't remember what brought it up, because that phrase always triggers rant-mode with me. You see, it's what was said by the first adoption agency I called, when I was trying to find the right parents for my son. Yeah, that's a great way to get people to give up their kids. When I rant about Christianity, that incident is a big part of it. There is a place of hatred deep in my heart for the woman who said those words. It lessens me as a person, it limits my spiritual growth, and it remains. I just can't stop making her wrong. And secretly, I don't want to.

I did not work with that agency, I chose another. You can read all about it on Random Redhead. You won't read about the birth (9 lbs 15 oz), or the resultant stitches. You won't read about the teddy bear I bought, so my arms wouldn't be empty on the flight home; or how I leaked breast milk all down my shirt because of the pressure change on the plane. You won't even read about how very, very hard it was to leave my son at the hospital. How I said, "Please... Can I hold him one more time?" and the nurse said, "He's already gone." (Nope, you get to read that here!)
You also won't be reading what it's like to sign the adoption papers.

The story is too big for me to type my way through in one sitting. The rest will have to wait for another day.
It's a really good read anyway, so read it and enjoy. Not everything I write into RR is dark and depressing. Giving up my son was actually a very uplifting experience.