Naomi Isabella Renee - Eyes Wide Open Adoption

“Well, they’re just selfish!” I loved Juno, but this one statement hit too close to home. Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. Adoptive placements had come really quickly for us. This was the longest wait we had ever had.

Birth mothers were looking for families that were just starting out. “It looks like they already have their hands full.” Having three young ‘uns already, most were hesitant to give us a second glance.

We changed the picture on the front of our Birth Mom Book to just Paul and me, and moved our family picture to the inside, thinking it might help with first impressions. Somewhat resigned to the fact that it probably wasn’t going to happen for us again, we put a bid on a house and moved on.

Getting Ready

It was then that we got the call. “A birth mother would like to meet with you.” Both she and the birth father were caucasian, and she came from a rather large family herself — she was the youngest of four siblings. Having just recently fled from an abusive relationship, Pam was just trying to get her feet under her and make the best decision she could for her baby.

We would be meeting her in a couple of days. I spent all day at Bath and Bodyworks trying to piece together a meeting gift. Nothing beats self-pampering. It was not until I was elbow-deep in swaths of lotion that I realized what a tricky decision I had made.

But it was too late — I knew I had to commit. Butterfly Garden suggested whimsical freedom. Perfect. And it smelled good in the bottle (here’s to hoping for good skin chemistry!). I moved onto picking out a basket and colored tissue paper and pieced it all together. If all else failed, at least it would look good.

We hadn’t thought of a name yet. Laying in bed, recovering from the events of the day, we tried. Pam’s going to ask us. If we don’t have a name she could take it as a bad sign. But no matter which names we thought of, none of them felt right. With our eyelids growing heavy it came to me — Naomi. “I love it.” And then we drifted off to sleep.

The First Time We Met

They met us for breakfast at Mimi’s Cafe. This time we were the first ones to arrive, so we sat at a small waiting table to the side. My cheeks hurt from trying to offer a smile each time the door opened, thinking it might be them. By the time they got there, I was relieved. “Are you ready to get a table?” Boy were we ever.

As Mary turned to lead, Pam followed, and I clumsily tried to offer her the basket. “I got this for you.” They both seemed amused, thinking it was a table decoration at first glance. Oh man — strike one.

We found a table and settled in. Pam’s questions were scripted, purposeful and determined. “What do you feel is your job as parents?” She took time to share her story, crying as she recalled the details. “Can I get you tissues? We have a box in the car.” Paul was always so thoughtful.

He returned with the crushed box in hand. The sides were caved in from disheveled placement on the floor of the car. Embarrassed, I couldn’t believe he brought it in. “Are you guys for real?” Pam seemed to laugh it off but I was mortified. Strike two.

The rest of our time together seemed to go well. Pam asked us what we would name her, and told us about her daughter, Cassandra who was being cared for by her brother. In all, it was a pleasant and productive conversation.

When it was time to leave, Pam excused herself to use the restroom. “Why didn’t she ask us?!” We were so confused. Mary tried to comfort us in our distress. “She’s trying to not make any more rash decisions. She wants to give it some thought.” Oh. Try as she may, it didn’t make us feel any better. Strike three.

A Long Way Home

We walked away disheartened. It was a long car ride home. What had we done wrong? “I can’t believe you brought in that broken box!” What else was he supposed to do? Come back empty-handed? We had given it our best effort, stepped our best foot forward and we still failed miserably.

It was eight days we waited. Pam met with another family. “She wants to make sure she’s making the right decision. When you go to the store, you don’t buy the first thing off the shelf.” I know Mary was just trying to help. “Yes, but we are not inanimate objects, Mary!” I just couldn’t stay silent. “We are people, with feelings.” This was more than we could bear.

By the time Pam called me I had given up hope. I did a double-take at my phone as an unknown number flashed across the screen. Could it be her? I answered, “Hello?” “Hi Renee. It’s Pam. Do you think you can get the cradle ready in two months?”

That was it. I felt numb inside, like I didn’t know how to feel, how to react. Was she sure? I thought of her, and how difficult that question was to ask. “Yes, absolutely!” And then we cried, both of us, each for our own reason. “Talk to you later?,” Pam tried to excuse herself politely from the phone. Ok.

The Journey

The following months were filled with visits to the midwife since it was considered a high-risk pregnancy. With Pam’s age, high blood pressure, and an early abnormal result from the test of her amniotic fluid, they wanted to keep a close eye on things. I went with her to all of them; people thought we were sisters.

We also had the time to meet Pam’s family. Her brothers, sister in law, and sister all came to our house at one time or another. We got to meet Cassandra. The weeks were filled with visits and girl dates as Pam and I purposed our time together.

But through it all I had a sinking feeling that she wasn’t as committed to the idea as I was. Pam more often than not didn’t introduce me as the “adoptive mom,” and held onto the baby clothes that were gifted to her by her friends.

Over time I felt upset, used. Each minute I spent with her, and not with my children, irked me, and put down roots of bitterness in my heart. I had to accept a harsh reality, that at the end of this road I might not be bringing home a little girl. I had to support her decision, whatever it may be.

And that’s when I changed, like a light-switch in the dark. For the sake of self-preservation I decided that I would just be there for Pam, simply because she needed somebody. She was alone. I forfeited any right I felt I had to her child, continued driving her to medical visits, trying to be there for her, as a friend.

This probably turned out to be the single most important decision I could have made. It allowed me to be loving and genuine.

The Switch

We scheduled a pre-birth hospital visit. Sitting together, we amused ourselves with what we thought the others might be assuming about us. At the end there was a raffle and we won the grand prize. A stroller or car-seat? “What do you still need?” Pam’s question surprised me. “A car-seat would be great!”

On our way home I decided to ask. “Do you have stuff for the hospital?” I knew she was in a shelter for abused women. She fled the home she shared with Joe with the clothes on her back, and just a little more than that. We should go shopping.

I assured her it would be fun for me, and allow me to have an experience I wouldn’t otherwise have. She would be doing me a favor. We printed out lists from the internet and narrowed down the search — Pam didn’t want everything. Heading to Starbucks at the Victor Valley Mall, we ordered the usual — two grande Pumpkin Spice Lattes, hot — fueled up and ready to go.

By the time of her next appointment with the midwife, we were both all packed. Pam carried her things with her just in case. “Your blood pressure has gone up. You need to head to the hospital for further testing.” This might be it. A short drive across the highway and we were there. I called Paul to give him a heads-up.

“It could go either way,” the technician said. “What would you like to do?” I turned to Pam. It was her call. Her midwife was on duty that evening and Pam wanted Kimberly to deliver Naomi. “Let’s do this.”

The Delivery

We got settled in the delivery room and Pam went to take a shower. I could hardly believe it was all happening. Paul had to cancel his evening college class, pick up my things, and meet us there.

Pam didn’t want to take pain meds, but as her contractions progressed she changed her mind. “I just need something to take the edge off.” In no time, she delivered Naomi and Paul came out of the corner momentarily to cut the umbilical cord.

Naomi was screaming and Pam was hemorrhaging. I stood there, helpless and divided. I didn’t know where to direct my attention. Eventually I settled on being there for Naomi because I felt that is what Pam would have wanted me to do. In time, things settled down enough for Pam to hold her. She fed Naomi her first bottle.

A familiar pang of jealousy shot through me. I wanted to do that, but Naomi was her child. Just be there for Pam. I kept reminding myself, but I wanted to run away. It was too real, too much for me to handle. You’ve got this. Follow her lead.

When Pam was done, she handed Naomi to me so that I could burp her. Cradling her across my arm in front of me, I watched her adoringly. The nurse eyed the situation from the other side of the room. I felt uncomfortable from her stare, but tried to brush it off.

Little bubbles started to form on Naomi’s lips. “Look, how cute!” I lifted her up for Pam to see. Just as quickly as I did, the nurse swooped in and grabbed her from my arms. “She probably can’t breathe!” She busied herself, attaching the oxygen saturation monitor to Naomi. “100%” saturation flashed on the screen. “Huh, I guess she’s fine,” and with that she turned and left the room.

Lifting Naomi up gently from the table, I felt violated. There were things that nurse supposed about us, prejudices she carried into the room with her. She didn’t even know me, but it was obvious she had her doubts about my mothering skills. In that split decision I felt her harsh judgement, and hoped Pam wouldn’t give it second thought.

After we settled into another room, Paul lugged in a camping chair that would be my bed for the next three nights. I cared for Naomi, waking when she did and hardly sleeping in between all of Pam’s visitors. Excusing myself from the room I found my way to the cafeteria often, and fell asleep, upright in front of a bad cup of coffee saturated with floating grinds.

Relinquished

By the time it came for us to leave the hospital, I was spent both emotionally and physically. Dark circles lined my eyes. I didn’t even know if Naomi would be coming home with us that day. Sobbing, Pam painstakingly signed the relinquishment papers from her hospital bed. I watched as she worked her way through each page, and a whole box of tissues.

I wanted to hold her, to be there for her, to assure her it was going to be okay, but I couldn’t. I just had to stand and watch. This was something she had to do herself.

Mary brought Pam a stuffed white lamb to hold in her arms as we walked away. Buckling Naomi into the car-seat, we all left together, down the hallway and out the door, across the outside corridor and into the parking lot. It was the longest walk I could remember.

We said our goodbyes quickly, and assured Pam that we would be in touch. Paul had parked close hoping to speed our getaway. I fumbled getting the seat to lock into the base — stupid base. Paul started the car. We pulled out, crossed the parking lot, and merged onto the street. I finally breathed a sigh of relief.

Paul took the side streets back home. “Can you believe she did it?” No, I couldn’t. I had convinced myself that this was a near impossibility. And while I was still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that we were now proud parents to four children, I couldn’t help but think of Pam. “I hope she’s going to be okay.”

Naomi, we could not have named her better — a delight to everyone she meets! Strong, beautiful, and caring, she lives as a light that draws constant awe and admiration. A friend to all, it has been such a pleasure to watch her grow into the young lady she is today. Great at math while possessing a deep love for animals, who knows where her feet will take her. A competitor on the court, I hope she breaks all my records. May she find her own way in this wide world with the same confidence she possesses today. Always running, never crawling, taking on everything full-steam. My joy, my song, my Punkin’ Muffin (both sugar and spice). Always, to the moon and back, I love you infinity!