The next month and a half was blissfully normal. I went to check-ups, ultrasound appointments, and birthing classes. I was placed on bed rest for the last six weeks because I had dilated four centimeters a little too quickly and a little too soon. I ate Chinese food and lots of ice cream. My mom and I bonded so much during this time, I believed us to be closer than we ever had before. I know it was an interesting experience for her to be on this side of things. After all, she never actually got to experience pregnancy for herself, and now was able to vicariously through me.
I continued to correspond with my son's chosen family, learning more about them and feeling more secure in my choice. Their lawyer was largely responsible for all the particulars regarding the adoption, which saved me time and unnecessary stress associated with the legal process. I did have to decide how much, if any, contact and involvement I wanted with them once the adoption was finalized. In private adoptions, the choice to be involved is a wonderful one. Some mothers are able to physically watch their children grow and be a huge part of their lives. Some choose no contact in order to heal from the loss. His prospective adoptive parents wanted me to be as involved as I wanted. I thought a long time, searching my soul, and contemplating my own situation growing up. It's never easy to decide something before you truly know how you feel, or how you will feel in the future. I looked at how much hurt and pain my birth-mother had carried with her, how palpable it was even now twenty years later. Was part of that pain because she just simply had no idea if I was alright? Alternately, I thought about my early teenage years and wondered if I had known my birth-mother then, would I have threatened to leave my mom in a moment of anger, breaking her heart in the process? I decided that, what was right for me, was that I would not interfere with their parenting, or potentially risk confusing my son, by being too present in their lives. I requested that I receive pictures and updates several times a year, so that I knew how he was and what was going on in his life. I told them if he ever wanted to meet me once he was eighteen, or even slightly younger if he was ready, I would cherish that meeting. But that if he decided he did not want to meet me, I would respect that wish as his. It was scary to make a decision that would be firm for so many years into the future, but I felt, as always, that his emotional well-being must be considered above everything else.
The weeks quickly passed as did my due date. I was scheduled to be induced one week after that date. The days just before his arrival, I felt overwhelmed, knew I felt overwhelmed. Yet, this quiet sense of peace slowly filled my thoughts and actions. The change was so subtle that it went unnoticed in my conscious state, but when I woke up the morning of my son's planned birthday, I was undeniably ready.
The bags were already packed, plans set, adoptive parents called on their way. I looked at my mom, and she looked at me, and then off to the hospital we went.