“I want to ask you something,” said N., “but I’m sure you’ll say no.”
You’re not expecting an answer now. You’re asking her to consider it, right? I prompted.
“Yes, I want you to consider it, and let me know as soon as you can.” All this delivered with head down and eyes fixed on fingernails digging at the wound she’d cut into the skin between her thumb and hand.
“What is it?” asked the other woman, too busy until that moment with the drooling, gnawing baby on her knee to enter the conversation.
“Would you think about taking this baby?” she asked.
The silence lead me to believe that she’d not been expecting this very question, though how that could be was altogether beyond me. She’d known about the pregnancy for weeks, and how I ended up with my son for far longer. Surely she guessed that soon she’d face a similar request.
Then the questions started: Was the due date certain? Had she carefully considered all her options? Would she work once again with the agency that had placed her previous babies? And most importantly, what was this child’s father’s stance on a potential adoption?
I could bear no more. I retreated to the kitchen with the excuse of starting lunch but the thought of a similar scene which played out on that very spot four years previously, resulting in the unexpected addition of another small human to my already overwhelmed family made my eyes suddenly wet. I listened to them: One voice almost pleading, the other calm, offering one reason after the next for why the placement might not happen. I made the rice, sliced the chicken and tried not to listen; I clung to the conversation N. and I had shared the night before in which she swore, she promised, she vowed that this would be her final pregnancy. “I guess I’m just not meant to raise any children,” she said, then described her hopes that immediately after delivery a permanent form of birth control could be implemented.
I’m holding you too that, I said to her, and I hope (oh how I hope) that she carries through with this plan, because I have had enough.
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***Programming Note: I’m sure you’ve noticed that lately I’ve been working my fanny off on the Scarleteen fund raiser . While I’m honored and grateful to have been chosen by Heather Corinna to help with this task, it’s left precious little time or energy for ritin wurds and for this I apologize. I’d like to thank everyone who’s written, Tweeted, Facebooked and donated in support of Scarleteen, but I’ve got to let you know that the money that’s been raised so far this year has been way less than in years past. This worries me greatly. If you haven’t given yet, consider a small, recurring donation spread over the months of 2011, please? Find out how here, and help me sleep just a little better at night.
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