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Confessions of an almost-birth-mother

Categories: Pregnancy & Birth, Adoption, Media

Veda Allen - Newborn picture black and whiteBoy oh boy, did I open a can of worms with my post the other day about the mom who sold her baby for $5,000.  I already said this in the comments, but I'll preface this post with it too: I am sorry if some members of the adoption community were offended by the economic analogy I used (and I wasn't comparing babies to hunks of beef, by the way - I'm a parent of five, folks - I was comparing the economic model of adoption to the economic model of trading money for any other thing of value).

However, the mere fact that some people disagree with me does not mean they are right and I am wrong, or that I am right and they are wrong - just that we have different points of view on a subject about which we feel passionately. And that's okay, folks. Difference of opinion is a good thing, we don't all have to think alike, and as a writer, I am not going to soft-pitch everything I write to avoid all possibility of offending any person who might read it. 

The folks I've read comments from who hated my post - mostly either adoptive parents or folks associated with agencies, from what I could glean - are going to take out of that post what they come into it with - a point of view shaped by their perspective as adoptive parents or people who run adoption agencies.

Likewise, my point of view is shaped by my own experiences with adoption, which I am going to share with you here. Because, you see, I was once almost a part of the "adoption community". I was a teen-age mother. I was 16 when I got pregnant with my daughter Meg, and when I got pregnant I transferred to an out-of-school program run by a local adoption agency (one of the largest and most respected in Oklahoma at the time). The program was great in that it allowed me to stay in school while only attending class half-time, and allowing for maternity leave.  But it was traumatic in other respects.

From the minute I walked in the door, to the time I left, I was pressured constantly to give my baby up for adoption. The agency had a long, long waiting list of "better" parents who could give my  white newborn a "more stable" home than I could. My baby was white, I was healthy, and we were both prime commodities at that agency. I was pressured in subtle ways - little talks with the teachers, "counseling" sessions that invariably focused on either how keeping the baby was going to ruin my social life and career plans, or on how older, more mature parents, would be so much better for my child than I would.

I was pressured in not-so-subtle ways - the teen moms who were keeping their babies were "discouraged" from socializing with the "birth moms" who were giving their babies up. We were not allowed to visit our classmates at the hospital after their babies were born, because if they talked to us they might want to hold their babies, and they might change their minds. Everyone at the school knew that I had excellent family support, that I was starting college three months after my baby was born, that my grandmother was retiring to watch the baby while I went to school. I understood their point of view - the director explained it to me more than once - which was that the agency could not afford to run the school for girls like me, if we all kept our babies. The agency needed the adoption fees to run the program. Girls who kept their babies cost the agency money.

And so, they pressured me. Relentlessly. Maybe I'd change my mind. Maybe I should just "leaf through" the binders of waiting parents. Older, better parents, who had been waiting so long for a baby just like mine. Waiting. For my baby.

I kept my baby.

When she was three months old, I came within a hair of giving her up. I was still not fully physically recovered from my very traumatic birth. I was trying to go to college and raise a baby. I was sleep-deprived, exhausted. 

Would I have sold her to a stranger for $5,000? I don't think so, no. I wouldn't have gone back to the agency that pressured me so relentlessly, though. I'd have gone, maybe, through our family lawyer to help find adoptive parents. In the end, though - I loved my daughter, I was bonded to her, I was committed to her. I kept her. We both survived, and today she is a lovely young woman in college. I am so very glad I stuck to my guns, and did not cave into the pressure to give her up to "better" parents.  If I'd given her up, they would have loved her, she would have been happy. A Meg-shaped hole would have been in my heart, forever.

I had many friends who did give their babies up, and for them, that was the right decision, and I'm glad it was available to them. They made the decision that was right for them, I made the decision that was right for me.

Several years later, I applied for a job as an intake counselor with an adoption agency - one of the largest, most well-respected agencies in the Southwest. In the interview, I was asked whether I thought that being a teen mom would impact how I would counsel teen mothers, and if I would try to persuade them to keep their babies.

No, I said. I would counsel them to look to their hearts, evaluate their situation honestly, and make the best decision for themselves and their babies, regardless of what other people thought. I would be there, to support the birth mother whatever choice she needed to make - to support her in relinquishing, or to support her in deciding not to relinquish.

The turned me down for the job, and they told me the honest truth - that they weren't hiring me, although I was qualified in every respect, because they were afraid that my story of being a successful teen mother would dissuade birth moms from relinquishing. They didn't want a positive role model for the girls who would say, "Hey, I've been there, and it is possible to still get through school and be successful and happy". The woman who interviewed me told me frankly that they had a very long list of couples waiting to adopt white newborns, and their goal was to keep the wait as short as possible for those clients. Ergo, they needed counselors who would follow their protocol to keep the teen moms focused on relinquishing.

The agency, you see, viewed the adoptive parents as the "clients". Not the teen mothers making the hardest decision of their lives. They were just supplying what the clients were waiting for. The agency  didn't care, really,  about supporting the teen moms, other than as incubators for adoptable babies; it was not about making sure these girls were making the right decision, not doing  something they would regret later. They wanted those babies relinquished, and their entire methodology was built around doing everything possible to ensure that birth mothers would give their babies up.

I am not attacking adoptive parents. I think people who adopt are fabulous, and Jay and I may very well adopt one or two foster kids to add to our brood, one of these days. I am not attacking the institution of adoption, which fills a valuable need for both adoptive parents and birth mothers who cannot keep their babies. I am not attacking all adoption agencies - I don't have experience with all of them, after all, so how can I? I can just tell you about my personal experiences, as a teenage birth mother who nearly gave a baby up - what I went through as the recipient of the services provided by the agency that ran the school I attended, and my experience applying for that job.

All parents "pay" for the privilege of raising a child. We've certainly "paid" for every one of my kids - in midwife, doctor and hospital fees; in diapers, and baby food, and doctor visits;  in baby clothes and baby furniture; in soccer league fees and ballet class fees and grocery bills and orthodonist fees. We all pay. I don't love my kids any more because they were born of my body than I would love kids that we adopted into our family. I love each of my kids - including the one that I almost gave away.

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