the day i was born

Old, yet new. Until I move domains and fix my archives ---------->

So, growing up I always felt crabby around my birthday. People were busy or away for the holidays. Parties seemed rushed or put together at the last minute. My best party was my 30th surprise party which SURPRISED me. I remember asking Mark if I should put on make-up or change out of my loungey pants to go visit my parents and he said no. Thanks my love, I look awesome in those photos. I love you for keeping the secret though. My mom made everyone write down something they loved about me and put it in a little book which I treasure and cherish somewhere in a lovely box in a box still from when we moved. See? Awesome parents.

Perhaps even as I kid I felt those week and days before the mall pickup to be an existence of limbo. Where was I? Who was I with? I know I had a name, "Terra Anne". At least I wasn't called 'that baby'. I hope. I also can't shake that whole "given up" thing. It was the BEST THING. I love my BioMom but the universe placed me in the best possible parenting situation. Not perfect, I mean my dad is a new age homeopathic organic lovin' nut bar with a Masters in Urban Affairs and my mom in a teeny, crafty, smart, well read, perfect homemaker who doesn't know who Ben Affleck is. Also, my brother and I had a very imperfect relationship, which has become affable since he got married very young.

I know these statements not to be true in fact, but they are feelings. If I was perfect, PERFECT would I have been kept by my mom regardless of the unfortunate timing and imperfect circumstances of my conception? Was I conceived out of sin, and must I then suffer that? (I am Catholic, lapsed, but none the less) If I was better, prettier, SOMETHING, would nothing have kept my BioMom from taking me with her? I KNOW it was the ideal and best choice for ME, she was putting ME first, but those feelings, they linger, even after meeting her and knowing all that I now know. Irrational rejection. Silly, really.

The other part of my adoption, a more recent part that bothers me sometimes more than others is my paternal contribution. I know his name, I know where he lives, BioMom told him about me, but never heard anything. We both send him a letter in December 2004. I will copy it here making this a long-ass entry, but I will also spare you the linky back and forth.

Dear biodad,

BioMom and I both agreed that we would make contact with you. You will know from BioMom's letter that we found each other in 1995 and it has been a great experience.

I am writing to let you know that I am open to contact with you, but I will understand if you are not interested.

I will tell you a little bit about myself and there will be pictures in this packet.

I am 34, born on December 31st, 1969. I have been married to Mark for more than 7 years and we now have a 10 month old baby girl named Charlotte. Mark has a PhD in Computing Science and works for a computer company here in Edmonton. I received a Bachelor of Arts in Communication Studies in 1992 from the University of Windsor. I did half of my degree at the University of Alberta. I worked in the same clothing store for five years during high school and university and worked some form of retail job until I got on full time at the university in 1995. I love clothes, and fashion and almost completed my education in clothing and textiles. I understand you have also worked in the retail sector and though you might find this interesting.

I moved back to Edmonton after graduating and had some odd jobs, but I have worked for the University of Alberta since 1995. Right now I am on Maternity leave. My current position is as a Web and Marketing Coordinator.

The two people who adopted me are the best parents anyone could ever ask for. My mom stayed home with my brother and I until I was 16. My dad worked in city planning for many years. He has a Masters Degree in Urban Planning. Our family also spent time on a hobby farm north of Edmonton. The 160 acre property was bought in 1975 and we enjoyed horses, making hay, and other things that city kids never do. My parents still live in the house I was raised in, nine blocks from Mark and me. I could not have been luckier to be placed with such a family.

I love to read, I watch too much tv, and right now I spend most of my time caring for Charlotte. Life is good. I am looking forward to Christmas. Mark and I are going to visit his parents in Stoney Creek, near Hamilton the week before Christmas. It will be a full holiday season.

I hope you and your family are doing well. You can contact me at anytime.

signed Me, blah blah

jenB on December 07, 2004

No response although I was told he most certainly received it. It certainly doesn't make him look any better to me. I know he has two children who I believe are girls. Like Catherine of HerBadMother, I am wondering about finding these siblings. Trying harder to find them, or HIM, when he clearly does not want to find me. Private Investigator? I am registered here in the Post Adoption Registry, but that does not help anyone who does not even know they may have adopted siblings. I have not tried hard enough and partially because I do not know it I want to. Although I would want them to find me if they wanted to. Fuck.

So part of me wants to skip my Birthday, this day I was born, December 31st, 1969. Part of me likes that it is a celebration for the people who love me. And yeah, I accept gifts and cake.

But tomorrow I turn 39 and I have a bee in my bonnet. I don't know what to do about this, if anything anymore. Get over it and move on? Suck it up and stop trying to find things to be neurotic about? Mountain=molehill?

My father in his new agey wisdom believes that whatever pain my BioMom suffered while gestating may be some thing I carry and deal with. He doesn't necessarily mean this as a penance but as an explanation for my anxiety and depression over the years. I blame chemicals, genes, environment and high school, and not just those freaking High School Musical movies. Which enrage me.

Blargh, so there it is. The day I was born, which I sometimes just want to sleep through, be alone for or buy a lot of shrimp, cocktail sauce, and porn and just celebrate New Year's Eve as god intended.

February 1970. Mall pickup.