Over the course of the next few months, I would have a routine pregnancy. I had all the normal pregnancy symptoms: mild to moderate morning sickness, cravings and food aversions, intense sense of smell. I lost a little weight at first and then started gaining as I was supposed to be.

At the time, I was driving 75 miles one way to work to a job that I loved. As my pregnancy progressed, I began to worry about the driving back and forth. My back was killing me from sitting so much (and from being pregnant!), so I managed to work a couple of days from home. Finally, I told my boss that I would be resigning at the end of my 28th week. I could not risk going into labor on the drive on my way home, or in the city I worked in which was over an hour away from where my husband worked.

After I stopped working, I filled my days with watching "A Baby Story" on TLC and what seemed like incessant cleaning. My husband would come home from work and find all the cabinets organized. I think he even said something along the lines of, "Are you nesting or something?" Who me? I'm only 32 weeks pregnant! This is not nesting. Nesting comes at the end.

A few days later, I headed to my 32-week prenatal appointment. There was an unusually long wait that day, and I remember being irritated that things were so behind. When I was finally called back, my blood pressure registered 135/100 (I actually have that number committed to memory.) My normal blood pressure is 100/70. The midwife who met with me for that appointment noticed my increased blood pressure and sudden weight gain of 15 lbs in four weeks and looked at me with concern. She told me to take it easy and to come back in two weeks instead of four.

Oh, how I wish I could relive that appointment! How I yearn to remember to tell her how badly my back was hurting! How much do I want to go back to that exam room and beg her to check my cervix for dilation.

Hindsight is 20/20 friends.

After that appointment, I went to the grocery store. I drove home, unpacked the groceries, and made a snack. I lay on the couch for a while before I went to meet my husband at our childbirth preparation class. I remember feeling like I had to pee, and attempted to several times, but couldn't.

I drove to the hospital for our childbirth education class. And that is where my water broke. Right in the middle of practicing our relaxation techniques, I felt liquid running down my legs. At first I thought that I must have peed my pants, but it just kept coming and coming and coming.

At 32 weeks and 4 days, I was admitted to labor and delivery with preterm rupture of membranes. I measured 2 cm dilated and was told that I was not having contractions. The doctors decided to monitor me overnight and then keep me in the hospital until my baby was born which they told me would be no longer than two weeks.

I lay on the examination table and tears ran down my cheeks. I was not prepared for this. At all. We didn’t have a car seat yet. We didn’t even have her name picked out.

We called our families. Everyone sounded concerned. We were concerned. Neither of us knew what was happening, why this was happening, or how this had happened. We were going to have a preemie.

All night long I was having stronger and stronger cramps, but nothing was registering on my contractions monitor. I was being monitored by a nurse and an Obstetrical Resident and neither seemed completely convinced that I knew what I was talking about. When I threw up, they offered me anti-nausea medicine. When I told them that I was having cramps, they offered me pain medicine. I took both and later regretted it.

What was happening here is that neither of them was listening to me and realizing that I was actually in labor. I asked repeatedly to have my cervix checked, but they were afraid of introducing bacteria because my water had broken. Because I was so out of it from the drugs that I had accepted, I could not fully advocate for myself and demand another nurse and or doctor if need be.

The next morning after being told all night long that I was NOT having contractions, I pleaded with my new nurse (thank you shift change!) to have someone check me. One peek under the sheet and that doctor said, “Yup, there’s the head.” I was 10 cm dilated, +1 station, and ready to push. I also still had not peed all day the day before and all night. They drained 500 cc of urine from my bladder.

Because of the pressure my bladder had been putting on my uterus, I had what is called a boggy uterus. That means that I could no longer feel my contractions in order to push effectively and they had a hard time getting my uterus to contract down after my baby was born which led to a lot of bleeding.

Once I was able to push with coaching, we discovered why my contractions were not able to be picked up by the monitor. My baby was in the face-up position (occipital presentation or OP) which causes back labor. Helloooo!!

A few minutes later Miss H entered the world as a big 4lb-13oz 32-week preemie. She was wisked off to the NICU where she spent her first 25 days learning how to eat and growing.

Thank you for reading my story. Preterm labor can happen to anyone, and if I can help one person recognize the signs and help prevent them to experience what I experienced, then this all will have been worth it. Also, do NOT be afraid to advocate for yourself. Only YOU know your body and what is normal and what is not. Only YOU can tell your husband, your nurse, and your doctor exactly what is going on with your body. If the medical staff you are assigned is not listening to you, find someone who will.

{In case you were wondering, the low back pain I had been experiencing for weeks before my water broke was actually preterm labor. The increased blood pressure and sudden weight gain all should have been red flags. In my opinion, I probably should have been on bed rest, but failed to mention all of my concerns to my health care provider.}

Erin blogs at Cultivating Rosebuds, where she writes about the sometimes thorny, but mostly sweet adventure of raising her children. Her daughter read about in this story is now a happy and healthy 4-year-old princess. Her second daughter, Lil’ B was also born early at 35 weeks, spent one week in the NICU, and is now a firecracker of a 20 month old.

 Read Erin's Journey as a NICU mom here:

http://cultivatingrosebuds.blogspot.com/2011/03/adventures-of-nicu-mommy.html

Erin blogs at Cultivating Rosebuds, where she writes about the sometimes thorny, but mostly sweet adventure of raising her children. Her daughter read about in this story is now a happy and healthy 4-year-old princess. Her second daughter, Lil’ B was also born early at 35 weeks, spent one week in the NICU, and is now a firecracker of a 20 month old.

This is the story of my birth as writtem by my mom Gail Short on December 25, 1973 to me:

    Momma was wide awake dressed and quietly slipping a few last into things into a small green suitcase, when your Daddy woke up and asked inquisitively "What are you up to?" "I have a feeling we might get that "special" Christmas gift you told Rene'a about." He turned to Rene'a who was just sleepily entering our roon and asked if she would like mommy to have our new baby this Christmas day. Rene'a immediately threw up her arms and clapped happily saying Yes! Yes! Yes!

    Daddy placed the suitcase in the car and we went over to grandma Helen’s to visit.  We returned home in the afternoon so momma could get some rest.  We called the doctor and were given the "go ahead" to the hospital.  We dropped Rene'a by Grandma's then went on to the hospital, checked in at 4:00 pm, then up to the labor room.  That was easy enough; the hard part was yet to come.

    Since I had such a long labor with your sister, Dr. Applegate speeded this labor up.  It was hard and very rough, but within the hour I was overjoyed with the plump, pink little bundle lying beside me.  I stroked your still damp hair, kissed your sweet pink cheek and wiped the tears from my eyes, then said my first I Love you to our lovely little girl.


**It's a short little story, but one I will always have.  My sister was almost 4 years old when I was born and remembers asking Santa for me that year.  She laughs that the next year she asked him to take me back.  My mom also tells everyone that my sister and I were born at the same hospital, in the same room and with the same doctor.  She also recalls that the doctor wanted to "speed things up" because he had a Christmas dinner to attend, he made it, I guess, because I was born at 5:52 pm the Christmas day.

There have been very few instances that have really driven me over the edge, but the birth of our second child sticks in my mind as one that still leaves me shaking my head.

 I was living in the same town as my parents while we were expecting my daughter. My mom was only ten minutes away, and we had decided that we would call her to watch our son when I went into labor. I had felt overwhelmed with the number of "visitors" I had while in labor with him, and since we had such a hard time keeping my mother in law out of the delivery room with my son, I had expressed from the VERY BEGINNING that I wanted this one to be just my husband and myself. Since the in-laws lived over an hour away, we planned to call them from the hospital to let them know that things had started, but I assumed that they wouldn't come to see us until the next morning, during visiting hours, and after the baby had arrived.

 I left for the hospital about 11:30 that night, in pretty advanced labor. We waited and called my mother in law just before 2:00 am when it was obvious that I was going to deliver in the wee hours, mostly as a heads up for visitation the next day. My beautiful girl was born at 2:33 am, and my mother in law arrived just before three a.m. She had called her oldest son at two in the morning (he lived 45 minutes away) had him pick her up, and speed her to the hospital to "catch" the birth! They had just finished sewing my major tear, I hadn't even held my daughter yet (much less nursed her), and I looked over to see that my mother in law was now the third person to hold my newborn daughter.

 I was even more irritated when I headed home from the hospital twelve hours later to find both my in-laws at my house already waiting for me. They were "showing support" in their way, and I just wanted time alone to bond with my child and recover from labor without needing to feel like my house wasn't clean enough or having to entertain company at 12 hours postpartum. (For the record, my parents called when our daughter was three days old to ask if I felt up to having company or if we needed them to bring anything over.)

My husband worked an hour away from where we lived.  He is the head football coach of the high school team.  Their first playoff game was going to be that Saturday at a school over two hours from our house.  He had a full day of school ahead of him, then practice (the last chance to practice before the playoff game), and a scheduled event after practice (a movie) to keep the excited football players from being out too late the night before the big game.  All of this going on and a very pregnant wife at home.  The local high school where we lived also had a playoff game that night.  We knew a lot of kids and families involved with the local game too.  It was a BIG football weekend. 

I got home from the doctor and hospital and told my husband, “Call into work.  We are going to have this baby today.”  He was so conflicted.  Now, naturally my safety and the baby were top priority for him.  But realistically, he has nearly 30 kids expecting him to lead them to victory.  They have a huge practice, an evening event, early morning preparations, and long bus ride.  Surely one of the assistants could fill in if necessary, but if they lost the game…it would be a source of guilt and disappointment for an entire community (football!) and especially him.  I literally saw this all flash in his eyes.  “Honey, we have to have this baby today.”  God bless him, he made the calls to get his classes and practice covered, and the evening movie.  It was hours of phone calls and getting our two little ones with friends so we could have the baby.

I started with castor oil.  I can’t remember how much but I think it was close to a quarter cup, blended with milk, sugar, and vanilla.  Then I chased it with peanut butter toast.  The toast would help scrape the oily residue from the castor oil.  It was just horrible.  Then sex.  I’m 60 inches tall and my belly was 50 inches around.  The stretch marks on my lower abdomen were breaking open and oozing.  I couldn’t see my girly parts to do any grooming.  I could barely manage to shave my ankles.  Somehow that man made love to me.  I’m sure his eyes were tightly closed and he was picturing Angelina Jolie, but hell, I didn’t care.  Then we walked several blocks to get a fresh piece of pizza. 

I sat down after we got home from the walk and I was having contractions.  I called the doctor and he said to meet him at the hospital NOW.  I started to pack up and the extra running around really got the contractions going.  I walked to the hospital because I was nervous the contractions would stop.  I’m sure that was quite a sight to our poor neighbors.  There I was doubled over and ‘heeheeing’ every few steps.  We got there and I was checked.  NOTHING!  The nurse said I would be sent home.  My doctor showed up .02 seconds later and saw I had contractions on the monitor and said ‘We’re breaking your water”.  The nurse looked mad and irritated after being overruled.  Whew!  We were having the baby.  It was about four o’clock in the afternoon when I was admitted.

The contractions increased and I remember thinking “Oh yeah, I remember these pains” when they started to wrap around my body.  It felt like I was being squeezed by a boa constrictor.  It just hurt.  By 7:00 p.m. I needed help.  My doctor checked me and called for the anesthesiologist.  While we waited for him, my husband turned on the radio.  The local high school was playing their playoff game that night and it was just starting.  I was too overcome with pain to notice much.  The anesthesiologist came in and with me hugging the nurse, put a shot into my back.  The relief was instant.  I was suddenly having very mild contractions.  I could have kissed him on the lips.  I think I might have.  The anesthesiologist was sort of hanging out in our room talking football to my husband when I realized he was staying in the room long enough to hear the score.  Then, he was off to go back to the game (he gotten paged while he was in the stands).  Then I found out my doctor was the sideline doctor (sometimes local doctors with stand on the sidelines to quickly assess any injuries….they don’t charge for this service.  It’s just a kindness that they perform).  Our doctor came in shortly after that.  It was half time so he had just enough time to check me and get back to the game.  I foolishly thought a laboring woman would be surrounded by Mozart and candle light.  I labored to our friend “Blackie” who was the announcer for the game being broadcast on the radio.  In the meantime my husband was on the phone checking on the status of his team.  They all had to go home after the movie so they would get a good night sleep.

By midnight the contractions were back full force.  I think the intrathecal had gotten me through the worst of it.  The baby was still fairly high and needed to turn a bit to be in perfect birthing position.  The nurses had me laboring on a bouncing ball (that was horrible), sitting in a chair while resting my head on the bed, so my belly could just hang.  At some point my mother-in-law showed up.  She never said much so it didn’t bother me to have her around.  Unlike my mother who said ‘I love you’ when I was in the throes of agony for my last baby.  It was a sweet thing to say but it didn’t help anything and got on my nerves.  I finally settled on my knees hugging the headboard.  I was huffing and puffing on that bed and the doc wanted to check me.  It was well after midnight at this point.  I said he could but I wasn’t moving.  He checked me right from that position and I was around a 7 or 8.  He talked a little football with my husband and stepped out to talk to the nurse.  I felt the baby shift and slide right down my body.  It felt like I had a melon hanging between my legs.  This baby was close to coming out.  I told Matt to get the doc.  He was right in the hall and Matt told him I was ready to push.  He walked in saying, and I quote, “You are not ready to push yet; you are just going to have to breathe through it.”  I didn’t answer.  He decided to check me again and put on gloves.  The baby’s head was bulging out of me.  He said, “We’re going to deliver this baby right here!”  The nurse asked if I should be flipped around so I was lying on my back.  Doc said no.  I pushed and the head came out.  I pushed more and nothing came out.  I pushed again, and still nothing. The doc said, "You have to get this baby out now Kelli".  So I pushed with everything I had (Honestly, I think I did with the two pushes before.  At that point you really don’t do pansy pushes.)  And the baby was born.  I was flipped over to be sewn up.  I held the baby for a minute but became nauseas from the intrathecal.  That was such a bummer.  To make it all the way through labor and, rather than have that ecstatic relief, I was throwing up. 

Our friends who were caring for our other children came up right away.  The baby wasn’t even an hour old.  I remember that like it was our gift to them to get to meet the baby when she was so new to the world.  By now, it’s after two in the morning.  I’m jazzed up from having the baby but my husband fell asleep in the bed next to mine.  When morning came, the nurses came in to do vitals.  We made calls and then Matt had to get ready to take his team to their game.  The school bus actually came to the hospital, with the football team on it, to pick up their coach.  He was relieved that I had delivered and was safe in the care of the hospital.

The Panthers won that playoff game on Saturday, The headlines for the Sunday paper read “The weekend a busy one for Coach Stapleton” and then the article was all about the game.  Ridiculous, I brought a LIFE into the world and I got a brief mention.  The team went on to win several more games before losing in the semifinals.  For you non-football people, they went almost as far as you could go.  Thank you for your cooperation Ainsley! 

           I went to see the doctor when I was one week overdue. He told me that it was time and he would induce me the following day June 4.  The induction began in the early afternoon of the fourth.  I had gone through inductions before so I knew what to expect.  What I didn't expect was to still be laboring at 9:00 p.m. that night.  I was sure the baby would have been born before that. The doctor didn't know anything about the Ouija board and I casually asked him if he thought the baby would be born before midnight.  He assured me it would.  I didn't want some “call of the Ouija” to predict the birth of my child, and it was getting very close to June 5.

           Despite my best efforts, the baby was born on June 5, just after midnight.  I can't remember exactly, but it may have even been a full moon.  I had just read "The Exorcist", so that, in addition to pregnancy hormones, may have contributed to my heightened sense of superstition.  Then finally, when we took our new son David home, we were forced to go to the back door because bees had built a hive near our front door.  It was all a little strange.

          I personally saw to it that the Ouija board was burned.  As far as I know, Christine has never played with another one.  My son David is now a grown man and seemingly unscathed by the supernatural twist surrounding his birthday.  Now, we all get a good laugh out of this story at family gatherings.

          At about 11:00 p.m. my contractions were severe and coming regularly.  My mother went down to the nurses’ station to tell them that the baby was ready to come.  They said no, the doctor said that I wouldn't be delivering until the next morning. So then at 12:30 a.m., my mother went down and said, "I'm giving you warning, I'm delivering the baby."  Well, that got the nurses moving; they rushed around and called the doctor (who showed up in his pajamas.)  The baby's head was almost out by the time the doctor got there.  With the next contraction, the doctor said to give me gas.  I didn't like it and pushed it away.  He said if I didn't want it, I didn't have to have it.

          My daughter was born at 1:02 a.m. and weighed 7lbs, 12oz.  I had gas when they put in the stitches, but otherwise it was an unmedicated birth.  I got a little loopy with the gas and started to tell the hospital staff dirty stories.  They got a kick out of that!  At that time they also had me fill out her birth certificate.  I misspelled her middle name. It was supposed to have been "Bea" but I wrote down "Bee".

          After three days I was sent home.  It was 1938 when my daughter was born and I was told to spend the next ten days in bed.  My mother took care of the baby while I recuperated.

          I knew what to expect since this was my fourth baby.  The first six weeks or so are always tough and tiring.  I didn't have any illusions as to it being easy or perfect.  I had had the typical baby blues with all of my other babies and frankly, expected that I would have them this time too.  I never even imagined what would happen.

          In the hospital they give you a small flyer about postpartum depression (PPD).  I read it quickly, but I did not think that would happen to me.  The flyer was very general and really didn't describe the variety of ways in which PPD can manifest itself.  It made it sound like something more akin to "depression" in the "classical" sense of the word.  The flyer advised you to call your obstetrician if you had problems.  The problems described seemed like someone who didn't want to have a baby, couldn't adjust to having a baby, or had other problems in addition to a new baby and the upheaval that caused.  Our daughter was much desired and I was realistic about the first six weeks and so I did not even think about PPD happening to me.

          The first weeks went quite well; my husband worked many hours, but when he was home he was wonderful.  I had a housecleaning team the first month; he did many night feedings, the older children were almost sixteen and eight, in school and a great help (my son was almost 19 and on his own.)  My husband even brought dinner home most evenings.  The help was important with a new baby and the hectic pace of the holidays.

          On December 18, I had a great day.  The baby had slept very well; she was showing signs of soon sleeping through the night.  I had some time to play on my computer and give myself a facial and get all spruced up.  We took the girls and went to Red Lobster.  We had a lot of fun while there and the baby slept peacefully in her infant seat.  I should add...for your information, that this baby was an ideal infant.  She had a long attention span, was getting into a schedule, and was only known to fuss when she wanted something (usually some food...ha!)

          That night we all went to bed...blissfully unaware of the storm that was about to break...throwing our entire household into turmoil for months.  I woke up with a start about 2:00a.m.  I felt so strange...like I was "wired."  I knew immediately that I was not going to be able to fall back to sleep and this frustrated me greatly.  A new mom needs her sleep.  Why wake up if the baby wasn't awake?  I wondered if it was because I was so used to waking up in the middle of the night with her that I was doing it out of habit.  I decided it was just an "off night.”

          The next morning I felt terribly exhausted but still "wired" and slightly edgy.  I assumed that it was due to being overtired.  The day went on...I had my nails and hair done that day and I recall complaining to the gals at the salon about how tired I was and how I hadn't slept the night.  My husband said not to worry, he'd give me an Excedrin PM and a glass of wine and make sure I slept, and he'd take care of the baby if she woke in the night.

          Suffice it to say that I did not sleep at all for the next several nights, actually.  Things went from bad to worse as the hours passed.  My symptoms now included a dreadful, crippling anxiety, total insomnia, a sense of being afraid and overwhelmed by everything, aversion to my own baby, terrible intrusive thinking, lack of appetite, and occasional panic attacks (in which I felt I would collapse or simply go insane.)

          I knew within 48 hours that something was horribly wrong.  The sensations I had were very physical and completely beyond my control.  Unfortunately, it was a weekend and I couldn't call my OB.  I could have called the exchange but I was humiliated by my symptoms.  I didn't think they warranted an emergency call and kept hoping they would "go away."

          So began my education about PPD.  My husband suggested that I go to my favorite research center, the internet, and try and see if I could find out what was going on.  I was led to the PPD discussion board.

          I read the posts there and to my horror I realized that I had PPD!  I put my head down on my keyboard and wept.  I can tell you that the computer and the women I met there were literal lifelines over the next five months.  I learned so much about PPD, treatments for PPD, medications, resources...you name it.

          I also recalled that years ago there had been some vague talk in the family about my sister "having problems" after one of her babies was born.  She does not live near me and she had never talked to me about it.  She really barely said anything to my parents.  I decided to call her.  She readily admitted that she had had PPD after the birth of not only her second baby but her fifth also.  She has six children.  Her symptoms were very much like mine.  I must say I felt better.  My sister is one of the most positive, cheerful, devoted mothers I know.  If she would have had PPD, anyone could!  My mother, in talking to my sister and I, realized she had had PPD after the birth of my sister.  She had never said a word to anyone about it.  It was a different time and mental illness was not accepted.

          First thing Monday morning I called my OB.  I was immediately given Prozac.  I immediately got much worse.  This was, unfortunately, Christmas week.  I will tell you that it was the worst Christmas I ever had.  I wound up learning that OBs are not trained to treat PPD and that although they are the first person you are told to call, in reality they don't have much training in PPD and the medications and subtleties of the illness.  My own OB admitted this to me after he and I discussed this months later.  I have made an effort to educate him...ha!

          What followed was the five most horrible months of my life.  I am 41 and I have seen great sadness and difficulty in my lifetime; death, divorce and so on.  Nothing impacted me the way PPD did.  To have so little control over your everyday life is frightening beyond measure.

          To make a long story short... it took me three psychiatrists (not all of them are trained to treat PPD or are compassionate to the problems associated with it) and several medication changes to find the right psychiatrist and the right medication.  Once I had the right doctor, the right medication followed and I got well within a few days.  Completely recovered.  The nightmare was over as swiftly as it arrived!

          I had basically missed out on my baby's first six months and this was very hard to come to terms with, especially as I love babies.  Still, the new time I was spending with her was wonderfully sweet.  I treasured it in ways that I never would have imagined before.  Things hard fought for are twice as sweet.

          I would never have gotten well when I did if I did not have the support of a wonderful husband (who went to every doctor's appointment with me), a wonderful family, supportive and encouraging Meds and the world's best doctor.  He actually called me every day while I was sick, working with me and promising that he wouldn't stop until I was well.

          I will never understand why God let this into my life.  I do know I am a better, wiser, stronger person for it.  I do know that I received many immediate blessings from it.  I never thought I would say that. 

          The time that I had with my baby was so fulfilling that it wasn't long before I wanted another.  I talked with my psychiatrist and he told me that I could avoid getting PPD by about 95% if I went right back on the medication that had worked for me.  My research on this further supports his advice.  I am presently expecting a baby in October and plan on going right back on medication following the delivery.  Knowing this disease, knowing I have a support group in husband and family and friends, and knowing I have an excellent doctor and medication behind me...I am not afraid.

          I want to add that I continue to work to help other women with PPD.  I am presently a member of The Greater St. Louis Postpartum Healthcare Alliance.  This is a new group comprised of psychiatrists (mine included), therapists, psychologists and former PPDers.  We hope to be able to offer support and resources to PPDers and are also working on funding to draw attention to this cruel disorder.

          Between my sister and myself there are eight little girls.  We feel sure that we have handed them some genetic background predisposing them to PPD.  By the time they have babies I hope we have better research, resources and treatment for PPD.  I will work towards that end.  No mommy should be taken away from her family the way PPD steals your life.

          This disease MUST come out of the closet and every mom-to-be should be educated as to the signs and symptoms and resources available to her in the very same way that childbirth resources, lactation resources and so on are brought to her attention.  We must realize that a significant number of new moms are struggling mightily against this monster and we have to do more to help them than is presently being done.  I am excited by the changes that have taken place just since I went through PPD.  The sooner a PPD mom is well and able to enjoy her baby the better for everyone.

          In the meantime, my mother found out and said that she would take me to have the abortion done.  She was so mad at me she couldn't even speak.  So to appease my mom, I made another appointment.  When I talked to them at the clinic, they said that they only do abortions up to 12 weeks.  I never told my mom, so we went to the clinic the next week.  They then told my mom that they could not perform the procedure because I was too far along.  They only do abortions to 12 weeks, I was 13 weeks.  We went home and my mom stewed on it for a couple days and then came to me and said, "You made this problem, so now you are going to have to go through with having this kid and the pain of it."  In the next couple weeks, I dropped out of full-time school and went to a half-day program that my school had going for the pregnant girls.  It was my senior year, so I really wanted to finish school.  I went to the doctor a lot and talked with Scott to figure what we were going to do.  My step dad said if I kept the baby, I could not live there.  I'd have to move out.  Scott never told his family.  Then about three months before my due date, I met a lady from the Family Services who did classes on childcare for newborns.  I still did not know what I was going to do, so I went.

          At one point, I got to talk to her alone and asked her about adoption.  She then told me all about it and we did a lot of talking then for the next couple of weeks.  At about eight weeks before the due date, I decided I was going to do the adoption.  I got together with the lady (Karen) and I looked at about 20 profiles of families waiting for a baby.  I knew as soon as I picked up Paula and Doug's profile that they were the ones I wanted to meet.  They had a cabin in the woods, dogs, a big house, and were waiting for 11 years for a baby.  They were fairly young and he was a blond and she a brunette (the opposite of me and Scott.)

          The day came when we were to meet them.  I was so SCARED!!!!!  When we got to the agency, I found out that they had been there for almost an hour already.  I was even more terrified.  Karen came and got us and we went in to meet them.  I walked in the room and knew I'd have to meet no other prospective parents.  They were down to earth.  I loved them and knew they would take care of my child the way I wanted to, but couldn't.  These were the ones.  Seven and a half weeks later, I had a beautiful brown-haired, blue eyed, 8lb, 10oz baby boy.

          He was the most wonderful thing I had ever seen.  So innocent and pure; SO NOT MINE!  And then it set in.  I would not take this wonderful creature home with me.  I would leave; he would go with someone else, and I would not see him again for at least 18 years.  In the meantime my mother had called Scott's mother, and she came in to the delivery room and yanked "Darren" out of my arms and sat and cried with him.  I was so mad.  She had nothing to do with the pregnancy and these choices and now she thought she could hog MY BABY up, and say mean things to me.  I came to find out that she had known.  She was waiting for one of us to tell her.  She said she would help us if we wanted to keep him, but I told her that I made a promise and that was it.  She thrust the baby back at me, and I have not talked to her since. (Scott and I are not together anymore.)  My mother cried over him also.  He was born on a Monday morning 10:26 a.m.  I was allowed to see him until I left the hospital.  I had him every minute I possibly could.  Then Tuesday came and the doctor said I could leave if I wanted and go home.  I held "Darren" now Connor in my arms for the last time Tuesday evening at 7:16 p.m.  I cried as if I had never cried before in my life.  I went home and cried for days.  I have healed by now.  I know that this gift was the greatest gift of love I could have even given anyone and for that I know I am a great, unselfish person.