Adoption.

I am not adopted, nor have I adopted. I am blessed to be a birth mother. The catalyst, the one who got the ball rolling. It has been almost seventeen years now. So much has changed, I have changed. There have been circumstances in my present life that have made me pause for reflection, admiration and wonder.

My son will be seventeen in the later part of August. No longer a boy, almost a man. I am far from being the girl I was when I decided to give him a better life than I could provide. Yet I still don't feel like a fully mature woman.

I found myself pregnant on the cusp of turning twenty. I was in a dark place I did not see a way out of. I was adrift, no anchor, no means of support, no real hope. I had started my life as the youngest child of a stay at home Mother and a Father who was away much of the time as a pipe fitter. My sisters (there are two) and I are not very close, there is a nine and eleven year gap between us. I have some fond recollections of my life before the age of eight. Playing outside, being with my Mom, my Nana. Going camping with my family. When my Dad was home, becoming the absolute Daddy's girl.

At the age of eight I started to notice the cracks in my families' facade. It took many years for it to completely splinter but the short version is as follows.

I noticed that my Father spent an incredibly large amount of time drinking. If he was really far gone he became very sad and bitter. This mixed with his over dramatic gestures involving guns led to many a fearful night. My Mother had gotten diagnosed with cancer. All though this happened when I was eight I was told she just had a bad back and that little lie carried through until I was eleven and they realized there was no hope for her recovery. She died when I was twelve. I lost my beloved Nana about four months before my Mother went.

I lived with my sister to avoid being stuck in the fostercare system. Kudos to her for giving it a try but a 21 year old being saddled with a 12 year old was probably not such a good idea. I am sure I will go into much more detail as time goes on, but at the moment my son's adoption is forefront in my mind.

I met my son's birthfather when we were both 14. His life and upbringing had it's own set of complications. He was my first boyfriend. My first love. My first poison.

Back and forth over 6 years we alternately loved and loathed each other. We fought, we broke up, we were inseparable, we loved each other.

Unfortunately my son's conception was not during one of the good times. By the time I found myself pregnant with him, we were far into the black time.