My birth parents had always just been this vague concept... But it was in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve that I realized there were two very real people out there somewhere who gave me life.
One day, we were standing on the upper deck sipping boat drinks and inhaling the ocean breeze. My biological dad and I were choking back emotion as we talked about this second chance we were given to know one another.
It hadn’t really occurred to me that a funeral would bring about the chance to meet my biological aunts, uncles, cousins and grandfather for the first time... Not only would I be mourning... I would be making a first impression on the rest of my birth mother’s family.
My biological dad looked eerily similar to the way he looked in a dream I had as a child. He was tall with whispy strawberry blonde hair. His skin had a pink tint to it. He wore dark wash jeans that fit him well, with a light blue button down shirt and flip-flops.
During World Breastfeeding Week, I salute the female body. I thank God for giving women the ability to sustain life, and for growing me in the process.
Why a natural birth? I wanted to experience childbirth as it's been experienced for ages. I wanted the freedom to labor where and how I wanted to. I wanted a drug-free baby. I wanted to see what I was capable of. I wanted to prove everyone wrong that said I wouldn't be able to do it.
Some days I wondered if I was even worthy of this gift. I would look at myself in the mirror and actually feel a level of shame about my growing bump. Was I doing something wrong?
It's not all glowing skin and pretty bump pictures. I realize I haven't taken the time to sit down and really hash some of this not-so-picture-perfect stuff out. You've been warned: Here goes the most whiny post I've probably ever written.