A baby. I knew it would end this way, so why does it hurt? I don’t want to give you up, but there is no other way. There can be no other way. I put on a brave face and deal with whatever happens. I know I will have to give you up. I don’t want to, but it is just the way it has to be. The nurses check on me constantly, eyeing my baby, waiting to take you away. They are like vultures just waiting for me to let my guard drop. I don’t want them to take you away.
Your face, so tiny and perfect. Scrunched up as your little face yawns. Your hands, small yet perfectly formed, reaching out to grab at my fingers that lay just out of your grasp. Your eyes, so blue and full of life. The way they search my face, finding my own eyes. Once found, your little head tilts. Confused. You know something is happening. My smart little babe. You have so much potential.
I pick you up and hold you close, the sound of my heart beat soothes you. Another nurse walks by my room. Looking in. Watching. I watch her leave before looking back at you. Your little hand grips mine, like a life line, your one way to connect with me. Your mother. I don’t deserve to be your mother. I’m giving you up just so my family doesn’t disown me. That makes me a horrible person.
A mature nurse walks in. I see the papers in her hands. One birth certificate, the other adoption papers. Here we go. She places them on the table next to my bed.
‘Miss, you will need to sign these.’
She stands back a bit and gives me a sympathetic look. She has had to do this multiple times already. Separate mothers from babies. I put you back down in the cot. I grab the paper, reading the words over and over again. She gently hands me a pen.
I start by filling in the birth certificate. Mother’s name: Maria Barnes. Father’s name, my eyes tear up, James Rogers. I write the names clear. My baby doesn’t deserve a messy birth certificate. I look up at the nurse and then down at you, my sweet babe. I smile, knowing just what to name you. Cynthia. A name that will be the last bond I leave you with. I let the nurse finish writing up the dates on the birth certificate. I feel a rush of dread wash over me as my hand stops to hover over the second piece of paper. Adoption papers. I read through carefully before asking,
‘The couple are good people, they will take care of my baby?’ I stare her in the eyes,
‘Yes, they will take excellent care of your daughter.’
I finish signing the papers and then reluctantly hand you, my baby, over to the nurse. She looks me in the eyes and simply says.
‘Cynthia, your baby, will be in really good hands.’
I nod and hold back the tears threatening to spill from my eyes. I smile and watch from the doorway as you, my dear precious daughter, are handed to a couple. They seem so happy to see you and when the lady holds you, her face lights up. The man looks so warm and inviting. You are going to be fine. I can feel it.
