My name is Maggie, and they call me a birthmom Part 2

I had my daughter on April 16th, 2008. I wasn't married, didn't have a job, hadn't graduated high school (like I was supposed to in 2007), lived in small town away from prospective employment, didn't have any money, and was not on amicable terms with the father. At first, I chose to give my daughter up for adoption. But as soon as I was done with the twenty-six hour labor and I held her in my arms, I knew I'd be making a mistake. I decided to change my mind. That way, I could at least say that I tried instead of giving up right away.

On July 30th, 2008, when my daughter was three and a half months old, I decided to give her up. The adoptive parents, my mother, and I went to the bank to get the papers notarized. I couldn't hand her over personally, so I gave her to my mother and let her do it. Barring giving birth, this was by far the hardest thing I've ever had to do.

About a month later, I met my prospective husband. He and I had known each other for four years previous, but had never gotten serious because he was dating someone else, and at the time, I just wasn't interested. He told me that if he had known that I was going to give her up, he would have wanted to keep her. On October 25th, 2008, my husband and I were married. Ten days later, on November 5th, we found out we were pregnant. I was excited. I hoped it was a girl. But on February 17th, 2009, my dreams were shattered. I did not hope that this girl would replace my daughter, but I had hoped it would make it easier. I cried right in front of the ultrasound tech. I knew that this pregnancy, this new life, the road we were about to embark, was not going to be easy.

After being on bedrest for six months, nine months of inflammed ribs (thanks to my daughter), swelling, eight weeks of headaches, and eighteen hours of labor, our son, Dylan Lucas, was born.

Most times, I do not want to hold him. I do not feel the same love for him as I do my daughter. I look down and I feel like I see the wrong color. It's supposed to be pink, not blue. Sometimes the only thing that gets me through feeding him is thinking I'm holding her.

I'm sure one day I will feel the love I claim to give him, but today it's not easy. I want to genuinely feel that love that I felt for my daughter the day she was born. And I hope it comes to me soon. I don't want my son to find out that I didn't love him right away.