There are some who have asserted that because all I did was nurture an unplanned, ill-timed pregnancy for 9 months and then spend 18 hours in labor getting the kid into the world, I am not a mother.

However, since human beings do not reproduce asexually, it sort of requires "parents" in order for there to BE "children," so I'm going to believe that, although I chose -- CHOSE -- to relinquish my child to the loving arms of others because I could not care for him as I would have liked to, I meet the definition of parenthood. And I would like to wish my smart, cute, talented, wonderful-beautiful boy a very happy 18th birthday today!

His adoptive mom tracked me down a couple of years ago, so we have some contact, although I haven't met my one remaining life's goal yet, which is to look him in the eye, tell him I love him, and give him a big, fat hug. I figure after that, whether it's a year from now or 30 years from now, if I get hit by a bus on the way home, I'll be good to go.

Yeah, I wasn't there to kiss the scraped knees and help with the math homework, and my CHOICE created a lifetime of depression and PTSD for me, although it was the best thing for him. But I don't love him any less than the woman he knows as "Mom" does. In fact, I loved him more -- I gave him a good life, at the expense of one for myself.

Happy birthday, baby boy. I love you tons.



Candy