One Journey

I was livid when she phoned me... only I8, having a baby. I felt the tension building inside me as my hands clinched into tight little fists. My jaw tightened and I felt a grinding of my teeth. She had already confided in other family members. As the clich� goes, I was the last to know. My reaction had been anticipated, and she had waited until time was more her enemy than I was.

"What were you thinking? You have no stable income? You're way too young? Where is the father? Don't you realize what a responsibility a child is?" My face reddened with each question that went unanswered. Her only response, a sigh followed by "I'll work it out." I gripped the phone tightly as I used to grip Lauren's hand when I wanted to be sure she didn't get lost in a large crowd My seething reaction was nothing more than suppressed rage as my voice and demeanor strove for a feeling of rational calmness. I took longer, deeper breaths. My teeth ached as they had when I my wisdom teeth were removed

"You know whose shoulders this is going to fall on? Think about a few years from now. Do you expect me to rescue you when this is no longer a baby but a needy and growing child? Time will only increase the demands. How can you possibly think that you can do this alone? You are still just a child yourself." I felt myself gasping for air (Calm. I must remain calm.)

Certainly worried mothers of teenage girls had spoken their anger many times before now. But this was my child. And she seemed completely unaware of what she was dealing with. Not a clue about the future problems that she'd be facing entered her part of the discussion. She wanted a baby. That was that. And she was certain that she could take care of it. She lacked wisdom and needed guidance. Where had I failed?

When we adopted Lauren at the ripe age of 8, we knew she had a gaping hole to fill that once had been her birth mother. We had worked hard to narrow the crevice. Trips together, school activities, music lessons, mother/daughter trips; these had all been part of our lives. I spent the days after her phone call reflecting on past events and what might have been done to make the difference for her.

Selfishly, I worried about what people would say. Would her grandparents believe she was a terrible person? What would the neighbors whisper when her tummy grew obvious? I'd never viewed myself as caring much about "the Jones'" opinion, but somehow it became important to me now. I stayed inside during those days, only going out when necessary. I felt like a thief in the night, yet my feet seemed encased ill cement. I wanted to run, but the hold was as firm as if I was a prisoner behind bars. I clearly knew what lay ahead, and she could not handle this alone

The "male donor" as I referred to him, disappeared as if on cue. He apparently decided that being pregnant was not for him. Like the bad guy with the black hat, he'd galloped off before the posse could organize. Since I didn't feel much like a sheriff, I outwardly ignored his exit. Inside, I wanted to string him up at the nearest tree.

After a few weeks of inner turmoil my mind finally won out over my heart and I started making lists and organizing our family life once again. We had to reach out to the system for help. Medicaid is a word with no definitive or quality definition. And never had I encountered such a bureaucratic nightmare. Since we'd always had good health coverage I never thought I'd need to ask for financial assistance from anyone. After all, we were a typical American middle-class family with typical middle-class finances. But, Lauren was no longer in school and this fact placed her squarely in the center of the Medicaid system. I was relieved she had the coverage but somewhat embarrassed that she needed to use it. Viewing myself from a distance during those months, I was really living outside myself trying to keep my internal emotions in control all the while going through the outward physical motions that were necessary. I was focused on the goal rather than the journey. With so much energy put into action and reaction, I still I had no picture in my head of the child that was soon to come. All I knew was this was not what I’d imagined becoming a grandmother would be like.

I certainly hadn't expected to be a birthing coach, at least not so soon. So I was relieved with the discovery of other mothers each coaching her teenage daughter in our class. Obviously there were many other male donors who hadn’t been chased down and strung up either. Even though I still couldn't enunciate the word, "grandma", I did begin to have a sense of where this all was headed. During the six weeks of classes, a certain warmth and comfort that often accompanies the realization that one is not alone helped move me forward. And though I did not ask her, I think Lauren began to feel some calm and peace as well. My early anger had not allowed her much time to discuss her own fears. As we began to think about this new life it occurred to me that we were united and traveling on the same journey and that we could and should be traveling together. I started to think more about Lauren and the baby than my own self-centered concerns. Each day my fists began to loosen and my jaw felt less tight. On the final night of class the Lamaze teacher turned toward me, "Always remember, this child is coming into your world for a reason. It may be your task to help him figure out what that reason is." I began to look forward to the future. Suddenly, a new baby in our family seemed somewhat exciting.

Together the three of us started tripping between Wal Mart and the second hand stores. Creating a makeshift nursery out of the guestroom became a joyful process. The upcoming event began to feel less traumatic. Lauren's sick days were fewer. And, to her credit, she fell into the pregnant regime quite easily: no caffeine, no tobacco, no drugs; not an ounce of cat litter touched her hands. I was proud of her efforts to bring a healthy baby boy into the world.

As the months drifted by the days of winter grew shorter. I allowed myself to actually get excited. Anticipatory statements slipped into my everyday discussions with friends. One friend even complimented me, "Who better to be a grandma than you?" The preparations were a huge part of each day. It became a searching game to see what we would find next for our baby. "OUR BABY!" I began to accept that I was to have a significant role in the day to day life of this new person. I found myself actually believing it would all work out just as Lauren had initially said.

Christmas passed, snow fell through January. We made a couple of trips to the emergency room, each time hoping that the time for delivery was at hand. But, we went home both times empty-handed. Finally the doctor agreed to take matters out of the natural state and induce the delivery. It was Groundhog Day, February 2, and the weather suggested an early spring. Since our appointed arrival time was not until noon, we decided to take time for a special morning together. We went to a favorite restaurant and I devoured eggs benedict and fruit. I remember remarking to Lauren that this was her last childless meal. She laughed appropriately through her granola and cream, but I could read the concern in her eyes. I spent most of the morning trying to put her at ease.

Once checked into the room the doctor arrived and performed his magic. From then on it was a matter of wait and wait some more. Several times the same stern nurse came in to check vitals. On one of these occasions Lauren was a bit short with her and I could tell the nurse had little patience for such behavior. I wondered how many similar situations this lady had witnessed in her career. I remarked to Lauren, "I know you are uncomfortable, but the nurse is here to help. If you remember your manners and say things like please and thank you, she will be more likely to offer you support when you need it." I was still her mother. The lessons I had taught would not be lost simply because she was about to be one too. On the nurse's next visit Lauren made a point of being polite. The nurse smiled and winked at me. I had at least one ally.

Around 6:30 that evening we turned to the television and became engrossed in the antics of Bart Simpson. He was running around making life miserable for his parents. The principal was after him for fighting at school, and the little sister, Lisa, was providing the only significant parenting advice for the entire Simpson family. I thought how special this truly dysfunctional family really was, doting on each other, offering support through misguidance, and really loving each other through all their mistakes and antics. No wonder we allowed Fox to bring such misrepresentation of the perfect family into our very homes. Were we really so different from the Simpsons? I could only dwell on the irony for a brief time however. Bart became a blur...as Lauren began to push.

As birth labor goes it was considered quick and easy, though I am not sure how "easy" could ever be applied to describe birth labor. During it all I kept my cool. I used the techniques we had learned, and never lost my temper, not even when Lauren made it significantly clear that I "could not possibly know how this felt" since I had never given birth through this same process. I knew she was doing the easiest part now. She could not know that…yet.

I will never forget, never, the intensity of his eyes. Big, brown, open to the world, they looked up and out as his round head emerged. He was in a new place, one where all his dreams could be met. Looking into those eyes, I knew finally what the Lamaze teacher had tried to tell me. It was right for him to be here. His eyes were so bold, yet so frightened, dark, yet full of light. He was more beautiful than I imagined he could be, and he was handed to me. I gazed into those eyes and we merged for eternity. He was supposed to be here, and so was I.

It all fell into place. I knowingly held him for only a moment then placed him on his mommy's tummy. There were tears followed by laughter, phone calls followed by relief. I glanced at the clock. It was almost 8:30. Then, looking around the room, I saw the nurse who had helped us earlier. She winked again. I thought how often she had witnessed this miracle as I remembered her telling us earlier that she would be leaving at 7:00. But she had stayed to welcome my grandson into his new world. If she could remain, so could I. Lauren turned to me and smiled, her new son nursing at her breast. "Remember what you used to tell me mom," she said. I paused questioningly "Nothing is so difficult that we cannot get through it if we have each other." I remembered, and I knew. We would continue the journey…together.