Mother and baby's handThe journey home

The 6 weeks following my baby’s birth went too quickly. I was told when I would be returned home and unlike the others, I was not traveling with them but alone with my baby. We mostly travelled with our babies.

Some parents interested in adopting came to the home to view, one of us girls was sent to the nursery to bring the babe to the study as it was called, not a place we ever entered. I was told to do this twice, not a nice thing to do. On the way to the nursery you grabbed any one in the way and told them who’s baby it was.

They then ran to find the mother and went to the very top of the house to crowed round the window to see the people leave with the baby or without, or maybe to come back at a later date to collect.

The baby had been stripped by me or whoever, changed and put in THE set of clothes wrapped in THE blanket, just for viewing. At this point I am shaking my head from side to side. We were told very early on, about what these clothes were for. My son’s clothes were also in that cupboard, but he was dressed by me the day we left and I was the one that handed him to a social worker.

The morning arrived I got dressed and went to the nursery, fed and changed him. Then I was taken by taxi to the station, given a ticket and told where to get off. My mother was to meet me outside the station, but not my home town. If I needed help to get off the train to ask anyone getting off.

I never had to as someone offered and I was pleased as how does someone of 16 carry a baby and a case. My mother was there she took the baby off me and to my utter surprise never looked at him. We then got in a taxi that took us to my home town. She talked to the taxi driver most of the way back and lie after lie was told, what a good baby he was and she even gave him a name, never was I asked his name.

I was numb, when we got to the adoption office he was handed back to me. I fed my baby the last bottle I ever would. The trust in his eyes, he did not cry, why oh why was he not screaming. Even when He was taken from me I still did not believe that I would never see him again.

We got the bus home without a word spoken and I was told to get on with my life, and I did. My mother never mentioned any part of this again. Once I tried to make her talk about it. but she just turned her head and left the room.

The words my father used were the hardest for me to get over “Well that is the best of a bad job over”

My son was not a bad job, he was beautiful, and I loved him.


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Related articles:

Lucy – A Birth Mother’s Journey – Parts 1 – 7


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