Having the opportunity to witness my son’s birth has been one of the most wonderful experiences of my life. I am eternally grateful to the biological parents for inviting me to be part of such an intimate and special moment.
When I first held him in my arms, I still felt my body was there, but in a way, I was levitating in that hospital room. I absorbed every detail, every gesture, trying to be part of the moment, but without intruding. The truth is, I was still a guest.
That was the beginning of the hardest stage: the 48 hours in which the biological parents had to make the final decision after the baby was already born.
I had already lived through the 48-hour wait with my daughter (I tell you about it here), so I tried to remain calm, even though the fear was always present. Knowing that this baby was my son, yet at the same time might not be, was a reality I both understood and respected. I tried to convince myself that I wasn’t as worried since I was already a mom, but deep down, it was another story.
Cuando mi esposo entró a la habitación, los papás biológicos lo recibieron con mucho cariño. Fue muy bonito ese tiempo que compartimos los cuatro con el bebé. Sentí que habíamos creado una especie de sociedad, donde nuestro proyecto en común era, y sigue siendo, el bebé.
In the hours after the birth, we received several visits from the biological family. When the first relatives arrived, we prepared to leave to give them their space, but they asked us to stay. They wanted to introduce us to their family members and wanted them to get to know us as well. That took us by surprise, but we respected their wishes and stayed in a corner of the room, always trying to give them their place.
During one of those visits, my husband and I started speaking in Spanish with each other. I don’t usually like to do that when I know people around only speak English, but we thought we were speaking softly enough and that everyone else was focused on their own conversations.
Suddenly, a woman replied to us in Spanish. She asked where we were from. Surprised, I told her we were from Venezuela, though I had emigrated when I was 18 years old. She smiled and told us she was also Venezuelan and that, coincidentally, she had moved to the United States at the same age. We talked for a while, not really knowing who she was.
Toward the end of the conversation, she confessed that she was the biological father’s stepmother, in other words, the baby’s grandmother. She told us it had been very hard for her to accept this decision, and that she had been struggling a lot with it. Her sister had encouraged her to come to the hospital, reminding her that God always has a plan and that maybe by being there, she would find peace.
With teary eyes, she said she was leaving with a lighter heart after meeting us. That it gave her peace to know that her grandson would grow up not only bilingual but also with traditions from his country of origin. At that moment, her husband approached, looked at my husband, and asked if he could hug him. He told him he trusted that he would raise the baby with good values and help him become a good man. The four of us couldn’t hold back the tears as they said goodbye.
We were left in shock. It was a moment charged with intensity, emotion, and love from people who, until that day, had been strangers. Just as the woman’s sister had said, it was definitely part of God’s plan.
After a while, we said goodbye and went back to our room to rest. I couldn’t stop thinking about how beautiful and intense the day had been, but also about the heaviness in my heart. That night was going to be the baby’s first night with his biological parents, and I knew perfectly well what that meant.
The day after the birth was a day to share with the birth parents. When we entered the room, it was just the two of them with the baby. They received us with so much affection. The baby was sleeping in his bassinet next to his birth mother.
We started chatting, we asked them how the night had been, and they told us about their experience, how they had barely slept and everything the baby was eating. A typical first night with a newborn.
That day, in a way, I no longer felt like a stranger. I was more familiar with the dynamic, although I was still a visitor of sorts. However, it felt as if the four of us parents were there, enjoying their newborn baby.
We spent the day going in and out of the room, also trying to give them their space, but at the same time wanting to be with the baby. By the end of the afternoon, we received other visitors. The experience was not as sentimental as the day before; it was a little more distant toward us, but I could still witness the love they gave the baby.
Just as that visit arrived, we decided to leave. The day had been filled with emotions, and I was mentally exhausted. We went to dinner together to talk and try to absorb everything we were experiencing.
The next day we arrived very early, bringing coffee, donuts, and a small gift for the biological parents. Just as we were about to enter the room, a nurse approached us and told us that another room had been assigned to us… just for us.
The room was right next door, but it was empty. The nurse walked in and told us that the social worker would come shortly. We gave her the donuts and coffee to take to the biological parents.
We didn’t know what was happening and didn’t fully understand, but the empty room made us feel a bit more nervous. After a while, the social worker entered, and with a very calm smile, she began to explain what was going to happen…
Grateful to have you here, heart to heart.
Melli
