That Was Then... (10 page)

“I know…”

“And your due date’s only three weeks away,” I remind her. “And babies can sometimes come early. What if you went into labor, like, tomorrow? What would you do?”

Now this really seems to get her attention. She looks seriously worried. “See my point?”

She nods. “So if I make an appointment, would you be willing to come with me, Kim?”

“Sure. I could even say hi to some of my old friends.”

“Old friends?”

“The people who helped with my adoption. My parents and I used to go visit them about once a year. They’d have this big party for international adoptees, and they’d take pictures and have cake and stuff. But we haven’t been for a few years.”

Dad smiles. “Kim thought she was getting too old for it.”

“But I’d still like to go in and say hi. And I’m happy to go, Nat. But you better hurry and make that appointment.”

I was feeling pretty freaked all day today. Nat’s appointment at the adoption agency was at four o’dock this afternoon. And I knew it could go either way.

Thankfully she didn’t back out of it. Even so, I prayed as I drove her over to the agency, and I held my breath as I parked the car. But to my relief she got out. To start with, I took her around and introduced her to the people I knew. Then we went into Helen Stein’s office to discuss the pros and cons of adoption. And I have to give it to Mrs. Stein—she didn’t pressure Natalie at all. She was actually very gracious and honest and helpful.

“With your due date so close, you really haven’t given yourself a lot of time to make this decision,” Mrs. Stein said finally, and I could tell she was wrapping up the appointment.

“I know.” Nat frowned. “That’s pretty dumb on my part.”

“Don’t be hard on yourself,” Mrs. Stein told her. “It’s a tough decision, and lots of young women put it off. The only problem is that if you don’t make a decision and the baby comes—because babies are like that, they
come when they want—then it becomes even more difficult. I’d be disingenuous if I didn’t tell you that it’s very difficult to hold your own baby in your arms and then hand it to someone else. It might be the most challenging thing a woman ever does. But, on the other hand, the longer you keep the baby, the harder it becomes. For everyone.”

“Can I ask you a few more questions?” Nat said suddenly. “Or is our appointment over and you need to do something else?”

“You were my last appointment today,” she tells her. “Go ahead. Ask away.”

So Nat proceeded to quiz her more thoroughly on the difference between open and closed adoption, asking some very intelligent and well-thought-out questions. I was impressed.

“I don’t think I’d want an open adoption,” she said finally. “I don’t think it’s fair to the child.”

Mrs. Stein nodded. “Some people feel that way.”

“Like Kim here.” She pointed to me. “If her birth mother had been in the picture, well, I think it would’ve been hard on your family. Don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do. I mean, there was a time when I really wanted to find my birth mom. Remember how I searched and searched? And then when Mom got sick last year, I remember thinking that she was my
real
mom and why would I even care to know my birth mother?”

“But we do have ways of allowing kids to contact
their birth mothers,” Mrs. Stein pointed out. “We draw up papers before the child is even born stating exactly what both sets of parents want. For instance, later on down the line some teenagers have a need to meet their birth parents, and if everyone is agreeable and it’s permissible according to the contract, we arrange for this to happen. But some people want their privacy protected, and we ensure that this happens as well. Each adoption is as individual as the child and the parents involved.”

“Is there anything I should fill out?” Nat asked. “I mean, like an application or something?”

Mrs. Stein nodded. “There’s a lot of paperwork.” She turned around and pulled a folder from the shelf behind her. “It’s not quite as bad as buying a house, but it does take some time.”

“May I have that?”

Mrs. Stein slid the folder across her desk. “Does this mean you’re interested, Natalie?” The woman looked as surprised as I felt. Was it possible that Nat was serious?

“I—I—think so.”

“And you understand that the birth father must sign off as well?”

Nat rolled her eyes. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

Mrs. Stein smiled. “You are going to be making someone very, very happy, Natalie.”

I controlled myself from applauding or even patting her on the back.

Natalie frowned. “And even though I want the closed adoption, is there any way I can find out something
about the parents? Can I meet them?”

“Just about anything is possible. You’re calling the shots, Natalie.”

“I just need to know they’re good—really good people—” Nat’s voice cracked just then. “That my baby will be loved and well cared for.”

“We have a very thorough screening process,” Mrs. Stein assured her. “Besides things like police checks, we do random home checks, talk to neighbors, friends, relatives. We’re very, very careful.”

Natalie nodded. “Good.”

“I think you’ll see that the paperwork is fairly self-explanatory, but if you have any questions, please feel free to call.” Then she handed Nat a business card. “This even has my cell phone number if you need to call over the weekend.”

Then Nat thanked her, and we walked out. I couldn’t believe it. Nat sounded like she was seriously thinking about this.

“Do you think it’s the right thing to do?” Nat asked as she slowly climbed into the Jeep. She’s so huge now that it’s not easy for her to get in and out of anything.

“I really do, Nat.” I put my key in the ignition. “But it’s your decision. You’re the only one who really knows what’s best for you.”

“Me and God, you mean.”

I smiled at her. “Yeah. That’s what I meant.”

She started filling out the paperwork as soon as we got home. I’ve pretty much stayed out of her hair, not
wanting to distract her. And I’ve heard her ask my dad to explain some things to her. And he’s actually been very helpful. I think Nat’s baby is going to find a good home!

Nat and I went to meet with Mrs. Stein again. Nat turned in her paperwork with everything filled in except for Ben’s signature.

“I left a message for him,” Nat explained, “telling him to call you and come in and sign the papers. I don’t really want to see him.”

“No problem.”

“I wanted to talk to you about the adoptive parents now,” Nat told her. “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

“Well, when I filled in the form about what kind of parents I wanted for my baby, I wasn’t sure about the age. I wrote that I wanted them to be young. And that’s so that they can be active and play with the child and stuff. But then I got to thinking about Kim’s parents, and
they were older, but they were also really great parents. And my parents were young, and they ended up getting divorced…so I just wasn’t sure.”

“Don’t worry, Nat,” she assured her. “None of our parents are terribly young. We require that they be married for at least seven years. So even if you said you wanted ‘young’ parents, they would have to be old enough to fit our requirements. Does that make sense?”

She nodded. “Definitely. I just thought I’d clear that up.”

“And did you take the doctor’s form to your obstetrician?”

“Yeah. They said they’d get it back to you by the end of the week.”

“Great.”

“So that’s it?”

“Unless you have any other questions.”

“Well, that booklet pretty much explained what happens when the baby is born. But I guess I’m still curious. Am I supposed to talk to the adoptive parents? I know that I won’t know their names or anything, but I’d kind of like to just talk to them. Really briefly, you know.”

“That’s not a problem. The adoptive parents will be coming from out of state, and I’m sure they’d like to meet you as well.”

“Good.”

“So how are you feeling?” she asked Nat.

“Big and fat.”

Mrs. Stein laughed. “That’ll change soon.”

“And I keep having these Braxton Hicks contractions. They’re driving me nuts.”

“That’s just your body’s way of getting in shape so you’ll be ready for labor.”

“I know. But I’m ready already.”

“Have you taken the hospital’s childbirth class yet?”

Nat frowned. “Ben and I had signed up to take it last month. But we never made it.”

“Don’t they have that class every Tuesday night?” Mrs. Stein asked.

“I guess.”

“I could go with you, Nat,” I offered.

“Really?” She looked at me. “You’d be willing to be my labor coach?”

“Labor coach?”

“That means you stay with Nat when she’s having the baby. You go into the delivery room with her,” Mrs. Stein explained. “You help her with breathing and give her ice chips and just general encouragement. Are you good with that sort of thing?”

“I don’t know…”

“She used to be a real wimp when it came to hospital stuff,” Natalie told her, then turned to me. “But you’ve changed a lot, Kim. I think going through the thing with your mom, well, that’s made you a lot tougher. Don’t you think?”

I nodded. “I guess.”

“So would you be willing to be Natalie’s labor coach?” Mrs. Stein asked. “It’s a pretty big commitment.”

“Don’t do it if you don’t want to,” said Nat.

“Yes,” agreed Mrs. Stein. “I’m sure we can find someone around here who would be willing. My assistant, Jessie, has done it several times.”

“No…” I said slowly, considering my response even as I answered. “I think I’d like to do it.” I smiled at Nat. “I mean, we’ve already been through so much together. Why back out now?”

“Good.” Mrs. Stein actually clapped her hands. “That’s excellent.”

So it is that I find myself in a meeting room at the hospital with a bunch of pregnant women. And oh yeah, some husbands and “partners” too. A midwife named Ramona teaches this class. She looks like a real earth muffin to me, with her long braided hair, baggy clothes, and funky shoes. In fact, she reminds me of my cousin Maya, which reminds me I haven’t heard from her in at least a month. Maybe no news is good news.

Ramona gives us some reading materials as well as some general tips about things like breathing, timing contractions, and keeping the mother-to-be relaxed and happy. Then we take a quick tour of the hospital, primarily the labor and delivery section. We’re also shown the patient admittance area, cafeteria, and emergency entrance. “In case you go into labor after midnight,” Ramona explains.

Then we’re taken back to the original room, where we are shown a film of a real birth. Now, okay, I’m trying to be a good sport here, but I’m sorry, that film just totally freaks me. I actually closed my eyes during a couple of scenes. I cannot believe I signed on for this. I’m wondering if there’s any way to back out. Oh, I probably won’t. Not really. But I’m not looking forward to this. Not one little bit.

Christmas (or winter) break officially began today. And not a moment too soon either. As much as I like school, I am so ready for some downtime. All this stuff with Nat, combined with writing my column, helping out at the Paradiso, and keeping up with homework, not to mention violin practice, is starting to wear on me. I was looking forward to just hanging out on the home front. And maybe I’d even put up some Christmas decorations or try out some of Mom’s Christmas recipes.

I tried to talk Nat into going to the youth group’s annual Christmas party with me last night, but she wouldn’t even consider it.

“It’ll be fun, Nat. And you’ve been stuck in the house all day.”

“Yeah, like I want to show up looking big as a cow so that everyone can get a good laugh at my expense. Think again, Kim.”

“They wouldn’t do that. They’re Christians and they—”

“Christians can be some of the meanest,” she says, shaking her head. “Trust me, I know this to be true.”

I have a feeling she’s talking about her mom. But I also remember a time when Nat was pretty vicious to me for dating Matt last year. Of course, I know better than to remind her. She’s miserable enough as it is.

Finally, I’m about to leave, and Nat, looking frighteningly like a beached whale, is flopped out on the leather couch, remote in hand, and staring glassy-eyed at the TV. It’s a good thing my dad’s at his grief group tonight, because I’m pretty sure he would not appreciate this image in his family room.

“Sure you won’t change your mind?”

She just rolls her eyes. “Forget it, Kim. I’m not moving.”

Okay, I do feel a little guilty as I leave, especially since I’m leaving her all alone, but not guilty enough to stay home. And it’s not that I can’t see her point. I’m sure if I were in her shoes—or pink bunny slippers, as is the case tonight—I’d be keeping a low profile too. (Although that metaphor doesn’t work so well for someone in Nat’s condition.)