On Friday a letter arrived. My birthdaughter’s script decorated the pink envelope. Strange. I hadn’t heard from her in months. The letter’s contents disturbed me. She’ turning 13 in January and struggling through adolescent stresses. Friends and boyfriends. Parents who seem to be working against her. It’s not uncommon for her to rail against her parents and fall into the darkness of doubt. But she “hurt herself” and that just brings things into a new realm. I called her mother to figure out what I should do. Do I talk to her about things like depression and mental illness? Should the conversation remain light and fluffy? When I spoke to her mother I realized that things are going to get very complicated in the next few years. The birthdaughter grows rapidly, and with that comes the possibility of heart ache. I tried to tell her that grades are important (my mother would be so proud) and that things with her parents will get easier. She kept telling me how much she wanted to see me. I feel the same. I love her, as only a birthmother can. It’s a strange relationship, and although I love explaining things with words, this is a sensation that transcends normal conversation. I did what I could for her, but questions remain. Will she blame me for her sadness? Am I at fault for giving her away to another family? Will she hate me for that? This is a time for many questions and I am about to traverse unknown territory. I don’t know any other birthmothers. And open adoptions remain rare. I must say that I am bitter, though. She’s already 5′5″ tall. I’m jealous.

I ended up with a C on my Editing Essentials midterm. At first I was horrified, then, grateful. Many people failed, and some ended up with A’s. I panicked when I took the test. Instead of moving through the answers I knew were 100% correct, I ran around in circles, doubting every response. We went over the test on Wednesday, and I felt like such a fool. I didn’t answer three questions. Three! No answer, just a blank line. How could I have missed that? And then there were errors that just defied reason. But it’s done. I have the final in 4 weeks. 4 weeks. Oh god.
I have a class called Cuisine/in/art (sound it out) and near the end of the semester, we put on this little party called Art Feast. Everyone in class picks a topic about food and sets up a presentation. I am doing a presentation on my missed opportunity to eat my wedding cupcakes. “The Wedding Cupcakes - the Sequel” will include a better version of my cupcakes, and a little re-enactment of the cake exchange that never happened. It should be fun. I will take lots of pictures. If you can come, it’s at the Woolson House on Thursday at 5:00. You are all invited.

On a happier note, D and I went to Amanda’s birthday party last night. We (Amanda and Adam, Ginny and Mike, D and me and random friends that floated in and out of the periphery) hung out until almost one this morning. I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time. It felt good.

I worked throughout the weekend, making up for the time I missed earlier in the week. It’s hard making up the time. I want my weekends should remain sacred, but sickness called and I had to be healthy to make up the time. I want to win the lottery. No more work. Please?

I had more to say, but I am going to head to bed soon. I’m heavy with thought and fear. So many things change…. so many.