Empty

I slept for twelve hours last night. When I woke up, it was 2pm.

I felt great, very well-rested and calm for about two seconds. My first thought was, Roo's been awfully quiet. She must have been so tired!

Then I remembered. I remembered what I had done the night before, and I understood the eerily calm silence of the house. And I lost it.

I sat up in bed - in my mother's bed. I couldn't bear to sleep in my room last night and see Roo's empty crib a few feet from my bed. I couldn't bear to see it and know that my sweet baby girl would never again rest her soft head there. My mother had to fetch my pajamas last night, my blankets and pillow so I could sleep.

I don't know if I'll get dressed today, because my clothes are piled up on my bed, and I can't go in there yet. I just can't. The thought of the empty crib breaks my heart all over again.

I wonder what my sweet Roo is doing right now. Is she napping, perhaps snuggled up on her mother's shoulder? Is she on her back on a blanket, kicking and wiggling and chatting up a storm? Is she eating? Did she sleep well? Was it in a bassinet or a crib? What did her sleeper look like? Zip-front or snap-front? Size 0-3 or 3-6 months? What Sesame Street character is on her diaper? What does her nursery look like?

Has she been a good girl? Did she sleep well last night? How long? Did she eat in between long stretches? How much did she eat - 4 or 6 ounces? From what kind of bottle? Has she been happy? Did she cry at all? Does she seem to miss me?

I miss her. I miss her more deeply than I can say. My heart aches. I would give the world to hold her snug against me for five minutes, maybe ten. I would give anything. I think, oh, why can't I just hold her for a bit? I would give her back, I promise! I just want to hold my baby. Why can't I hold my baby? It seems so wrong!

My mother tried to console me. Tried, and failed. I yelled at her. I said that this was her fault, that she was the one who told me I couldn't keep Roo any longer, that we couldn't afford to keep her. My mother reminded me of H, of the problem he would have been. I don't care. I could have done something about him, I think. Did I really have to give up my baby, the only thing in the world that matters to me?

My arms ache to hold her. To feel her soft warmth, hear her sweet baby breath, watch her beautiful little face - to see her smile, look worried, furrow her brow, make funny faces. To watch her big blue eyes widen as she sees something interesting, blink quickly as she gets tired, her long lashes fanning out on her cheek. She has the softest cheeks in the world. The cutest tiny nose that I loved to kiss. I wish I could run my hand over her soft hair again, stroke her cheek with the back of my fingers, kiss her little forehead.

But I can't do any of those things any more, and it makes me want to scream, to shout, to break something. I feel so lost without my baby! No, I think. I've changed my mind, actually, I can't do this, as it turns out. I don't have the strength. But I can't change my mind. What I have done is permanent, irrevocable. And that fact saps any strength I might have had to go on.

I am lost. I am empty. I feel as though I will never be happy again. I'm not sure why I even got up in bed this morning. I was only able to sleep with the help of a sedative. Why shouldn't I take another and slip back into blissful oblivion? Being awake hurts too much. I don't like it. I don't like being away from my baby. My baby, who isn't my baby anymore.

How can she not be my baby anymore? I conceived her, I grew and nurtured her, I gave her life. I held her in my arms. I loved her, I fed her, I cared for her. I spent hundreds of hours holding her as she slept. How can I not be her mother anymore?

My mother asks what she can do, what I want. She can do nothing, I want nothing but my baby. I don't want my feet rubbed, I want my baby. I don't want frozen yogurt, I want my baby. I don't want a hamburger, I want my baby. I don't want to get dressed, to get out of bed. I want my baby.

What on earth made me think I could be a mommy for nine weeks, with all the love and attachment that comes with that time, and then just walk away from it unscathed? I am not unscathed. I am empty. I have a Roo-shaped void in my heart, in my arms, in my home.

My pain is unbearable. It is too much. I can't do this! I can't! I have changed my mind. I don't want to do this. Can I take it back? Can I get her back? Oh, dear God above, please say I can take it back. I need my baby back. I need my baby. I can't live without my baby. I can't go on. I need her back. I need to take this back. I need my Roo. I NEED her.

This is all my mother's fault. She told me I couldn't keep Roo. She said I couldn't. I didn't want to do this! My mother made me do it and now I can't take it back and my baby is gone forever. What kind of mother takes away her daughter's baby? I hate her for this. I hate her. I just want to go back to yesterday and stop myself from signing those stupid ugly papers. They can't be irrevocable, can they? There has to be some way to change them. There must be! I can't lose my baby. I need my baby, my precious Roo.

I need her. And she is gone.