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Chapter One: The birth… of me.
It all started with my birth, as it did with many others. The birth of me. A beautiful baby girl. I was quite tiny. Tiny feet. Tiny hands. Tiny belly. Tiny everything. But how was I born? No, it wasn’t the simple sex of a man and a woman, who then, nine months later pop out some kid. But yet, a story of romance, of lust, of need… My birth parents had been living in Little Rock, Arkansas, with my older brother, who was just finishing college. I was an accident. A mistake. Something that just happens, when you really weren’t wanted, and unloved. They couldn’t care for me. They published an article in the newspaper, it read “Mary and Steve Smith: Looking to put up a child for adoption.” That’s where my adoptive parents came in. Apparently they were trying to have a child for almost a year. My mom tried fertility treatments, injections, you name it… Obviously nothing worked. My parents had fallen into a deep depression. My mom, feeling like she had been cursed with infertility, and my dad, who had only wanted to make his wife happy. They would have loved nothing more than to have a child of their own, one to hold. One by blood. I liked to call those babies “blood babies.” I was not a blood baby, and this, made them hysterical. My parents had contacted Mary and Steve Smith, through a phone number in the article. It’s funny because my dad had just happened to be given the article from a friend, to whom he still works with to this day. Thirteen long, and painful years later. My parents tell me that this man had saved all of our lives. My moms’ for a forever-long depression, as well as my dads’. Mary Smiths’ from having to take care of me, and going bankrupt, and Steve Smiths’ from endless nights, trying to pay for their sons’ tuition, and food to put on the table, as well as a roof over their heads. Anyways, so after Mary gave bloody birth to a crazy unseen child who was I, they set out for a new life, in an unknown destination. February 26, 1997: I had popped out of Mary’s womb, 5 lb 2 ounces. As tiny as the palm of my daddy’s hand. He used to swing me back and forth in that hand, as it was too unsafe for me to yet be in a cradle. He used to rock me in his palm. Back, and forth, repeatedly, until I would fall into the deep slumber of the night. As I would start drifting off, I would look up at my fathers face, into his eyes, his looking back. I saw the wonder, the mystery, and the wisdom. They say that it takes a life to understand another. This, I find completely and immensely false.
During the first years of my life, I had been receiving letters. Christmas letters, from Mary and Steve. To this day, I hold onto one in particular. It wrote: “Dear Anne Shelby,
We are your birth parents. Although we have never met you, we know that you will be a beautiful, strong, lovely, and most importantly intelligent, woman. You get that from my (your mother’s,) side of the family. We miss you greatly. Sometimes it feels as if our hearts are filled with so much love for you they almost burst. Have a very merry first Christmas baby. Always remember that you are loved.”
Love always and forever more,
Mary, and Steve Smith.
Chapter Two: The Unwanted Childhood.
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