Welcome Visitor: Login to the siteJoin the site

Sincerely, Mary-Anne

Short story By: Coralie
Young adult



The bond between a mother and her baby can be the strongest in the world. But what happens when a teen mom is forced to give her baby up for adoption? Through many letters to her unborn baby, Mary-Anne Baker explains a little bit of her life and feelings. This is an entry for Sphynx's Photo Contest.


Submitted:Jul 2, 2013    Reads: 102    Comments: 24    Likes: 7   


Dear Baby,

I decided today that I was gonna start writing you letters, so maybe when you're older you can read these and know the truth. I mean, it all depends on how your parents feel about it, but I at least want them to be an option to you. Maybe you'll understand some day, or maybe you won't. I'm not sure.

A few months ago I found out that I was pregnant with you. It was a big shock to me; your daddy and I had been real careful, but I guess that wasn't enough. Some things are just meant to be, you know?

My own mama and daddy were pretty mad at me. They thought that I had been stupid, that I didn't know what I was getting into. They said I'm just a child myself, and that I could have just "ruined the potential future". Yeah, I mean, I'm only fifteen. So I could be making a big mistake, I know.

They wouldn't let me keep you. They said if I kept the baby then I would have to get out and move far away. They said that my good for nothing boyfriend could take care of me since he couldn't keep it in his pants, and that this was all his fault. But it ain't just him; I went along with everything, too.

I'm so sorry that I'm not keeping you. It's not that I don't want you, but I gotta have a life, too. I don't think I'd do too well with a little baby to take care of. Just the morning sickness is enough to make me lose it, and I can't imagine what it'd be like having to deal with the diapers and late nights and all that. My mama's told me a lot of stories about when I was little, and I put her through hell. I hope you treat your parents right and don't do nothing like this to them.

Sincerely,

Mary-Anne.

 

 

Dear Baby,

At first I wasn't so sure that I should write you another one of these, but since this is all you're gonna have of me, I didn't figure you would mind. I'm not sure what your parents are gonna decide; they might not let me see you or send pictures of you. If they don't, I don't really mind. It might be the easiest for all of us. I don't wanna hurt you.

You're making me get real big now. My belly sticks out and I get a lot of funny looks from people in town. I'm just glad that it's almost summer; I won't have to worry about the kids at school picking on me much anymore. At least for right now. I mean, they aren't gonna forget about all this, but hopefully something big will happen and distract them. I don't know.

My mama had to sew elastic bands into my jeans earlier, and tomorrow we're going to go shopping in the city to find me some maternity clothes. I'm not looking forward to it; anywhere we go, she tells everyone about how I'm lucky she didn't throw me out. Everyone gives me these looks like I've got another head or something, but I can't do anything about it. There's no point in fighting it.

Next week I'm going to the baby doctor to get pictures of you. You're getting big, I can tell. You kicked me really hard earlier, and I thought I was gonna throw up. Maybe you're going to be my little soccer player, aren't you?

Sincerely,

Mary-Anne.

Dear Baby,

The baby doctor printed off a lot of different pictures for me and your parents. I wish your real daddy had gone to the doctor's with me, but he didn't. I haven't seen much of him lately, and it's making me kind of sad. But I think he's just busy.

I know he's all upset that I can't keep you. He said since he's the daddy, he's got rights to you, too. I was hoping that maybe he'd try to understand everything, or see it through my point of view, but I don't know how well that's gonna work.

If it weren't for your parents being so nice, I would probably at least think about keeping you. Your real daddy told me that he could get his stuff together. He said he would get a job and find us an apartment, and then everything would be okay. We could be a happy little family and prove everyone wrong.

"We aren't too young!" I could say. "We made everything work, so beat that!"

I'd love to prove my mama wrong, but I ain't got the heart enough to tell her that I'm not so sure about going through with this. Your real parents love you so much. The woman, your mama, started crying when she saw you on the screen thing. And the man, your daddy, he kept smiling real big when we could hear your heart beat. It was the sweetest thing.

They're so excited for when we can find out if you're a boy or a girl. It's only gonna be a couple weeks more before I go to the doctor again, and we can check then. I'm a little excited, too. Your parents said I could help name you, and it makes me feel really special and all.

Maybe your real daddy will show up then, too. He can help me pick out a name for you. It's gonna be nice, I promise.

Sincerely,

Mary-Anne.

Dear Baby,

It's late. But you woke me up with your kicking, and I wish you would just stop already. Oh no, though, you keep on going on and going and it's making me real tired.

No one else in the house is awake. If I weren't pregnant, I would have snuck out already and gone to see your real daddy. But he ain't been around still. I've tried calling him and going over to his house, but he's never there and he doesn't ever answer me. I keep hearing stories that he's out and around with some other girl, but I don't want to believe that.

He's a good man, I promise you. He wouldn't do something like that; he loves me and I love him. Maybe some day we're gonna get married. I would invite you and your parents to the wedding, if you guys wanted to come.

I really hope that your parents let me be in your life. You don't have to call me Mom or anything, no. You can call me Mary-Anne. Or maybe Auntie or something. It'd be weird for me, but it isn't like you would know anything different.

I just want you to know, little baby, that I do love you. Your real daddy loves you, too, even though he ain't been around. I just know he does.

Sincerely,

Mary-Anne.

Dear Baby,

I finally talked to your real daddy.

Well, I'm real glad that I never said nothing about keeping you to your parents, because he's a dirty rotten liar. Everything I been hearing is right; he's been fooling around with some other girl this whole time. He said he doesn't want anything to do with me anymore, and he doesn't believe that you're his baby.

Now everyone thinks I'm some whore and it hurts a lot. I just wish I could prove it to them, but I don't know how. Ain't no point, my mama says. They're gonna believe what they want to believe and I can't stop 'em.

But it doesn't make anything different. At least I know now that you're gonna have a better life and you won't ever have to deal with your real daddy. He doesn't deserve you anyways.

Sincerely,

Mary-Anne.

Dear Baby,

We found out today that you're a boy. I've been thinking up the best names for you that I can, and I hope when you're older that you'll like it. But I'm just not sure that I can name you right.

Since you kick so much, I want to name you something good, like a soccer player's name. I haven't talked to your parents about it yet, but I think the name Beckham would be good for you. I've seen a lot of pictures of David Beckham, and I know he's a real good soccer player. Maybe he'd feel special that you'd be named after him.

I've only got two and a half more months to go. You're gonna be out in the world here pretty soon, and it's crazy to think that. I'm not sure what I'm gonna do without you, baby.

Sincerely,

Mary-Anne.

Dear Beckham,

As you can see, your parents liked the name. They thought it was real creative and nice, and I'm glad. I couldn't think of any other name for you that would have been as good for you. This one's perfect.

My belly's a lot bigger now, and your mama and I have been going to these weird pregnancy yoga classes. She was all weepy that she hadn't thought of it before, and was all angry at herself that she and I haven't talked much at all. She says that the birth mother and the adoptive mother need to have a strong bond so there's a lot of trust, but I don't really need to trust her too much.

I know their gonna be great parents, I can just tell. I do trust 'em with you. Just seeing how much they're in love with each other is enough for me. Their faces light up whenever they put their hands on my belly and they can feel you kick. Today, your mama put her hand on my stomach and you kicked it off! It was really funny, and we all laughed a lot.

We're gonna go shopping soon to pick out things for your nursery. It's going to be sports themed, so I hope you like it. How funny it would be if you hate sports when you're older!

I don't know if I ever told you before, but you can be whatever you want, Beckham. You can be a rocket scientist, a writer, an accountant, whatever you want. I know you're gonna be great at whatever you do, and you're going to be so smart. I can't wait for the future when you're my age, just to see what you look like.

But it ain't going to be the same without you. I don't want to think about giving birth to you. Not just because it's gonna be scary and painful, but because I don't know what I'm going to do without you.

With love,

Mary-Anne.

Beckham,

I'm on my way to the hospital now. I woke up with some bad stomach pains and I was bleeding. Please hold on, baby. Please. I don't want to lose you.

 

 

Dear Beckham,

They're keeping me here for a few more days. It was just an accident thing, I forget the term. But they want to make sure that we're both okay before they send us back home. I'm glad, because I don't want anything to happen to you.

Your parents came to see me the instant I got to the hospital. I think they might have gotten there before I did, I don't know for sure. But your mama was in tears. I think she was just as scared as I was. She don't have to be pregnant with you to know how scary it really is. She's just as much as your mama as I am, only she's gonna be way more once you're born.

I'm supposed to be back here in a month or so, anyways. In a little bit they're gonna take me around to the delivery rooms and we get to pick out which one we like best. If we're lucky, they might just let us use it when you're born.

It's still so weird to me that you're gonna be gone in just a little while. Then I won't be able to write you anymore letters or talk to you when it's just us. I won't get to feel you kicking away. I'm not so excited anymore.

Love,

Mary-Anne.

 

 

Dear Beckham,

My mama and I are packing my maternity bag thing now. She said you could come any day now, and we want to be prepared for when you do. I have to bring it with me anywhere I go, just in case you decide to surprise me out in public.

I'm not allowed to leave town until after you're born, just to be careful. I think that's pretty smart, because I don't wanna put anyone through more trouble than I already have. Plus we already have everything planned out all nice. It would be a shame to mess that all up.

When your parents and me were in the maternity ward, I got to look in and see all the little babies. They were all so tiny and fragile looking. They looked so helpless in their little plastic bin things, but then I kept smiling because I was wondering what you're gonna look like. I've got another appointment tomorrow, and this time we get to use some fancy machine that's going to show us your face. I get my very own picture of you to keep.

It made me a little sad, though. I'm only going to get to see you for a little while before your parents take you home with them. The hospital's only going to give me a couple hours each day, since you're going to be on formula. But I'm going to be in a different room than your real parents, that way they get to bond with you before you go home.

I wish I could spend more time with you than that, but it's hospital rules. Weird that they say how much a mother can see their child, but I don't know. It's out of my control.

Lots of love,

Mary-Anne.

 

Dear Beckham,

I can't help crying. I'm so sorry that I can't keep you. I really wish now that I could, but I can't. I've already told your parents that you're theirs, and I don't want to take you away.

I've been crying over your picture on and off for the past few days. You're due in a couple days, and it just seems too close for comfort. I wish I could keep you, baby, I really do.

I swear by now I know every little curve of your nose and lips, and I can almost picture you when you come out. You're going to be the handsomest baby ever, Beckham. The fancy picture showed every little perfect thing about you.

You even have hair. It's curly like mine, but not as frizzy. It's all soft and nice looking. I can't wait to see if you have my eyes or if you have your daddy's. His were always a prettier color than mine, a real nice icy-blue.

But I'm so scared to let you go. I wish you knew how much I love you, and that I do really wish I could keep you. Everything I've said before makes me sound so selfish and I hate it. I'm just not good with words. I ain't got a clue how to make it come out right, and even if I could, they aren't gonna sound the way I want them to.

Maybe some day I can talk to you face to face and give you a real big hug. I hope you aren't gonna hate me for giving you up, Beckham. I don't think I could stand that.

XOXO,

Mary-Anne.

 

My Amazing Baby Boy,

You were born at 4:37 this morning. I had been in labor for five hours at that point and I swear I was so ready to get it over with. It hurt like crazy; you're really lucky that you ain't ever gonna have to feel something like that. Boys have it easy.

I tell you, you've got a set of pipes on you. The second you came out, you were crying and screaming like nobodies' business. I'm pretty sure they could have heard you on a different floor of the hospital, you were so loud.

Your mama got to cut the cord. Both her and your daddy were crying almost as much as you were. I cried some, too, but probably not for the same reasons as them.

After you were cleaned up a little, they handed you over to your parents. It was a little unreal for me. In all the movies and shows about babies being born, the baby is given to the mother after it's born. But I didn't get to hold you until a while after. I ain't going to lie, I cried a lot about that, too.

My mama said that's just how it goes. Because to the hospital, I'm only your biological mother. I don't have no rights to you, and the only ties I have to you now that you're out is through DNA. It's a little hard for me to understand. As I see it, you're my baby, too.

But that just isn't how it works around here. When I finally did get to hold you, though, you opened your eyes and looked up at me. The doctors kept saying that you can't see anything, but I don't wanna believe them. You looked right into my eyes, and I swear to God that you smiled.

Again, they told me that you weren't really smiling because you're happy. They said it was because of gas and all that, but that babies can't smile on purpose until their three or four months old. But oh well, I still think you smiled at me for a reason. You knew it was me.

You were so soft, so little. I loved to touch your cheeks and hold your little tiny hands. Your fingers were so small compared to mind, I was a bit scared that I would crush you. But I didn't and you're all fine and perfect still.

I didn't want to let you go but I had to. I swear, though, if the nurse would have come in any earlier I might have thrown something at her to make her go away. Even though I would have gotten in trouble it would have been worth it for just a few more minutes with you.

There's so much I wish I could tell you, but there's only so much I can fit in the letter without you getting bored. I wish I could tell you about the funny time when I was a toddler and I peed right in the middle of the store. I wish I could tell you so much about my mama and daddy. I wish I could take you around and show you my house and let you meet my family and friends. I wish I could show you my school, where you might go some day, if you don't move away.

I wish I could let you know that everything's gonna be okay, or that I could sing you these sweet little lullabies my mama would sing to me when I couldn't sleep when I was little. I wish I could make you a cute little baby blanket like my aunt did for me. I wish I could watch you smile for the first real time, help you learn how to roll over, give you real food, push you around in a stroller. I wish I could help you learn how to walk, how to talk. I wish I could be your first word.

But it isn't even just the little baby things. I wish I could get you ready for your first day of school and stand on the corner with you, wait for the bus. I wish I could tuck you in every night and read you some cute stories. I wish I could teach you how to write and be there for when you meet the girl of your dreams. I wish I could take the dumb pictures before you go to prom or be there for you when you have your first heartbreak.

Beckham, even though I can't tell you all those things and I ain't gonna be there for every little thing you do, I'm always gonna love you. You're my son, just as much as you're theirs, because no matter what happens, I love you. And even though I can't be there for everything, and I can't be your real mama, I want nothing but the best for you.

I know you're gonna grow up to be an amazing boy, because they sure as hell aren't gonna give you anything but the best. They're gonna raise you up well, I just know it.

I hope some day you'll read these letters and be able to tell how much I love you, Beckham. Because you're always gonna be my little soccer player, my amazing little boy. I love you.

Forever yours,

Mama.





7

| Email this story Email this Short story | Add to reading list



Reviews

About | News | Contact | Your Account | TheNextBigWriter | Self Publishing | Advertise

© 2013 TheNextBigWriter, LLC. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Policy.