Parenting is both easier and harder than I ever thought it would be. And I thought a lot about it before I placed my kiddo. I call her "the kid" a lot, kind of helps me detach a bit. But when she's with me it's "baby". She's nine. And she's my baby. The first time they brought her over while I was recovering on the couch, they were all smiles. But when they left that day, I cried "That's my baby" and only my step mother, a type of adopted mother, was there. And she didn't know how long she should comfort me or if I deserved this for getting knocked up. And they are still all smiles. And I am still crying. A beautiful little girl grew up in the meantime. And a mixed up teenager grew up, too. Into an everyday mother of two who teaches young mothers how to better parent their children. It's kind of sick ironic, but it's my life. And other than this pain, I'm not sure I would have it any other way. How can I hurt so bad about something and not be sure if I regret it? Hindsight is not 20/20. It cannot let us see the multitude of possibilities that may have sprouted if I had decided to be her everyday mom. Get it out of my head, my heart. Focus. What now? What's next? Ten years since I first met her everyday parents. I've asked for a dinner with them soon to talk about things and celebrate. It sounded like a good idea when I suggested it, but what am I going to talk about? We have a wonderful daughter, but I feel like I need to ask permission to call her "our daughter". I like the idea of a covenant. I wasn't old enough to really commit to that when I chose them, so maybe I'll do it now. Part of me wants to say it once and for all to their face, "Hey, just in case you weren't aware, this hurts for me." I don't know what good it would do. It's not a very nice thing to do. To ask someone for a favor like this - "Just stop smiling for a little bit, would ya?!!"