Isn’t it funny how I could know my baby’s sound from any other baby’s sound in the whole wide world?
After a bit, they believed me and went and got L’il Annie. I think she was as happy to see me as I was to see her.
What if? But I can’t think of “what if’s.” I can only think of L’il Baby Annie in her pink nesting corner of our room and that “God’s in his heaven and all is right with the world.” I can’t remember who said that, but I’m going to look it up tomorrow.
Anyway, the policemen brought us home in a squad car and told me what a lucky girl I was to still have my baby.
They didn’t say anything about calling Mom, so I guess I’ll just keep my fingers crossed. I do hope they don’t have to contact her because…because…I couldn’t go through all the terrible truth and the even more terrible lies and stuff again.
August 19, Monday
5:15 a.m.
Dearest, dearest friend, Daisy Diary:
My heart is breaking because I’ve definitely decided that I must do what I have to do! I’ve confided so many awful, terrible things to you that Mom could never ever love me completely again or respect and trust me at all again if she knew. SO, the only solution is to, Friday, before the trash man comes, cut you up in little bits and put you in the bin.
I’m sorry Daisy, but there seems to be no other way. I’m probably too old for a diary now anyway; at least being a mother and all should make me more mature. That’s it, I should have more mature things to do now. BUT I HAVEN’T!!!!!!!!
OH, DAISY, I’m going to miss you so much. For the last few months of my life, you’ve often been my only friend! THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU AND FORGIVE ME IF YOU CAN!
5:57 p.m.
Obviously, I couldn’t put you in the trash, dear Daisy. It would have been like the amputation of a major part of my body. And I truly do think I’m all right now, that I was SCARED STRAIGHT by the L’il Annie police thing. I don’t know how before that I could possibly have been thinking so…so…irrationally.
August 20, Tuesday
Baby Annie and I are back in school, and everything is going great. It’s like the sun has come out after a hard, cold winter. We’ve got two little baby boys and Tammy’s and my little girl babies in our nursery. They’re all so sweet and cuddly and full of expectations and possibilities that I can’t imagine why God ever allowed four such young air-brained little kids to have them.
Oh, I almost forgot, Dr. Milshaw is setting up a special therapy group for six of us girls. I don’t know why she’s not having all of us, but maybe the other five don’t want to come. They aren’t very harmonious with the system. I…wish I could go alone. I’m sure the others aren’t as goofed up as I am. Or are they?
August 21, Wednesday
9:47 p.m.
Went to the therapy group for unwed mothers that Dr. Milshaw suggested. There were twenty girls there instead of six, and it was like literally going to hell. I can’t believe some of their stories. I don’t think I’m going back; I can barely handle my stress and mess, so I can’t see how filling my brain and soul with their garbage can make my situation any better or ease it the slightest.
Oh, I forgot to tell you—Gracia, an eighteen-year-old girl, and her parents, have moved into the apartment just down the hall. She’s really nice, and we’ve gone a few places together, but she’s got a boyfriend, and it’s so wholesome and “the way it should be” that I guess I’ve put a big wall of some kind around myself. I can’t really be me! But then maybe her Roger just seems like he’s all the goody-goody things when he’s around me and other people he wants to impress, and he’s like all the other guys when the two of them are alone. Danny, at first, used to…But I’m trying not to think about him anymore! I’m not being very successful at it, but I am trying!
I wonder if I’m just boy-crazy, or if it’s normal to want a boyfriend as much as I do. I don’t mean just the…you-know part…. I mean just someone to hang in the halls with, and joke with and talk to on the phone and…sort of be buddy, pal, friends with, like…before Danny. Only tighter, but not so…I dunno!!!!!!!!!
I guess what I really wish I had most of all is someone to just talk to who could understand and explain but not treat me like I’m a little kid, WHICH SOMETIMES I WANT TO BE TREATED LIKE TOO.
Oh Daisy, have you ever seen anyone as mixed-up as I am?
August 22, Thursday
10:44 p.m.
I was so bored and “bummed” by Mom and everything else that I got Mrs. Abbot to baby-sit and went to another unwed mothers therapy group. It was about as gross as the other one, and when they stopped for refreshments, I said I had to go to the toilet and wandered down the hall.
I was really surprised to hear Dr. Milshaw’s voice behind one of the doors, and I knocked softly, then poked my head in. She was talking on the phone and going through a stack of papers, but she motioned for me to come in and sit down, which I did gladly. Later I broke down and started crying, saying I couldn’t believe how some of the girls were talking about their very own babies. That I didn’t want to be any part of that kind of thing!
She got up, put her arms around me, and told me it was good for the girls to be able to release their negative feelings, as well as to admit having done, or felt like doing, some of the shocking, heart-crushing things I had heard; that they weren’t bad girls just because they had had bad feelings during times when they were under great physical stress and emotional pain.
I totally fell apart as she told me that is why the therapy groups were set up. And I, who had felt I was “different” from the other girls, saw that I was not. We were all just stupid, young, naive kids who had lost our way and were now trying to find our way back to sanity and reality, and maybe someday, normalcy.
After a while, Dr. Milshaw compassionately led me back to the group, sat me down, kissed me on the top of the head, and went back to her work.
I listened for a while, then suddenly, like a tornado followed by a hurricane, words started spewing out of me! I regurgitated every disgusting thought or action I’d ever had about poor, innocent, little Baby Annie. When I had finished, it was so quiet, I opened my tear-filled eyes to see if the kids were going to “stone me” or something, but they were all crying too. In one gesture we fell into each others arms, sobbing and rejoicing at the same time! Yes! Rejoicing! All the self-anger and self-hate had been dissipated, and we were all one part of a hurting whole.
I know that sounds dumb and impossible, but it wasn’t, and Lanetta, who was in charge of the group, said NOW we had begun to understand what a therapy group was supposed to be about.
We were all so limp from our verbal purging that Lanetta had us sit and sprawl on the floor in a circle. She joined us and became very very serious, telling us that by far, the majority of young unwed mothers have varied abnormal thoughts and actions, particularly if they don’t have a full-time stay-at-home adult figure in their lives. She also said, with tears in her own eyes, that stress, anger, impatience, frustration, wanting to get back at the father, etc., cause innocent babies to be not only neglected, screamed at, etc., but often they are physically abused.
Oh, Daisy, Daisy, Daisy, I promise you with all my heart and soul that there is no way in the world I would ever hurt L’il Annie—physically, emotionally, or psychologically! You believe me don’t you? Please, please say you do!
NO! DON’T! BECAUSE YOU SHOULDN’T!
Not only was there the blanket thing…and the police thing…but I’ve yelled at her…more than once…telling her to be quiet, to stop crying…. WORSE THAN THAT, I’VE SCREAMED AT HER TO SHUT UP! Mom has never screamed that at me. So what kind of a mother am I? A verbal abuser already? What will come next?
Both Dr. Milshaw and Lanetta have talked about adoption and have shown us charts and figures and studies, which show that most babies born to unwed mothers are considered by people in the field to be, one way or another, “at risk.”
NOT MY BABY! NOT MY BABY! I swear!
But
I’m not
Absolutely,
Totally,
Positively
SURE!
Oh HELP! HELP! HELP!
SOMEBODY PLEASE, PLEASE HELP ME!
August 23, Friday
10:22 p.m.
Mom has recognized that something is wrong with me. It’s almost like I’m afraid of L’il Annie. We’re going to school and everything, and I’m working very hard at doing all my extra work at an A or A+ level, but I’m sooooooo afraid of being a bad mother that sometimes I’m afraid to do anything at all, and I am sooooo ashamed!!!!! I know L’il Annie can’t talk, but I still know she knows! And I’m not sure she can ever feel completely safe and totally secure around me in her whole life, but maybe she can, I hope!
Anyway, Mom says she’s getting our bills paid down to where pretty soon she can give up her extra job. That will make things a lot better for all of us.
Mom wants to go see Aunt Marnie this weekend and it might be fun; at least it will give us a chance to get away, or can you ever get away from head things?
August 25, Sunday
1:21 a.m.
This is really scary. Neither Mom nor I was comfortable around each other all weekend. I’d been looking forward to having some time with her, and then when I did, it was like…we were sort of strangers. And…in a way, I was sort of jealous of…well, it just seemed like she loved the baby more than she loved me. NOW ISN’T THAT STUPIDITY FOR YOU! But it seemed that way anyway, and I resented it and her and everything else. I guess I need to do some serious work on my attitude!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Right!
August 27, Tuesday
5:16 p.m.
I don’t know whether to be excited or annoyed. Mom left a message on the answering service that she’d called a distant relative of hers, who’s a shrink, and made arrangements for me to go and stay with her for a few days.
I’m really torn. I know I’m messed up and I’d like some one-on-one help, but…sending me away to a total stranger? I wonder if she runs a crazy farm, and if I’ll be locked in with a lot of really desperate kids who have committed every crime in the book. And what about L’il Annie?
I’m getting sick to my stomach. Is Mom just trying to get rid of me? I’m soooo confused!!!!!
I’m supposed to be fixing dinner, and I can’t remember if I salted the peas once or twice, or ten times, or not at all.
Oh, Mom, hurry, hurry, hurry home!
No matter how bad it is, let’s get it over with.
I know what happened! I’ll bet Mom called Dr. Milshaw and Lanetta, and they told her I was totally bonkers and needed help to protect L’il Annie! OH, I wouldn’t hurt L’il Annie in a million years…Or would I? Maybe she’s sending me away for my own good and for Annie’s.
10:46 p.m.
By the time Mom got home, I was frazzled, trying to fix dinner with one hand while I held L’il Annie in the other arm. I couldn’t put her down! I absolutely could not! I felt Mom was thinking of me so much as a “mini-monster mom” that she’d grab her away from me and never give her back!
Was I in for a surprise! Her relative, it turns out, is Dr. B. I had no idea they were related, even distantly.
I’m leaving Thursday, the 29th, and I’ll come back Saturday, the 31st. It sounds almost like an adventure. Mom was getting ready to quit her second job anyway; my bag of problems just made her do it sooner instead of later. She’s taking off two sick days from school, which in some crazy way makes me feel good because it will be the first days she’s taken off since L’il Annie was born, and IT’S FOR ME! Imagine me coming before all the kids she teaches, and she was chosen Teacher of the Year in the state a couple of years ago! I’m getting all choked up. Imagine Mom and Dr. B. doing this for ME! Wow! I must be someone really important instead of the nothing, nobody I’ve always suspected myself of being…well, not always!
Mom’s going to take care of L’il Annie, so I won’t have a worry in creation. I can just dump and dump and dump, and heal and heal and heal…I hope! But…the scary thought keeps running through my mind that nobody can straighten up the mess in three days that I’ve piled up in many, many months, maybe most of my life.
Oooops, now I’m concentrating on my glass being half empty again. I think that’s probably at the root of my problems, don’t you? Or do you?
I better get some sleep. I’ve got a zillion things to do before I leave.
September 1, Sunday
9:47 a.m.
Dear Daisy Diary:
I am so, so, so, so sorry I forgot to take you with me, but as you know, L’il Annie was cross before I left, and everything else was in confusion with me not sure I should be going at the last minute and all. Anyway I’m really, really glad I went, and later I’ll tell you all about my adventure, but now I’m super, super tired!!!
Oh, before I go, I have to tell you that Dr. B. met me at the airport with her big ex-racing greyhound dog, Newley. There was a lot of confusion and stuff, so she handed me Newley’s leash while she got out her car keys. Newley came to my left side and acted like we were joined at the hip; she stayed that way almost every minute that I was at their place, even without the leash! Awesome, huh? Actually, more awesome than awesome!! I wish I could have brought her home with me. Dr. B. says Newley recognized that I was her relative too. That really made me feel comfortable and like I belonged, even though I missed L’il Annie and Mom with a kind of emptiness that I’d never known existed before.
I loved being there, but I really, really wanted to be home too. Thank goodness I had Newley to talk to during the long nights. She slept on my bed (I don’t know if Dr. B. allowed it or not, but I didn’t ask since she got up there without my inviting her to). Anyway I told her all about L’il Annie and Mom and you, and that helped a lot with the emptiness.
September 3, Tuesday
8:27 p.m.
I’ve tried really hard for two days to transcribe my tapes, and I’m about to give up. It sounded easy! NOT SO! NO WAY! Mom showed me how, but she didn’t offer to do them. I guess she knew they’d be too personal; anyway, it’s slow and frustrating, actually buggering! But I know I’ve got to do it. Maybe not GOT TO, but WANT TO, AND NOW THAT I’m a mom myself, I’m trying to be more in the “SHOULD-do-things” mode than the “WANT-to-do-things” mode. It’s not easy, though! See ya later. I gotta get back to my snail-paced transcribing.
Dr. B. said she was in between projects and was delighted that I had come. Imagine her being delighted to see me!
We sat on Dr. B’s patio down by the river and it was like…like she was you, Daisy. I could just sort of think out loud.
She asked me about Mom and Dad and Dad’s mother, who was her something “twice removed,” whatever that means. Then, I don’t know how, we got to talking about me, me, me.
After a minute or two, she brought a little tape recorder out of her pocket and said if I didn’t mind, she’d like to tape our conversation, so that I could listen to it later and maybe pick up things or reinforce positive concepts and become aware of negative ones that I possibly wouldn’t do otherwise.
At first that made me uncomfortable, but pretty soon I forgot all about the recorder.
Tomorrow Mom’s going to show me an easier way to transcribe our ten tapes to paper. I think maybe after that, I really will tear them up or burn them, but maybe not.
NOW!!!!!
I am not going to write in you again till I get all my tapes transcribed, then I think I’ll put them in your book like extra pages. Tidy idea, right?
“Right.”
Honestly, I really don’t know what I’d do without you. Dr. B., like Mom, thinks diaries are really good things to help people put their thoughts in order and sort things out. But if that’s true, I certainly got out of orbit for a few months in my life, with my brain turned totally on to the Super-dooper Dumb Channel.
TAPE TRANSCRIPTIONS
“It’s really nice to have a little second niece he
re, Annie. I think a second niece would be sort of like a second cousin.”
“I’m happy you let me come, whatever I am.”
“I’ll tell you what you are: a wonderful, sweet, good, honorable young girl who just used poor judgement for a while.”
“Did I ever! Rotten judgement that’s going to follow me the rest of my life.”
“Really?”
“Well, maybe not. I think I’m beginning to get things a little straightened out.”
“Would you like to go back to where you first thought of yourself as getting off track?”
“Ummm. It seems so long ago it was almost like another lifetime.”
“Another lifetime?”
“Yeah, one when I was young and free and believed in things…and myself.”
“Was that a good time?”
“Oh yes! I was on the soccer team, and we had a rollerblade group that played street hockey in the park, and I had a bunch of dear girlfriends who were like…sisters. At least what I imagined sisters would be like. Our lives were sweet and neat. No worries and no stress beyond surface—school, going to the mall, and other little-girl manageable stuff.”
“And then?”
“Then…I met him.”
“Does it hurt you to even say his name?”
“Yeah. It’s a pain so sharp and deep that it would be in all ways unimaginable to people who haven’t been there.”
“Are you saying he was abusive?”
“Not at first. At first he was like springtime and birthdays and Christmas and the Fourth of July, and every other good thing in life tied together. He made me so happy that often I thought one more drop of joy would be beyond my ability to endure.”
“Did you love him, or think you loved him?”
“Oh yes! I worshiped him from the first day I met him. He was everything I thought a boy should or could be.”
“How long before…”
“It’s really weird, but I didn’t think he was abusing me until, I guess, a long time after he flushed me.”