FROM ZERO TO MOM IN HALF AN HOUR

It's A Boy!

Becoming a parent doesn’t always follow the expected path. For us, it was a winding, difficult, emotional journey.

When Steve and I married, I was 20, he was 25, and we weren’t exactly starry-eyed over the idea of parenthood. Babies? Toddlers? Honestly, they seemed loud and sticky. We had things to do, places to go, and people to see. We agreed kids might not be in the cards for us.

Fast forward a few years, I'm 27, he's 32, and something shifted. I caught a serious case of the Mommy Blues. Suddenly, I wanted a baby. Not eventually. I wanted a baby right now!

Steven seemed to warm to the idea of three of us instead of two of us, so we did what we were supposed to do. I became pregnant and was beyond ecstatic. When I tested positive, I called every person I knew on this earth to spread the news.

Sadly, it wasn’t meant to be. And then, it happened again. And again. After three losses, I was left emotionally bruised and physically exhausted.

We turned our hopes toward adoption through Riverside County Social Services. After mountains of paperwork and a single home visit, we were officially placed on the county’s waiting list.

We waited. And waited. And waited some more.

In the meantime, a private adoption opportunity came our way. A young woman was looking for a home for her baby. We were cautiously thrilled. But months later, she changed her mind. Another heartbreak.

Meanwhile, a friend and I hosted a joint Halloween party. One of her guests was her OBGYN. My friend was also experiencing fertility issues.

A few months after the party, the doctor called her with news: a woman had chosen to place her baby for adoption. The baby was due in five months. My friend said, “No, not yet”. She referenced our joint Halloween party, Steven and I, and referred him to us.

We, and the mother, chose to keep a respectful distance, no direct contact with her or her doctor. Instead, we hired an attorney (a dear family friend), and all communication went through him. He met with her throughout the pregnancy and, as much as he could, reassured us that she was firm in her decision.

Again, we waited. Those five months were torture. My memory held nothing but bad endings. Only our parents knew; I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone else.

At 2:00 a.m. on March 7, 1984, our phone rang. No one calls at 2 a.m. with good news. I answered and I heard my lawyer say softly to me, “Congratulations. You have a son”.

I remember on the drive to Desert Hospital at 2:30 a.m. I kept repeating, “I’m scared, are you scared”? For the life of me, I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

We walked into the newborn nursery, a nurse approached us. I’m pretty sure she was wondering what two young-ish people were doing there at that time of the morning. I was incoherent. All I could say was, “Where’s my baby?” It took a minute until she realized who we were and why we were there.

Joshua Noah Weinberg was swaddled in a blanket, sound asleep. Did I care? Nope! The nurse picked him up and placed him in my arms while I sat in a rocking chair. I rocked my heart out.

Eventually, we left and went home. Steve had to go out of town that day for business. Our lawyer agreed to accompany me back to the hospital because Joshua was being released to us (to me),and could come home.

He drove his car, we used his car seat. According to Jewish tradition, there shouldn’t be anything in the house for the newborn until it arrives home safely on the first day.

I was without a car seat, a crib, diapers, wipes, formula, bottles, etc. Our lawyer had shopped for us and gifted us with diapers, formula, and bottles. My mom told me I slept in a dresser drawer for almost a month when they brought me home. For the life of me, I can’t remember where Joshua slept, but we did have a crib the next day.

What I absolutely do remember, all these years later, is our lawyer saying to me before he left our house, “Well, just to let you know, you’ll never sleep through the night the rest of your life, congratulations”.