by Ann Fessler
I was not in any way prepared for labor, delivery, or for how I would emotionally feel. Nobody told me that the doctor had given orders that I was not to see the baby. I was beside myself, screaming at them, “Let me see my baby! Let me hold him!” To stop me from screaming, they finally let me touch my son’s cheek. I had no idea how intensely I would want to touch that baby. I just wasn’t prepared for how desperately I wanted to hold that child and just feel him and cradle him.
—Glory
They took me into the labor room and I labored for hours and hours. They put me in a room, turned off the light, closed the door and left me to labor by myself. I just wanted somebody there with me because I was so frightened. I was young and I was in so much pain. I remember praying to God: “Please let this be over. I’m sorry, I’ll never do this again.” You barter all these things, being Catholic—or being human, actually. I was allowed to hold her just once. They didn’t want you to bond at all with the baby. Some women chose not to see their babies. I just could never imagine that. I wanted to see that face. I’ll never forget it as long as I live. You never forget that face.
—Carolyn I
Some of the young mothers were given the choice earlier in their pregnancy to see or hold their babies once they were born. Others were advised not to, or were told that it was against the policy of the maternity home, agency, or hospital.
Another part of the agreement with the doctor was that I would never see this child. From the time I felt the first bit of labor, I would immediately be put out so that I would have no memory of labor, delivery, or anything. And that was supposed to make it easier for me. I begged them to please let me see my baby, so they told me I could see the baby for a minute. I walked down to the nursery and they pulled up the shade and they moved the crib, not right in front of the window but where I could see it. I said, “Oh, my God, she is the most beautiful…” She was regal looking, is the word. And it was just the fastest minute because then they said, “You have to go back to your room now,” and somebody pulled the shade.
—Kathi
In some cases, parents tried to persuade their daughter not to have any contact with her child. A few women declined on their own because they felt it would be too difficult to see their child and then let go. Some saw their newborn baby only through the glass of the nursery window.
My father had said, “Don’t look at the baby.” But I went to that nursery and I said, “Which one is mine?” He was in the back and he was crying, screaming. I could see his arms whaling and I had the biggest urge to run into that nursery and pick him up. But my father told me not to hold the baby, not to look at the baby, because it never happened. It never happened. I didn’t have a baby.
—Sheryl
Institutions that limited or forbade contact worried that it would initiate a bond that would make surrender more difficult, implicitly disregarding the fact that a bond had already developed during the preceding nine months.
All through my pregnancy, when I was seeing the counselor at the agency she encouraged, “Don’t get attached. Don’t think of it as your baby.” After my daughter found me, that was one of the first things she asked me. She said, “Do you think you bonded with me?” How could I not? How can you carry a child for nine months and not bond? It’s not humanly possible.
—Connie III
In some instances, the mother and baby returned to the maternity home together and stayed anywhere from a few days to several weeks. The maternity homes that followed this procedure had special hospital wards for postpartum women. In these cases, the new mothers were kept in a separate area, away from the girls who were waiting to deliver. They often had daily contact with their babies and were permitted to bottle-, but not breast-feed, them. A few were even allowed to take their baby to a local chapel for christening.
But the most common practice seems to have been for mother and baby to part company at the hospital. An adoption-agency worker would pick up the baby from the hospital and take him to a foster home, where he would stay for a specified time period, after which the adoptive parents were permitted to take him home. In the late 1940s and early 1950s, babies were often kept in these foster homes for two or three months. Today, there is often no waiting period at all.
I was unprepared for the last time that I would hold this baby girl. The nurse made a big deal out of clipping our wristbands. My wristband got clipped and taken and the baby’s wristband got clipped and it was like the umbilical cord being cut. I was hysterical. I didn’t want to let go of the baby. I was just a mess. You know, it makes you wonder. All the support that they gave prior to this, there should have been a little support then, that’s when I needed support.
—Pamela I
I had to stay in the hospital for an extra two days and the adoption agency came to get my son. They didn’t know I was still there. I remember coming out of my room and I see this woman carrying my son down the hall. And I said, “Where are you going with him?” And she looked at me and said, “Why?” And I said, “Because that’s my son!” And she went, “I’m so sorry. I’m from the adoption agency.” I still remember, I grabbed on to the blanket and I lay on the floor pulling at it. I still have dreams about it.
—Charlenea
They let me hold the baby once. It was a little boy. I guess it was a couple of days after that, a woman from social services came to take the baby and she asked me if I wanted to carry him out to the car. That was a big mistake. I shouldn’t have done that, but I wanted to. I guess I did something really stupid, I don’t know. But when he was in the car I just let out the most bloodcurdling scream. I thought, “Wow. That’s kind of scary,” but I guess I wanted him to hear that in his subconscious…to know that I didn’t want to do it.
—Nellie
I was in a ward with a couple of other women from the maternity home, and they brought the babies to us. In those days, you stayed in the hospital for four or five days. It was an otherworldly experience. I can’t quite explain it. There we were, five or six of us, in the same situation. I know when the babies were brought to us that was precious, precious time. I remember I’d glance at another woman across the way without talking. I’m sure we all felt the same way. Then it was time to leave.
I went back to the maternity home and that’s when the grief started. I just couldn’t stop crying. I called my sister-in-law and brother and I begged them to come get me because I was just a mess and I couldn’t stay in this impersonal, humiliating situation. I couldn’t bear it. I was deeply, deeply mourning and no place to go with it. I continued to see the social worker and she gave me a little bit of time, then she pressed me to sign the adoption surrender.
—Rachael
I have heard many people, both men and women, describe the monumental change that occurred the moment they held their newborn child. Some describe it as an overwhelming love for their baby that they had not anticipated and were totally unprepared for. The circumstances of the pregnancy—whether planned or unplanned, or even inconvenient at that point in their lives—were of little consequence once their child was born. I have also heard adoptive parents describe similar feelings about the moment a baby was put in their arms. Yet even today, few seem to perceive that these emotions must also be present in mothers whose babies will be adopted, whatever the circumstances. It is as if their unmarried status, or their intention to relinquish, has rendered them incapable of love or motherly instincts. There has been no widespread recognition that mothers who surrender children for adoption experience grief or suffer a real loss.
The nurse came in with this little pink bundle and she said, “Do you want to see your baby girl?” And the minute that the nurse puts the baby in your arms, everything changes. Because now you’re holding your own baby and it’s like something changes in your whole body. And now you don’t want to give this little baby back.
—Karen II
Some women recalled the love and attachment they had for their baby during their pregnancy. They sang
and talked to their baby and all along dreaded the separation that was to come. Others remained more detached and accepted the advice of authority figures who told them not to think of the baby as their own. Until they gave birth, the baby was not truly real to them. These women were even less prepared and were completely taken aback by the intense feelings of love they had for their child at birth and the overwhelming desire to hold and touch their baby. A few described being in an almost total state of denial about what was happening to them. Some remained in a closed-off emotional state until many years later, when they met their child.
It’s funny. The whole time I was carrying my daughter, I told myself that I wasn’t her real mother. I really believed that. I knew that I was carrying her but, you know, that was the party line, that’s what they told you. The social workers said that you were carrying the child for someone else. And I really went along with that in my head. I guess in a way I was less tormented because most birth mothers didn’t have that kind of detachment. They knew that they were their child’s mother. They knew what they were losing, and I was just totally out to lunch in that department. Until my daughter was born. I realized at that moment, that’s not the way it works. She was my daughter. I realized that fully, in every way, she was my daughter.
You don’t talk about those things with your social worker. You talk about what you’re going to do afterward. Although I must say that my social worker was a good person, she was a young person, she had never given birth. It’s funny to me that they have social workers for pregnant teens who have never given birth themselves, because giving birth changes you and there’s no way to tell a person what that is like.
—Ann
Although it is difficult for any woman to be wholly prepared for birth, it is hard to fathom the lack of counseling given to these women about the feelings they would have after the birth of their child and possibly over a lifetime. The social workers watched many young women go through this transition and it seems cruel not to have prepared them either emotionally or logistically by exploring every option open to them before the baby was born. After the birth, when the reality of motherhood had sunk in, many of these women were desperate to formulate a plan other than relinquishment. But there was no system of advocacy for a woman who knew she wanted to mother from the beginning, nor any effective recourse for those who came to that realization after their babies were born. Many women were presented with papers in the hospital while they were still recovering from childbirth and were authoritatively instructed to sign. Some did not even understand what they were signing. Often these papers gave temporary or joint custody to the adoption agency, and once the child was in the agency’s care the mother had a more difficult time, both legally and emotionally, halting the process. Though each state did have a set period of time during which the mother could revoke consent, as they still do, many women who announced that they had changed their minds or who asked about having more time to decide were not informed of their legal rights but rather were told it was too late. The only staff person most of them had to turn to was the caseworker, and most of these were strong advocates for surrendering.
Nobody talked about legal rights in those days. They told you the baby was adopted right away. They didn’t tell you it takes a while, and they didn’t tell you that you could legally change your mind. You didn’t have an attorney, you didn’t know what your legal rights were, and they lied to you. I don’t know if it would have made a difference. It’s real hard to say years later. But there was a miscarriage of justice there. You do have rights.
—Diane II
Women who wanted to parent were often subjected to a humiliating competition of sorts with the prospective adoptive parents. It was routine for agency workers to provide trumped-up descriptions of the adoptive families. Many women were told their child would go to a family where the husband was a doctor and the wife was a housewife. It was suggested that if the mother loved her child she should not deny him or her this wonderful opportunity. The agencies, of course, did not foresee these mothers reuniting with their children twenty, thirty, or forty years later, and learning that the profile of the adoptive parents had been untrue. Many women I interviewed have met their child’s parents and some have built wonderful relationships. They feel that, given the circumstances, they could not have wished for a better family or outcome for their child. Others, however, were unequivocally not pleased by what they found.
When you give up a child, you certainly hope that they get better than what you could have done. My daughter certainly did not get better than what I could have done, even as a child myself. The original adoptive parents had adopted one child prior and then adopted my daughter within a short period of time. Within a couple of months after adopting her, the husband left the wife with the two kids. Apparently, the wife had some mental-health issues and so at some point she was institutionalized and the kids were put in foster care. My daughter remembers her grandparents being integral in making sure that they got food and were bathed and stuff, even before the mother was institutionalized. She remembers how her grandmother took care of them, because sometimes her mother just couldn’t.
—Wendy
The “better life” argument was made all the more compelling by the fact that so many couples were clamoring to adopt in the years following World War II; for every healthy baby available for adoption, it is estimated that there were ten couples waiting to adopt. As word reached the public that unwanted babies were available and in need of homes, millions of couples flooded adoption agencies with applications. The number of nonfamily adoptions per year went from approximately 8,000 in 1937 to over 70,000 in 1965.1
With so many couples in competition for babies, social workers could be selective. Agency workers vetted prospective couples and placed children in homes for a trial period, usually six months to one year, to ensure that both parties were adjusting to the new arrangement before the adoption was finalized. During this temporary-placement period, social workers conducted home visits to make sure the baby was thriving. If the prospective adoptive parents changed their minds before the adoption was finalized, the child could be returned to the agency.
Interest in adoption had increased, in part, because of the availability of newborns rather than older children. But couples of this era did not make the decision to adopt in a vacuum. Social acceptance of adoption needed to be cultivated. Adoption had not been a common way to build a family in previous generations. Families needed assurance that babies available through adoption agencies were healthy babies of normal intelligence who were otherwise unwanted. Social acceptance was predicated on the idea that these babies were unwanted. This belief eliminated a potential moral dilemma, especially for adoptive families: most couples, no matter how much they wanted a child, would not want to be involved in taking a child away from a mother against her will. But given the secrecy and the social stigma of the time, adoptive parents were never exposed to the story of the pain and grief felt by so many of the mothers. And as more and more couples adopted, social acceptance grew apace. People read stories about Hollywood stars like George Burns and Gracie Allen and Roy Rogers and Dale Evans adopting children. Popular magazines promoted adoption by publishing articles that further confirmed the practice as an admirable and joyful way to build a family.
The February 19, 1951, cover story in Life magazine provides an example of the dissemination of these ideas on a massive scale, and of the reassuring language used to describe the experience of adoption.2 What is interesting about this article is that it also purports to tell the story of the surrendering mother.
The cover of the magazine displayed a full-bleed photograph of a child’s face with a title to the left, “The Adoption of Linda Joy.” Inside the magazine, readers encountered a seven-page picture story that included thirty-two pictures, extensive captions, and a narrative that offered statistics and answers to concerns that might be on the minds of prospective adoptive families. The pictures and text chronicled the
entire process, from the paperwork required of the adoptive family to the follow-up home visits.
A sequence of five images with captions is meant to tell the story of the eighteen-year-old unwed mother who gave birth to Linda. In the first image, a noticeably pregnant woman is standing outside a building, suitcase in hand, looking at a plaque that reads WOMANS HOME. The caption explains that after traveling 175 miles by bus, she has arrived at the Salvation Army Home in Los Angeles to have her baby. It then shows her meeting with her caseworker at the maternity home and the caption explains that at the maternity home the expectant mother “while awaiting her baby, decides she cannot keep it.” She says, “It hurts, but I have a long life ahead of me.” The third image shows her with her newborn in the hospital after delivery and explains that during her stay in the home “the case worker came regularly to help her decide baby’s future.” The fourth depicts her kissing the baby’s face as she says good-bye. The caption reads, “She says goodbye to baby five days after birth. Unlike many unwed mothers, who are too chagrined to care, she took deep interest in the baby, liked to dress her.” The caption under the fifth and final image about the mother explains that “she has a few weeks to change her mind and keep her.” The only other reference to surrendering mothers is included in the beginning of the main story, in a passage warning potential adopters to avoid black marketers, “who charged as much as $5,000 to close the gap between couples who wanted babies and the mothers who wanted to get rid of them.” The circulation of Life magazine at the time this article was published was more than five million.
A close reading of the feature reveals much about a series of assumptions that came to be commonly held during this time. First, the pregnant woman arrives alone “by bus.” She has not been driven to the home by her family or boyfriend, who may later have a change of heart and come to claim her and the baby. Second, she has reached this decision on her own and has based it on the fact that she has “a long life ahead,” which clearly suggests that she does not want to burden herself with a child at this point in her life. Third, she acknowledges that “it hurts, but…” The simple phrase “It hurts” does not adequately convey a life-defining decision or indicate any real depth of feeling. Fourth, the caseworker “helped” but does not pressure her about her decision. Fifth, “unlike many unwed mothers” she has a “deep interest” in the baby. In other words, many other unwed mothers do not have a deep interest in their babies. Evidence of her “deep interest” is that she likes to dress the baby. This observation makes her seem shallow and immature. If the only evidence of the mother’s “deep interest” in the baby is dressing her, perhaps she likens motherhood to playing with dolls. Sixth, the story indicates that she has an opportunity to “change her mind.” This phrase reinforces the predominant view that the decision made by unwed mothers at the time was a personal one, that they simply made a calculated choice to keep or not to keep their child.
