Not That Kind Of Girl: My Birthmother's Story (maybe) Part 5

February, 1959
Richmond, Virginia


Any day now. I cannot wait to get this thing over with.


I had a rough time last week. Aunt Mary drove me to see my obstetrician, Dr. Reuben Simms.


"We need to discuss your future plans," he began. "I believe that I have found the perfect little couple for your baby. But before we go any further down that path, Miss Talbot, I need to ask you if you are sure that you want to place your child for adoption. It isn't fair to get their hopes up and then you change your mind."


"Yes, sir," I nodded. "I am absolutely, positively, 100% sure."


He nodded. "I understand. Well, let me tell you a little bit about your baby's new Mommy and Daddy!"


Do I have to hear this? I thought. Trained in politeness since birth, I refrained from saying it.


He smiled happily. "They go to church with my daughter Joyce. I know how important education is to you, so here's good news. They're both scientists with masters degrees from the University of North Carolina." He chuckled indulgently. "In fact, they met while they were doing laboratory experiments. Surprised Dad didn't blow up the lab. She's a looker. In fact..and I told her the same thing....she looks just like you."


I just kept nodding politely.


"They have been married almost ten years and can't have kids of their own," he continued. "She even quit work to try. She says she's been taking some extension courses..."


Extension courses? I snapped to attention. I could have run into her if Uncle H had let me enroll.


"..but of course she'll stay home with the baby until he's in school," Dr. Simms continued. "Both are from fine Southern families. His father's a doctor in South Carolina and her father is a prosperous North Carolina farmer...and by the way, I've asked them to give your baby piano lessons since you're a music major, and I told them how well you had done at William & Mary..."


"Dr. Simms!" I exclaimed. "You told them where I go to college?"


"Don't worry," he said dryly. "You don't have to jump if you see a lady pushing a baby carriage around the campus. Look, Miss Talbot, they have a right to know something about you, also."


"Please don't tell them my name, or tell me theirs," I begged.


He leaned foward. "Miss Talbot, I've delivered thousands of babies. You have about the least amount of curiosity about your baby's parents of any mother-to-be that I've ever seen."


I considered faking interest.


Then I reconsidered.


I was so tired of lying. So tired of writing letters about my fabulous cruise. So tired of faking enthusiam for motherhood with my new friends at the apartment complex. I was still reeling from the Christmas Day phone call with my parents. I actually wrote down the museums I'd visited, the tourist places I'd been at, the names of my new friends in Europe....


"I'm not that kind of girl," I said. "I was just attending a college dance. I wanted to be pure for my husband. It's not my fault that I was attacked....I just want to get this over with. I'm a nice girl!"


"Miss Talbot, do you think you're the first 'nice girl' that has been in that chair?" he asked.


I left shortly afterwards. But I think I'll be seeing him soon. I've been having pains all day long. They are five minutes apart. I think I'd better call Aunt Mary.


Next: Baby blues