As I sat in the hospital visiting my baby girl in the NICU I looked down at this perfect little baby without a name. All the babies in the NICU had these adorable signs on their beds – their names decoratively written with vibrant colors and intricate patterns and designs. I never saw a sign on my daughter’s bed. I was told later that the nurses had given her a name – but at the time, I wasn’t told what it was. It seemed such an odd question to ask. Me, the woman that brought her into the world, not knowing her name.

That first day I visited I asked the nurses how big she was when she was born. One coldly walked away to look at her information and returned with an answer that might as well have been in Latin. Her weight was in grams and her length in inches. I don’t recall how many thousands of grams they told me she was or how many centimeters long. I do recall that I asked if they could tell me that in pounds and inches, but apparently that was a tall order coming from a worthless abandoner.

I didn’t exactly have a warm welcome from anyone in the NICU. No one spoke to me except the SW, who actually was wonderful and amazing. I credit her for a great deal in that first week. Were it not for her and the words she spoke I don’t know if I’d be here today. I mean, I’d be here on this planet, but HERE, talking about this? This story? Where I know my daughter? I truly can’t say…

I joined groups, websites, started new email accounts when this new chapter of my life began. I usually save passwords because I can’t be bothered to remember every password to every email account (there are four), computer password (two), Myspace account (two), you get the picture. Many of my accounts that were opened Post-Cupcake have some sort of Cupcake related password. Of these there are a variety too. I used my roommates computer (although I should probably say “use” as it’s her Mac that I’m clicking away on at this very minute) and logged on to a trusted site. It asked for my password. I never log out on other computers so I plugged in my go-to Cupcake-y password and I was rejected. Say what???

After many attempts I realized the problem: I created the account and password when I didn’t know her name. I DIDN’T KNOW HER NAME. It hit me that there was once a time when I didn’t know any of this. When I was working on an open adoption and didn’t know basic information. It would be ten and a half months before I knew her middle name.

The day I found out her middle name I asked her Mom how much she had weighed at birth. How long she had been. She didn’t know. Not because everyone refused to tell her of course, because she just didn’t remember. Because it wasn’t information that she had once been denied – information that she clung desperately at the hope that she would one day find out.

I still don’t know.

Perhaps one day I’ll get my answers.