I was recently asked by a very innocent and well-meaning young woman in front of my oldest son, “What made you want to have your OWN child?” I used to get mad when people would ask these things, but I now get there truly is a lack of understanding for many people if their story is different or it’s not a “normal” thing to them. Having your “own babies” is what our culture is used to. So I wanted to write this in an effort to educate, not shame. We can support each other’s stories as we share them with love.
Most of my motherhood story is mine and private, and I want to keep it that way. The parts I would like to share are for the sake of connecting and helping others understand. Many people think our baby is a “miracle” because we “couldn’t get pregnant before” – an assumption made since we adopted our boys. The truth is that we adopted them because we met our boys and knew they were ours to love and raise – no other reason. Adoption is absolutely a choice made by many parents when fertility is a challenge, and it is also not the only reason people adopt. The point is that every story is different, and it is important to me to honor every parent in their unique choices. And it is important to me that my boys know they are just as much a gift as their sister on the way. I answered that young woman with, “All my children came to me unexpectedly. All my children are a gift. And all my children are my own.”
I grieve with my mom who lost her daughter the day she was born. I grieve with my clients and friends who have painfully endured multiple miscarriages. I grieve with my clients who go through one IVF after another with no plus sign. I grieve with friends and clients who have gone through every single step of their adoption process and still did not get to bring their child home or had some kind of adoption interruption. I grieve with my friend who has already lost one child to a genetic disorder and watches another struggle with the same one. I GRIEVE HARD for my son’s birth mothers. So hard. Because now as I am growing a child inside me, I cannot imagine the pain and sacrifice it was for them to lovingly release them into my care and partner with me in mothering them. I will never take that lightly. I don’t take any of these stories lightly.
And dads, you are seen too. My mom told me the only time she saw my Daddy cry was when he lost his baby girl and when his dad passed away. Dads have their stories around fatherhood too. The burdens carried around having and being a parent (or not) are so real.
And I don’t want to miss the JOY. I am so much more a believer that we have to hold both the joy and pain of our stories. Even in our hurts, we can embrace the gifts we still somehow receive – and they may not always come in the forms or ways we expect, but they do come. They are the small reminders we are okay. I am a stronger and more beautiful version of myself after the hurts I have healed and still healing through. I take more time to talk to strangers, hear their stories, watch the animals in my wooded backyard, clear my calendar to rest, clear my calendar for my people in crisis, lean into the uncertainty of life and trust I CAN STILL BE OKAY ANYWAY while I simultaneously have my grief.
I remember seeing pregnant women not long after my pregnant friend passed away and being SO angry at them. But I was not angry at them. I was angry my friend wasn’t getting to walk around like them in this life with her pregnancy too. And I bet those women would have felt the same if they knew my story of loss.
So when you see me and my obviously pregnant belly, please know I am in this with you in some way. I honor your story and do not take for granted what any of us have been through. Even my seemingly “easy” pregnancy has its own version of pain and joy that I carry with me. I carry yours with you too. I see you on this Mother’s Day – whatever your story.
