Life | Maybe Motherhood Belongs To All Of Us
The arrival of Mother's Day always seems to fill up my heart with a flock of emotions that are a bit tricky to recognize.
Of course there’s some sadness because I can’t celebrate with my own mom in person, but lately I’ve also been crying at diaper commercials (wtf?) and occasionally wondering if I'm missing out on what everyone claims to be "life's greatest gift."
When I step back and look at our lives on paper, it's like a really predictable flowchart. We've checked off most of the adulthood line items (although I’m still trying to figure out that perfect loaf of sourdough everyone’s talking about) but it’s hard to ignore the blinking arrow as it points to the part where most people become parents.
Our feelings around this are complex (at best) and even if it WERE something that we wanted for our family, the effort that would be needed to grow our family is enough to send me reeling backwards away from the ledge of imagination.
Not only would the biological and/or logistical parts be a huge undertaking, but honestly? Raising a child sounds daunting to say the least.
There are so many components that I’m truly not cut out for, and my brain seems to cloud over when our friends say, "But the best parts are completely worth it!"
Of course there are also piles of people who deeply long for this very experience, so I occasionally feel like a jerk for admitting that it’s not a part of our someday-plans. Gerard and I have finally gotten used to the looks of surprise when we come clean about our decision, but I still cringe a little bit when something prompts me to say it out loud.
On the outside, I can graciously (and legitimately) turn down one of the most common and expected experiences of womanhood that has been happening since the dawn of time, but on the inside? I am kind of freaking out.
Nervous that someday the I told you so's will ring true and our hearts will break when everyone’s nest is full but ours.
It’s such a strange spot to be in… Confidently hanging on to our own decision as we dangle from the curveball of someone else’s question mark.
I feel so sure that Motherhood as a permanent role is not for me, but sometimes I crave the chance to nurture a small human as he or she finds their place in the world. My opportunities for biological Aunthood are far away (both geographically + chronologically), so I'm incredibly grateful for friends who let me love on their littles like we're a part of the fam.
Occasionally we have a Safe Families kiddo here for short-term foster care and that is always a joy, but those placements end quickly and the house goes quiet right away.
Lately, I've been longing for these opportunities to happen more frequently... Daydreaming about mornings at the park with my mom-friends and even midnight feedings in the dark. I've offered to babysit all the neighbors and even bought a chic toy basket so we can keep our little bungalow fully stocked with fun.
I wonder if these signals might be ticks of a biological clock that is trying to get my attention, but even when I strain my ears to listen, it’s still just silence filling the room.
I shared my feelings with Gerard the other night...
"Maybe it's just FOMO," I reasoned.
But less than the fear of missing out? I think it's actually the fear of leaving behind a kind of love that I may never get to know.
Today is Mother’s Day and I woke up to a 7am text message from a dear friend saying, “You’re the best dog mom I know.”
I cried (again, sheesh) as I shuffled to the coffee maker because her thoughtfulness touched me in a way that I wasn’t expecting, pre-caffeine.
She knows about my mixed feelings and also my concerns about being crushed by the unanswered what-ifs. She knows that Gerard and I love our independence but she also knows we would do nearly anything to bless and enjoy her own kids.
As an honorary Auntie Jessie, my fondness for 4-year-old Malachi knows nearly no limits. I receive the snuggles with open arms and even his occasional attitude is an honor. He may not be my own kid, but I love him (and his baby brother) with a fierce kind of family bond that I pray they’ll someday understand.
Every once in a while, I daydream about the day when he can walk over to our house by himself (40 yards, lol) and plop down in the kitchen to tell me about his day. The after-school debrief and snack-sesh is one of those minor moments of motherhood that I know I’d be really great at.
What might seem mundane to most parents will be a monumental occasion for this friendly neighborhood non-mom.
Not sure if I really even have a point in sharing all of this today, but am processing my emotions with a pen and so here’s where I’ll leave it:
If you’re still reading and you can’t be with your own mom today, I understand. Regardless of the reason, it sucks and I’m so sorry. Please know that it’s safe to be sad. (Or mad or any of the other corresponding feelings that might bubble up.)
If you’re still reading and you also long for the experience of motherhood, I understand. It’s visceral and beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time. Please know that you aren’t any less of a woman without the trail of ducklings behind you, but it’s also okay to grieve the pain of achingly empty wings.
If you’re still reading and you’re being celebrated as a mama today, I admire you SO very much. I may not fully understand what it’s like, but I DO know that you deserve more than a million days of gratitude for the ways you pour yourself into your own little brood. The amount of work and heart (plus blood, sweat and tears) that I get to witness in you are emblems of a true hero. I hope you feel celebrated every single day of your life because you are worthy of nothing less.
To my darling Mama-friends, if you know one thing from reading this entry, let it be this:
Even though we don’t have kids, I still love being a small part of your motherhood experience.
You can vent to me about the challenges and brag to me about the breakthroughs. I will be here for the mud-pies and the magic tricks, all the way from the first steps to the first dates. You can drop the chickadees off at my place whenever you need a break, or cry at our kitchen table when they eventually leave the nest (aka start kindergarten).
I’ve got really absorbent shoulders when it comes to catching tears and if I can’t cradle my own child, I’ll keep my arms ready if it ever feels like you might need any cradling of your own.
I know I said I didn’t have a point before, but perhaps it might be this: