I always knew I would be a mom. I was in kindergarten when my sister was born. I was so amazed by her and even then, pondered the miracle of life. I vividly recall the beauty that was my mother as her belly grew. She prepared for baby with freshly laundered diapers, a small cradle next to her bed and that glow about her that is often spoke of around pregnant women.
I pretended at times that my sister was my baby. I’d hold her close, smell her sweet baby scent and feel my heart fill with unconditional love.
I met the love of my life, my rock, my husband at the girlish age of twenty. Just a short two years later, we were married and spent countless hours flirting with our desires to become parents and relish in the ideas of what our children would look like, what we would name them, and what pregnancy would be like.
Five years into our marriage we decided to “see what would happen” and let God’s will be done. Unfortunately, our only surprise was that it appeared we were struggling with infertility. It became a painful spiral with many doctor appointments, ultra sounds, poking, prodding, surgery and deep dark disappointment. While we hadn’t exhausted all of our fertility options, emotionally, spiritually and soon to be financially, we were completely spent.
More and more all these things, all these procedures, all these attempts started to make us feel so disconnected. I remember lying on the table in the cold and sterile reproductive specialist’s office with my bum and legs propped in the air listening to the egg timer. We laughed to each other “now that is how you make a baby.” But really, I was breaking inside fragile as an eggshell. And I knew I was done.
As we slowly shifted our vision, and efforts towards adoption, we began to share our excitement with some family and friends. I can recall some raising concerns and asking many questions.
“Are you going to tell him he is adopted?”
“Do you really think you could love a baby that’s not biologically yours?
“Will you get to name him?”
“What about his real parents?”
I’d be a liar if I were to say I didn’t have any fears. But in my heart I knew this was our path and it would unfold perfectly.
When the day came, that our child was finally placed in our arms…I had never experienced anything more real and raw in my entire life. There was nothing sterile or cold about it. It was a complete act of love. Our child’s birth family had chosen us to be this baby’s parents and to love him always.
As I held him close and breathed in his baby scent, I felt my heart burst with unconditional love, for him and for his birth family. Later that evening as my husband and I snuggled our son together, hot tears streaming down our faces, we silently exchanged what words could not. God’s plan had been done and it was imperfectly perfect.
At last, I was to celebrate my first Mother’s Day. I felt as if I was glowing. I reflected on my thoughts of being a mama, my heart spilling with love for my son’s first mother. I remembered some of the fears I once had, I wrote this letter to all the moms out there who…