Dear Mothers #13

For a Mother with a Messy Story

Dear Mothers,

What makes someone a mother? When do we “earn” that title?

Stick with me as I know this might seem like an odd question given that this column is aimed at mothers; mothers with questions and mothers with responses. But I have to believe that I am not the only one struggling with these questions.

You see, life seemed simpler and less nuanced when I was younger. A mother is a woman who has a child. Period. End of story.

But now, I am not so sure.

Are you a mother the first time you decide you want to care for and love a child? Whether that is as a young girl playing with dolls or as an adult when the longing you didn’t think was ever going to come surprises you?

Is it when you see two pink lines, hear the heartbeat, or find out the gender? Or is it not until the baby is put on your chest and you see the beautiful, messy little bundle of joy?

Is it the day you contact the adoption or foster agency, complete the home study, get a call about a child, or bring a child home?

To be honest, I didn’t give this much thought until recently. My motherhood journey started out easily and as planned. We decided to have a baby, got pregnant easily, and brought home a healthy baby girl. By any definition, I was a mother.

But then we decided to grow our family and that road has been winding and confusing. Multiple losses, lots of negative tests, failed treatments, and embryos that didn’t take, have made me wonder, who am I a mother to? The obvious answer is to one amazing little girl, but does that truly represent or honor the experience of the last four plus years and these sweet little ones I never got to hold but still made a huge impact on my life, heart, and faith?

And as I write this, there is a beautiful little baby girl that we brought home from the NICU two weeks ago who has stolen our hearts. We are suddenly in the middle of newborn land along with visits, social workers, and appointments; and the reality that while this sweet girl is ours to love and care for, she also belongs to someone else.  

So now, I add a qualifier to my title, foster mom. Maybe one day it will be adoptive mom or maybe not, but no matter the outcome, the snuggly little girl sleeping on my chest has another mom.

Maybe my question is more, where does a mom with a descriptor in front of her name fit? How does infertility, loss, delays, fostering, and adopting fit in? You’re asked, “Are you a mom?” and “How many kids do you have?” But how do you answer those simple questions honestly when the truth confuses even you?

From,

A Mother with a Messy Story Who Thought Life Would Be Simpler

Dear Mother With a Messy Story,

In 2018—after years of infertility and desperate longing—my husband and I met our daughter in China. She was twenty months old at the time and, at that point, already had a mama who birthed her and a handful of others who’d taken care of her—standing in the gap—the majority of her life in the orphanage.

When those selfless women handed our new daughter to me, our sweet girl begged—verbally and physically—to stay with the women she knew. It was a heart-wrenching, traumatic scene. But one that gave me full confidence that our baby had been loved. She had women who adored, delighted in, and cared for her in my absence. Mothers.

They passed the baton to me—the greatest gift of my life—but their love will never not be part of our daughter’s story. Nor, her first mama’s love.

I don’t think we earn the title of mother, per se. I think it’s a gift and a privilege we get to embody, and sometimes a burden we carry. And it comes at different times, in different ways, for every woman. Sometimes, it’s obvious. Other times, not so much. 

I have a friend who married a man who already had a son, and she became “stepmom.” 

I have a friend who has one biological child and is currently in and out of the NICU with her two newborn babies born to another mother. 

I have a friend who has four babies at home, all of whom she carried in her belly. 

I have a friend who has had three miscarriages and still zero children to tuck in at night.

I have a friend who …

You get the idea.