Chapter 10: Loss & Moving On

Chapter 10

The second half of the expectant mother's pregnancy, who we've supported since she first found out she was pregnant and wanted to place her baby with us for adoption, proceeded smoothly and we continued to behave as family. She continued to convince us over and over of all of the reasons that this was to be our child and that it would be the best choice for his sake. We repeatedly heard, "It would be a disaster for me to raise this kid." We tried to remain wise with the knowledge that it was entirely possible that she would change her mind; that's her right. But with her constant reassurance and reliance on us for support, we fell more and more deeply committed to this baby and his mother. We gave literally every ounce of emotional energy, time, services, skills and financial resources that we had to give for as positive and easy a pregnancy as she could experience. Even so, her pregnancy was very difficult on her body and she resented the stress it caused. She often expressed regret at getting pregnant and also at continuing the pregnancy. We listened for hours, often several times each week, and reassured that this child would have all of the love, support and advantages he would need to live a wonderful life.

I acknowledge these emotional and resource investments that we made in this new extended family vision that was co-formed with the expectant mother, not because they were given with conditions, but because they were given with love and hope and then were dismissed in a single impulsive moment along with our role in this child's life. That is a devastating loss, not matter how rightful deciding to parent at the last minute is for an expectant mother planning on adoption.

At her request, we travelled to be near and help with her home preparations and hospital check-in 5 days before labor induction was scheduled. The biological father had entered within the final few weeks as a new boyfriend, and we spent time getting to know him as well. We enjoyed our time with them and appreciated his kindness toward her leading up to the birth, which she was very afraid and anxious about. He stated that though he did not want the adoption plan, he would support her desires, which was why he released his rights earlier in the pregnancy. So, we attended medical appointments, mowed her lawn, fixed her car, mopped her floors, helped her put her elderly dog down, and held our breathe while waiting to meet this child who she called our son and referred to often by the name we had chosen together.

When we arrived at the hospital, things started to feel a bit different. She and her boyfriend didn't call to let us know they were on the way, she didn't introduce us as she had done before as the adoptive parents, and we were asked to leave the room several times and wait for hours in the lobby for news or allowance to be included as planned. Her boyfriend was an excellent birth partner, so I was no longer needed for that either. She did invite my husband and I back into the room for her son's birth, but that is where this story for us ended and her new story began. After a beautiful delivery, we had about an hour to stare at this amazing little life in the room with what would have been our integrated, open adoption family before the mother asked the nurse to tell us to leave. Four hours later in the lobby, her boyfriend came out to inform us that she had changed her mind. After experiencing the shock and first waves of grief, we went in to say goodbye to the new mother. She appeared refreshed and very happy. She said, "Hey, sorry guys, when he came out I just knew! I can't deny my feelings, right?" Though I hugged her and wished her good luck, I was stabbed by this statement because I believe that is exactly what adoption is about...denying your own adult feelings and doing the hardest thing ever so that your child lives a life without so many hard things...prioritizing a child's needs and rights to a healthy, happy, relatively stress-free stable family where all his basic needs will be met. I've had to really re-think my beliefs about this.

We drove the long night home alternating between silence and sobs. We are resilient people, with solid coping strategies and a healthy dose of love and gratitude for all of our experiences...both joyful and difficult. We will be fine. We sincerely hope that they will also be fine.

As we evaluate our gains and losses from this experience, we recognize that we will likely never see the many thousands of dollars that we paid in her bills and expenses throughout the pregnancy. Though this is not in any way about the financial risks and losses, we hope to have a new opportunity and with that will come a new expectant mother to support. I wish that with her newfound sense of responsibility for raising this child, she (and the child's father) would also take responsibility for at least a small portion of her needs during her pregnancy. Otherwise, I will need to reframe our efforts in my mind during this pregnancy as an act of charity and find some peace in that. These are the messy, unattractive clean-up parts of my grief that I am exposing here. The hot pain throbs underneath the cold logistics.

Back at home, we pack all of the baby's things into a closed space and share love with each other, our spunky teen, our heart-broken extended family, and our generous friends. I know what we are supposed to say and maybe it's true: this simply was not meant to be our child. Our child hasn't found us yet. He or she will come to us and we will know that it was meant to be. Ok. Got it. Moving on...

Chapter Nine: Waiting and Then Waiting

Chapter Nine

There are two kinds of waiting that I've experienced so far in the adoption journey. One is before you get "the call" that initiates a match with a potential birthmother who has chosen you, and the other is during the pregnancy and birth before you know if she will change her mind and decide not to place her baby for adoption. Both are excruciating for different reasons.

We got "the call" only three months after our home study and paperwork was complete. Sounds like nothing, right? Yes, that's how I feel looking back on it, but...let me tell you whether you can imagine it or not, every month before "the call" felt like a year. The days during that wait seemed to stretch endlessly, no matter how busy and full our lives were. The feeling of a loose end...not knowing or having any influence on whether the call would come in five minutes or five months or several years, was confounding and all-consuming. Stephen and I are both quite compulsive doers, taking care of business as soon as things need doing, so the waiting affected us both similarly, though overall, I think he was more patient. We did the holidays, we took a trip, we drank, we ate, we read, we laughed, we walked, we talked, and we imagined our way through those three months. We re-situated our lives to put a new baby at the center, while also mindful to keep Eva in her rightful spot as our bright light.

Then one evening, ironically while Eva and I were visiting my mom out of town and Stephen was home alone for the workweek, our agency called me to tell me that an expectant mother in her first month of pregnancy had chosen us. She was reportedly healthy and very clear about her desire to have an adoption plan. The happiness was too big for words. Eva was giddy, eavesdropping on the call with my mom from the other room. Stephen was smiling so big it was audible across the phone line when we called him to report the news. Eva and I drove home the next day, and we had a conference call to "meet" the expectant mother and decide if we wanted to formalize the match. We loved the sound of her voice right away. She seemed practical and confident and articulate. We had things in common that felt synchronistic. We said yes.

Throughout the first trimester, the pregnancy was uncomfortable and often painful for her. We spoke or texted almost everyday and enjoyed getting to know each other, but I would have absorbed every ounce of pain from her during that time if I could have. That part made me feel helpless. Within a month of the match, Stephen, me and Eva drove the six hours between us to meet her and her teenage son for lunch. We met at her home beforehand and then strolled and chatted downtown and on the beach afterward. We couldn't believe how much we admired and genuinely liked her and her son. It touched and haunted me a bit, seeing what a great person and mother she was. I was having some difficulty imagining that this could be real.

The next visit was for the baby's first prenatal visit and ultrasound at twelve weeks. I went by myself this time and stayed with her in her home.  I had thought about her and her baby every waking hour from a distance and now I was physically with her and her growing belly for four days! It was a great visit that included lots of late night talking, movie watching, and cooking for her and the baby...which I loved. The ultrasound showed a strong heartbeat and a tiny little moving blob, just cooking up a storm in there. This marked the end of the shaky period for pregnancies, so it was a great celebration for my family. She was very happy for us. She liked to delight in our excitement, which felt wonderful to me. She told me that she continued to feel detached, not maternal, toward this baby, and clear that this was my baby. She was reassuring at a time when I felt very fragile and vulnerable. Little did I know that those were mild versions of those feeling compared to what they would become as the reality of the adoption journey unfolded.

The next visit was very exciting. Stephen, me and Eva planned a summer beach trip to coincide with the twenty-week ultrasound, which is the halfway point and the gender reveal. We also planned a hospital tour and family photo shoot for that week with our expectant mother. By the time we were planning for the trip, the three of us were feeling so much love toward this baby and the baby's birthmom. It was getting so real. As I should have been prepared for from my reading about adoption, so was it also getting very real for our expectant mother. In one phone call, she revealed some frustration at how much she was having to mentally and emotionally process now that the physical distractions had subsided. She needed a break from talking about the adoption and distanced herself for a week or so. I thought that this was wise and mature on her part. By the time we left for the trip, to my relief, she was up and running with communication again. We had a fantastic time, though we could see that parts of the hospital tour and the ultrasound were particularly difficult for her. We learned that she was carrying a boy and we all had a blast with the photo shoot. Sharing with our extended family and friends that we were expecting a boy seemed to be the point of making it real for them too! Suddenly baby shower ideas and ultrasound pictures and updates were buzzing around us, fueling the reassurance we craved that this was actually happening.

After the excitement was over, however, a new reality set in. The halfway point in this pregnancy just happened to be that magical, and in the case of adoption, painful time when our expectant mother fell in love with the baby boy growing inside of her. Phone calls revealed loads of regret, anger and sadness. My heart breaks for her pain. Anyone who has ever had a need to grieve understands that it involves first denial (as seemed to be the case during the first trimester) then anger, bargaining, depression/sadness, and if one is successful at moving through the stages, eventually acceptance. This is where we are now, wondering if this baby is meant to be ours, but also hoping that this woman we have come to love and respect is ok. I often want to reach out, but am walking on eggshells hoping not to offend or annoy her unintentionally. We have four months of the pregnancy to go. Will she move through the stages or get stuck in a loop of emotions that prevent the adoption plan? She has just enough conviction to say that she doesn't foresee anything changing with the adoption plan at this point. There is no telling. There is only compassion and supporting. Giving her space when she is distant and giving her friendship when she needs empathy. She could change her mind about what's best for this baby many times in the months remaining. It's a different sort of waiting. It's a roller coaster of emotions, just like pregnancy is an intense series of ups and downs. The benefit of moving through this entire pregnancy with her is that I have learned to trust her to do what's right, and whatever she does, I will accept it as what was meant to be. This is the leap of faith that everyone who experiences the bright beauty and deep loss of adoption knows well. No adoption is without both extremes for all involved.

We can't know for certain if this baby is ours or hers to raise, but until we know otherwise, we will love him as ours. For us that means journaling is his baby book, putting pictures together to build his story, naming him, making his nursery cozy and fun, buying the best of the best and the cutest of the cutest, pumping every two hours to induce lactation so that he has the benefit of being breastfed (yes, that is possible and it works), meeting with his pediatrician, getting a kid-friendly car, strength training for strong baby-holding arms, building up excitement with grandparents, paying birthmother expenses, taking extra consulting jobs, researching everything about everything related to adoption and parenting, and even working out details related to his college fund. We do these things with utter joy, knowing that we are acting out of love, hope and positive intent for his life. Because ultimately, we want this kid to have a wonderful life...no matter who raises him.

Chapter Eight: Adoption Adventure Begins

Chapter Eight

Oh Divine whomever, help my obsessive heart! Being a compulsive thinker makes for a challenging meditation practice. Always for me, writing will ease the mind. We’ve given it a good go, as we've been trying to be content with the fact that we won’t be having a biological child between us. Yet, the sadness keeps coming in waves, and I keep trying to mother random beings like an impulse that won’t let up. I look for excuses to hold the baby next door so that the mom can do “hands-free” tasks. I treat our pets like human babies, but I’m not the only one! Stephen decorated the Christmas tree recently with our kitten, Misha, snuggled into a baby sling on his chest. I am smothering poor Eva, who is in the thick of developing her independence. I keep bringing up our nursing relationship and stories from her first few years. She keeps tolerating it, but I can tell that she hopes this will pass soon. I need a receptacle for all this damn mothering! Eva recently opened my laptop to look for a film and found my browsing that landed on “adopting an infant from India.” She asked if we were “getting one” and promptly informed me that it would be fine with her (presumably so that I stop threatening to have “Eva’s Milk” tattooed across my breasts).

So for a few days following a morning when Stephen entertained an exploratory coffee-talk discussion about adoption on the couch, I’ve been fixated on the idea. What would it mean? Would I be totally nuts to consider giving up my freedom and money and time to raise another woman’s baby? But then again, that’s the point. It would be our baby. No less his or mine. Ours to give a life to. Bio-mom gives the body, and gracefully, an opportunity at life; we give the baby her life. Giving up being pregnant and birthing is a great loss for me. I would want to share and witness every single drop of the baby’s life beyond birth. Is this possible? Am I meant to mother a gift from another woman? If we dive in, will we be guaranteed a baby one day or will we be set up for another potential dark period of acceptance that this desire is simply not meant to be for us? So many questions.

Oh but how so very convenient it would be to just accept and move on. Why is contentment so elusive? It feels like something primal demands the more challenging path. And our discussions roll on. Stephen is quickly becoming attached to the idea, increasingly comfortable in his wisdom that once the emotions have claimed their stake on an idea, the mind will find a way to justify it. If he weren’t such a practical and methodical man, that would scare me. Instead, it excites me that he not only has emotions, but also understands and articulates his emotions around our parenting “from scratch” together. Then the next task was to deal with my fears and reservations in the only ways I know how: research, read, learn, discuss, journal…oh and get a tarot card reading from a trusted friend.

My cards read clearly one Saturday, thank the Goddess, because I had fast approached my ceiling of tolerance for indecisiveness. In sum, choosing not to adopt would be the easy road with plenty of material gratification, but a nagging restlessness for the alternate life. In the end, this path was internally negative with stagnation and regret at the center of my experience. Choosing to adopt and raise another baby, on the other hand, was fraught with difficulties that loomed just beyond the obvious. In other words, there will probably be hidden challenges so expect the unexpected hard times. In the end, though, the reward is to be hugely positive and satisfying on a deep emotional level. Also on this path, resources are still plentiful and basic needs are met. Very reassuring. This reading reminded me of one that I had when I was hoping and wondering if I might ever find myself a mother to begin with back in my late twenties. I was, at the time 14 years ago, in a relationship with a woman who was a bit older and really didn’t have the mindset for parenting. The reading assured that I would find myself connected to a curly, dark-haired man without a purpose who I would have a baby with. This in fact came true months later and Eva came sweetly into my life just as I turned 30. The reader went on to say, though I didn’t ask, that this child would not be my only one, but that the others would come to me in different ways that she could not interpret. I remembered this when Stephen’s boys came into my life, and I’m remembering it now…with adoption on the table, calling to us gently but persistently. (By the way, if you want a reliably unkooky tarot card reader, visit http://www.namastetarotreadings.com/.)

Yet, the reading wasn’t enough to instill complete conviction. Being a person who approaches life from a logical perspective, I needed a bit more. The next morning during our coffee couch talking time, Stephen sealed the deal. I was expressing my concerns and anxiety over the well-documented challenges of adoption as he was listening and smiling calmly. He eventually interrupted me to say, “I can’t affirm your fears, because my heart and mind are set on having our baby.” BAM. Done. I have never ever had a partner who could so clearly articulate his or her position, especially when in potential opposition to mine, in such a way that felt at once reassuring and loving and confident. That very evening we spoke to an agency husband and wife team for 2 hours by phone and had great confidence that this was the agency for us. We had conferenced with two others, but this one instilled trust. Trust that we would be legally safe, that the birthmoms are well-respected and treated lovingly, that efforts to keep babies in their birth families are first priority, that they would be responsive and available to guide us every step of the way, that this was a small operation with very high ratings and a very long track record of positive outcomes for all parties, and that attention to the intrinsic nature of adoption (loss for all parties) is not lost or glossed over. So we signed up for a domestic, local, private, semi-open, newborn adoption. The agency drove long distance to conduct our required home study visit the very next evening. They spent four ours getting to know our family and our home. We budgeted and planned, we completed buckets of official paperwork, we spent one entire Sunday sitting on the couch together with our laptops drafting a book to be published for the potential birthmoms to read, and we involved Eva’s input all along the way. We had to decide monumental things like whether we would accept a baby with this or that health issue, disability, family history of mental illness, etc. We had to decide what ethnicities and combination of ethnicities we would accept. We also had to check boxes for gender preference. It was a thoroughly mind-bending exercise. I read about effectively raising bi-racial children in white families for a solid week, for instance, and reported all I was learning to Stephen and Eva for their input. In the end, we decided to prioritize health over other limitations. We decided we were capable and willing to conscientiously figure out the rest, though we were hoping for a girl.

Eva is excited, though a little sad to enter a change that will affect her current “only child” status in our household. But she is helping brainstorm names, nursery ideas, and the vision for her role as big sister. She wants to help dress the baby, teach the baby words and songs, and take up for her sibling in the case of bullying. She playfully imagined that if some kid tried to insult her because she is adopted, that she would “beat them up (big, tough voice)….as long as they were little kindergarteners (little whisper voice).” The reason this was so funny is that Eva is literally the most gentle, peace-loving child we have ever encountered. As kids go, I can’t imagine a better disposition for sibling-hood than Eva’s.

Stephen half-jokingly asked me whether I’ve heard from the agency with a birthmother match yet since just yesterday morning when we submitted our final requirement. We celebrated our fifth wedding anniversary at dinner last night and had so much fun talking a little about how great our marriage is and a LOT about our future baby and how the adoption might go. My mind is on how many cloth diapers to acquire, how to ensure that I induce lactation in time to feed my baby exclusively breast milk, what kind of car seat to order, and how to savor rather than resist the wait! As if I were pregnant, because at least now we know that a baby is coming our way, I have renewed interest in practicing healthy self-care and getting plenty of rest.  The excitement is tangible all around us as we enter this 2016 Christmas season. It’s been a challenging year, but I’ve come to believe that life without challenge is altogether unsatisfying no matter how many fancy trips you get to take. Let there be a baby…our baby…in the near future!

Chapter Seven: Patriot

Chapter Seven

This is what I have tried to teach my daughter. When we are full of love, we feel empowered within ourselves…nothing to prove, clear, confident, calm. When we are full of fear, we feel powerless within and seek external power. To gain that power, we will take all manner of desperate actions…some that result in permanent damage to ourselves, our environment and/or other people. Rape is an act of fear. Greed is an act of fear. Physical assault is an act of fear. Hatred is an expression of fear.  Violence is an act of fear. Belittling others is an act of fear. Avoidance is an act of fear. Jealousy is an act of fear. And so on. What counteracts fear? Love. First self-love, then love extended outward.
What breeds fear? The unknown, the misunderstood, the conditioning of behavior by society and parents. What breeds love? Love. Acceptance. Faith. Seeking to understand. Feeling connected. Shared experiences.

The presidential election of 2016 has shaken me. My first thought in the face of the shocking result when I awoke on November 9^th was, “What the hell am I going to say to my daughter?” I’ve taught her values that have just been disregarded nationally. My first words to her were, “Honey, I’m so so sorry.” To which she said, “For what, Mom, it wasn’t your fault.” But it is. In part, at least, I feel sure that I have been contributing to the collective liberal disdain for our country’s flaws. I don’t own an American flag. I fantasize about moving to Europe. I complain about our American culture’s lack of a sensible approach to food, transportation, the environment, parenting, education, housing, homelessness, crime and especially health. I live my life embracing a different way of approaching these aspects of culture. I don’t own a television, eat at franchise restaurants, shop at big box stores, follow football, use a car…the last time I spoke the word “Patriot” was in the ninth grade when I cheered for my high school, whose mascot was the patriot. That was almost 30 years ago.

So I looked it up. What does it mean, anyway? Patriot is defined as

1. a person who loves, supports, and defends his or her country and its interests with devotion.
2. a person who regards himself or herself as a defender, especially of individual rights, against presumed interference by the federal government.
3. (initial capital letter) Military. a U.S. Army antiaircraft missile with a range of 37 miles (60 km) and a 200-pound (90 kg) warhead, launched from a tracked vehicle with radar and computer guidance and fire control.

I’ll admit, none of these definitions resonate or appeal to me. I feel that if the first one read, “a person who loves, supports, and defends his or her planet and its interests with devotion,” then my reaction would have been warmer. So I think that herein lies the problem, as I struggle to take my portion of personal responsibility for what has just happened in our country. I have not lived my life claiming, owning, loving my country. I have taken wonderful things for granted, while busy growing disgust for many elements of our culture that I find juvenile and ignorant. So what are the wonderful things?

Space, opportunity, freedom to be creative, freedom to speak my mind, freedom to grow, freedom to travel, freedom to work and learn and earn more money than my parents. Freedom. This is personally a huge value of mine. I am adamant in my life to feel unobstructed by barriers externally reinforced. So, why have I overlooked this positive element of our country, for example? Well, because my other values include food, transportation, the environment, parenting, housing and health. And no, I’m not going to pretend to be impressed with us in these areas. Yet, like a child to her parents, I feel an unmistakable connection to the country that birthed and raised me. If not, my reaction to this election would have been more neutral; I wouldn’t have really cared. But I do care.

So when my 7nth grader texted me before homeroom to ask if she would be punished for refusing to say the pledge of allegiance, I had to really think about my response. I answered that I don’t know what the school rules are on that, but that she should do what she feels and thinks is right. I also told her to consider that the United States of America does not equal Donald Trump, so that if it is Trump’s behavior that she wants to protest, rejecting our country would not be the answer. I said, “That’s YOUR flag, Eva, so you may want to think hard before giving it up so easily.”

And this is what brought me to tears. As usual, it is through mothering that my own needs, flaws and desires are revealed. I think that, unless or until I am ready, willing and able to set up life in a different country, I need to claim this one with more confidence and ownership. I need to find the patriot within me, my version, and march her right out into the light. I think if we liberals all waved the American flag with pride for our freedoms and gratitude for our opportunities, then those things would gain momentum and accelerate our progress. Maybe liberals are a bit too passive when it comes to practicing nationalism our way, which is by focusing on the positives so that those are the elements that grow.

May my daughter grow into a woman who is valued in her society for her brain, compassion, kindness, creativity and dedication to a meaningful life. May she see women earn positions of power and be rewarded appropriately for their efforts. May her boundaries always be respected. May she never be objectified or demeaned or abused. May she never be bullied. May she never be powerless, apathetic, or oppressed. May she always be able to walk tall and proud and help others on her journey.  May she proudly claim and love her country. May she be a patriot.

Chapter Six: Empty Lap Syndrome

Chapter Six

My one and only human baby is twelve years old and rapidly forging an identity separate from mine. I admire Eva for her matter-of-fact approach to adolescence, but I also wonder if it is a way to deflect attention from things that may be really troubling her privately. She seems so well adjusted. Do we all say that just before something big breaks?

This stage has brought with it an uncertainty in my interpretations. In her younger days, I felt totally confident in my ability to read her needs. Now, I second-guess whether I’m approaching her from the right angle (the one that will keep us close, communicating and clear with each other) on a daily basis. I’m often afraid I’ll miss some small sign that needs my attention.

The fact is…she’s doing great. Her grades are high, she has nice friends, she interacts openly with her family, and she appeases her parents in all sorts of ways that she has figured out to keep herself in good standing. But there’s something underneath all that. Maybe it’s just the typical internal struggle to burst through the childhood bubble and begin to grow a woman’s wings. But I often feel something amiss. My radar is alert.

I feel like I’m always poised and repositioning to catch her if she falls. Similar to when the falls were literal as a toddler, but different in that the potential falls are abstract and emotional and have so many more life-altering implications. I do believe that a toddler should be allowed to fall and feel pain and strengthen by getting back up again, as should young girls transforming into women. So I try to relax, have fun with her, never nag, always encourage, maintain high expectation for her accomplishments, prompt mindful behaviors, and above all else, keep the communication lines juiced. I think that as long as she’s talking, I can help her move through anything that emerges in her path. Even if only by listening.

I try not to judge. At least I try not to reveal my judgments by those pesky, mamma facial expressions. She catches every single one. She knows I’m trying to influence her opinions. It’s true. I don’t want her to want to cover her beautiful face with make-up. I want her to like her naturally wavy hair. I want her to dress for movement and comfort. I want her to enjoy learning in school and be extra cool to her friends because she dares to admit it with confidence. I want her to have a conscience for social change and environmental activism. I want her to prioritize her health by eating more vegetables. I want her to love walking to school, and I want her to love riding a bicycle. I want her to value going to yoga with her parents. I want her to want all her friends to hang out at our house. I want her to want me around and feel bravely uninhibited on and off the metaphorical dance floor…and I want her to dance! Sing! Paint! Climb the tree in the front yard! I miss seeing her concentrating so beautifully on imaginative play and wild self-expression. I want her to be proud and walk tall. I want her to throw those shoulders back and burst forward knowing that what others admire above all else is confidence and kindness.

I want her to realize who she is now and to accept that as a woman, she will always be growing and changing. I want her respect, admiration and friendship! I feel as though she was chasing me, trying to pin me down, for over a decade and now I’m chasing her. I want her! But I know, her circle must continue to widen away from me. She must make herself distinct. I know she finds comfort in me at times, though it’s mysterious how and when. She must try and try again to deal independently with her internal voices, struggles and imbalances. Only after successes can she run back to me, meeting me woman to woman and building a friendship that will last us well into my cronehood.

I also know that I love her unlike any love that can be described. Since her birth, I’ve felt that a part of my body and soul was traipsing around outside of where it safely belonged. It was just a tiny feeling at first, but the more mobile she became the more pronounced was the pain of watching this piece of me roam around the earth without a visible tether. Of course, I know she’s not me. She’s a human being in her own right – separate and real. But the emotional attachment is irrational. It’s both sweet and bitter. And it’s really really big.

It seems that mothers of little ones always find each other and group up for support. Where are all the other mothers now? Soccer practice? Therapy? As I write about these uncertainties and feelings, I can’t help but crave the ability to share for a sense of relativity with others experiencing similar circumstances. My friends and I talk about our business ventures, achievements, hobbies and interests. We even still talk about relationships and romantic pursuits, but not as much. Not with the sense of urgency and big-dealness as before. But the kids? Almost never. We may share some of the more superficial information: he is struggling in math, she thinks she likes this boy, he will only wear black now, she got the part in that play, etc. But what I notice is that we aren’t really talking about our identities as mothers, how we feel, what we struggle with, and what we are enjoying.

I’ve heard the claim to “busy” like it’s a medal or a trendy handbag. Maybe it’s true that we all just busier these days. But, I tend to think that busy is a decision we make aligned to our priorities. It’s a condition of our desires and a socially accepted excuse to focus on those desires. Either way, I think I’ll be looking for a few opportunities to commune around motherhood. That is one of my desires. It is, afterall, a huge part of our identity as women. If we aren’t mothering our own, we are mothering something or someone. Guaranteed.