The first time I thought about becoming a mother was several years ago. I was young, somewhat newly married (to the wrong man and for all the wrong reasons), and I had just been diagnosed with Congestive Heart Failure. The pregnancy was a shock and I did not experience any happiness with the news.
I had a whole lot of personal stuff written here, but I decided some things are just too personal and too private to share. To make a long story short I will simply say endometriosis and pregnancy do not mix, and neither do CHF and pregnancy. So I miscarried and was filled with guilt for all of my mixed feelings (no matter how justified they were). I would not wish a miscarriage upon anyone, and if you've ever experienced a loss like that then my heart goes out to you.
I had surgery for endometriosis about a year and half later, and the news was not good. My uterus was mush and covered in scar tissue. It was not likely I'd ever be able to get pregnant again, and certainly not at all without intervention (In vitro fertilization). I cried and cried. I was devastated. I truly believed this was my punishment for not wanting that first pregnancy, for not being happy about it. I thought I had wished my baby dead and God or the universe or whatever was punishing me for it. I threw myself into adoption research. I'd adopt a baby and love that baby. That was my new plan. If and when I wanted to have a baby, I was going to adopt it.
Fast forward a few years and I've divorced the wrong man (for me, anyway) and become involved with the right one. Kenneth had two daughters from two previous relationships, and I was initially reluctant to get serious with him. I had not had a great experience with my own step mother and I absolutely did not wish to ever get involved with any man who had kids unless I was 110% certain that I could and would love those children as if they were my own and I had carried them in my womb myself. I didn't want to be the wicked step mother, not ever.
Kenneth, much to my horror, actually told one of the two women he had children with about my reservations and I was immediately labeled a "selfish bitch" by her. I was really angry about it. I wasn't moving slowly because I didn't like kids. I wasn't moving slowly because I was selfish. I was moving slowly because I needed to be sure FOR HIS CHILDREN that I could see those children as my own too, that they would never know the sting of rejection for having a different mitochondrial DNA strand than I do. I didn't want them to ever feel unwanted or unloved or not loved enough or different, and I most especially didn't want them to feel that way because of me.
So I agonized over it because I was already madly in love with this man I'd known for 13+ years and it would break my heart to leave him if I couldn't be good enough, big enough, deserving enough to love his children like they were my own.
I agonized until one day, as I vehemently argued with my boyfriend about exactly why he needed to send a Valentine's gift to his eldest daughter whom he had not seen much for a variety of reasons (some justified, others not), it dawned on me that I already loved this little girl whom I had not even yet met. I loved her and I was standing there demanding that he prove he loved her too. There he was, standing there with all of his logic and male practicality about how you can't send candy through the mail because it will melt, and there I was yelling at him that he had to find something else to send her then when--like a light bulb flickering on--it suddenly hit me that I loved this little girl like she was mine, and I was offended for her, just like I would be if she were my biological daughter.
I was offended by his male practicality. I didn't care what logical reason he had for not wanting to send her chocolate in the mail. I wanted him to send the damn chocolate. And I wanted him to get his youngest daughter something for Valentine's Day too. I wanted to get them both something. I loved them--these children that weren't biologically mine. I loved them. And that was the end of that. He found a nice card to send Ava in the mail, and a card to give Issa too. His love for these girls was never in doubt. He loves them both, so so so much. But he is, like most men, unerringly practical and sometimes he needs a woman to point out where that practicality needs to end and where the impractical is necessary.
And I needed him to point out that parents come in all shapes and sizes and that I already loved his daughters like they were my own.
Now we're married, and I call his children from these other women my children. They are my children. I love them. I have no doubt of that now. I can love them enough. I can love them as much as I would any child I give birth to. I know I can because I do. I love my daughters every bit as much as I love this Ninja Baby growing inside my own womb. There is no difference.
Sometimes I even have irrational fears that I won't be able to love my Ninja Baby as much as I love our two amazing daughters....and then I remind myself that there once was I time when I feared I wouldn't be able to love my daughters enough either.
Motherhood came to me slowly and then suddenly. It did not come to me with a growing belly or a life inside my womb. It did not come to me the way it comes to most women, but it came all the same. One day I wasn't a mother and then one day, just like that, I was.
I was a mother and I suddenly understood all those platitudes about unconditional love and a mother's love and how you'd die for your children without any hesitation. There it all was--all of this immeasurable, unending, sometimes scary love for two tiny humans you are blessed enough to parent. There it was--a mother's love and mother's heart and a mother's thoughts that always think for her kids first and herself second--and I'll never doubt myself again. I am a mother. I have two children. I am not their only mother. I am not their biological mother. I was not privileged enough to carry them inside my womb. They do not share my DNA, but they share my heart. These two little girls are my own just the same. We have two amazing daughters, and now we have another child on the way. We are truly blessed.
Happy (belated) Mother's Day to all the mommies out there--no matter how motherhood came to you.
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