Desiring Motherhood

My cute little sister-in-law, as a Christmas Eve gift to the family, announced that she is expecting a baby in July. My husband and I were actually informed a few weeks ago, though sworn to secrecy. My sister-in-law had a miscarriage earlier this year, which was devastating in and of itself, but made even worse by the fact that she had already told family, friends, and Facebook. Anyway, James and I are delighted for my brother- and sister-in-law, especially because we know how earnestly they desire to become parents.

This desire has been a focus of my thoughts for awhile now. It is a desire that I myself have, but which I cannot fully express on our family blog, where my adoption experience is not public. And it is a desire which I truly wish to express. I wish these thoughts didn't come from comparing myself to my sister-in-law, though that is indeed the root of them. I love her to pieces, and I have no wish to belittle her as a person or a mother. Please bear with me as I attempt to make sense of my thoughts on this topic.

I long to be a mother.

I have watched as many of my friends have become mothers, and though I am not privy to their innermost thoughts, I have what I believe to be a fairly accurate gauge on their anticipation levels. When I think of my closest female friends, I come up with quite a range. Friends who have been excited to become moms, friends who have approached it rather nonchalantly, and friends who have been terrified.

And then there is my sister-in-law. She is 20 years old, been married for a year, no college education, a part-time job she enjoys, but would/will easily sacrifice to become a full-time mother. And there is no question as to where she stands--she eagerly, almost desperately wants to be a mom. She used to be far more vocal about her desire, actually, before the miscarriage toned down her dialogue somewhat. But I have no doubt that her longing remains.

It is my sister-in-law who brings this question to my mind most often: What makes me long to be a mother?

When I first knew my sister-in-law, her over-the-top, incredibly vocal desire to be a mother actually bothered me a great deal. It seemed so...vain. It seemed to me as though she believed that she wanted to be a mother more than anybody else wanted to be a mother. And frankly, it rubbed me the wrong way. How could a then-19-year-old girl with no real life experience have any understanding of this desire, which had such a deep and fierce place in my heart?

I think that if I had gotten married at 19 (as was my plan at the time) and gotten pregnant shortly thereafter, I would have approached the event with naive excitement. When I think back, I can't really remember what my thoughts were on motherhood at the time. I know I wanted to be a mom, though it certainly wasn't my primary focus.

But then my life happened. I got pregnant. My boyfriend abandoned me. I went through nine months of spiritual torture in addition to "normal" pregnancy awfulness, culminating in the single hardest moment of my life -- placing that beautiful, wonderful baby in the arms of another woman, and declaring that she, and not I, was his mother.

Afterward, I went back to my life and tried to forge onward. I finished college. I worked. I dated and enjoyed deep, lasting friendships. But placing a baby for adoption changed me in ways that I still don't fully understand. I had become a mother, and yet I wasn't a mother. I understood the otherwise unfathomable love for another human being that had grown under my heart, and yet my arms were empty.

In the years that followed, I watched as my closest friends married and started their families. I watched their excitement (or their nonchalance) as their babies' births approached. I have held their newborns, and watched them grow into darling toddlers. I love my friends' children, and dote on them often. But all the while, my arms have silently ached.

Eight years. Almost. This February, it will have been eight years since I looked into my baby's face, felt so much love for this boy-creature that had grown from nothing inside of me, and then parted with him.

Eight years! During most of that time, I remained alone. It's another post entirely, my single-hood. But anyone who has spent time as a single adult knows how hard it is. Especially in my Mormon culture, where so much emphasis is placed on home, family, marriage, and children. It is impossible to feel like a fully functioning member of this society as a single adult. And it only gets worse as time goes on. I never went through a period where I did not desire marriage and children. But I would get asked, "Are you dating?" My own mother: "Are you trying to get dates?" As though I was turning the guys away! She could not imagine why it was taking me so long to get married. And all the while, I was battling self-doubt, fearing that I was "broken" because of my previous pregnancy. Fearing that I would never marry, that I would never have children of my own....

I have matured more than I thought was possible, eight years ago. I have gone through other trials, and though none have been as devastating as my unplanned pregnancy, each one has taught me, and strengthened me. Through it all, my desire to be a mother has only deepened. With each passing year, the silent ache within me has grown steadily stronger, until at times it has seemed unbearable.

The joy I experienced when I (finally) married was all the sweeter, for the time I spent preparing (I don't like to think of it as "waiting") for my husband. And I believe that my joy will be even sweeter in motherhood, for much the same reason.

I guess the reason it bothered me so much at first when my sister-in-law expressed her desire to be a mother was because I could not imagine having so strong a desire without experiences like I have had. How could a 19-year-old year with so little life experience truly know this desire? Yet what I am coming to understand is that we can never truly know another's life experience. We can never truly know another's thoughts and desires. And we can certainly never compare ourselves to anyone else when it comes to these things. To do so is unfair to them, and to ourselves.

It's a relief, to be able to let go of my resentment. When my sister-in-law told us that she is expecting, I felt true joy for her. In that moment, I realized that I didn't have to compare or compete with her -- I could rejoice for her, for this is a desire that we share. It no longer mattered where the desire came from. I no longer questioned the validity or depth of the desire, on either of our parts. I simply recognized a kindred spirit. We both desire to be mothers, and it is our greatest joy to see that desire fulfilled. At last.

Dealing with the baggage I brought into my marriage

Back when I was single, I tried to imagine what part my adoption would play in my courtship/engagement and marriage. I had a few ideas of what to expect, having listened to other birthmothers and their husbands describe their experiences. Two months into my marriage, I've now had a few experiences of my own.

I told James about my birth-son and my adoption experience on our second date. That's pretty early for me. Once, I've told a guy on the first date. Every other time it's been three, four, five dates into the process before I've shared this deeply personal experience. But James and I had been friends for almost a year before we started dating, and I knew that I could trust him. Beyond that, things were moving pretty fast, and I felt like I needed to tell him before our courtship proceeded any further.

Telling James was, as it always is, incredibly nerve-wracking. I was afraid that our relationship would come to a screeching halt as soon as the words were out of my mouth. I was afraid that he would look at me differently. Being James, I wasn't really afraid that he would treat me any differently. But I was hoping and praying that he would be understanding.

He didn't say a whole lot about it that night. Two days later when I saw him again, he admitted that he had struggled, truly struggled, with what I had told him. So much so that he requested a priesthood blessing from his best friend. The truly amazing part was this--James didn't tell his friend anything, simply that he was struggling with something. And in the blessing, James was told that he would bear this trial for the sake of his future family. He describes the experience here.

That was it, for awhile. I rarely bring up the topic. Being a birthmom is not a present part of my life right now. It's on the back-back-back burner of my brain at the moment. But it has come up, a few times. Ian recently turned 7 and, as his birthday tends to do to me, I became a little reflective. Seven years old! I can hardly fathom it. Seven years feels like an eon ago. I was an entirely different person!

James once grew upset, as I was talking about Ian. I could tell that he wasn't happy, so I tried to figure out why. He erupted with emotion. We both got rather agitated as we tried to talk through it. (I cried, curse it all.) But for me, it all came down to one revelation:

Ian & adoption are separate from the act (sin) of his conception.

I do not equate them. Thinking about Ian brings me joy, pride, and occasional nostalgia for what might have been. I love him, I am happy for him, I like seeing pictures of him, I like hearing how he is doing, I like receiving pictures he has drawn, I like hearing about the crazy things he says.

Thinking about his conception makes me remember feelings of shame, loneliness, guilt, embarrassment, despair, uncertainty, and anger. Thinking about Ian's birthfather (which I try to avoid doing) makes me remember feeling sad, spiteful, and a terrible anger that rode with me for a very long time, until I was able to find forgiveness for him.

Thinking about Ian is sometimes a reflection of the past, but it is often a thing of the present. Thinking of his conception and his birthfather is always a thing of the past. I have repented. I have forgiven. I have moved on with my life. I do not like remembering that time. There is nothing to gain from it.

I realized that my husband was equating these two, very separate things. Whenever I talked about Ian, all my husband could think of was Ian's birthfather. And that realization allowed us to process our emotions--both of us.

I'm not saying everything is perfect. I know it's still something that James struggles with, which means I struggle with it too. But we understand each other a little better than we did before, and we're moving forward with the best of intentions. We love each other, and we are both committed to seeing our marriage succeed. That includes forgiving each other of past mistakes, and proceeding hand-in-hand through the future trials our life together has in store.

Placement Day

The 20th is my son's birthday, where I celebrate him and his wonderful little life. The 23rd marks Placement Day, where I ponder adoption and the impact it has had on my life.

Placing a child for adoption is hard. I can't even express it. Any birthmother will know what I mean, and any parent will have some grasp of what I'm saying. Even being prepared for it only helps a little. But there is a deep, heartbreaking anguish that comes from parting with a child in this way.

Despite those emotions, however, I have fond memories of placement day. I am glad that I focused on it in a positive way, so that as the pain and grief faded, the joy could shine through the memories. I remember exchanging gifts, and feeling inadequate despite the fact that I was giving them a baby. I remember changing his diaper for the last time, despite Joe's offer to do it. I remember feeling stubborn and clingy for keeping some of the clothes he had worn that I liked best, but sending him in the cutest outfit that I had chosen for him. But I remember in particular the LOVE that I felt. I knew with all my heart that Jen and Joe loved Ian, and that they loved me. I knew that my Heavenly Father loved me, and that He was proud of me for being strong and moving forward with my life.

I guess placement day is hard for me this year, not because of the placement, but because of the emotions. A relationship that I cherished ended last week, and so many of the emotions that are flooding through me ring back to placement. This week I have again experienced emotions of inadequacy. I have felt clingy and stubborn. I have felt a desperate, almost overwhelming sense of loss. But...I have also felt the wonderful and overpowering love from my family, my friends, and my Heavenly Father. I know that I'm loved, and I know that He is proud of me for standing strong and moving forward once again.

Placing my son for adoption has become such a wonderful blessing in my life. I love him, I love his family, I love the relationship that I have with them, and I love that I am able to help others who are now experiencing the same things that I did. So, even though it gets hard sometimes, life does go on, and I can continually seek to move forward and look for the better things to come.

A Season for All Things

When you hear people talk about communication with with birth parents, sometimes you'll hear people mention that it wanes. That there are periods in which there is more communication than others. That sometimes people get busy and have other things, and so they talk less, but that times come when they need that connection more strongly so they'll come back.

I have a similar relationship with my adoption blog.

I've been feeling guilty for the last month or so because I haven't been blogging about adoption very much. (United by Love has also been neglected.)I just haven't felt the urge...I haven't had anything to say about adoption.

It's not because I'm unhappy. It's not because adoption is no longer important to me. Adoption is always important to me, is always a very significant part of my life.

There's just a lot of OTHER good things going on in my life right now! This month I'm testing for my second degree black belt. I just started a new job. I have a boyfriend who drives me to distraction constantly. These things have taken precedence in my brain. Not because they are any more or less important than adoption. They're just taking up my brain capacity at the moment!

I thought I'd let you know, dear reader, what is going on to take my attention, so maybe I can feel a little less guilty for neglecting you. I promise, my wordy blogs about adoption issues will return in measure. In a different season, perhaps. An adoption season. =)

Talking

Last night, in a conversation with two of my roommates, I started talking about something that happened during my pregnancy. My one roommate's eyes opened wide and she said, "Wait, what?"
...

I thought she knew. She moved in later than the other girls, and I guess I told them before she moved in, and just somehow never talked about it around her since she moved in. Seems a miracle to me--since I talk about my volunteer work and stuff all the time.

But suddenly, in the middle of a conversation with the three of us, I was explaining that I had a baby three and a half years ago, and placed him for adoption.

I moved on, let her absorb that. But she brought it back up again after a few minutes, asked a few questions--more educated questions than I usually get, actually. And then the conversation moved on again.

Perhaps I shouldn't have made the assumption. Honestly, I didn't even stop to think as I spoke--it's become more natural, these past months, for me to talk about it. For her, it probably was far more awkward. I kinda sprung it on her. She handled it rather well, all things considered. But I wish I could have told her in a better light!


I'm also facing another conversation soon. I've been seeing a guy. (Okay, friends, don't flip your lids, it's still in the very early stages.) If he's a Facebook stalker at all, he may have already been here. Even on my other blog, I make mention of being a birth mom. I'm not secretive about it. It is slightly awkward, not knowing if he knows or not. But either way, I will need to talk to him about it before long.

The thing is, I've never had this conversation before. I've talked to roommates, I've talked to other friends, I've talked to strangers and reporters and adoptive couples and social workers. But those are all very different from talking about it to an interesting guy who you really really hope won't freak out. All the guys I've dated since placing my son for adoption have already known, or the relationship didn't progress far enough for me to feel like it was necessary to talk to them about it. But now I'm starting to feel this little nudge, like I should talk to him about it. I hope that he'll take it well. But there are no guarantees.