As a kid all I ever imagined to be when I grew up was a mom. I would play with my baby dolls and care for them as if they were really, truly in need of my care. Playing house was what I liked to do. I was the youngest child and so I never go to experience having a baby in the house. The closest thing I got was a few cousins and the neighborhood kids.
I always dreamed I would have 4 kids. I knew I wanted more than just 2 because it gets lonely only having one sibling. I don’t like the number 3 and so I thought 4 would be perfect. I used to daydream of baby names, places we’d go as a family, and every thing that my parents did for me I felt was in training to someday do myself for my own family.
I remember every choice I made starting from the time I started middle school forward was made with the question “what will my kids think.” I stayed out of a lot of trouble by having this idea constantly float through my brain. Growing up all I ever wanted was to follow in the footsteps of my grandmother and my mother. I wanted to be the absolute best mom, the kind that would get finger painted portraits, home made trophies and most of all I thought about all the love one must feel for their child expressed each time they hugged you.
I used to cry. I don’t anymore. I ran out of tears about 5 years ago. Every one in life has to accept that things don’t go as planned. For me, I will never get to be a mother. I will never know what it feels to look directly into the eyes of the product of my love. I will never know the warmth and connection shared cuddling a sick child. I think the part that makes me the saddest is that I will never have that feeling of happiness when I see my child succeed.
I can’t have children. I never could. I am too sickly. The list of reasons I can’t is quite lengthy but Ill summarize by saying, I don’t have a womb anymore. It is a good thing I didn’t find out until I was 18 that my body was not made for reproduction. I spent too many years fantasizing about a life that is impossible for me to ever live. I used to cry, a lot. I used to feel like a failure as a woman and that I was defective. I used to hate myself for being the reason I would never get to live out my dreams. I used to beat myself up emotionally constantly because I was the reason I would never be happy. I had to adjust my dreams.
I transitioned into thinking adoption would be a great option for me, that I could love any child just as much as my own. Unfortunately in the master plan of life, that is not on my schedule either. I am too sick to take care of myself let alone another human. I wouldn’t be fair.
I depend on my husband for 90% of my care. I am too sick to do most of my functional tasks and to adopt a child simply would just give him more work and would be a horrible choice. I have accepted the fact that I was not meant to be a mother.
If I had any other man this 15-year transition from complete heartbreak to acceptance would never have happened. He is the only reason I am able to even speak about the pain of not being able to be a mom. He is the one who has helped me and guided me emotionally in to this land of acceptance. I am finally at peace with destiny. I am a teacher by nature, I love to inspire and educate and have had many students that I refer to as children of mine, whom I care and love deeply. He has helped me understand that.
Our house will never have the blue or pink balloons. I will never have a baby shower. My stretch marks will never be due to 9 months of a growing fetus. I will never know what it feels like to have a baby kick. This doesn’t make me less of a woman and I have learned that while one can have dreams and aspirations it’s always important to allow yourself to be happy in each moment whether or not the moment is how you imagined.
Now instead of being sad that I cannot have a child of my own I am happy that my genetic diseases will not be passed on. I am at peace with who I am, flaws and all. Don’t get me wrong, there are many times in which I would love someday to have that perfect family and be an amazing super mom, but the truth is, I’ve accepted that that isn’t Gods plan.
It is hard not to be jealous of everyone who has their own little family. When you see me around kids please know it is still sometimes difficult. It is easy for me to become depressed each time someone announces a pregnancy or gives birth. Each baby shower I have sat at I have choked back tears. But, I am ok.
The reality is my family is just a little fluffier and furrier than I imagined. It has taken me 15 years to get to this point, and I really am happy for everyone and their children. I just still sometimes wish that could be me too. Life doesn’t always go how we plan but that doesn’t mean that it goes wrong. We must accept the things we cannot change…