motherhood

 

motherhood
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Motherhood.  What a wild ride it's been so far.  With my 34th birthday approaching and the recent birth of my own child, I've inevitably been thinking about the special bond between mother and baby while trying to untangle the many feelings I've faced as I take on this new experience as an adoptee.  I went from having no biological family in my world to having the most beautiful daughter to call my own, a little human who actually shares traits with me, the only other human I know who shares my blood.

Becoming a mother has had its inescapable ups and downs, joys and challenges, and ultimately the shedding of one identity as another one takes form.  What a funny juxtaposition to observe during postpartum, the shrinking of a woman's uterus working in tandem with the hard emotional growing pains of an inexplicably beautiful metamorphosis.  Oh, motherhood.

I'll admit that the past six weeks in this new role has felt like an uphill trudge as I've faced the steepest of learning curves.  The turns are sharp and I can't see or predict what lies around each bend.  Most of the time I'm not even sure I'm headed in the right direction or on the correct path.  The only hard-proof reassurance I've had is knowing that my daughter is gaining weight.  What a seemingly odd and limited measure of successful parenting.  The higher I climb the more tired I become.  Of course I'm referring to sleep deprivation, yes, but also the unexpected pains of postpartum carpal tunnel and the general aches of holding and caring for a (now) 10lb baby.  My body feels and looks different.  The fourth trimester has definitely been my most glamorous stage in life thus far.  I often lose track of how many consecutive days I've worn the same clothes and realize I need breast pads a little too late.  The feelings of isolation and loneliness have crept in from time-to-time, sneaking their way underneath the crack of my closed bedroom door as I sit on my bed, timing feeds on my phone and trying to remember which side I fed her on last.  And then the screaming.  I'm not talking about crying like the crying they teach you about in your baby 101 classes.  I'm talking about toe-curling, tear-jerking, back-arching screaming.  There is an incomparable feeling of helplessness when a newborn screams in your ear and face for hours on end.  Amidst this exhausting ascension, though, lies the most beautiful reprieve and rewarding vistas like the overwhelming joy I get gazing at my baby's face when she's sleeping peacefully in my arms at 4:00 in the morning.  Or feeling her tiny little fingers wrap around mine on the first day she was born.  Or seeing her first smile and knowing she is really beginning to see and understand who I am.  No matter how many classes I took or how much research I did beforehand, there's nothing that could have prepared me for motherhood like the genuine experience of simply trudging through it.  

I can't help but think about what this experience must have been like for my biological mother given her circumstances.  Most days when I pray I thank God that I don't have to do this alone.  I couldn't do this alone.  Not only do I have an amazing husband who wakes in the night to do dirty diaper changes and takes over when I'm crying, exhausted and feeling overwhelmed, but I have a tribe of fellow moms who have shared their own unique journeys with me and showered me with love and support.  The only person who knew of my existence aside from my biological mother was her own mother.  And I can't imagine she had much support and help from the person who initially encouraged an adoption anyway.

After my daughter was born I remember thinking one thing: I could never leave you.  I could never give you away.  I have wrestled with this each day since.  I try to imagine how it would feel to take my child somewhere only to know I would never bring her back home, how it would feel to know I would never see her again.  And then I think of it from my daughter's perspective.  What if, after another four months of bonding, she was left with someone she didn't know?  In a new place that was unfamiliar?  What if she kept expecting her mother, the person her whole life revolved around, to come back but never did?  How long would she expect her to return?  When would she lose hope?  What would her cries sound like?  Would she feel scared and alone?  My heart aches thinking about it.

I don't know how she did it, how my mother was able to give away her child.  It was either the most selfless sacrificial act of love she could have made or an utterly desperate attempt to carry a lighter load.  Though I have written to my biological mother and asked that million dollar question all adoptees want to know, why was I put up for adoption, I'm realizing that I'll eventually need to come to terms with the fact that the silence I've received for the past year is likely going to remain silence for the years to come.  Either way, I see this at the core of adoption and something for all to understand: grief.  It's on all sides.  For the child, for the mother, and possibly for the adoptive parents who may be struggling with infertility or other complications.  While adoption is also a beautiful, remarkable, and hopeful thing...it is ultimately filled with immense amounts of grief, pain, and sadness too.  We often think of adoption in regards to receival.  A family adopted a child therefore the family gained a child and the child gained a family.  But I think it's important to remember that it also means a family lost a child and most notably, that the child lost a family.  You cannot gain without the initial loss.

So on the days when it's tough, I remind myself of a few mantras: 

"It won't be like this forever."  The screaming, the sleepless nights, it's all temporary and I know and understand that.  

"Yes, it is hard, but you're doing it," because the one thing I've learned that moms need most isn't sleep... it's grace.  And mostly grace from and for ourselves.  

"The days are long, but the years are short." One day I know I'll look back on this time and remember the sweet moments, and yearn for those snuggly baby cuddles and those tiny fingers and toes.  

I've been given the most precious gift, a beautiful little face to add to the first branch of my very own family tree.  So moving forward I'll be reminding myself that no matter how difficult it gets I can find solace, gratitude, and relief knowing that at least I'm not in a position where I'll ever have to make that choice.  Thank God I never had to make that choice, the choice to give my daughter away for a lighter load or the choice to give my daughter away so she could have a better life.  That decision would truly be devastating and utterly impossible to recover from.   As far as knowing my own story, realistically I'll probably spend the rest of my years wondering and I'll need to learn how to accept that.  But for now, it's my goal and focus to find the joy in the throws of motherhood.  To soak it all in, the good, the bad, and the ugly.  Motherhood.