A Mother’s Cry

I often wish I didn’t post. I wish I had all these happy posts where everything is lovely and smooth and funny and…

But life isn’t like that, is it? There’s always a way it can be better. Be it a better paying job, or even finding a job. Be it being a victim of abuse, or being lonely and misunderstood. Life isn’t smooth no matter who you are.

Today is Mother’s Day. A day I’ve never celebrated-I believe only mother’s who deserve the title should ever be celebrated, so I don’t have a mother to celebrate-but nobody has celebrated ME. So I can’t show you sweet cards, or post videos of gifts like an autism mom did. Instead what I present, are pieces of bittersweet. Which is pretty much what life is like.

Yesterday we took the children to the Aquarium. I prefer taking the children out with their dad present so one can watch over the children while the other gets pulled into a gallop by little Miss. If I’m alone, then I end up running ahead with her, missing out 90% of whatever we’re looking at, and 100% of the other children’s reactions.

The sweet is that she’s in her element, running. And she has great space to do so in these places. I just wish I could also be with the others and answer questions and marvel. Those firsts are my joys.

The bitter is in how family has changed. We aren’t together anymore, two are always away.

It’s bittersweet. And lonely. It’s sad not having a friend who can relate. I have a friend with chronic back pain, so when I rejoiced that the surgeon said I was now allowed to carry the twins, her immediate response was, “That’s great! But I know it will make your back pain even worse.” Because she’s living it, only she knew what that really meant. It’s bittersweet. Sweet because I love those cuddles, but bitter because it comes with increased pain. She got that.

Actually you know what, I’m faking it. Right now, my jaw is in pain, my back is awful. I’m tired. I have a young friend who used to lament how even on Sabbaths, she doesn’t get a “rest.” She’s still mom. And with young children, we know being “mom” means being the one making breakfast, washing bottles, ensuring the children behave, finding activities… Unlike her who could never find the sweet, I would either tell myself, “This too shall pass. They will be independent adults soon and you’ll miss this” or think of how much worse it could be. But in all her complaining, she never stopped to wonder what it was like to be mom AND be in constant pain. I don’t mind listening, but don’t forget to see me too when you want me to see YOU. I’m not a therapist, I’m a friend. And friends ought to see each other…

The infection in my jaw that eroded my bone moved further along, just as I feared. I’m in more pain than before last week’s treatment began because of all the digging they did-I hope. My question is, if it moved along, who said it’s going to stop now? My back does not like Sundays. And with my little special ones, I can’t say that “This too shall pass.” They will forever be like little children. It will pass the day I die, or the day of the second coming.

And so today, when others are celebrating being spoilt, I thank God for being a mom. But I acknowledge how hard and lonely it is. My ideal day would involve not making breakfast, not doing laundry for eight, not carrying heavy laundry and not having to bend and straighten to hang it. It would include knowing all my children are safe in respite care (We don’t have that here) or with nannies while I rest. I don’t want chocolates and breakfast in bed. I just want to rest. To not have to talk with a painful jaw. To not be asked to teach school while doing one chore and knowing ten others await me but my back is already screaming. I’d love a day to just be me. That’s all I wish. Me NOT post-op in worse pain and resting. Just me. Happy knowing my children are safe, happy knowing I can rest and READ. That would be awesome.

For now, I remain yours in pain and yet, still in peace. I don’t know how to describe it. My physical pain is probably an 8 on a scale of 1-10. But at the same time, I feel happy. I have children. That was what I always dreamed about as a little girl. Being a mom. I collected recipes from age 13, knowing I’d be a wife. At 18, I planned to homeschool. As you know, I wanted to adopt at age 10. I am doing that. I would never wish any of this away. The alternative would be worse. I know, I lived it before conceiving. Before adopting. Maybe that’s the source of my happiness. I’d rather this than be wondering why God hasn’t allowed me to be a mom yet. I’d rather this than be one of the moms in the adoption group who has been ready for two years but isn’t receiving a baby despite how there’s a HUGE need for parents. I’d rather this than emptiness.

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