“How many children do you have?” asked the mom next to me on the park bench, her toddler snoozing peacefully against her. My heart dropped. I hesitated, mumbling something about being a caregiver while motioning toward the three kids I had brought along. I quickly excused myself to “check on the kids.”
I was weary of waiting for my own moment to become a mother. It seemed as though everyone around me could effortlessly have children, as if it were as simple as heating up a frozen burrito. Not just any children, mind you, but those adorable cherubs with beaming smiles, pudgy thighs, and sweet little dimples. And everywhere I turned, there were expectant mothers, gently cradling their growing bellies while lamenting midnight cravings and sharing stories about their mothers-in-law’s opinions on bottle-feeding.
Even in the comfort of my own home, I couldn’t escape the reminders. Diaper commercials played incessantly on TV, baby shower invitations flooded my mailbox, and I was bombarded with evites for gender reveal parties. And let’s not forget that catchy song on the radio, celebrating the joys of making love.
My path to motherhood has been anything but smooth. It’s a tumultuous journey that could easily become a hit movie, “inspired by true events.” After enduring a mysterious illness for a year and a half, I found myself facing a chronic autoimmune disease, teetering on the brink of life and death. It was during my five-day hospital stay, while a diabetes nurse educator discussed family planning with us, that I realized adoption was the answer for us. While the decision to adopt was relatively straightforward, the waiting period was torturous.
Contrary to what some people say, there is no “just” in adoption. It involves countless paperwork, background checks, home inspections, and interviews—not to mention the financial burden. Then comes the agonizing wait for a call that finally confirms you are a mother. Meanwhile, you watch others become moms multiple times while you sit on the sidelines, grappling with your disappointment.
The reality is, my experience isn’t unique. There are countless “other moms” out there feeling the heartache on Mother’s Day and every day. Foster mothers tirelessly nurture children who aren’t their own. Women who have suffered miscarriages, sometimes repeatedly, long for even one chance at a full-term pregnancy. Mothers who have lost children, both young and old, carry their grief every day. Birth mothers who placed their children for adoption often find it impossible to “move on.” Even surrogate mothers, who lovingly carried babies for others, can mourn the little ones they nurtured.
Fortunately, I was eventually granted the privilege of becoming a mother myself. First a daughter, then another daughter, followed by a son, and finally, another daughter. Each adoption brought its own set of challenges and uncertainties. Yet, I cherish my four children, knowing that they each have a first mother, and we honor them on Mother’s Day.
To all the “other moms,” I am holding you close in my thoughts this Mother’s Day. I understand what it feels like to be on the outside looking in. I see your pain, vulnerability, and heartache. I recognize your losses, your uncertainties, and your “what ifs.” Remember, Mother’s Day is your day too, and however you choose to celebrate it is completely valid.
For those exploring alternative paths to parenthood, resources like this cryobaby home intracervical insemination syringe kit combo can offer insight, while this guide on pregnancy provides excellent information. Additionally, you can find more support on this topic here.
In summary, Mother’s Day is a complex tapestry of emotions for many. We honor all mothers, including those who have faced challenges, losses, and the hard-fought journey to motherhood. Your experiences are valid, and your feelings deserve recognition.