Parenting Insights
Updated: Oct. 21, 2020
Originally Published: June 25, 2013
As a mother of three sons, I often see my own dimples reflected back at me in their smiles. It’s a small connection that links us, a shared trait. Comparing baby photos, I notice bits of my first son, Ethan, in my middle child, Oliver, and glimpses of Lucas in both of them. Each of their faces carries a piece of my essence.
Currently, I find myself in the serene surroundings of Hawaii, nursing my 12-week-old son while my active 3-year-old plays with his father at a nearby park. Meanwhile, my eldest, at 17, resides in Virginia with the family that has nurtured him since birth.
Being a birth mother comes with its own unique complexities. When people inquire if my two younger boys are my only children, I pause, contemplating whether to share my deeper story. I can imagine that parents who have lost a child experience a similar internal conflict. You wish to be transparent and honor that child’s significance in your life, yet sometimes it feels easier to simply say, “Yes, these are my only kids.” The truth is that they are, and acknowledging this reality can be painful.
To be candid, adoption is a profound blessing that offers hope to many families, me included. Yet, it also carries a heart-wrenching weight. This emotional turmoil has not lessened for me over the years; in fact, the arrival of my second son has only intensified my feelings. Recently, in a particularly vulnerable moment, it struck me that I have a part of my heart—my flesh and blood—out in the world, being raised by another. He has never been with me, and in truth, he was never meant to be mine. His rightful place has always been with his adoptive mother.
I have made peace with my decision since the day I met his parents 18 years ago. However, that does not ease the emotional challenges I face. As I embrace motherhood with my current children, I sometimes find it more difficult to reconcile my feelings. The sadness I experience is not rooted in regret; rather, it is a longing for what can never be—an acknowledgment of a past that has left its mark on my heart.
Seventeen years ago, I brought a child into the world. I never had the chance to nurse him or comfort him during sleepless nights. I missed out on soothing his daily struggles or celebrating his milestones. Instead, I have observed from a distance, navigating my own life—completing college, forming and losing friendships, dating, and discovering where I belong.
I recognize how fortunate I am to be part of my son’s life, even if from afar. His adoptive mother has become a sister to me, sharing him and embracing me with love. She embodies the nurturing I wished to provide and is a significant support in my life.
The experience of giving birth does not solely define motherhood; however, it undeniably alters one’s heart and psyche to know that a piece of you exists in someone else’s care. I carried him for nine months, nurtured and birthed him, and then entrusted him to his mom, leaving a part of my heart behind. I miss my son, who was never fully mine. I am a birth mother.
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In summary, being a birth mother is a complex journey filled with both joy and sorrow. While the decision to place a child for adoption can be a blessing for many families, it also involves a deep sense of longing and emotional conflict for the birth mother. The experience shapes one’s identity and perspective on motherhood, creating a unique bond that transcends traditional definitions.
Keyphrase: Birth mother experiences
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