While many parents recount the joyous moment of childbirth, I find myself without such a narrative. There are no cherished images of my husband marveling at me post-delivery, no memories of that euphoric moment when our child enters the world. Instead, the days marking our children’s adoption will serve as those pivotal moments for my husband. Yet, those memories feel mundane compared to the miraculous experience of giving birth.
I often worry that amidst the daily chaos—like when I’m in my pajamas, bra-less, folding endless piles of laundry at 6 p.m.—my husband may only see a tired woman who is overwhelmed, rather than the fierce partner who once endured immense pain to gift him the love of children. I fear he won’t have a significant memory to recall that could reignite his affection for me during those challenging times.
Our journey didn’t include sweet snapshots of our children as infants or milestones like their first smiles or words. We welcomed them into our family when they were already 4 ½ and 5 years old, and their early lives remain largely shrouded in mystery, marked by trauma and loss. When their behaviors become frustrating, I can’t help but wonder if I would feel differently about their outbursts if I had cared for them during their most vulnerable years. I never experienced the sleepless nights with a crying baby, and I sometimes question whether that early connection would have better equipped me to manage their emotional ups and downs now.
There are no tender stories to share about how we prepared for their arrival, or how we lovingly decorated their nurseries and chose their names. We had a mere two months to get ready for our first child and just three weeks for the second. Given the uncertainty surrounding their earliest experiences, we’ve had to reshape their narratives. I often say things like, “If I had carried you in my belly, I would have sung gentle lullabies each night.” We rock them to sleep now, compensating for the times we missed when they were babies, assuring them of the kisses they would have received on their tiny cheeks.
Therapists suggest that these narrative rewrites might help heal the pain, but I don’t feel a sense of relief, nor do I believe my children do. I search their eyes, hoping to detect any shared sadness, as they, despite being in a loving and stable environment, have encountered losses that few can truly comprehend.
While I may lack a traditional birth story, I possess so much more. I have a family—one that includes a husband who stood by me through the turbulent waves of grief that followed our struggles with infertility. I have two children who have imparted lessons on resilience and forgiveness that surpass anything I’ve learned in my 29 years. I may not have given birth, but I have a profound narrative of becoming a mother, learning to love children who aren’t biologically mine. My journey connects me with women yearning for motherhood while grappling with infertility, parents striving to open their hearts to foster children, and couples eagerly awaiting adoption.
I recognize the abundance in my life and understand I should feel grateful. I could easily wrap this reflection up neatly with a hashtag like #soblessed. But the truth is, I still experience a deep yearning for a more conventional family narrative for both my children and myself. If you find yourself in a similar space of wanting to embrace the joy of your circumstances while still longing for something unattainable, know that you are not alone. Together, we can seek solace in this shared experience.
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Summary
This article reflects on the author’s experience of motherhood through adoption, expressing feelings of loss for not having a birth narrative. It touches on the challenges of parenting children with unknown early histories and the emotional complexities of longing for a conventional family story, all while acknowledging the profound love and lessons learned through their unique journey.
Keyphrase
Adoption and Motherhood Experience
Tags
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