Everywhere you turn the second week of May, there is something about mothers. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s wonderful to celebrate mothers and all that they mean. However, for so many people, it’s merely a reminder of someone they’ve lost or a reminder of something they want but don’t have. Mother’s Day is a wonderful thing, but it can also be a painful time.
I feel like I have a special sensitivity to the complexity of Mother’s Day. I am so very blessed to still have my momma, and to be very close with her. My husband lost his mom when we were in high school. My best friend lost her mother shortly after she had her son several years ago. My husband and I struggled briefly with infertility, and then suffered a miscarriage a year before we had baby girl. Having these events take place in my life, and affect those around me, gives me such a deeper understanding of others’ potential grief.
Before I got pregnant with baby girl, after my miscarriage, I started following this girl on Facebook who was struggling with infertility. I had never followed a complete stranger’s blog before, and had almost looked down on people who needed “support groups.” But another woman on my friends list kept liking her posts, and I would see them and immediately feel her pain. Almost everything she posted made me burst into tears, because it felt like she was in my head. She knew the cry of my heart because she was there too. This was my first real connection to other people’s words. This was the beginning of this blog, I just didn’t know it at the time. She wrote a post yesterday that I literally could have written, except her journey so far has led her to adoption, and I have been blessed with baby girl. Does anyone else’s pastor recognize the mothers in the congregation by making them stand? Apparently both of ours do. She and I could both stand, we’re both mothers now. But, she says she’s going to stay seated, and I love her reasoning. Basically, she said it was because we are to mourn with those who mourn. She and I both have a unique perspective. We both understand sitting there while others stand, being recognized for the very thing we ache to be, longing to be able to stand and say, “yes, I am a mother.”
For as long as I can remember, I have always wanted to have a family, to be a wife and a mother. I can hear feminists everywhere screaming, but it’s true. Yes, I truly believed I could do anything growing up, but that’s what I wanted. I wanted to love a child, take care of a child, teach a child. I started babysitting at a pretty young age and never looked back. I started work at my neighbor’s daycare when I was 16, and worked there for eight years. When I left there, I was a nanny for a family for almost a year. Finally, after kids were no longer my “work” work, God told me I wasn’t done. I was asked to volunteer in the church nursery once a month, and loved it. Fast forward to now, and I’m in charge of said church nursery. Children have always been part of my life, and I am passionate about caring for them. Obviously, kids are my thing.
My point here (I kind of got away from it, sorry) is that we should take the advice of Elisha (link to her post in the comments- go read it, it’s so good!) We should rejoice with those who rejoice, yes, and celebrate mothers for sure. They are worth celebrating. However, we can’t neglect those who are mourning either. There are so many who no longer have their mothers. There are more than you think who are longing to become mothers, or who have lost a child. I’m not saying we have to walk on eggshells around all women, but we do need to think before we speak. That “harmless” question, “when are you and your husband going to have a baby?” can be so painful. I’ve laughed and shrugged my shoulders to that question so many times. “I don’t know” seems like the most honest answer when you’re trying, but there’s still no baby. Even now that I have a child, I hear all the time, “when are you having another one?” I cringe a little every time I hear it. And, again, it’s not that people are trying to be hurtful, they are genuinely curious or just making conversation. It’s just that after all we’ve been through, I’m not sure a) that I am ready for another one, at least not right now, and b) that if we try again, we will even get another baby. It wasn’t super easy last time. What if we struggle again? It’s so painful.
I think this is part of the reason for this blog: to share our pregnancy story, or lack thereof, depending on the year. Before I stumbled across Elisha’s blog, I felt really alone. The doctor told me that 1 in 4 pregnancies ended in miscarriage, and I honestly didn’t believe her. If that was true, why didn’t I know anybody that had experienced it? Why wasn’t there a plethora of support and shared stories for me to cling to? Nobody talks about it. After finally telling some of my family about our experience, I learned that my cousin had suffered a miscarriage before as well. Why does no one talk about this? I feel like just in the last year, spurred on mostly by celebrities, people have been more open about their infertility and child loss. I feel like it’s just now getting more exposure, and more women are talking about their experience. I want to be that support, to offer that solidarity. I want whoever is supposed to be reading this to know that you’re not alone. I’ve been through it. I’ve been the girl sitting in church, wanting to stand and be called a mother, but I don’t have a baby to show for my pregnancy that hardly anyone knew about in the first place. It’s terrible, it’s awful, it’s painful, it’s alienating, but it’s not just you, I promise.
coffeemamabogie 