A single mom to three boys working hard to live my truest life. I hope as I share the beauty, the gratitude, the grief, the hard…you find inspiration + hope to show up to your life as honestly as possible.
All in Mama Bear
Dear Mama,
You mothered my son before I knew of his existence, you chose life for him before I had the choice to, he carries parts of you no one can take away, and he is yours in a way he will never be mine.
So today we celebrate you, but tomorrow we will too.
I'm tired. Sometimes my brain falls out of my head; maybe it doesn't actually, hard to say. Often I find myself far too impatient. I kind of wish I slept more [this is complicated at best]. There are so many poopy diapers and poopsplosions....the other day Ira was rubbing my face so sweetly and I looked to see poop all over his hands. You know? It's not completely glamorous.
But dang is motherhood more of a gift than not.
You're not ruining your children.
It sure feels like you are though, right? With all of the emails to write and respond to, the phone calls to make, the things to do. Your list is never-ending.
It feels like so much all. the. time. Doesn't it? It's because it kind of is.
And yet, you somehow keep going.
We are on the other side of infertility.
Do I know if I can conceive and carry to term again or if we would experience secondary infertility? No. Do we plan to find out? The answer is complicated.
We tried to conceive without medication for over a year. I had a laparoscopy done to remove most of my painful, quickly-spreading disease of endometriosis. We conceived on clomid, a horrible hormone driven drug, only to miscarry.
I'm tired and I'm raw and I'm all sorts weary. This post is more for me than for you, because I just need to write.
I am sorry for the times it feels I seem to be only celebrating your brother, especially here on this big wide scary space of the internet. The truth? The truth is that I am afraid people assume I love you more than him, because you grew inside of me, my blood runs through you. I fear that people watch us, waiting for proof that we love you more because you are the product of our DNA entangled into one human. I fear that people compare the way we treat you two.
A whirlwind mixture of anguish and delight, of misery and happiness, of grief and joy, intertwined into a continual state of living. Sometimes life is going so fast that I don't notice the complexities of my heart and your life, but sometimes I sit and it all overwhelms me. Overwhelms me to tears. Not sobs or wails, but the gentle kind that wets my eyes and sits in the lower parts of my lids.
What are we supposed to do then? Sometimes it seems as though the only answer for us mamas is to give up. Stop trying. Let go of the impossible. Keep our sweatpants on all day and buy cookies from the grocery store.
It would be so easy. Let it all go. Just stop caring.
We've shared a lot of tears this past year haven't we?
From the moment we first met, there was pain and sadness between us. Both of us loud, neither of us quite ready to meet, it felt like everything was wrong except that we were sharing oxygen. There was loss as the hopeful moments-of-meeting passed into present reality and completely failed to meet my expectations. Or even half of them. Or even one of them. [Okay maybe one and it is a big and important one that I won't forget because not all mama's have this honor: you were breathing and your heart was beating.]
I always told myself I wouldn't go crazy over my babies's birthday parties, especially if they couldn't remember them. *cough cough* especially their FIRST birthday.
And then I became mama.
I do my best to purchase the boys's clothes from small shops, even if it's a little more expensive. I know who is making it, I know it's not child/cheap/free labor, I know that it is made with love, and I know the money is going to things that matter. I hope you'll find a few small shops that you love too!
I'm learning to find Him in the mess that is motherhood and marriage. The mess is beautiful much of the time, but it is still a mess. It is still chaotic and hard and challenging. It is still messy. A beautiful, imperfect mess.
Fierce, like a bear, my instincts wanted to throw literal daggers right back to the assaulter, making him hurt more than I did.1 But physical pain will never match the agony that words can bring to a heart.
Four Christmases we waited and we hoped for little toes to nibble, bellies to blow raspberries on, the magic of Christmas to be experienced by babes. And here we are: not one but two miracle boys in our home and our arms, experiencing their first Christmas, their first advent.
When Rebecca told Jack repetitively that they need to be enough for little man Randall, her aches and longings are real and valid and I know many adoptive families who feel the same way...but honestly? We aren't enough. She isn't enough. That is the thing: we cannot force ourselves as humans to be enough.
I believe it is entirely okay + possible to exist in both the reality of grief and sorrow and brokenness, while also being swallowed up whole with hope and grace and joy. I have experienced both sadness and hope wrapped into the same moment, which ushers a tired heart into a surpassing peace. Not a jumping up and down giddy joy or hope, but a calm and steady hope that anchors us.
As I give thanks for these tiny humans and the miracles that they are, the giving of my entire self becomes easy, natural.
These are the days, and I am doing my best to sit in the messy, chaotic, craziness of it all. Sit in it with coffee and almond rocas. I am learning to not feel so guilty about enjoying being a mama. I am learning to give myself permission to thoroughly love it without abandon.But also to acknowledge that I am one hot mess.
If you are an adoptive family, a biological family, or a big mixture of both, I highly recommend the Promptly Journals! They are sweet, simple, and document important information your child will feel loved knowing one day.
I don't know if the lack of sleep is weighing on me, if the imbalance of my hormones is wrecking me, or if I have a lot going on with keeping up with writing/photography/wife-ing/mothering.. or all of the above ..but I cried a whole lot and said a whole lot of times: I can't do this.
The test screamed positive.
Staring in disbelief, I heard a shaky voice that couldn't be mine saying, "no, no, no, no, no." My limbs trembled and I collapsed on the bathroom floor unprepared for the fear that had overtaken my entire self. Will I have to say goodbye again? Will our adoption journey be interrupted? What if we lose our adoption journey AND this baby? How will I get through another loss? How will I keep breathing?
![Motherhood To Me: More Of A Gift Than Not [Mommy & Me Session]](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5850be0d03596ef94b5f7921/1494528421447-GQ3BJBEFJW1AYM0N5WYL/Mobile-0049.jpg)
![DEAR [BIOLOGICAL] RAINBOW BABY, YOU'RE A MIRACLE](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5850be0d03596ef94b5f7921/1489622166445-UQ3YGVX3UU4OMEA2LTY0/IMG_7265-2.jpg)
![A HEART THAT SWOONS AND SHATTERS [ADOPTION]](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5850be0d03596ef94b5f7921/1488402615843-GED4U4SF96KRVJ0YR6B9/IMG_6813.jpg)
![A Journal for Both my Boys: Promptly [adoption] Journals](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5850be0d03596ef94b5f7921/1515792921034-40XN2BNTHXCUTOBCPWTX/IMG_3694.jpg)
