The quibbling of an emotional mother

I never thought I was going to be a mother. I thought there were women better suited, more compassionate, more loving, patient, gentle and kind..and yet here I am- a mother of two. Some days are fist pump worthy and others? Well, I just apologize, crawl under the covers and start again the next day.

It was at church that my mind started wandering and I thought about the moms whose children had left the house..moved away- grown men and women with families of their own- how will they celebrate? When my sons are grown, will they call me? Visit me? Miss me? These fleeting moments that I'm spending with my boys- will they remember? Will they cherish them? Will they tell them to their sons and daughters as a delightful bedtime story as they reminisce about their childhood? Will I be an older woman with regrets of what I should have or could have done? Will my children harbor resentments and untold hurts against me? To raise a child for decades only to see them once a year with an occasional obligatory phone call rips at my soul.

I think back to the day I found out I was becoming a mother. The mix of joy and horror- the fear of the unknown. The fluttering I felt when this child began moving in me for the first time. The endless months of vomiting, Dr's appointments and the anticipation of this child's arrival. The moment I was told I was having a girl and stared blankly at Will as he stared blankly back until we were told it was a mistake and we both sighed deeply. His reentry into the hospital with jaundice and the terror I felt that I was going to lose him. My feelings of inadequacies of having a first born. What do I do, how do I act? Will I break him? All the firsts. Seeing our Wyatt for the first time, loving him but not feeling that immediate attachment that I thought all mother's had. Faking it til' I was making it. Seeing him develop. His sense of humor. His sensitivity. His sweetness. A mother's pride. Finally feeling that attachment and the fierceness of a mother's love.

I think back to the day we chose to adopt. The choice to become a mother of two. The mix of joy and horror-the fear of the unknown. The fluttering I felt when I opened the email in my inbox and read a  biography about a little boy. The endless months of meetings, background checks, paper trails and the anticipation of his arrival. Walking through the MRT station in Taiwan looking at grown Asian men and teenagers, wondering if that's what my son would look like one day. Tears streaming down my face in public places became commonplace as I thought of my son...my inability to hold him, love him, nurture him. all the firsts that we missed. All the firsts that we experienced. Seeing our Alex for the first time. Loving him, feeling that attachment and praying to God he felt it as well. My feelings of inadequacies as we brought him home. My helplessness to "fix" the problems. Faking it til' I was making it. Seeing him develop. His sense of humor. His bravery. His resilience. His zest for life. A mother's pride. Experiencing a love for two boys that I did not feel was possible.

I'm thinking of the mothers today who have experienced the loss of being unable to bear a child, those that have lost a child, or those unable to care for their child and then selflessly placed them in the arms of another woman. I think of the women AND men who have lost their mothers and the indescribable grief that must sear one's heart at a loss so great.

I'm trying to pull myself together here. Seriously I'm an emotional basket case right now. Anyone else like that today? Right before I started writing this, as I was tucking the boys into bed and with Will out of town, Wyatt asked if he could sleep with me. I rolled my eyes. ugh. My perfect opportunity to starfish hindered by a ten year old body. But these moments are fleeting- and one day he may not call me, visit or miss me, but tonight? He wants to cuddle with me....so pardon me while I end this here.