When I walked in to my therapist's office this afternoon I was a
little unsure of why I had kept the appointment. It's always such a struggle to
arrange transportation and unless I am feeling out of whack or on the verge of
crisis, I don't always see the need for the added stress that struggle
inevitably brings. Plus, lately I have been doing really well. I am adjusting
to life outside of teaching and am quite content with my new role as a
stay-at-home mom. However because I had to cancel the last 3 out of 4
appointments due to unavoidable circumstantial I decided that
I'd make this one work and go. As always, I am glad I took the time for myself
and my mental well-being, because whoa boy, did I need it today.
That's right.
Mother's Day.
For women who have
struggled with infertility Mother's Day is the most heart-wrenching of
holidays. It's right up there with baby showers and first birthday
parties. Events that those who long to have children, deeply dread and attempt
to avoid at all costs. While cases can be made for Halloween and
Christmas, in my experience Mother's Day is the hardest of them all. An
entire day devoted to honoring the one thing that despite every imaginable
effort, you cannot become - hello alienation and self-pity! It's a day that in
years past, made me want to close the blinds, draw the covers over my head, and
allow myself to release the gut-wrenching sobs that represent every "baby
that almost was."
5 years ago -
Mother's Day of 2008 was spent in a clinic where a team of highly trained
fertility specialists transferred two embryos from
a laboratory to my uterus. The hope and promise of this procedure
taking place on such a sacred day was not lost on anyone present. I remember
holding hands with the nurse and her saying that this was a good sign, an omen,
and that she felt very strongly that today would be the day, I'd finally
conceive. I too thought that perhaps this was the moment that would erase the
pain and longing I was consumed with the past few Mother's Days (not to mention
every day in between). Two weeks and two negative pregnancy tests
later, we both realized we were wrong.
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I just celebrated
my third Mother's Day as a mother to an almost 3 year old, Emeline Joy. It was
wonderful. She woke me up by tickling my neck and saying in her delightful
sing-song voice, "Mommy, it's sunshiny out today!" Josh made me coffee
and eggs; my mother in-law took everybody out of the house to Lowe's so I could
enjoy a bath and a mid-morning nap. Then we spent the afternoon celebrating
with my family at my parent's house. To top off a wonderful day, my husband
became a magician and got Emy to fall asleep before 9 PM so he and I could
enjoy watching TV uninterrupted. It was a day full of peace, love, and family.
And not a single tear from my kid all day long. Perfect.
But when my
therapist asked about my Mother's Day, after relaying the anecdote of
how Emy woke me up, my face darkened, and my sadness became evident.
Pressing me to elaborate, I talked about a nagging anxiety I'd been feeling
since Sunday. A nagging anxiety that has woken me up in the middle of night in
tears and prevented me from falling asleep. Through our session I brought up
these recently read blog posts: Strong
Families Blog: To the mothers who never were and The Bloggess - Happy Whatever Through our
conversation I acknowledged how deeply they spoke to me and how affected I was
by them.
The grief I still feel about my inability to conceive quickly and
traditionally surprise me. Perhaps, it shouldn't. After all, I have been a
mother for less time then I actively spent trying to become one and the
memories of loss and longing still radiate. However, I fully expected what I
longed for that Mother's Day 5 years ago - once I became a mother I would
forget all the pain associated with the failed attempts. Recognizing that this
is not the case is important growth for me. Acknowledging that these seemingly
conflicting emotions can coexist within, is a huge personal step. I can be
Emeline's mother; deeply thankful I have a
healthy, vibrant, miraculous daughter, and I can mourn and long
for the "pregnancies, babies, and births that almost were." These
realities exist and I need to honor them.
To all the mothers out there - whether your children are living,
breathing whirlwinds of activity, whether they are dreams yet to be
realized, or whether they're memories that line your heart and soul, I honor
you and your conflicting emotions. I honor mine.
I, too, am a mother for whom the birth of one of my children had a huge impact on me, in a different way. I love your story and will be following your blog.
ReplyDeleteThank you Susan. If you're ever interested in sharing your story, please email me!
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