I’ve wanted to be a mom pretty much since birth. Likely because my own mother was so amazing. Also, I think, because she seemed to really enjoy her job. She made it look fun. I was never under any pretenses that it was easy (because it’s not), but was always certain that it was a fulfilling and rewarding vocation.
Once I became an adult and motherhood was just around the corner, I started craving it. And when we started “trying,” it was pretty much all I could think about. Envisioning my life as a mother. What kind of parent I wanted to be. What kind of values I wanted to instill in my children, and how I might do that. Daydreaming about getting to experience again the magic of youth – Christmas morning, preschool, family vacations.
When we had trouble getting pregnant, it made me desire it even more. I became simultaneously obsessive about wanting it so much and depressed about not having it. I wondered if I would ever have it. I feared that all my dreams would be shattered. I lost sight of the thing I tell all my single friends who are looking for a partner – you weren’t given this great desire to love and be loved for no reason. You weren’t given this passion to share your life with someone only to have your heart broken. You have this in you because it’s your destiny. And the same goes for motherhood. I knew I was meant to be a mother. I believed in my bones that it was what I was supposed to do.
And here’s the truth: It’s even more wonderful than I imagined. Let me qualify that by saying that it’s also more trying, more exhausting, more frustrating and more terrifying than I imagined, too. I’m not trying to sugarcoat it here. But I often find myself struck by how completely overwhelmed I am by the love I share with my son. And the love my husband shares with our son. And the bond it’s formed between us.
John said to me last night, “…what about that feeling when you’re pushing him in the grocery cart and he rests his little hand on yours. How soft and gentle it is.” And I knew just what he was talking about. That tiny, innocent hand, lightly holding onto yours, thoughtlessly trusting that you are his safe place. You will take care of him. He’s looking around at the big, wide world knowing that you are his anchor. It’s thrilling in a very quiet way. Every night I thank God for my son and for the gift of getting to be his mother. I consider it the greatest blessing of my life.
I’m not writing this post to “rub it in” to my readers who are still struggling to conceive. What I’m hoping to do is cheer you on. Keep going! Keep fighting! It is so worth it. If I could go back in time and talk to myself two years ago, I would say this: don’t give up hope. Just keep moving forward. It’s a long and exhausting road, I know, but keep trying. You will get there, and you will be rewarded. It isas good as you envision. Even better. Get ready.