It’s easy to recall a time and place when I was not a
mother. I spent over 30 years NOT being a mother. My own mom would tell you (if
you asked) that she’s frankly surprised I ever got around to wanting children. “Too
independent”, she may say. At that, I cannot deny. A mother knows…she saw it my
whole life. She saw me turn to rely on myself through the loss of friendships,
boyfriends, and even a marriage. She saw me strive to achieve personal goals
that were all mine. I remember that young woman who felt a strong pull to be
close to others, at the same time fearing that she would ultimately be on her
own...so should prepare for it. Where did that come from? I have some notions but
that type of disclosure is not for this venue.
Despite the independence, I did open my life to a family who
is now mine. Dan, Emily, and Dylan became mine on December 30th,
2007. My life (and my independence) changed that day. I was incorporated into
lives of children that were not part of me by blood…but by love. My world
flipped at that point. I was no longer a child. A 31-year-old child. I was a
parent. Not yet the mother I am today, but a mother nonetheless. Independence
was no longer an option. Adorable, funny, intelligent children depended on me to
be someone I had no idea how to be. Sure, I knew what a mother does. But I didn’t
know how a mother feels. I didn’t know how to define myself as a mother. Having
kids that are kinda yours and totally someone else’s muddles up your feelings
quite a bit. Looking back, I struggled with this more than I let on…maybe even
more than I realized myself.
While I’m still working on my own identity as mom, I feel I
have benefited from those years of being just me. I put time and energy into
learning about myself and getting comfortable with me. Happy with me. This gave
me the foundation I needed to choose to have a child not to fulfill some
selfish need for someone to love and depend on me, but rather to put my life
and energy into the fulfillment of someone else. All of a sudden, it made
sense. But it wasn’t until I saw who I was to my son that I could truly see who
I was to all my children. It was there
before. I just didn’t see it, because I didn’t know. And I didn’t know because
I couldn’t know. Something happened to me when I saw my son for the first time that
redefined me as a person that I had never been before. I have put a lot of
energy into figuring out the “new me” and wonder sometimes if I’m doing a good
job. My mother would tell me not to worry about it, I’m doing fine, and that
she’s proud of me. Because that’s what I need to hear…so that what she needs to
say. Yeah, I get it now.
Here’s to that redefining moment that happened two years ago
tomorrow. Happy Birthday, Cole.
