This is probably one of the most painful, yet hope-filled thing I have ever written. And I honestly don’t know where I find the courage to even bring all these emotions to formulate words. I also know that I am not alone because though our stories are different, many can relate to the longings of the heart.
I thought I wanted to be a “mom”, I thought I would have many children though I only envisioned one little boy. I thought I’d make a great mother, though I’ve heard others tell me I’d be a pushover mom. I’m not sure a pushover mom is what a little boy needs. And maybe that is why he doesn’t exist. In my heart I have already given him his name. I know exactly what I will call him and he will look exactly like his father. The older I get, the more a dream seems like an impossibility. I can’t begin to explain how much pain I feel when I hear others tell me, “you don’t know … because you’re not a mom”. I literally bite my tongue when I hear these words because the physical pain doesn’t hurt as much. This is true, however, I am not a mom and maybe I can’t feel to the depths a mother would feel. How could I claim to experience so much pain when children I don’t know suffer or die? I feel like such a fraud. I know it comes out sideways in my life.
When I think I have finally come to terms with where God has positioned me, I suddenly find my joy is robbed when it’s as though I am walking this life alone. I used to be this person that would rejoice with others, yet lately I find I am easily annoyed when “mothers” complain about how hard their role is, the sleepless nights, or how being a mom is harder than a full time job. It seems to be the only thing they can talk about and maybe I am envious I cannot complain.
Everyone will support a mom, in everything she does. She is a role model and all her efforts make her the best. No one will care if I was a dog mom and lost that dog I loved. No one will know the emotional toll it was on me to calm my anxious Elsa in my arms as the vet put her to sleep, and let her die in my lap. To others she was just a dog, to me she was my child. No one will care that I work as a PICU nurse with all my heart and yet cannot relate to a mother’s fear. I know I am not the best nurse, even though it is emotionally drains me at times. No one will care if I write with the only spare time I have because I should have so much free time since I am “single and don’t have the responsibilities of kids”. How many times have they said that to me; I cannot keep track of this number anymore. And I know, I am not the best writer. No one will support the life I live, not Christians, not even those that matter to me. Not even Cessna.
What is this life for and what am I doing? The funny thing is, God gave me the gift of being a “baby whisperer” for all these babies that are not my own. He gave me courage to write the things others wish to express and articulate words that others cannot. He gave me compassion to feel the suffering of others and mourn with them. He gave me a heart that wants to rejoice with others in their joy. So why did God position me here? Why did he position women who struggle with infertility among those who are constantly reproducing? I have no idea. I know my identity isn’t tied to that and neither is theirs; I can’t help but feel bad though. If I had a kid, people would actually consider my life significant, my time worth and well spent, a life worth supporting. How many times have they told me, “well you don’t know what it’s like to have kids” and how many times have I come to terms with this season of life. I don’t long to rush into anything, I am honored to wait for my mayhem boy. Yet should my little boy Cessna exist or not, I will live a life for him, a life to make him proud. ♥️