Different

One of my oldest and closest friends is due with her first baby next month. Her baby shower was held a couple of weeks ago and while I was there I felt her stomach as her little girl moved around inside of her. It was an incredible moment and while I was marveling at the craziness of it, I realized it was the first time I have ever felt a child move in utero. I have 15 nieces and nephews, two of whom I watched enter this world, and two children of my own and yet I never felt any of them move before they were born. It was a weird realization and one I've thought a lot about since I first had it.

Then last week I got together with this same friend and two others, who together make up my own brand of sisters.  Once little E joins the club next month, we will all officially be mothers. 

During the course of our evening together we started imparting our ever-abundant wisdom on our pregnant friend and telling all sorts of stories about babies, marriage, formula and so on. Then, as it almost always does, the conversation turned to birthing a baby. And then to nursing. And then to birth control. This is typically my cue to go check on the kids or make a phone call or do anything else that allows me to leave the room and skip over this part of the conversation so as to avoid the inevitable pit in my stomach that follows. And I must admit that over the course of the last 7 years I've gotten pretty good at tactfully escaping. Because the truth is, these are aspects of motherhood to which I just can't relate and sometimes it's too painful to be reminded that I'm different. 

But this time I stayed and listened because these are my girls and if I can't be vulnerable in front of them then I can't be vulnerable in front of anyone. But to be totally honest, it hurt just a little bit more than I realized at the time because here we are 5 days later and it's 1:30 in the morning and my mind just keeps re-playing the conversation. 

And then my thoughts go here:

Nobody asked me if I wanted my babies to sleep in my room or the nursery the first night they were born. In fact, I could only see them when I was given permission and a stupid little wristband. Oh how I resent those wristbands!

No specialist came in and talked to me about feeding my babies or told me how often they needed to eat. In fact, I could only feed them when I was given permission and the nurses weren't allowed to tell me how long it had been since the last feeding. That was private information only the "mother" could know. 

I didn't have an epidural for my pain. In fact, my pain was invisible and often dismissed or down-played. 

I never traded in my regular clothes for those that said "maternity" (although I am definitely big enough to and I'm sure they'd be more comfortable than my current wardrobe!), nor did I reach a point where I couldn't tie my shoes or shave my legs. 

I didn't see either of my babies take their first breath or hear their first cry. This is the one that hurts the most. I didn't see their first bath nor do I have pictures of Ben cutting their umbilical cord, because he didn't. In fact, I don't even know who did. I guess the doctor must have but I don't know for sure. 

I will always need to distinguish my role as mother from two other women's role as a different kind of mother. Some people scoff when I correct them for saying "Boston's mom" or "Kiara's mom" when referring to their birthmothers, but it's a crucial distinction. 

I love adoption and I love my kids' birthmoms with a fierceness that can't be put in to words. I will defend them till the day I die and I will always be their #1 fan. 

I adore my children. They are my whole world and are so perfect for me and for our family. I recognized them the moment I saw them and I know it was always the plan for the four of us to be a family. Nobody knows more than I do how blessed I am just to be a mom and how lucky we are to have had two {almost} perfect adoptions.

If given the opportunity to change things and have our kids come to us biologically, I never would. I experienced things I never would have had I given birth and those memories and lessons are worth more to me than all the ice chips in the world (and I love ice chips!). My kids came to us how and when they were supposed to and through the women they were supposed to come. For whatever reason, this was the plan for my two little miracles and I'm grateful every day for it. 

And while I know it has NOTHING to do with my kids, it's all me, every once in a while it still hurts to be different. Why is that?