Pregnancy
I find myself without a birth story to recount. There are no cherished images of our newborns or memories of my partner gazing at me with admiration, captivated by the miracle of childbirth. While the days of adoption may serve as significant milestones for my partner, they often feel less impactful compared to the physical act of giving birth.
I worry that as life’s chaos envelops us—especially in moments where I feel overwhelmed, such as folding heaps of laundry in my pajamas at 6 p.m.—my partner might see just a woman in loungewear, rather than the one who faced immense challenges to create our family. The absence of a defining moment may leave him without a touchstone to rekindle his affection for me during my tough times.
We lack photographs of our children as infants, missing the memories of their first smiles, steps, and words. Our children joined our family at ages 4 and 5; their earlier lives are filled with untold stories, marked by hardship and trauma. At times, I wonder if my frustrations with their behavior would diminish if I had cared for them during their most vulnerable years. After all, I never experienced the sleepless nights with a crying baby, and I question whether I’d be more adept at handling their outbursts if I had been there through their early developmental stages.
There are no heartwarming tales of how my partner and I prepared for their arrival, no nursery decorated with care or chosen names. We had a mere two months to prepare for our first child and only three weeks for the second. The uncertainty surrounding their past has compelled us to reshape their narratives. I often say, “If I had carried you, I would have sung sweet lullabies to you every night.” We rock them to sleep now, making up for the moments we missed.
Therapists assure me this approach is beneficial, yet I still feel a void, and I suspect my children do too. I search their faces for signs of the same sadness I experience, as they have endured losses that many have not faced, despite our loving family environment.
While I lack a birth story, I possess a wealth of other experiences. I have a partner who stood by me through the waves of grief brought on by infertility. I have two children who have imparted lessons in resilience and forgiveness that surpass my previous 29 years. While I may not have given birth, I have a profound journey of motherhood through loving children not of my own flesh. My narrative connects me to women yearning to be mothers, to those facing the trials of infertility, and to parents navigating the complexities of fostering or adopting.
I recognize the abundance in my life and feel compelled to express gratitude. However, I still grapple with the longing for a more conventional family story. If you find yourself resonating with this sentiment of wanting to celebrate what you have while yearning for something else, know that you are not alone. Together, we can seek peace in this shared experience.
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Summary
This article delves into the emotional landscape of motherhood without a traditional birth story, exploring themes of adoption, resilience, and the complexities of family narratives. It highlights the unique challenges and connections formed through the experience of loving children not biologically one’s own, while acknowledging the simultaneous gratitude and longing that can coexist in this journey.