Wednesday, July 27, 2011

A Non-Maternal Mother

I am not a "maternal" mother.  I have never pretended to be.  Yes, it's true that both my sons are adopted but I would have been the same had they come screaming out from between my own legs.  Gruesome.  

Don't get me wrong.  I think the whole childbirth thing is very cool, but not for me.  When I say, "gruesome" I mean I would have been the worst pregnant woman on this side of the planet.  I am a world class whiner.  I hate being uncomfortable and when I am everybody knows about it.  Besides, my boobs are so big now it would just not be feasible.  There would not be a bra big enough to contain them.  How would I sleep?  How would I move?  Breast feeding?  Oh, good LORD!

The idea of having a little seed grow into a full sized baby monster in a womb is quite honestly amazing.  When my older sister asked that I be present during the birth of my niece, Tiffany, I was honored.  To say that I was much help, this day, I'm still a wee bit embarrassed about that.  Instead of holding Kathy's legs and giving her encouragement, I watched in utter amazement and as the baby's head crowned I screamed, "IT'S SO COOL, IT LOOKS LIKE AN ALIEN!" 

Besides, it's not for a lack of trying to get pregnant.  I just don't think it was ever in the cards for me.  I was together with my ex-husband for close to seven years and in all that time we never used protection.  The moment we went our separate ways, he went out and started making babies in southern Colorado.  Eric was diagnosed and treated with radiation for a non-malignant brain tumor in his twenties.  The radiation and the location of the tumor all but killed our chances of having babies.

So here I am, a non-maternal mother of two adopted boys who desperately need a maternal mother.  I try to make up for it in my own way.  

William, my oldest son had surgery for a deviated septum yesterday.  His poor swollen face and bloody bandaged nose has been reclining on my bedroom sofa since he came home from the hospital.  He knows his mother doesn't coddle her boys too much.  But for the past 24 hours she's been changing his bandages, bringing him pain medication, and letting him suck on ice pops while playing non-stop games on her bedroom LED, LVD, LFG big screen, life is good whatever it is TV.  He knows that she'll check his forehead constantly to make sure he's not running a temperature and that when he's asleep, she'll kiss him softly on his cheek and whisper that she loves him.  And finally, he'll remember that when he reached out his hand in the hospital recovery room - hers was there to comfort him.

I guess there's a little of that maternal instinct in me after all.



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