As a woman, there are so many assumptions about motherhood, including your road to motherhood. You think about the marriage you will have. Your partner in parenting. Then the appropriate amount of time before you have that first beautiful baby. It won’t take too long to get pregnant. Then after you have that first baby, the next will come along, preferably from the opposite gender. That will be another healthy, happy pregnancy, followed by another beautiful baby. Then you can be done!
And that happened to me. Two beautiful babies, a boy and a girl, born two years apart.
No one will admit this, but there is a kind of pride that comes along with having healthy babies and easy pregnancies. You look at the moms who struggle to get pregnant or who have sick children or who lost a child and you think, wow, I am so glad that didn’t happen to my family. You are sad for them and help them as much as you can. Then you return to your normal, healthy family, smiling and grateful and forgetful of your friends’ problems. You go about your normal days because you never think it will happen to you.
But it did happen to me. I had my two healthy babies. I could have easily been done. But I knew that there was meant to be another one and I was so proud to get pregnant with her so quickly and easily. We were excited to welcome another beautiful, healthy baby. Then it all changed. I was thrown headfirst into my worst nightmare. My baby girl was sick. She wasn’t going to survive the pregnancy and if she did, she would be severely disabled. My life was changed in an instant. My worldview shattered. I was suddenly the mom that people look at and say, wow, I’m so glad that didn’t happen to my family.
I have spent the past nine months climbing out of the pit that my daughter’s diagnosis pushed me into. People tell me how strong I am. How brave. How I am doing exactly what they would do in my situation. But that isn’t true. The truth is that everyone’s tragedy is unique and you never know how you will react to yours.
Some days I still surprise myself with my resilience. I have been through more than I ever imagined a mother could go through and keep going even with seemingly impossible challenges. I am proud of the person I have become. But some days I look at my life and I fall on my knees in despair. How can everyone else’s world keep spinning when I am holding my daughter’s health in my hands every single day?
The adage that it takes a village to raise a child has never been truer than now. We have a village of the best family we could ask for. So many friends have stepped up in ways we never thought possible. But there is a loneliness in knowing that a lot of people have not stepped up. In knowing that people who were almost strangers a year ago are now the people you rely on while the people who used to be your village are now strangers.
Being a mother is isolating. It is hard. Being a medical mother is nearly impossible. I will never be the same woman or mother that I was before my daughter was diagnosed with her condition. I wish I could go back to that “before” person but it will never happen. There is a stark distinction between the person I was before my daughter’s diagnosis and the person I am after.
So, if you are a mother who people look at and say, wow, I am so glad that didn’t happen to my family, I want you to know that you are not alone. Your situation is unique. No one truly understands your tragedy because it is yours and yours alone. But you have another mom here who will hold your hand through it if you want it.
Happy Mother’s Day.
