Today we shall call "Bare your soul Saturday." I wrote the essay to follow for
Nie Nie's "Motherhood Is" essay contest. I never entered it - I think because it was too long and I didn't have the time to go through and figure out how to make it more concise. For some reason today I felt like revisiting and posting it.
First, some pictures via the camera timer of Frankie and I playing in the rain on my Mom's front porch last Sunday. Lovely summer rainstorms.
I haven't had many moments of direct spiritual guidance in my life. I get quiet pushes, peaceful feelings, but they usually come slow and only with much effort. As a newlywed when I started drooling over the babies at church, the revelation came differently. Within a week of us praying to know if we should start a family I had a dream where Jeremy and I visited a baby boy, our baby boy. I woke up so awash in love, and knew I would do anything to be a Mother. That morning as I got ready I was astonished that the usual stiffness and fatigue that accompanied my vaguely diagnosed autoimmune disease was gone. We had our answer. Once I was off of the necessary medications I was pregnant right away.
Pregnancy was magical for me. Frankie arrived tiny, healthy, and beautiful. My Mother in Law presented us with a breast pump at the hospital, saying she figured it was an investment. I smiled, and affirmed her suspicions. Yes, we wanted a large family. I always thought four sounded nice, maybe six.
3 and half years later I sat in the rocking chair in our spare room, staring at the stars out the window, no new baby in my arms. The last few months had seen my health deteriorate to the point that it hurt to do almost everything, even sleep sometimes. I had been in denial of how sick I was, mostly because I wanted to be pregnant so badly. But I couldn't pick up Frankie, and I could barely hold our friend's baby, so that night with sobs and prayers I decided we would stop the mild fertility treatments we had been pursuing.
A few weeks later we visited the E.R. and I spent a week in the hospital, finally learning I had Lupus. I will never forget the moment that the doctor advised us against having more biological children. For as sick as I was, the thought of never holding another baby in my arms, of Frankie never having a sibling to love and grow old with, tore me in two. In all the suffering and trials of my illness and my life, nothing has been more painful then that moment.
My six years as a Mother have been what I expected and not what I expected all at once. The joy of pajama mornings, sunny afternoons, and bedtime snuggles with Frankie are more then I could have imagined. When Frankie wishes to have “a friend who lived here and didn't have to go home,” or asks why we don't have a baby at our house, it breaks my heart. Sometimes my confidence suffers, as I see happy families with many children, and I wonder if it could have been me had I only been a better Mother.
But the quiet spiritual pushes and peaceful moments still come. They help me understand, and then remind me again and again, why it is okay that my family is small. I think often of the the Biblical Sarah, who wasn't blessed with her valiant son until she was in her old age. I am ever grateful that the most direct guidance I have ever received from the Lord allowed me to bear a child, during what will probably be the only window of my life that it was possible.
Amidst blessings of health and prosperity I try to enjoy every moment I have with my wonderful Frankie, and our times together as a little family unit. I try to appreciate the ease of my life as I see others busy with many little ones. I plan what I will do with my future as Frankie enters school. Even as we pray for the miracle of adoption, I know that I am no less of a Mother if I am a Mother to only one. And I am so thankful every day for that privilege.
