Comfort is a 21st century luxury item. And really so many of us are very comfortable
from the clothes we wear to the food we eat to the cars we drive and the couch
we flop onto when we come home from work.
When the idea creeps upon us as uncomfortable, we freak out.
Every day as a mother continues to surprise me. An unknown world creeps up on you and there
is nothing you can do to control it.
Every emotion from beyond happy to super scared, crazy worried, sad and confused,
out of patience to beyond happy again can consume just a single day. I’m a mom and I never thought I would
be. And I really didn’t think I would be
scared about it. But I am. I’m scared he won’t know that I would do it
again and again just to hold him. I
would take that roller coaster ride of adoption, a hundred and one times if he
was at the end of it with his bubbly smile and rosy cheeks.
I would defend him when people ask ridiculous questions
about his “real” parents and try not to be overbearing in my comments when
people ask, “His mother wasn’t on drugs, was she?” I often wonder why people ask this question
because they can’t imagine a mother who would snort cocaine and inject heroine
daily while pregnant or if they can’t imagine someone would want a baby born to
this addiction. Yes, several mothers do
drugs while pregnant. Its 2016. (This
generation barely knows who Ronald Regan was, let alone Nancy) And yes again, several hopeful couples would
want a baby born addicted to drugs. Because
the desire to become a parent has pushed aside fear of the unknown and what
ifs.
I wanted a perfect adoption because I believe in the
overwhelming love adoption can bring to a single person. I never imagined our birth mother would
lie. I certainly didn’t imagine she
would contest the adoption after signing her consent one month later. Are people really this cruel? Yes.
She threatened to harm our adoption coordinator several times. She received over $15,000 from the other
couple she had promised our child. She
accused us of lying. And all the while,
our little boy knew nothing of a mother who struggled with the woman who gave
him life.
Pope Francis has called this the year of Mercy. So many days I fall short of being a good
Catholic. I forget to pray, I shout out
ten f- curse words, I’m snotty to my husband and behind at work. The laundry multiples like Gremlins and I’m
just not really that good at ANYTHING like I used to be. I’m just getting by. I need to forgive her. All the pain she caused me and what she stole
from me. But it isn’t really her I need
to forgive, but myself.
I just want to be a mommy.
I want to go to library time and make crustless peanut butter and
jelly. But I have to work because
adoption is $40,000. And the roof needs
to be replaced and the doorbell is broken.
And I want to be a mommy. So I keep working on how to work on it
all. Even when we know that God’s plan
is better than ours and we still want what we want, He doesn’t just let us
go. This isn’t the comfy part of
life. It simply is my life.
I’m never been afraid of working hard to have the things I
want and the desire to be a parent is no different. For the most part, our birth mother doesn’t
have much contact with us. When she
does, the rush of anxiety overcomes me.
Not because I fear she will take him away, because I know she can’t, but
because this person that caused me so much pain, made me a mom. The little face that lights up with so much
joy, came directly from her. So I keep
posting photos and updates so she can see him, so I can honor my word. Because I never want my son to be
disappointed that I couldn’t forgive her.
And above all, I want to kiss the feet of Jesus, because all of the
struggle, the long work drives, horrible bosses, nasty customers, scary plane
rides, temper tantrums and attorney fees (and more and more) was really all for
Him. The life part is just not easy and comfort dissipated. We didn’t get a perfect adoption, but we did
get a perfect baby to love and love us. I think Jesus might say to me, “I didn’t want
your journey to be comfortable. I wanted
it to be worth it.” My uncomfort really
is worth eternity.
