On gratitude

heart is tired

Does anyone have tips for dealing with women/friends/sisters/strangers with babies who talk about how hard they have it? One of my favorite bloggers who shall remain “nameless” (Cupcakes and Cashmere) gave birth 3 months ago, and her recent entry on how terrifying it was “to realise her baby needs 1 bottle of formula before bed” — which has torn her up to bits — made me want to toss my computer out the window. All the commenters lauded her bravery, sympathising with the grief of realising formula-supplementation might be wise.

I know I’m just a cold-hearted biyotch for not giving two hoots — and for feeling rising wrath for her. But then the cycle of guilt started up. And I wondered, how do others in the TTC community cope with ungrateful idiots with babies?! Why do I call them idiots? Am I as mean and cruel as I sound? What has happened to me?…I asked my husband. It’s all perspective, he said. Her problems are monumental. To her.

Will I become one of those gals who obsesses over the “small stuff” when I join the ranks of privileged new moms? Are there any “small stuffs” when you’re a new mom?

Will I ever have the chance to worry about cloth versus disposables? To buy a Sophie the Giraffe toy for my teething baby to chuck on the road so I can obsessively sanitize it with organic wet wipes from Whole Foods? Will it ever be my turn to be a freaked out, bean-counting new mom?

When it is my time — and I have to believe it will come — I hope I have the long-term memory and the good grace enough to know when to keep my pie-hole shut, lest there be the ear of a grief-filled woman grappling with infertility, who’d give anything for a baby to whine about.

Happy Mother’s Day?

Cam bboy

With the nephew

 

Today is a tricky one. It’s a beautiful day – one that is dedicated to all the mothers of the world. I am lucky enough to have the most sensational mama in my life, so I try to make today All About Her. Today is the day I honor my mom the same way I have done so annually for 30+ years. I try to ignore the fact that, by now, I should be in the league of all blessed women like her. I even ignore the fact that two of my sisters received cards and presents today because they are lucky enough to be mothers. I am an ostrich, sticking her head in the sand. Today is, what, a day for Nancy, my glorious mom? Fine by me.

I am trying not to think about the fact that this was supposed to be my first Mother’s Day. This was going to be My Year, when the cards would pour in and my husband would get me some flowers, and I’d walk around feeling a little bit sanctimonious and fabulous. But I’m not there yet. My baby lasted a short while, and didn’t make it, and my due-date in October came and went, and here I am, another year on Mother’s Day. Without the title I frantically crave.

My friend, Miss B, wrote me a little while ago. She has struggled, cried and hurt for years on end – waging her hard-fought battle toward parenthood. And she pleaded with me, “But Cam, we are mothers. We are.”

If it’s there in our hearts, and we nurture and believe and hope and love…and care for and cuddle and pray and cherish the little ones in our life (the real, the no longer, and the not here yet), then we are mothers.6959043_orig

And her reasoning stunned me, and freed me, all at once. I started making progress that started with: I am not not a mother.

And today, I want to go the distance. I have decided I will not allow myself to feel so lonely and left out. I am an aunt, a sister, a daughter and a wife. And I will say, without equivocation, I am a mother.