Accepting My Motherhood

What is the most precious keepsake you have that reminds you of your child? For me, it is this locket. It is the only physical possession that I have of A and Sunshine. You see, foster/adoptive families don’t get the usual sentimental objects. We don’t get them for obvious reasons: the point of foster care is for the child to be reunified with their family. The idea of something I can hold, a keepsake, has been something I think about a lot lately. With CC, our first foster daughter, there is this little stuffed owl. It was a gift from a friend and it was something she slept with every night she was with us. I held that little fuzzy toy and sobbed for weeks after she left. For Tiny, our first foster son, it is this small onesie that says “Tiny, but Mighty”. Whenever I see it in the drawer next to the twins little clothes it brings tears to my eyes and I wonder if I will ever see that sweet boy ever again. It’s these little things that I’ve collected along the way. Little items that hold big and beautiful stories. Stories that have defined my journey into motherhood.

At a recent meeting with our adoption attorney we were given smudged copies of A and Sunshine’s birth certificates. We were sitting at the table in her office. She handed me the copies and I scanned them looking for something I had always wanted to know: what time my sweet babies were born. The printer must have been running low on ink because you can barely read the small numbers, that for me hold so much importance. We learned that A was an evening baby, and that Sunshine was an early morning baby. Those ink smudged copies of my sweet children’s birth certificates are one of my most precious keepsakes. They are also one of the most important legal documents that will be changed for their safety and for their adoption with their new names on them. Seeing these birth times made my heart soar. They also made me feel somewhat validated as a mother. I’ve always had the title of foster mother or worse “the placement” and honestly I’ve struggled in this transition from foster mother to “real” mother. I know that I am their mother. Heartbreakingly, I know that I am the only mother that has cared for them in the ways a mother needs to. I wonder sometimes when I actually became a mother. Was it before my first miscarriage? Was it when CC lived with us? Or will it be when the judge lands her gavel on the stand and there will be legal proof of my role? When will the title of mother be something I get to attach to who I am as a woman?

I used to think the ultimate right of passage for a woman was giving the gift of life. From the moment that pregnancy test has a little plus sign, to running your hand over your growing belly, and finally, giving birth to a child, there was nothing more sacred in my world than those things. Every stage is celebrated. A couple will announce that they are expecting. They will share photos chronologically documenting every month. They will share ultrasound photos that eventually get taped to the fridge or framed in the nursery. They will have a gender reveal party. Then they will have a baby shower. Ultimately, they share that photo of their precious bundle wrapped up in love, announcing its name, weight, length, and time of birth. I love the whole process. And if you know me personally, you know that I “loved”, and commented on every single post you shared of your journey before you met your sweet child. I have shared many of these wonderful, life-changing moments with my friends and family. I celebrated with you, genuinely. But in the quiet, in the places no one could see, I mourned. I mourned the thing I thought validated me most. I naively thought that all the rights of passage to womanhood only came through carrying my own child. It’s was an ache in the pit of my stomach for years that I couldn’t shake.

There were seasons where I thought I would never be a mother. I felt a lot like Sarah from the Bible. If you are unfamiliar with the story, God promised Sarah’s husband Abraham that he would be the father of a nation and that they would have a son (Genesis 17 & 18). It did not happen the way they envisioned it would. Eventually, after decades of infertility, Sarah did have a son. She didn’t believe in God’s great promise and plan for her life. I am totally guilty of that in general. I have been especially guilty of that in my journey as a mother. I had a plan. Don’t we all? She didn’t believe in the joy that could come after the waiting, after the pain. Little did Sarah know that someday her precious baby boy would snuggle into her wrinkled neck. I’m so thankful for real life examples of motherhood in the Bible.

I look back now and almost laugh at my naiveté, because there are so many things that make women who they are. One specific version of motherhood couldn’t ever adequately describe such a complex and beautiful gift. I’ve come to realize that there isn’t a specific right of passage to womanhood or motherhood, it’s more of a badge we all wear, of the stories we carry. The stories often told by keepsakes. There is something to keepsakes. There is a magic almost in remembering. In holding onto something tangible that invites memories and love.

Last weekend we attended a celebration of life for a young boy. His dear mama and I recently became friends. I never knew her sweet little boy but she invited me and my family to celebrate his life with them. It was an honor. We celebrated this amazing little child who lived his life to the fullest. Even in his passing he was able to be a donor to several other people, the precious pieces of what his little soul left behind. He was only 2 and still his legacy has already touched so many. My friend shared with me that her regret was that she didn’t get a nice photo of their whole family with her sweet son and their new baby. She was able to snap an imperfect one. But to her it is perfect. It is all she has. The last picture of all her children together. This beautiful and simple picture has become a beloved keepsake to my sweet friend. It holds within it, the story of her motherhood.

JJ gave me the locket in the month we were waiting to hear from the judge to see if A and Sunshine’s case would move to adoption. This locket would be a forever reminder of their perfect little faces exactly as they were in their time with us. At any moment the judge could have decided that they wouldn’t spend forever with us. It represented the memories I would look back on and the love I had for them. It would be something for me to keep if they went away. It was a reminder of the impermanence of my title of as “mother”.

Now, when I choose to adorn myself with this little locket, I don’t see a sad reminder of harder times. Rather, it reveals that I have found a love for my children inside of myself and through divine supply. I have found in myself a love that only a mother could give. These children didn’t need to come from me to be my own. I have always loved each child as my own with everything I am. I don’t need to hear their heartbeats, have a gender reveal party or baby shower to have a complete and fulfilling motherhood. I have started to finally realize that I have earned that title and I am proud of it. Once I was willing to let go of my idea for what motherhood would be and allow God’s plan for my life to happen, I was finally able to accept the gift of being someone’s mother. Who knew saying “yes” to one little girl on a cold October morning almost 3 years ago would lead to us caring for 4 sweet little children. I am their mama and this little locket is proof. That is why it is my most treasured possession. It not only holds my children close to my heart but it is also a symbol of God’s promise to me in my motherhood. This locket holds the story of my motherhood and I wear it proudly.