We are mothers of a different sort. Our children did not come to us easily. For many, we suffered years of heartbreak. We watched as our dreams were crushed. We watched as our friends, family and strangers coddled the small beings growing within them knowing that our bodies were empty, but our hearts were full. We subjected ourselves to needles, tests and medications. We suffered the disappointment of so many failed attempts at getting pregnant. We so badly wanted a child. Someone who would call us mommy. We made a choice. We put down the physical heartbreak and turned to an alternative.
We are adoptive mothers.
Some of us came to this place as a first option. Others of us as a last resort, but it is through the lives that grew in our hearts that we are joined as one. There is no force more powerful than that of an adoptive mother. Our grey hairs were earned through hours of research, mountains of paperwork and the stress of waiting for that one thing that is out of our control.
Children were placed in our arms and we wept. We waited. Some for months, some for many years. But at last, we had a child we could call our own.
Any mother will tell you that she will go to the ends of the Earth for her child. Many adoptive mothers have seen that side of the Earth with their own eyes. I have stood on that river bank and wept with joy.
We are mothers of a different sort. We do not know every last detail of our child’s background. We were not with them from the moment of conception. However, we accept them as they are.
I am an adoptive mother.
My son lived a life of depravity for two years. He was never cuddled when he cried. He was never rocked to sleep. He did not laugh, he did not cry. I stood before a judge and told him that I would do what it takes to meet the needs of this child. My child. We have visited attachment therapists, occupational therapists, vision therapists, adoption medicine specialists, pediatric gastroenterologists and made numerous trips to our own pediatrician.
We live with terms like sensory processing disorder, anxiety, diplopia, proprioceptive deficiency, gross motor dysfunction.
I have gone to the ends of the Earth for this child and I will continue to do so until my dying breath. I will never give up. He is my son.
I am a mother.
I will never give him back, I will never give him up. I knew when I entered the unknown world of adoption that this child may need an extra hand.
This is my child to the end of days. I love every inch of his soul. I laugh at his off remarks. I smile at his sense of style. He is unique. He is remarkable. He is mine.
We are mothers.
Happy National Adoption Month.