Today I feel like writing something a bit more personal, perhaps to simply get it off my chest and find insight in my own words. This week marked my son’s third birthday. As a mom, watching my child grow is a bitter sweet moment. I revel in the fact that he is blossoming into a little person, with personality and traits. At the same time, my heart tightens as he starts to lose his baby fat and soft infant curls. But each year, when my child’s birthday approaches, it is not only these feelings and emotions that consume my mind.
I wasn’t there when my son was born.
After years, and years of trying to fall pregnant, it was soon brought to light that my husband and I were not going to conceive very easily. It was a difficult time, our hearts ached for a child and we thought that the world was against us. But our plan soon fell into place and we realised that all along, we were meant to adopt! And adopt we did! In 2015 we brought our 4-month-old baby boy home, he was ours.
I love how I became a mother, my child is my everything. He is beautiful, smart, witty and funny. Let me add stubborn and spirited to the mix. We were very lucky in that the adoption process was quick and easy for us, with not much red tape at all. But come March, every year, my mind wonders…
What was it like the day my son was born?
I know it was a Sunday. That’s it. I don’t know if the sun was shining as he entered this world, or if the rain fell, leaving my favourite smell of wet earth in the air. Did he come out crying? Or was he too bewildered to make a sound? Who cut his umbilical cord? Was he hugged and held tight and given the warm welcome he deserved? Did someone kiss his head and cry tears on to him, like I would have?
On the day he was born, I wonder. I imagine the room that greeted him, was it clean, were there pictures on the walls? Or was there little to look at, a mess to accompany the situation he found himself in. Was he fed, who cleaned him? The list of “whats, hows, and who’s” becomes longer every year.
While I feel sorry for myself, my heart shatters for my son. He is loved unconditionally, we hold him high on a pedestal, he is our world. But he will always feel incomplete, his hidden background and unfair start in life will follow him wherever he goes. If I just knew what it was like the day he was born, perhaps I could help him with the answers to the questions I know he will ask.
As mothers, we often feel helpless, but this is something else.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t regret not giving birth to my child, I have had no urge to be pregnant or to feel what giving birth is like. But I do sometimes feel like there is this hidden piece of my child that I will never know, that he will never know. I cannot tell him about the day he was born, only about the day that he was born to us. I pray that this will be enough.
Much love - 