Stop Telling Me I'm a Mother

Okay, so before I begin this post, I just want to say that I am writing this from a place of love. I am not a bitter person. I have bitter days about this whole infertile journey, but I'm not bitter. I had my IUI a week ago and I'm currently just riding the monthly roller coaster that I've been on for three years. In short, life is good around here right now.

That having been said, all of these blog posts floating around about how "all women are mothers" really need to stop. And here's why: these posts have some fallacies in their arguments that inevitably leave someone feeling left out or in disagreement. Really. Stop patronizing us non-moms. We still have plenty of self-worth and identity in other areas. Don't tell me I have to be a mother when I'm still not part of that club yet. I get it that you're trying to make us feel included. I understand that it's just because you love us and don't want to be sad. But really. Just stop.

Does this mean adopted children can never truly understand their mothers' love for them?

My beef starts with how mothers are wonderful for carrying their babies for nine months. I mean, of course this is a selfless sacrifice that many mothers make, but what about all of the women who become mothers through adoption? They don't carry their children in their wombs, but they take care of every other aspect of a child's life. Are they not also true mothers for their late nights cleaning up vomit from their child's bed or poop in the tub? Are they not mothers for the love they have for their children? Should they not receive credit for the hours of helping with homework or the boo-boos they kiss or the time and finances they invest in their children? Of course they are real mothers. They love their babies just as much as the next mother. And it would be ignorant to argue that adopted children do not truly know their mothers' love because they were never inside of their moms. While women who have fulfilled these qualifications are definitely mothers, even if their children have not survived to be mothered, I don't buy this argument in its entirety. This isn't the only path to motherhood.

The next issue I have is with the argument that all women are mothers because all women nurture and love. This article here was undoubtedly written from a place of love, but it leaves much to be desired in its argument. While I agree that most mothers are, by nature, nurturing and loving, motherhood is a club that not all of us women are a part of. Some women choose not to be mothers by choice, and others are in the same boat I'm in where we're stuck at the mercy of medical professionals and the grace of a higher power. In short, we aren't all mothers. We can be teachers, fun aunts, family, friends, or a myriad of other roles within a child's life--but we have never been handed a baby and been able to gaze at it lovingly with the knowledge that we will never have to give it back. We've never delivered a child or adopted one and known that we were mothers, ultimately responsible for the little life in our arms. That's what so many of us want. That's a key aspect of motherhood. We don't have that. That's another reason why we aren't mothers.

These articles have been written from a good place. They've been written in hopes to make some of us left out women feel included on Mother's Day. These don't make us feel included though. It feels fake, hollow, and incomplete. And, here's the thing: we aren't mothers on the other days of the year either and we tend to get along just fine. If you'd like to ease some of the sadness (that some of us may be experiencing) on Mother's Day, ask us what we need. I don't like to have gifts on Mother's Day because I feel like I don't deserve anything. I am not a mother! On Mother's Day, I like to spend time with my own mother. I like to go hiking. I enjoy reading. I'm even working tomorrow. It's not a special day for me this year. Maybe next year I'll have a baby and be in a different place. But this year I'm not. The attempts that everyone makes to have us feel included are sweet, but they make me want to simply remind them that I am not yet a mother and do not need any Mother's Day reminders. End of story.

So, if you gather anything from this post, please remember that those of us without children do not need to hear condescending half-truths. We don't need to be told that we actually are part of this club that we aren't a part of any other time of the year. And it's okay. Birth mothers? You rock. Adoptive mamas? You're amazing. Biological moms? I salute you. Step-moms? Thank you. Foster moms? You make so much more of a difference than you'll ever know. And to any other sort of mother who I've forgotten? I'm sorry. You're raising the future. Thank you for taking the extra time with your little ones and loving them a little more for me. All of society thanks you for taking your role seriously and doing such a good job raising your kids.

Happy Mother's Day.

An Untypical Saturday

An old wives' tale says that if you surround yourself with babies, your body will be irresistibly fertile. Does it count if I'm looking at pictures of baby myself? TBT (except it's Saturday...) to infant Bryn, circa 1988 AD.

My typical Saturday is spent either a) working, b) recovering from working the night before, or c) hanging out solo while my guy works. This is an ongoing thing, and I've come to accept that weekends are not always the times that I will see Joshua. And that's okay. But that's not what happened today.

Today was ultrasound day. So I dragged myself out of bed at 7:30 after working sixteen hours yesterday (and driving two more) and took a shower. And shaved. Because I think it's common courtesy to be presentable for the medical professionals that will be looking around down there. Whatever. Beside the point. Five minutes before go time, I had to wake His Highness up since he "just needs to throw pants on" (his words), and we were out the door. By 8:30. On a Saturday. I think we're growing up. Gross.

Everything at the ultrasound went well. I've got a big egg in each ovary, and neither of them had ovulated yet, which is good because I was on cycle day 14, and this is usually a day 12 kind of thing, and I had been worried that we'd miss our window. I was prescribed my Ovidrell again and told to administer it "right away" so that I'd be able to have my IUI done on Sunday (since I don't have to work). So, we drove over to the pharmacy and picked up the prescription. We administered the shot in the car, all "meth-style," according to Joshua. I don't know much about meth besides my extensive viewing of Breaking Bad, but I'll take my popo's word for it. Anyway, yeah. That happened.

 And then we decided to go and get some breakfast, because by now it was 10:30 on a Saturday morning, and we were in Salt Lake where our options were endless. While we were stopped at a traffic light, Josh saw an older gentleman walking with a cane and carrying a big, heavy box. Josh told me I needed to get in the driver's seat because he was going to go help the man. I drove around the block, since we were in a left turn lane, and when I found Josh and pulled over, he told me we were going to give the man a ride. It turns out he was trying to get downtown (and was way up by the University of Utah). He was new to the area and was returning a Christus (*spelling?) statue to Deseret Book because his church had told him they'd reimburse him for buying it, but because he just moved he needed them to do it right away since he'd skipped buying furniture in order to buy this statue. It was a really sad story, and I was happy to drive (Jack from Friendship Manor) downtown. And when Joshua had walked him inside to Deseret Book and helped him with his statue, we set off again in search of breakfast.

We ended up at the Corner Bakery, which was amazing. Eat there. Maybe not every day, since their french toast is like coffee cake, but at least once. It was so good. Afterwards, we were on our way over to the Gateway mall so I could show Joshua the Urban Art Gallery when I witnessed a drug deal. It was ridiculously obvious. (Who the heck literally buys drugs off of the street corner??) Part of me wanted to yell at the drug dealer and buyer and just let them know I'd seen them, but mostly I didn't want to get shot, so I just told Josh about it. We laughed. Because when you're married to a cop, sometimes that's what you do when you see a drug deal go down at 11:00 on a Saturday morning. Seriously, the kid must have woken up and though I could sure go for some heroin right about now. I just don't get it. Anyway, the gallery was awesome, and Joshy and I got to share some fun moments. Tomorrow they're opening a Star Wars exhibit, and I'm pretty sure Josh is going to talk me into breaking the sabbath to check it out. Whatever. #yolo #AmITrendyNow ?

Let's end this thing, because it's late and I'm a little old lady who should go to bed at 10:00 every night. Anyway, I'm going in for my IUI tomorrow. And then I won't know anything for two weeks. And I think it's kind of rude and tortuous that that's how it works, but whatever. I hope this works, because it's been three LOOONG years of trying, and it's getting old. I'd like to move on with my life or freaking start my life, but I don't feel like I can as long as I'm holding my breath to see if I will ever have a family.

So here's to answers and self-discovery and random acts of kindness and laughing at the things in life you can't control or change. Here's to sunny Saturdays and naps and new sheets of 800 thread count Egyptian cotton heaven against my skin. And here's to tomorrow. May it be even more wonderful than today.