Mood: homesick, thankful
It's been a long time since I wrote a blog post. To be honest, I haven't really been writing at all unless I've been being paid for it and even that has been scarce. Recently, my head has been filled with so much noise that I haven't been able to form coherent enough thoughts for a blog post and I've been avoiding writing in a personal journal as well.
But, last night, after a day full of working on a website rewrite (yay being hired on this project again!) I sat down at the desk and I wrote two pages in a journal. I used to be able to fire off 10 pages or so, but I find that the act of procrastination has seriously stifled my ability to write as fast as I am able to think. Still, I sat down and I wrote. And I wrote another two pages this morning before beginning my work hours on the website rewrite once again.
After a few hours of actual work and writing, I decided I needed to shower. And while I was in the shower, I decided to really pamper myself and self-tan when I got out. Irish/Dutch skin does NOT tan ever on it's own and I'm not really a big fan of sunburns so I am not able to lay out in the sun or walk the neighborhood and look like I came back from a wonderful week in the Bahamas, unless I want to look like I came back a crispy lobster that is. Over the years, as I made peace with the fact that I do not tan (involving one reallllllly bad back and ass burn by a tanning bed when I was 18 and stupid) I looked to self-tanners to solve the problem. And I will NEVER forget my first venture. It was the summer of my ninth grade year of high school and my friends and I were going to Dorney Park (an amusement park in Allentown, PA...and I would do anything to spend a day there this summer!) the next day. Maybe some girls at that point had made peace with their "porcelain" complexion, but I saw my legs are more pasty than porcelain. So I picked up some Neutrogena (I honestly don't even know if St. Tropez existed then) sunless tanner at CVS and I slathered it on the night before our big day.
As a whole, I do not remember it being a seriously epic disaster, but I did have the tell-tale sign of self-tanning....orange stuck in between my fingers and darker palms. I figured nobody would care, my legs didn't look as ghostly anymore and so, without crippling self doubt, I got in the car with my mom (the designated Dorney driver) to pick up my friends. When we arrived at Dorney, my mom got out of the car to see us off and remind us what time she'd be picking us up and where, at which point the girl I was with started pointing and loudly mocking my fingers and palms.
I don't to this day remember the words she said, but I do remember it hit me hard and I'm sure I teared up. Ninth grade Ashley, a lot like present day Ashley, would never fire an insult back. Rather, I would just fixate forever on what an ugly and terrible failure I was as a human being. Enter my mother. I only remember a portion of what my mother said ("hey, don't fuck with the eagles till you know how to fly") but I know it was a slightly cutting remark at the other girl's expense. Do I think it was compassionate to criticize a teenager as an adult? Nope. But I do remember thinking on that day, and still today as I slathered on Tarte's latest self-tanner, that one day I hoped to love my child so much that I would get emotional and step in to protect them, you know, within reason of course.
I may never have a biological child to protect with that fierce love, but I do feel that way about Malcolm. I would do damn near anything to keep that kid from ever feeling less than or ostracized. I would go to unimaginable lengths to keep a smile on his face instead of tears in his eyes.
There are factors out of my control at play when it comes to Malcolm, of course, but when I am with him I hope he sees just how truly he is loved. I hope that he feels my love for him radiate out of my words and actions, just as I did with my mother.
And, selfishly, I hope that he loves me just as much as my mother and is blind to tan stains or dark palms because years later, while a vast improvement has been made, I still have not perfected my damn self-tanning method.
Showing posts with label birth mothers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label birth mothers. Show all posts
2012/09/02
Oh, Baby
Mood: anxious, happy
This may be the most personal post that I have authored to date. It's been a long month being away from the blog. I've wanted to write, but I haven't been able to sit down and write anything coherent. The truth is, I find it hard to write about one thing when in reality I'm thinking about something else. For the past month there has been one thing on my mind and in my heart: babies.
I think it's pretty normal after you've been married for a bit to assume that people are going to ask "soooooo, when are you two having kids?" This question seems to come up a lot. I don't have an answer to it. I wish more than anything in this world that I did, but I just don't.
Anyway. I've been avoiding blogging about having a baby for a whole month. I can't any longer. There is nothing on TV this afternoon and Malcolm is down for a nap. Jeff and I have a thing for Discovery Fit and Health so I flipped to that. On Discovery Fit and Health right now (literally as I type) is a show titled Bio Moms. Naturally I decide to watch. And I was doing fine with the whole show until a birth scene. No, there was nothing ewwwie or gross (since I can be rather squeamis)...it was just utterly heartbreaking.
I can't imagine placing a baby up for adoption and yet that is not why I found my eyes brimming with tears. Rather, my stomach knotted up in pain for the adoptive mother. She was in the birthing suite with the bio mom and as the bio mom screamed in pain, the adoptive mother wept. And I want to cry for her, with her.
Let me state very plainly that I do not want to diminish the role of the birth mother. I do not want to appear callous to the pain that she is suffering, both physical and emotional. But I identify with the adoptive mother. Why? Because that could be me.
Without discussing the level of trying Jeff and I are or are not engaged in....there is a possibility that I may never be a birth mother. I've known this since my sixteenth birthday. Seriously, that's when the OB broke the news to me (uhhh crappy present Dr. H). And at that point in my life it didn't matter. I was 16, I had no boyfriend or sex life...or even the desire to be a mother. I have always been a girly girl (to the extreme) but I never really imagined myself as mother. I played teacher, but I don't remember extensive games of "mother." I liked my American Girl doll because she was pretty and I could change her outfits more than for the fact that I could pretend to be her mommy. So when, at 16, I learned this about myself...it seemed inconsequential.
However, it affected me more than I was willing to admit. I have lived my adult life as if there was an expiration date on my foot regarding my fertility. The age of expiration has come and gone. And now, happily married, I find myself succumbing to the external pressure to have a child. That's out of my control, I know...and I am trying to stay positive. But as that adoptive mother shook with sobs...something in me broke.
Having, or not having a child is such a personal thing. Thus I have stayed away from the topic on this blog as much as possible. But everyday in some form I encounter this question. And the conversation is pretty much always the same.
"So, when are you guys having a child?"
"Oh, we are just adjusting to married life...hopefully some day"
"Well, are you thinking about it" and then there is generally a comment such as "well you know, you're almost 30 and...."
I know that this is never meant as criticism. Nor do people realize that there may be a reason as to why a couple is not having children. These things are so intensely private, especially for one struggling with the knowledge that this conversation may end one day in me having to say "We aren't having a child because I can't."
As I watched this woman...who was unable to conceive...go through this I could not shake the feeling of defeat. To have to stand there watching someone go through labor that they view as an annoyance (the bio mom stated this) when you would have given anything in the world to be the one in that bed....it just broke my heart. Sure there is more to being a mother than carrying and giving birth to a child, but what a distinct honor and blessing it is to be able to do so.
Again, without discussing anything about Jeff and I and where we are...I haven't given up hope that one day when the time is right we will have a child. Until then, I have to continue to believe that we are where we are supposed to be.
This may be the most personal post that I have authored to date. It's been a long month being away from the blog. I've wanted to write, but I haven't been able to sit down and write anything coherent. The truth is, I find it hard to write about one thing when in reality I'm thinking about something else. For the past month there has been one thing on my mind and in my heart: babies.
I think it's pretty normal after you've been married for a bit to assume that people are going to ask "soooooo, when are you two having kids?" This question seems to come up a lot. I don't have an answer to it. I wish more than anything in this world that I did, but I just don't.
Anyway. I've been avoiding blogging about having a baby for a whole month. I can't any longer. There is nothing on TV this afternoon and Malcolm is down for a nap. Jeff and I have a thing for Discovery Fit and Health so I flipped to that. On Discovery Fit and Health right now (literally as I type) is a show titled Bio Moms. Naturally I decide to watch. And I was doing fine with the whole show until a birth scene. No, there was nothing ewwwie or gross (since I can be rather squeamis)...it was just utterly heartbreaking.
I can't imagine placing a baby up for adoption and yet that is not why I found my eyes brimming with tears. Rather, my stomach knotted up in pain for the adoptive mother. She was in the birthing suite with the bio mom and as the bio mom screamed in pain, the adoptive mother wept. And I want to cry for her, with her.
Let me state very plainly that I do not want to diminish the role of the birth mother. I do not want to appear callous to the pain that she is suffering, both physical and emotional. But I identify with the adoptive mother. Why? Because that could be me.
Without discussing the level of trying Jeff and I are or are not engaged in....there is a possibility that I may never be a birth mother. I've known this since my sixteenth birthday. Seriously, that's when the OB broke the news to me (uhhh crappy present Dr. H). And at that point in my life it didn't matter. I was 16, I had no boyfriend or sex life...or even the desire to be a mother. I have always been a girly girl (to the extreme) but I never really imagined myself as mother. I played teacher, but I don't remember extensive games of "mother." I liked my American Girl doll because she was pretty and I could change her outfits more than for the fact that I could pretend to be her mommy. So when, at 16, I learned this about myself...it seemed inconsequential.
However, it affected me more than I was willing to admit. I have lived my adult life as if there was an expiration date on my foot regarding my fertility. The age of expiration has come and gone. And now, happily married, I find myself succumbing to the external pressure to have a child. That's out of my control, I know...and I am trying to stay positive. But as that adoptive mother shook with sobs...something in me broke.
Having, or not having a child is such a personal thing. Thus I have stayed away from the topic on this blog as much as possible. But everyday in some form I encounter this question. And the conversation is pretty much always the same.
"So, when are you guys having a child?"
"Oh, we are just adjusting to married life...hopefully some day"
"Well, are you thinking about it" and then there is generally a comment such as "well you know, you're almost 30 and...."
I know that this is never meant as criticism. Nor do people realize that there may be a reason as to why a couple is not having children. These things are so intensely private, especially for one struggling with the knowledge that this conversation may end one day in me having to say "We aren't having a child because I can't."
As I watched this woman...who was unable to conceive...go through this I could not shake the feeling of defeat. To have to stand there watching someone go through labor that they view as an annoyance (the bio mom stated this) when you would have given anything in the world to be the one in that bed....it just broke my heart. Sure there is more to being a mother than carrying and giving birth to a child, but what a distinct honor and blessing it is to be able to do so.
Again, without discussing anything about Jeff and I and where we are...I haven't given up hope that one day when the time is right we will have a child. Until then, I have to continue to believe that we are where we are supposed to be.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)