I hate going on facebook when Mother’s Day is coming up.
When I see those type of posts, they bring a huge mix of emotions for me.
Anger: Not everyone who is a mom gave birth to their children. I feel that by you saying that you gave birth, you are automatically a better mother than I am. Frick and Frack were 15 and 11 when I became their bonus mom. Just because I missed out on their younger years doesn’t mean that I don’t love them just as much as if they were mine right from the get go.
Sadness: Of course, trying to have a baby is emotional enough without being bombarded with statements like these.
Grief: It just tears my heart thinking about my little ones who never had a chance to pee or puke on me, be rocked to sleep in my arms or look at our smiling faces.
I have stretch marks, a flabby belly and saggy boobs from trying to become a mother. (Fertility drugs are hard on your figure.) I don’t think my body is ugly or that these are reminders of what I don’t have. I just see beautiful me, someone who is a mother, wife, friend, lover, and would never trade my “battle scars” for anything. They are an everyday reminder of the strength, courage and grace I have to have to battle with infertility.