Cinderella

This post has been weighing on my mind for weeks now. That's when I know its something that I need to write down. And you know, Mother's Day is a week away, so why not talk about it!

Being a parent taught me a lot. It taught me some really great things. It brought to light the really bad things. But mostly it taught me that I'm a great mom, but a terrible mother.

To me, mother is a very endearing term. Mother is a person that loves. Mother is a person that cares. Mother is a person that feels and nurtures.

Mom is different. Mom is the person that keeps the house running. Mom is organized. Mom teaches. Mom keeps the schedule.

(And before my mom gets offended....yes, I call you mom, but you are also my dear, sweet mother.)

Both of the opportunities I had to be a mom, I was exactly that, and nothing more. I was so organized. I kept that schedule like it was a part of the ten commandments. I helped with countless homework assignments. I taught numbers. I taught body parts. I taught colors. And I was very good at it. In the five months we had our dream baby, he learned so much. And it was so rewarding. That moment when our five year old finally counted to 10 all by herself, I was so proud. And so happy. But those moments were fleeting. I couldn't find lasting joy as a mom. There were small moments of love, but most were resentment. I didn't care enough. I didn't feel enough. I didn't nurture enough and I didn't want to.

Cinderella says "Have Courage & Be Kind".

I didn't & I wasn't.

When our dream baby was still with us, I mentioned to a friend that this must be what post-partum depression feels like but I didn't start actually looking into it until after dream baby was already gone. Turns out that even though at a glance it may not make sense, adoptive/foster moms can experience post-partum depression just like birth mothers can, in fact, 65% of them do. I can't explain my relief when I found that there is an entire slew of women that have experienced this. These two paragraphs written by Elizabeth Elias are everything:

Yes, she had a lot to learn and overcome, but the fault did not lie with her. So that left me. It must have been my fault. I carried that heavy cross of blame with me every day, everywhere. Charlie and my husband bonded with Rose right away. But the development of my mother-daughter relationship with her was much less smooth. I felt no bond with her and I was overwhelmed by her needs. I wanted to love her, desperately and immediately. But bonds are not always instant and need to be nurtured. I grew overwhelmed. My guilt over not having instant love for her was huge. She called my name with every breath she took: Momma, momma, momma, momma. I couldn’t find my footing. I craved my own space. I knew she needed and deserved for me to step up. This poor child had never had a mother to love her. I wanted to be that person but I failed. I failed daily for a year.

My guilt turned to anger. Rage. Because of her I was proving to be a bad mother. I felt very much alone. I loathed my existence. The guilt was everything I breathed, thought and did. I regretted the adoption. I felt trapped.

Source

So where am I?

Even after finding such relief in knowing that I'm not completely crazy, I'm still completely terrified to be a parent. I turn 30 this year. 30!

"You're not getting any younger!"
"You're biological clock is ticking!"
"No one is ever ready to be a parent!"

Well luckily, being 30 also makes me quite the adult, which means I get to make all my own decisions. Maybe one day we'll have kids. Maybe we won't and we'll just love on our nieces and nephews and then send them home when they get whiny. The good news is if we ever do decide to become parents, I can be highly medicated to make me a good mom and a good mother...