I’ve been pretty good as of late at keeping my emotions in check. I’ve walked away, physically and virtually, from conversations that weren’t worth my while. I’ve kept my patience in check with my son and my Husband. I’ve been strong when need be for friends and family members going through some difficult times.
But man, I broke down in tears at Bible Study tonight. And it wasn’t the message.
In fact, I wasn’t paying attention. The contractions were keeping me somewhere between coherence and severe pain. I was trying but I kept floating in and out. A friend of mine, whom I wrote about before, passed me a note. To bring everyone up to speed, I did tell her about the Munchkin’s placement and she regularly asks me about my daughter as well as my son. She doesn’t treat the topic as taboo and I love her all the more for it. And so, back to the note.
I felt like we were in middle school, passing notes. She had actually already passed me one note to give to my Husband about permits for bonfires. I figured it was an addendum to said note. So, I just briefly grazed over the note. And then I had to read it again. And again. And then I cried. I put down the note, put my hand over my eyes, and cried.
She and the Pastor’s wife (who have become very good friends; as you remember, our Pastor is new as of this summer) are throwing me a flipping BABY SHOWER next month. They’re getting the women from the choir and our Sunday School class together. And throwing me a baby shower. A baby shower.
I had a baby shower with BigBrother. My best friend planned and threw it and it was beautiful and amazing. It was everything she knew I wanted (minimal cheesy games, maximum good food). My best friend knew how upset I was that I wasn’t treated to a baby shower at all when I was pregnant with the Munchkin. She went above and beyond the call of duty with BigBrother’s shower. I felt honored and blessed and couldn’t have asked for more.
In fact, I didn’t ask for more. I didn’t want anything this time around, I told everyone. Considering LittleBrother is also a boy, there was no need for another shower. We have everything we need (except a breast pump which I’m still researching). With the boys so close in age, I just didn’t need one. I had my one day of glory. I finally felt honored as a Mother. It just really hadn’t crossed my mind this time.
But this? This unexpected gesture? From my church? After I experienced so much crud from my parent’s church when I was pregnant with the Munchkin? And not one family in the church, including the Pastor and his wife who were adoptive parents, offered to give the child even a onesie? Or even offered to pray with and/or for me? And these ladies, who are not remotely close to my age, are throwing a party? In my honor? Especially knowing my past history?
I’m humbled. I’m speechless. I’m kind of emotional.
It did stir up some old resentment towards the church my parents were attending (and dragging me to) at the time of my pregnancy with the Munchkin. I’ll be honest. I do hold some anger for that Pastor and the hell on Earth that he put me and my family through at that time. Looking back on all of that tonight, as I sit here very, very reflective, I’m shocked that I escaped with any amount of faith in tact. I really, really am. I know so many birth mothers who no longer have their faith because of the adoption (or somehow attached to the adoption if not directly because of). Perhaps it’s because I didn’t associate my faith with my parent’s church? I don’t know. I won’t pretend to even want to know why; I’m just glad I have what I have.
And so, back to being humbled instead of angry.
Yes, humbled. A mother, who lost her own daughter in a more tragic way than I care to really think about, is honoring my motherhood… knowing the full extent of my own motherhood. It doesn’t take away the hurt that no one cared about me when I was alone and scared. No, that still exists. But it feels pretty darn good. It feels …
It feels like I want other mothers to feel. No matter their marital status or age or circumstance. I hope against hope that I can remember this feeling as I grow older and time wears down my memories. I hope that someday I can bestow a mother with the same feeling of respect. I want to pass this one on someday… to a mother who may not feel as though she deserves such honor. Because we all do. Single, married, rich, poor, what have you.
I’m rambling. In short: I’m just so darn touched this evening. I think I’ll try something more coherent on this again soon. But I just needed to get this all out. I needed to.