I threw my back out last week. Bellydancing. It has been hurting for a while so I thought I'd do some bellydance work to stretch it out. Yeah...the next morning I couldn't move. We had a date with J&N on Saturday and I didn't want to cancel, so Thursday I went to the chiropractor, then Friday when I still couldn't sit, I went to the real doctor, who gave me some muscle relaxers and some loritab. So, Saturday I woke up and was able to sit and was like, "Yay!" But was still in pain, so I decided to take half a loritab before we left. I'd eaten pretty light, a Slimfast for breakfast and a yogurt for lunch, since we were going out to eat. On the way down, I started getting really nauseous. Assuming I needed more on my tummy, I got a granola bar at a gas station and ate that. When we got to the restaurant, I tried to eat some chips, but quickly ended up in the bathroom and threw them up. Meanwhile, J&N arrived and I pulled myself together while everyone ate and I stared at my turkey sandwich willing my stomach to chill out. We'd planned on seeing a movie after, but just seeing people move in my peripheral vision was making me sick, so I decided to tell them I needed to go, and we treated them to a date night. I was so bummed, and worried.
This adoption thing is nuts. I have talked to at least 5 people about what happened and asked them how they would perceive it as a birth mom. All of them told me they would understand, and I'm positive that J does. But it still haunts me. I can't throw my back out. I can't throw up. I have to be perfect.
If I was a birth mom, I'd be looking for perfect. Why else would you even consider placing your baby if you couldn't find perfect? The perfect mom, the perfect dad (check!), the perfect couple, the perfect house...I would want everything to be absolutely perfect because I was placing my baby. I was giving over a part of myself to someone else forever. I cannot imagine the struggle and heartache and bravery.
My mom is not perfect, but she's close. She is so neurotic. And she is so high-strung. She is such a ditz. Like SUCH a ditz. She frequently drives through drive-throughs without getting her food. And she mispronounces words like "quesadilla" and it's so embarrassing. But she is the strongest, most determined, savviest, selfless, beautiful, hard-working, fashionable, brave, cleanly, loving, intuitive, independent, I-could-go-on-foreverest woman I know. She's not perfect, but she's perfect for me. She's my mom. And every single time I'm having a bad day, or I don't feel good, or I need advice, or I skin my knee, she is the person I want. She goes to bed too early for my life and I hate when something happens and she's asleep because I need to talk to her like NOW. Just to hear her voice. And even when I call and wake her up, she responds, "Nope, you didn't wake me, I was just painting my toenails," or some other ridiculous thing I know she isn't doing at 11:00 at night. I don't know if my birth mom would've picked her if she'd met her or spent time with her, but I bet she would have, cause she's my mom. She's the only one who can deal with me, who can push me, who believed in me, who told my doctors to go to hell, and tells me to quit swearing and acts like she's not the one who taught me. She is MY mom. She also is going to hate this post. I love you, Mom!!
I'm not perfect either. Spencer pretty much is, but I like ice-cream way too much, I'm really emotional, when I'm tired I hiccup, and I sneeze REALLY loudly and I'm allergic to like, everything. I am not good at math, I'm not interested in politics, I don't shave my legs every night, I'm weirdly afraid of cats, and I don't eat enough vegetables. I'm too much of a planner. I swear sometimes, though not around children, I can't ride a bike, and I hate the heat. I have seizures.
A friend of mine once told me to "just get pregnant, go off my meds, and God would make it so I wouldn't have seizures for 9 months if I had faith." I have a firm faith in God, but I don't believe things like that happen unless you're really special, and He tells you to do that in some other way than your friend suggesting it. Maybe that happens for some people, but it didn't for me. God told me that wasn't in the cards for me, so I played another hand.
I thought for a long time that I couldn't be a mom, that we shouldn't put in our papers, until my seizures were cured. Which, looking back, makes about as much sense as the first suggestion. Then, God told me that I do everything else and still have seizures, so I can be a mom too. I can be a mom, and my Heavenly Father will help me, but it's not like it's going to be some magical spell where everything will be easy. We have plans in place. Like changing baby on the floor, never bathing baby alone, safe places in every room, an i-watch; those types of things. We also are realistic about our roles. My role will be different than other moms, because bath time will wait till Daddy gets home, carpools will start earlier in life, mom can't ride bikes, and will have to close her eyes around strobe lights. But as I wrote down that sentence, "my role will be different than most moms," it occurred to me that it really won't be that different, will it? Spencer is prepared to take a more active role than most dads, especially in those first few months. He's prepared to take paternity leave, and I've got a mom and three sisters and a bajillion friends who are just itching to come over and give me a break if I need it. We have plans in place. But they're just plans.
If I'm anything, I'm determined, and I'm kind of a bad ass. When I want something, I make. it happen. Guess what I want more than I've ever wanted anything in my whole entire existence? Motherhood. Ask me my plan for anything. Anything. I'll tell you. Give me a scenario and I'll tell you. I've had 9 years to read, to think, to plan, to pray, to study. I am not perfect. I have a unique health situation. But I will NOT let it affect my children in any way but a positive way. I will be the best damn mother this world has ever seen and I will put healthy mothers to shame. Even if it's different.
One day, and hopefully soon, a birth mom will realize this about me and will listen to God telling her that in her heart. That I'm supposed to be her baby's mom. That we match. I'm not supposed to be human. I have to be perfect. But I'm not. I'm just a girl who wants to be a mom.