“‘Everything will change when you have your own kids together.’ The comments stung. He had a vasectomy in his first marriage. I felt robbed. He had the young love. He married young. As we enter our 3rd year of infertility, will his first wife will be the only woman who will share this part of him? The part I always wished for? I made it ‘my fault’ we couldn’t get pregnant. I lied, covered up the truth.”
“It was just after 11 a.m. on a Saturday morning when I received the phone call from my mom. ‘Your sister has been in a car accident.’ She was headed to the hospital. I’ll never forget the pain in my dad’s voice and anguish in my mother’s cry’s echoing in the background. I decided in that room of 7 doctors that my sister had already showed us she wants to live!”
“Her words were confident as she loaded the belt with groceries, one by one, BEAMING. I smiled. ‘Oh! That’s not how it works. My bio son isn’t some weird reward for adopting.’ A lady actually argued with me. She told me pregnancy and biological babies are always the goal, ‘congrats for me.’ He was always our plan.”
“‘Stephen ran away. You need to adopt him,’ my boss emails. My stomach drops. Instead, I buckle him in my Toyota for the next placement. He sobs an aching sound. It was a home he thought he would stay in. He felt affection there. Months later, in another removal, he runs around the living room and ducks behind furniture, refusing to leave. But on this night, he had no fight in him.”
“My daughter and I went to the mall. She was waving at everyone. It prompted an older couple to strike up a conversation. ‘She’s so cute and friendly,’ they told me. ‘How old is she? She’s big for her age!’ Then the inevitable question was asked. I just thought, ‘How do I get myself out of this conversation?’ I wonder what would happen if I just said, ‘My son died,’ then walked away.”
“In the first coherent moments after surgery, I was in a hospital room with my husband by my side. Everyone had kissed me goodbye and returned home. It must have been the drugs, because I was suddenly concerned about a white gift bag sitting on the counter. I motioned for him to bring it to me. The bag contained three gifts: a square, a stone, and a scarf.”
“Someday, I’ll quit using dry shampoo. I’ll dye my hair regularly and take care of my nails. I’ll choose my clothing as a fashion statement instead of knotting my shirt over a stain. I’ll even read grown-up books instead of books about little monsters. But right now isn’t that ‘someday.’ And I’m okay with being mostly mommy.”
“People always say to me, ‘I don’t know how you do it with 3. I can’t do it with 1.’ I had never been more shocked. I’ve never fought more with my husband. Two ships sailing in the night. But you meet again, I promise. To your children, you are a wonderful. To them, you are everything.”
“No one looks twice when a mom says she enjoys ‘mom juice,’ aka wine, after her kids are in bed. But when a mom says she smokes weed, it’s a huge shock. Marijuana has helped me so much, especially when it comes to being a mom. It’s my can of beer. It’s my relaxation time. You can still be a kick ass mom, and smoke weed.”
“Things came to a boiling point. I ran all the way back to my house, flew up the stairs, locked the door, and melted into tears, gasps. The police didn’t help. ‘He hasn’t hurt her yet. We can’t do anything.’ He hadn’t hurt me YET. Imagine my 10-year-old brain trying to process this. How could I feel safe? All of my innocence, comfort went out the window. Every morning, he gazed at me from my bus stop.”
