Sunday, 08 February 2009

• Never Pregnant Again: Loving What God Has Given Me

  
  

  This post is a subject painful for me to talk about, and a burden difficult for many to bear.  Mine is still not as painful as that of many - I am deeply aware of this fact.  And there are others who cannot understand this issue at all.  So, those who don't need this, please turn away.  Those who may benefit, I hope to only add love and compassion to our journey toward appreciating God's best in His design for our lives.

  I never wanted to be a mother.  As a child, my dolls sat quiet and lonely in the corner of the room as I read on my bed.  I babysat occasionally for the pastor's wife to be nice, but I didn't do it as a "job" like my friends.  I never had a hope chest or named my future children or dreamed of babies.  It never interested me in the least.

  My husband is from Peru.  Like any good Latino man, he expected to get married and immediately have a dozen children or so.  He was puzzled by my coolness on the subject.  We were very young, though, and had quite a while to come to a meeting of the minds.  Then, an unexpected pregnancy, a sudden miscarriage, and a flood of emotions ... I felt awful - had I done something wrong? Was God out to get me? I got some good counseling; my husband hid his fears and pampered me back to health.  Our marriage came out stronger.  A few months later, God intervened again  - our first-born was coming for sure this time.

  My husband insisted I stay home and raise our son.  It seemed ludicrous, but we did it.  How can a family of three live on $20,000 a year, spending  $800 a month on rent?  My husband worked and scrimped and sweated over the bills like a mad-man; I spent too much money on diapers and too much time in bed with the baby.  It was the best year of our lives.  We were all three madly in love, and it changed me forever.

  Days spent on the floor, at the park, in the pool, at the pediatrician drew me into a world I never knew existed.  I smelled, tasted, saw, heard, and felt things I had never known before - and it was because of me and this miracle I was helping to shape.  I taught him his first word.  I rolled him across the floor.  I bought him his first shoes.  I fed him his first cereal.  I kissed his first tear.  I bandaged his first boo-boo.

  I became Mommy.  Two years later, I did it all again.  This time, to a little female monster that never stopped screaming at me until 365 days later.  It took me two years to get the courage to try again, then I had the sweetest, most perfect baby doll anyone could hold.  I couldn't wait until my body was able to carry one more, but it would be four more years before I was up to the challenge.

  After the last - and greatest - baby, though, I received the devastating news that I could never - EVER - again hold my own newborn.  The fog of medication, then the cloud of pain, and finally the haze of Baby Love dulled the sadness of my doctor's pronouncement.  I packed up the newborn items as Baby outgrew them and gave them away.  I sorted out the baby girl things I had saved just in case.  I tried not to think too much about it; I relished every minute of the baby I held in my arms.

  Now, my baby is really a toddler.  He is talking, walking, pottying, and testing.  My friends are having babies; I see them everywhere.  Newborns are much smaller than my huge Baby.  I want one, with a pain only some mothers understand.  It is a physical pain, sharp and stabbing.  The pain of something I can never have again.  It was gone all too fast!

  So that was why, as I wrote a congratulatory note to a dear friend I love, I wept and sobbed all over my computer last night.  My oldest son found me and thought someone had died; ashamed to be found thus, I ran to my bathroom to try to mop myself up.  He followed me, trying to console me.  Finally, I simply admitted I was sad that "all my babies have grown up - and you guys are stinky!"

  He laughed, and said, "Yeah, Mommy! I understand!" And he gave me a nice, solid football-player hug.  I love those hugs.  Then I bent over my Sweetie Pooh to tuck him into bed.  He pulled me down, into his little arms, and we lay together in his bed a moment.  

  "Mommy," he observed. "You have a strange problem.  Most mothers just keep loving their chwildwen and kissing them as they get bigger!"

  I chuckled.  "You are right, honey," I agreed.  "I am so thankful to have such strong, healthy children. You are good children, too - most of the time!"

  "You know what you need to do, Mommy?" he said, looking at me solemnly. "You should take this to the Lord and pray about it." He gazed deeply into my eyes, and I was instantly ashamed.

  "Dear Jesus, Please help Mommy with her special situation.  You know she is sad, but she has four children who love her very much.  Thank you for her.  Amen."

  I buried my wet face deep into his arms and sobbed out my own prayer of repentance and thanksgiving to the Lord Who has so richly blessed me.  

  What have I to ask beside
  Can I doubt His tender mercy
  Who through life has been my Guide?

  "Maybe, when you grow up, you may be a pastor." I said, as I stood up to leave.  "You gave your mother some very wise counsel just now."

  "Mommy! I was just reminding you what you told me long ago! I once lost something, and you told me 'Take it to the Lord in prayer'!"

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