Every time I catch myself wanting to complain about motherhood, I think of you. I really do. Maybe it’s because you are my sister, and it hits close to home. Maybe it’s because ever since I got married and the idea of motherhood became more real to me, I started seeing you everywhere. Maybe it’s because ever since I had a baby of my own, I can’t imagine how you must feel waiting so eagerly to experience it for yourself. Or maybe it’s because you are some of my closest friends and I can practically hear your pain through your silence.
I hear people complain about how pregnancy is an inconvenience. I read Facebook statuses of expecting mothers complaining about the awful symptoms they’re facing. Heartburn, back pain, swelling, clothes that no longer fit. They just want it all to end. I hear the mom telling her story of how she found out she was pregnant with number three, four, or five and cried because she didn’t want anymore kids. This baby was a surprise, or even an “accident.” (But we all know that isn’t true.) I see the trendy shirts being sold online flaunting motherhood and all of it’s glory. I get it. Pregnancy is hard. It’s tempting to complain. It’s part of our human (selfish) nature. I’m guilty myself.
But I also see you.
The woman who would give anything to “suffer” through those symptoms. The woman who would gladly take the “unwanted” baby and love her with all she has. The woman who dreams of the day she can proudly wear that Mom shirt. The woman whose heart is stung once again every time she finds out yet another friend is expecting. The woman who has been told her body is “broken.” The woman who has experienced both the joy of finding out she is growing a human being inside of her and the unexplainable heartache of finding out that precious life is gone.
Sister, my heart hurts for you. I really, really mean that.
On behalf of moms all over the world, can I apologize?
I’m sorry for complaining to you about losing sleep at night because of the baby without considering that you yourself are losing sleep at night wishing you had a baby to tend to at 2am.
I’m sorry for the insensitive comments I’ve made like, “You wouldn’t understand. You’re not a mom.” or “Be glad you don’t have kids yet.” Because the truth that I’m not recognizing is that you want nothing more than to be a mommy.
I’m sorry for asking, “When are you going to have a baby already?” without even realizing what a struggle you’re facing and how painful it is to hear that question over and over and over.
Infertility and miscarriages are two things I will never understand. Both break my heart into pieces. It’s simply not fair that babies are born every single day to mothers who are too selfish to love and care for them, yet millions of deserving women around the world would give up everything they have to just have a baby to call their own, a human life to nurture, a child to raise.
I wish I had the answers for you. I wish I had the power to change your circumstance. I wish there was more I could do for you. But the reality is…I don’t. And there’s not. I won’t sit here and pretend I can explain why you’re facing what you’re facing. I won’t take up more of your time saying things you’ve already heard many times before.