It’s no secret that I’m not a fan of Mother’s Day. I always struggled with it as a younger adult because I didn’t have kids, didn’t want biological kids, and felt inherently that Mother’s Day was the world’s way to point out that I wasn’t the “ideal woman.” Ideal women prioritize reproduction.
Once I became a foster mom, Mother’s Day got even more complicated.
For one thing, I was into my 40s, and had reached the stage of life where many of my friends were struggling with Mother’s Day too. Some of my friends had lost their moms pretty young, robbed of life too soon. Other friends were struggling with infertility as they reached the end of their child bearing years, or with pregnancy losses. Those ever circulating Mother’s Day memes about pregnancy and birth (epidural? C-section? Did you know the gender first? Etc.) hurt those friends tremendously.
For another thing, some folks insisted – quite loudly – that I wasn’t a “real mom” because the kids I was raising weren’t my flesh and blood and I could “return them” at any time if I couldn’t handle them. So though I was wiping butts and feeding kids, worrying about nutrition and the best way to handle tantrums, going sleepless when kids were sick, and forgetting what a romantic date was because I was focused on parenting instead of my marriage, I wasn’t deemed “Mom” enough. This was an attitude that pervaded my law firm. Most of the women in positions of power there, and even some of my peers, went out of their way to treat me like I didn’t get what motherhood is really about.
What I felt was a great big eff off to those women, because they were so damn privileged they never had to worry about parenting kids who had experienced extreme trauma AND those who were medically fragile. They didn’t know what it was like to become frantic while a child screamed for 3 hours while hiding behind the couch because a man at daycare reminded them of someone who hurt their mom. The helplessness of not knowing what to do to break the child’s torment is horrific. They didn’t know what it was like to have your kid stop breathing entirely during the middle of the night and watch the first responder absolutely panic when he couldn’t get the child to breathe either. They didn’t know what it was like to clean up vomit for the 4th time in a single morning because their child had a traumatic brain injury, but the vomiting the injury was causing could cause further damage. I was in the goddamn trenches compared with most of the women who looked upon me as a mother with disdain.
Am I finally a real-enough mom now that I’ve adopted a child and she’s “mine” for good? Well, this is my first year as an adoptive mom to Sprout, but there’s still the Sunny factor to contend with.
Sunny is miserable today, and understandably so. She misses her “real mom,” as Sunny puts it. Her bio mom. The one who screwed up so badly that Sunny landed in foster care for a year and a half. The one Sunny forgives wholeheartedly and holds a deep grudge against simultaneously. The one Sunny longs for when she cries herself to sleep at night, but who still doesn’t have it together enough for Sunny to go home to her. The one Sunny keeps hoping against hope will get it together again for her and her siblings.
Sunny’s mood is contagious. None of us are cheery. I already sniped at Sunny for avoiding doing a small task I asked her to do. I should not have done so. She’s having a shitty day and it’s not her fault. But dang. Her obstinance pushes all my buttons. Every. Time.
I’m the grownup here. I’m the one who should be handling everything with maturity, and kindness, and compassion. I believe that the opposite of defiance is not compliance. That just leads to battles of wills. The opposite of defiance is connection. What I ought to be doing is connecting with Sunny to help her through her rough day today and every day. But like a damn 3 year old, I find I don’t want connection with her right now. She so hurtful with her nasty jibes (“you look pregnant in that outfit” being one of my favorites, along with “your haircut is so much like a boy. None of my friends understand why you did that to your hair” being another).
She’s so clearly not wanting connection herself. We are both human beings trying to protect ourselves from impending separation, to make sure that our lives after she goes home are as good as possible. She’s kept me at arms length ever since she learned she’s going home. And even though I’m straining with the effort of trying to be compassionate toward her and myself, I’m mostly feeling like a bad mom for being snippy and short tempered with her, and that spills over onto Sprout and Kiddo on occasion even.
Here’s the thing. Bio moms don’t get to choose the genetics of their kids. I’m lucky in that my problem will end when Sunny goes home, where she desperately wants to be. Spring break week without her here was positively bliss! I felt patient and kind and had endless fun with Sprout that week. We connected so well without a kid here souring my mood. But bio moms? They don’t get an escape hatch. They’re stuck. They can love their children so much they’d die for them in a heartbeat, and still not like them very much. I feel for those moms today, big time. Feeling like a failure of a mom is the worst feeling, especially on Mother’s Day.
I know I’m a good Mom to Sprout. I’m a good whatever-I-am to Kiddo (her Mom and I have started referring to me as her “godmother” as a way to explain who I am to other folks. While it’s not true, it’s close enough for me.) I’m not doing great by Sunny. All of those things can be true simultaneously. And it’s okay.
Motherhood is effing hard.
Not being a Mom when you want to be one is effing hard.
Being alienated from or missing your Mom or Moms is effing hard.
Feeling like a failure as a Mom is effing hard.
Being a mothering-type to a beloved kid but never getting Mom credit is effing hard.
Being a non-binary parent and not getting a Day is effing hard. Or worse, being a transgender Mom and people still treating you like you’re “Dad” is effing hard.
A truly heartfelt Happy Mother’s Day to the Moms out there who feel good celebrating today, and to the kids enjoying celebrating their Moms.
To the rest of the women (and non-binary parents who get overlooked), I see you. I hear you. Your experiences with this day are valid. Take care of yourself as best you can. Let yourself mourn as you need to and don’t let anyone shame you out of it. This day is complicated, just like the rest of human experience.