Listen To Your Mother

I took a deep breath and decided to step outside my comfort zone and tried out for a chance to participate in Listen to you Mother.  This is a program that does several different stories written and performed by mothers of any type.  I was not chosen but I thought I would give you all my story.  This is what I gave to the director and I was pretty proud of what I had come up with.

I am not a mother

I have always had these dreams of having six boys. Ones that came home every Christmas with their families and their kids. I envisioned all these kids, running up and down the staircase, stockings by the fire and Pictionary in the evenings. My boys would be mama’s boys. They love their mom and they love their dad.  We sang in the kitchen.  We had snowball fights in the backyard.  We’d go on small vacations because 6 boys are expensive.

But I am not a mother. I will never be a mother.

When I found out I couldn't have kids. I told myself that I didn't actually want to have children. I told myself that deep down, I would actually be a horrible mother. The problem is, I love kids, of all ages.  And I’m really good with them. So I always hear “you are so good with kids, it’s a shame you don’t have a

But as I crept closer to 40, I felt like I was missing something. And it occurred to me, after 11 years of saying I never really wanted to be a mother or that I’d be a terrible one, I wanted badly to be one.  I wanted someone to call me mommy. So I told myself that I would find a man who had children and that would make me a pseudo-mom. I’d make a really cool step-mom.

But I knew I would never be an actual mother. As in, I would never give birth to my child. Adoption was always an answer. But it seemed like something I should do with someone.  I spent 8 years single, not meeting anyone and it was in the spring of 2015 that I decided to stop waiting and do something.

183 days ago, I became a foster mom.  To be exact, August 31 5:20 PM my whole life changed and I became a mother to a 5-year-old boy. It took a couple of weeks for us to adjust to each other.  But I quickly realized that I now have a small child that I am responsible for; body, mind, and soul.

I don't feel like a mother because I didn't birth this child. People asked me if I'm Little Man's mother and I always feel this urgent need to correct them and tell them I’m his foster mom. I feel like an impostor to other mothers. I couldn’t count myself in this club that motherhood is because he’s not mine.

He came to me with a trajectory that most 5-year-olds will never have. The amount of trauma that he has incurred in his tiny 33-pound 5-year-old body is disheartening.

Foster care is not for everyone.  It’s draining, it’s demanding and it’s thankless; which sounds a lot like motherhood. The difference is, I have no control over what happens to my Little Man. I get to drive him to things that I know will damage him, I get to pick up the pieces of his tantrums because he saw his birth family.  I take him to appointments that will help him adjust to a life where people talk to him, push him to grow and generally support him; knowing if he goes home, it will all be undone. I can take him to the ER but have to ask permission to cut his hair. I am not his mother.

But there are such good things to foster care.  My Little Man is learning to read.  He had his first Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas.  He has an absolute joy for snow.  We went to Florida and I discovered he is a beach bum. I don’t subscribe to gender roles typically, but this boy is a boy.  He is happiest when dirty, loud and smelly.

His sense of humor is emerging. He is normally a very polite child and will say excuse me after a burp but his new thing is now to say “hiccup, not burp mommy.”  As I admonish him to remove his finger from his nose, he skillfully sneaks the second one up there while devilishly looking at me.

I am my Little Man’s mommy.  He doesn’t correct people when they ask if I’m his mommy, he says “yes.”  I am the one he asks to kiss his boo boos. I am the one that soothes him when he wakes up in the middle of the night, crying from memories of a life before his own bedroom, a goldfish named Goldie, a fat white doggie that adores him, and a village that is raising this Little Man to be who he really needs to be.

Things may change for us.  I may have to say goodbye to this wonderful Little Man. I may never, actually be his mother.  Or, I may be able to permanently call him mine. I may be able to change his last name and show his face on social media. These are all possibilities.

Will I do this again?  I’m not sure how I couldn’t but also not sure I could. I have never given so much of myself to something as much as I have given to this process and this boy.  I’m not sure I have enough left to give another child.  But I think every parent says this when they add another child.

I may not be a mother in the practical sense, but to this Little Man, I am his mommy.  And that is enough for me.

I am a mother.