To not be a mother
I recently wrote my first piece on Medium. It was a story about how it feels to fail: https://cdvallance.medium.com/some-of-you-will-fail-5a4465528a2a. When I wrote it I thought of including in my list of failures the fact that I had no children. But I didn’t.
I’m conscious that many women have desperately wanted to have children and have been unsuccessful — whether through a traditional pregnancy, IVF or adoption. I never went through those experiences. My own experience of not having children was more circumstantial than anything else. I found out I had endometriosis in my twenties; I still recall the doctor telling me I might have difficulty having children; difficult but certainly not impossible. However, I didn’t have children.
I spent my twenties and a good part of my thirties either single or in singularly (in retrospect) unsustainable relationships. I did ultimately meet someone I thought was special — we met when I was 36; he said he already had three children and he wasn’t looking to have more. Fair enough, I thought. We ended up marrying. I still recall the moment when he said “if you do want children, let’s talk about it.” Like I said, he is special. I said no. I was happy the way we were. I’d never had a loudly ticking biological clock. I meant what I said.
So I’ve never had children of my own. However, I’ve been lucky. My husband’s oldest daughter was fifteen when my husband to be and I went on our first date — in fact, she came with us on that date. I’ve also had the good fortune to get to know his second daughter and his son. And they are not my children either.
I have never felt comfortable with the label of mother. I have never experienced many of the challenges and joys that motherhood brings: from giving birth, through infancy and childhood, the teens and beyond through to adulthood.
What have I been then?
I hope a friend, a confidante, someone to laugh and cry with, someone who will listen, someone to share stories with, to travel with, to enjoy music festivals with, someone to drink and eat with, to simply do nothing with, a member of the family. My husband’s oldest daughter calls me her ‘bonus’ mom which always makes my heart sing. And her own daughter fills an enormous measure of that same heart.
When I wrote my first piece on Medium, all three of my husband’s grown children read it and all three commented on it positively.
What does it mean to love like a mother? I’ll never quite know. But I do know how proud I am of these three special people. I hope I have even a small quantity of influence in their lives by sharing something of my own; I hope my stories might be read by them and that they may find them helpful in navigating their own lives.
What does it mean to love like a bonus mom? That I know.
Happy Mother’s Day.