Dear Birth mom,
My words are weak. When I think of you, emotions well up inside me. Emotions that have no words.
Emotions that are so intensely filled with gratitude and an overwhelming sense of my own inadequacies to heal any pain you have.
I do remember my own infertility.
So frustrating to silently listen as women complained about swollen feet, morning sickness, and bellies rubbing against the steering wheel.
I can’t imagine how you, as a birth mother,
feel when you silently listen as women complain about infants crying, toddlers refusing to eat, or long nights of teething.
At this point in my life, I’m glad I didn’t produce children. I can’t imagine wanting anything more than these children we adopted who are so much a part of you and so much a part of me.
When I was a new mother, I thought my gratitude to you would wane as the children got older. And, in reality, there was a time did. There were teen years when the sleepless nights of the child’s infancy were nothing compared to these sleepless nights of an adolescent who is learning independence. Those weeks and months and years were filled with worry and concern as well as laughter and overwhelming love.
The love extended to you.
As these children grow and prove how intelligent and independent they really can be, my gratitude to you has once again surfaced to the point I feel like crying.