The Wannabe Mom recently confessed her identity to her mother, inspiring this moving piece by The Wannabe Grandma.
This writing is difficult for me for two reasons.
First of all, it will become apparent that I’m not the writer in the family, and secondly I’m a very private person. I don’t have a Facebook page and I don’t tweet, not because I’m so terribly challenged by technology, but because I prefer to share my personal thoughts with only a handful of good friends, which by the way, when it’s all said and done, you’re lucky to have just that many true friends in this crazy, wonderful life we live.
Nonetheless, I feel compelled to share with you and her what it feels like to be the mother of the “Wannabee Mom.” I just finished reading, with a few tears in my eyes, my daughter’s posts on chambanamoms.com. She just revealed to me last night that she’s been writing an anonymous column for this site for several months.
Awhile back she mentioned to me how cool and informative this site was and I poo-pooed it at the time, smugly thinking to myself that my mothering days are more or less over and I didn’t need to waste my time reading about motherhood.
After all, I had done my best, and made some — well, perhaps, a lot — of mistakes along the way. At the time I didn’t realize that in her own way she was trying to reveal to me things that were too painful to say face to face. You know you’re getting old when your own children try to shield you from painful situations. Who am I kidding about not needing anymore help parenting? My mother, who is much wiser than I, always reminds me that you never stop worrying about your kids.
My daughter’s infertility issues caught me off guard. Me, who got pregnant without even trying, twice. Me, who still feels guilty about not really wanting to be pregnant the first time, after only two months of marriage. Sure, I‘ve had friends who had dealt with infertility, some successfully, some not. But as my daughter says, until you walk in their shoes you truly can’t empathize.
So here I am, a mother trying to be what my daughter needs me to be.
At times, I walk on eggshells for fear of saying the wrong thing. There’s no doubt I’ve inadvertently blown it a few times — sorry, baby. I tell her and myself that a life without children or grandchildren can still be full and rewarding, and that along with the joy of being a parent comes much heartache and grief.
But in my heart I know I wouldn’t change a thing, and I refrain from telling her how there is absolutely nothing that compares with seeing and holding that brand new life, that you and your husband created out of love, for the very first time. I don’t tell her that every time I hear another good friend say, “I’m going to be a grandma!” my heart sinks a little for her, and, if I’m honest for myself.
I can’t put a Band-Aid on this boo-boo.
I can’t make chicken soup to ease the pain. Grandma was better at that anyway. It’s not as simple as bringing the “puke bucket” when she had the stomache flu. I can’t dry her tears like I did when some jerk broke her heart. Besides, she has a wonderful, patient husband to help her through this difficult journey.
But I can be there to take her to appointments if she needs me. I can be there if she feels like sharing. We will get through this tough time just like we always have, with love.
The Wannabe Mom has been trying to conceive for more than a year and was recently diagnosed with unexplained infertility. She and her husband live and work in Champaign, and they desperately want to drive a Toyota Sienna minivan someday. We’ll be following her journey, so buckle up and get ready to cry with her — and cheer her on, too.