As I sang, “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” while my niece snuggled into my lap just before bed, I couldn’t explain why, but tears welled up and rolled down my cheeks. I choked through the last couple of lines of the song and then just held onto her. Not long after that, she was ready for me to hand over her “Gangky,” (Blanket), place her in her crib, and let her drift off. It's crazy that she's old enough to be a toddler that puts herself to sleep!
At first I thought it was strange that I was crying because it just organically happened. It was a really beautiful, raw, sweet moment, similar to singing to her and crying the first week she was home. But as I reflect, I think that this round of tears had a couple of different meanings behind it, one that I think will be cathartic to write about today. It’s true that this baby girl has completely changed my world. I want to do things that make her proud, and I want to do everything I can to create memories she will love. I think that I genuinely cried singing, “You are my Sunshine,” because that song is so true to how I feel about her. She brings me great joy, and she will never have any idea just how vast my love for her is.
But that second reason is a little less joyful. That second reason is why I broke down, rocking her to sleep on Christmas Eve. As I paced around my grandparent’s dark bedroom, clutching Freyja close, I couldn’t help but think about how this was the first Christmas that our family was together with babies. My cousin was in the living room with his littlest, and his girlfriend was pregnant with their second. Freyja is a year old now, and my sister has plans to continue growing her family eventually. But there I stood, alone, rocking my most favorite baby ever, unable to shake this giant, gaunt, heaviness in my heart because I wasn’t a mom yet.
Before you hit me with, “You’re so young!” “You still have so much time!” or, “It WILL happen for you someday,” just know that I have heard it all already. I understand that there isn’t a rush, I still have time, and what is supposed to happen will happen, but now that I am 27, and everyone around me seems to be soaking up the blessings of new babies, I’m struggling. There is a very selfish, desperately sad feeling I get when I think about not being able to raise my kids alongside my sister’s right now. I’m sad that we can’t experience pregnancy together. I am insanely grateful for everything that she has included me in. Seriously, it means everything to me that so much of her motherhood journey has been shared with me, but there’s still that ache in my heart that wants it for me really bad. I would love the chance for my babies to grow up with their cousins around the same age, and it breaks my heart to consider the possibility that it might not happen.
Part of what makes it all feel so desperate is that motherhood feels so far away for me right now. I don’t like dating strangers. I’m not interested in it, and I have high standards for myself that I am not willing to compromise on. Online dating seems to be the thing that you do now, and I hate it. I have only ever walked away from online dating app conversations feeling worse than I did when I signed up. Also, I’m a Christian, and if you think dating is weird or difficult and you’re not a Christian, you have no idea how insane and present the home schooled, “ring before spring” energy really is. I have watched all kinds of Christian friends meet someone at church or on a mission trip, feel like God told them they are the one, and then jump headfirst into a marriage that breaks apart. I don’t want that. I’m just not interested in casual dating. I’m not.
However, I’ve always wanted to be a mom, and I understand that in order for a child to biologically be mine, there has to be a male participant. I’m not willing to let that be just any man, and I’m not willing to enter into parenthood before a marriage. It’s important to me. You can see how this might make my dreams of being a mom feel really far away. I have strong beliefs and values when it comes to marriage, and the men who share the same values typically don’t check literally any of the other boxes for me. Maybe that sounds harsh, and it’s possible that people are reading this thinking that my “impossible” standards are the reason that I don’t have a family yet. To which I would respond that I’m not interested in creating a future where those beliefs and values aren’t a foundation for my family to stand on. I don’t feel bad about not compromising on that. If I never cross paths with a man who does check all the boxes, then maybe it wasn’t meant for me. I’m writing today because that’s a really hard thought to square with sometimes.
If you know me, you know that kids are such a huge part of my heart. Everyone at my church knows that if a new baby shows up, I’ll be snuggling with them before the end of the morning. I do love that I get the chance to love so many kids between my niece, kids at church, and kids I volunteer with. It’s such a natural part of my heart to love, care for, and protect kids. Once again, I promise I am not writing any of this stuff to gain sympathy, and I am not looking for you to give me your son’s number, or set me up with one of your coworkers, or for you to ask me on a date. In fact, please don’t. I just know that I usually love shopping at Christmas time, and last year, the thought of not having my own family to be home with for the holiday and share traditions with made me emotional with almost every trip to the store. I know that I can’t be the only person feeling this way, and if that’s all this does is provide a little therapy for me while showing one person they aren’t alone, I’ve done my job.
I believe that God puts desires in our hearts for a reason, especially if that desire strengthens as we pursue Him more. If it’s supposed to happen for me, it will. In the meantime, I’ll keep praying, and I’ll keep loving the kids that I do have the chance to love. For now, I’ll end this blog and go get ready to serve free hotdogs to the families with little ones of my community. I’ll go be Mom that way, and I will remind you that you are not alone if you’re longing to be a mother, and it just hasn’t happened for you yet. No matter what that journey means for you, I see you. We’ve got this. There are still little ones out there that need us. I know it’s not the same. Believe me, I understand that it’s a different kind of ache, but we have influence over the lives of every child we interact with. I choose to come at all of those moments with as much love as my want to be Mommy heart has to offer.
Don’t forget, you are truly and deeply loved.
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