I took the kids out to eat at Cafe Rio last night (shhh, Adam was away for a Scout training). I am so impressed with our eating out skills that have developed–I only spent $15 for the five of us!!! Anyway, we had a good time eating and talking and teasing each other. I noticed a lady a couple of tables over stealing glances here and there. I am pretty used to that now because people naturally wonder what our story is. I figured she was just curious about our situation. So we went on eating, and she went on staring.

As she was on her way out, she stopped at our table(s) and said, “I just want to tell you that I have so enjoyed watching you enjoy your children. It is so refreshing, and I thank you for the opportunity.” I told her thank you (slightly embarrassed, of course) and told her that I appreciated the compliment. She and her husband left, and I teared up just a little because she did not preface her compliment by asking if the kids were adopted/fostered/babysat/fill in the blank. She complimented me based on what she saw–and she clearly saw that I was their mom, regardless of our situation. That was a first for me, one that I will not soon forget.

She did not witness perfectly behaved little robots, nor did she witness little terrorists. She just witnessed a mom who was engaged and happy. Her compliment, after watching me handle dinner time with four shining ninos, gave me more confidence that I am doing a great job.

Adam thought I was acting weird when I rolled over Saturday night and told him I was not going to stand up at church on Sunday. He also took that to mean that we were not ever going to have a happy carefree Mother’s Day. I explained to him that my stand for injustice did not mean that I wasn’t happy, that I wasn’t excited to spend Sunday with my family, that I wasn’t looking forward to hearing my children sing at church. It simply meant that I refused to forget.

Remaining seated when the women were asked to stand was the only way that I could think to support and remember all of those who are still longing, and those who are still hoping. I remember what it was like to sit there, when I was dumb enough all those years ago to actually attend on Mother’s Day. The worst part of the service was always the end. If I did not stand, people would tell me I was a mother in spirit, or something else lame, and badger me until I stood. If I did stand, I would feel like a pretender, as if all eyes were on me feeling sorry for me. And the entire service, I thought about nothing else–just the decision to stand or not to stand. I suppose exiting is always an option, but that is even more lame. Now, after years of practice, I really don’t care what people think about my decision. And, truth be told, not many people notice, unless they are specifically looking. It is mostly in my mind. Of course, poor Mindy H. looked so confused when I did not want the gift she was passing down the row. Who could blame her. :) Whatev!

For me, enduring sappy mom-centered talks, and listening to the children sing (which was very sweet), was more than enough. The rest of my day was way better than church. I know that old habits die hard. I know that. We will see if, and how, I change over the next few years. But my current stance is that I would prefer to spend Mother’s Day away from church with my husband and children.

For me, it was just weird. And I really did try!!!

It happened today.  I have been waiting for this moment, and it finally arrived. You know, that feeling of utter helplessness, as if time has stopped right in front of you while the world around you keeps swirling and twirling? And no matter how hard you try you cannot make it stop? I thought I might not feel it this time. Not with this friend’s baby. Not with this experience. Not this time.

But it did come, and caught me completely off guard. It happened at Little League. Adam “got the text.” Finally, baby arrived safe and sound, mama too. Great! I sent a quick text and went back to reading. As I read, it hit me. My mind started reeling. I thought of my dear friends welcoming their long-awaited son into the world. I remembered all the times I had pictured that moment for us, and all the times it never actualized. I saw husband looking on wife, as if she had given him the world. I envisioned the bonding that moment affords, and it was almost more than I could bear. I felt myself fading. I thought for sure I was going to pass out.

I am glad that I had the ninos’ interest to motivate me to the hospital that night. I did not want to miss it, but after the experience earlier in the evening, I would not have gone otherwise. It was unbelievably hard for me…..harder than I expected. Of course, there was no pretense on my part that it would be a walk in the park, but I also did not expect the good old feelings of loss and grief to surface so quickly. The tears started as soon as I hugged Robert, although I did keep it together while at the hospital. Unfortunately, the 40 minute drive home allowed much time to think and to cry.

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Well, it has been a week now and I have realized where my jealousies lie, and why. The good news…I am not jealous of Baby. I am not jealous of Jaime. I am certainly not jealous of the pregnancy or the labor or the breastfeeding. The bad news…I am so very jealous of The Husband factor. As I think about it, this has been the only source of true jealousy with any of my sisters’ and friends’ pregnancies.

I am jealous of how he holds the baby with gentleness and reverence. How he carries him around the house not letting him out of his sight not even when he showers. How he now looks differently at his wife, and always will. How he smiles with that knowing smile that “He’s The Dad.” I am most jealous of the apparent and incredible joy that this tiny little life has brought to my friend’s husband! Since Adam and Robert are close friends, I see it and feel it more clearly. What do I see? I see with Robert what could have been with Adam. And even today, it breaks my heart into a thousand tiny pieces to know that I might never get to see my husband in that light. To give him that joyful gift.

My loving husband offered his shoulder after our hospital visit. He sweetly reminded me that he felt more bonded and closer to me during our first two weeks in Bogota. I appreciated his meager attempt. But he, of all people, knows it is not the same, not by a long shot. Our  “bonding time” has taken place in the midst of tough love, language barriers and paperwork. For some crazy reason, I think that bonding with, and over, a baby is a little different. If I did not love Adam so much, maybe I would not feel this loss so intently.

Shouldn’t I be grateful for what I have? I mean the ninos are now woven into our lives, our families, our legacy. We wouldn’t trade them for 100 billion dollars (give or take:). And yet, I still–and probably always will–mourn our losses when times like these arise. There are no conclusions or resolutions here, just feelings. Honest emotion.

Zackary has blessed his parents’ lives, and I am so grateful to be a part of the experience.