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Yes, I Am a Genuine Mother
Daggers come in all forms. Sharp little edges are crafted to slice through skin, and each cut brings a trickle of blood and a surge of pain. I’ve encountered the harsh words. I’ve heard the snarky comments. I’ve been overlooked and dismissed.
“You only have one. You’re not a true mother.”
“Wow, you’re so lucky to have just the one.”
“Imagine having more than one. You have no clue how tough it is.”
Those statements are like brass knuckles to my heart. I always hold my tongue. No, I can’t imagine. Lucky? I would have loved to have another, but my body has other plans. I do know what it’s like to change diapers and stay up with a colicky baby. The relentless screaming that began every Tuesday night at 11 p.m. lasted for what felt like two eternities. Those gut-wrenching cries would go on until dawn. At three in the morning, I’d lay my little one in his crib and step outside to let the tears flow. I cried out to the universe, pleading for relief for my child. Even now, Tuesdays carry a heavy weight. Those terrifying nights stretched into a week-long nightmare, leaving me with a tired, bleary-eyed child every Monday. He is my son, and yet, I’m told I’m not a mother.
I’ve held a feverish child, his temperature soaring to 103. When it climbed higher, I’d run a cool bath, crying alongside him. My child was unwell, and there was nothing I could do to fix it. All I could offer was my unwavering love as I watched him breathe through sleepless nights, anxiously waiting for a doctor’s appointment, worrying that medicine wouldn’t work fast enough. And still, I’m not a real mother.
People I thought were friends have remarked, “Wow, she’s a decent parent.” I’ve made mistakes in my past, and I own them. I don’t hide from my choices; I carry the weight of my missteps. Today, years later, old friends have turned their backs. The little boy who is mine isn’t welcome at cookouts or pool parties. His mother is a sinner, they say. For three years, I wandered through addiction, but I’ve been clean for almost a decade. No matter how much time I’ve put between my past and myself, my child will always pay for my errors. In a small town, forgiveness is a rare commodity. And still, I’m not a mother.
Having just one child doesn’t grant you the “real Mommy” title. It doesn’t matter that sleep eludes you or that you work tirelessly to provide your little one with Sunday church clothes. As a mom of an only child, I’m always checking his shoes, worried about his growing feet. Summers fly by, and winter coats are already on my mind. It’s a July concern that keeps me awake at night, and still, I’m not a mother.
My little boy is nearly too big for his crib. I’m planning a bigger room filled with play areas. A cozy tent will be a reading nook, and a bookshelf is expanding. There’s a space for music and art, decorated with trees, clouds, and dandelions. It’ll soon be a big boy room with a blue quilt draped over his new bed. And yet, I’m still not a mother.
At night, I tuck him into bed after reading two to four books and singing his favorite lullabies. I gaze at my ever-growing child and whisper, “Goodnight, baby. I love you.” He responds with a sweet, “Night-Night, Mama. Wuv you.” To those with piercing eyes and sharp words, I may not fit your definition of a mother. I only have one child, and I’ve stumbled along the way. But when my little boy reaches out and says, “Come here, Mama,” I take his hand and let it lead me into his world. I will never deny that connection. I am the only woman he knows as his mother. I am his mother. I will always be his Misfit Mama.
If you’re interested in exploring more about home insemination, check out this post we have on intrauterine insemination, which is a fantastic resource. And for those curious about self-insemination, you might want to look into the Impregnator, which is an authority on this topic.
In summary, being a mother is about the love you give and the experiences you share, regardless of how many children you have or the mistakes you’ve made. Everyone’s journey is unique, and love is what truly defines motherhood.