The Childless Mother

WARNING: You may need kleenex for this one. (added per my friends' request)

In starting this blog, I have been sifting thru an older and neglected blog I started for my art & memoir writings pre-Jillian. I came across this piece I wrote in August 2007 in a fabulous writing course I took when I was a teacher in Texas. I have been thinking alot lately of how amazing it is that Hubby and I even got to "here" and know that it was a long, winding road. Rediscovering this memoir brought it all back and reminds me of an old saying (and more recently a Brad Paisley song) that God doesn't always answer our prayers the way we expect...

The Childless Mother
A Memoir By Julie Grau
written August 2007

The couple ahead walks into the sanctuary. I capture a glimpse of the woman’s smile as she looks up at the man soothing the baby cradled in his strong arms. Pick, pick, pick. The scab splits wide open and I find myself unexpectedly nursing the injury as it oozes fresh juices. My mother always told me not to pick scabs. “It is best for wounds to heal correctly inside or you end up with a nasty mess brewing beneath the top layer,” she’d lecture as she applied band-aids to the latest dent on my shin. I’ve been trying to let this particular scab heal for a while now, but it continues to fester. What will it take to heal the wound of being a childless mother?

At least once a week I am forced to face the pain. There’s the curiosity of my students whose parents are mostly still in their twenties: “Why don’t you have kids?”; “Don’t you want kids?”; “Aren’t you too old to have kids?” My favorite came from a student who always tells it like it is: “If you have kids now they’ll be teased when they are in school because you’ll be old like a grandmother!” Then there’s the fact that in fast-growing McKinney, I meet new people all the time who invariably ask the question, “Do you have kids?” Hmm… how should I answer today? There’s the simple leave-this-topic-alone answer, “No.” But then again, there’s my usual funny answer, “Yes, if you count my husband and my dog.” Of course, there’s the serious answer, “No, we’ve been working on it for awhile now.” Or, the one I’d love to say, “It is none of your #@$* business!”

The responses to my childlessness often tell me a great deal about each person’s character:
· The well-meaning – “I have a cousin who got pregnant right after they adopted.”
· The optimist – “My sister had beautiful twins at 43.
· The faithful – “God has a plan for you.”
· The irksome – “My friend adopted the cutest little China doll. She’s fun to dress up.”
· The realist – “You are so lucky. You can travel a lot and sleep late!”
· The clueless – “Well, trying is the fun part!”

Most of these people have valid points: I don’t have dirty diapers to change, soccer games to attend, or nannies to pay; not to mention that I am about to turn 40 which would make me a 50 year old PTO member. My time is my own – shared only with a husband who loves me dearly and a dog that is happy with a tummy rub. Jeff and I can rent rated R movies without the concern of “little ears,” sleep until noon on Saturdays, and travel at the drop of a hat. I have the advantage of caring for children in the role of auntie, godmother, teacher, and playmate - reading happy books, playing with fun toys, seeing cute movies, and giving cranky kids back to their mother. I suspect this is why grandparents enjoy grandkids…all the fun and little of the work. And Lord, I do understand the work required from my years as a babysitter, a nanny, and even a day care director.

Yesterday, I played mom to the seven boy "Bryn Mawr Street Gang". Why did they knock on my door? Maybe because I didn’t just tell their parents when they caused trouble, but I also learned their names, let them play in the sprinklers, talked about skateboarding, and let them pet Ginger. So in the bloodied-knee scooter incident, I was called on for band-aids and a phone to call home. Funny, since most of the kids were just as close to their doors as to mine. Perhaps I am more mothering than their mothers? Is it not better to be a universal mother than to just raise one or two? Even my old friend Kimberly’s three kids benefited from my mothering; Kimberly called after I left to tell me her kids wished I lived in San Antonio. Her oldest even came home from a trip I helped her pack for and insisted on doing her own laundry “the way Miss Julie taught me.” Hmm, that makes ten kids mothered in just two weeks.

As a teacher, I find that my classroom becomes a safe home for students. Tears? Anger? Frustration? Go see Mrs. Grau. Some students I barely know have begged for refuge in my room from their daily anxiety. So why seek me out when in need of mothering? Certainly not because I am easy on students: I demand hard work and expect personal responsibility for behavior - even behavior slightly beyond their control. I suspect mine is the only mothering some students ever really know since their young mothers struggle with revolving boyfriends, low-wage jobs, drug addictions, and various other woes of the low-socioeconomic population of McKinney.

Still, with all this mothering, I long to give my soul to a child of my own. I want a child as smart as my husband and as creative as me. A child who laughs easily, sings happily, and plays with abandon. We have tried it all to find this child, but God has not readied one for us yet. I keep playing an old movie in my head where a little angel is waiting while God is readying him for the right time on earth and the best family to meet his needs. Are we not right for someone yet? What else do we need to do? We’ve certainly done all we can to help God along: charts, temperatures, pills, shots, in-vitro, and everything in between. We’ve even been to various seminars on foreign adoption, domestic adoption, and fostering–to-adopt. Mom made a powerful statement as we discussed the possibility of becoming foster parents: “I think you’d be great at fostering, but I want to see you bring joy into your lives, not more heartache and pain.” I know she’s right. I recognize the signs that I’m not thoroughly healed from our lack of fertility to cope with bringing a child into our home only to have to return it to the parent that neglected or abused it. Forget picking a scab – that would be ripping it off and taking new skin! Besides, Jeff’s not ready to let go of the dream of having our own children. Am I? I can’t quit picturing the photo of our DNA matched up: those three perfect circles in a petri dish; those three blastocysts that I had hoped would grow into three beautiful souls; those three little angels that just weren’t ready for the world.

So I remain a childless mother. Can I find peace in this existence? Can I give this pained heart back to God and move on? The truth is that I love to mother kids and give them back. Sometimes I even prefer it that way. I delight in being the willing listener, the wisdom giver, and even the mischief maker to my friends’ children. Can I relish in helping them grow without having to pay the bills? I take pleasure in getting a new group of students and helping them discover their potential. Can I savor the time spent helping them blossom during the time that I have them? Could it be that God wants me to heal and prepare for my own child by accepting my current assignment as universal mother? Am I willing to be the stitcher of wounds, the healer of hearts, and the grower of knowledge for the children of other mothers? I’m not sure I’ve healed enough to have the answers. The scab remains tender – only recently formed. But here’s what I do know: I love having kids in my life. To that end, my heart responds, “Let the mothering begin.”