That’s my baby mama

Late last night Rosebud and I were sitting in the kitchen while the rest of the house slept.  I was rocking and singing and kissing those delicious cheeks as I’ve done so many times before.  She softly slurped her formula laced with teething tabs and held my finger in her chubby little hand waiting for some relief to the throbbing gums.  Then I glanced up and saw the picture of the woman who created this beautiful child and my heart broke for her.  Did she ever have someone to rock her and sing to her and to ease her hurts?  Does she have any idea what she is missing?   

Over the past few weeks I’ve been finding myself staring at that picture more and more, studying her face and trying to look into the cold brown eyes that I imagine are hiding so much.  There was once a time when I judged her.  I was jealous of her. I was angry with her.  But lately those feelings have melted.  Its occurred to me that there are enough people in this world to pass judgement on women like her.  That’s not my job here.   

On a recent business trip I made small talk with the grandmotherly woman sitting next to me on the plane.  After looking at pictures of all 12 of her grandchildren, I bragged about my wonderful foster kids and the amazing light in their hearts.  As kind as she was, she responded as so many do, “How could a woman do that to her children? It’s just awful.  She should be ashamed of herself – and just give them up to someone who can raise them better.”  

And do you know what? I got angry.  I wanted to defend her – a woman who I hardly know and that I have plenty of reason to be mad at myself, and I wanted to stick up for her.  Maybe she was a foster child? Or otherwise had a horrible childhood?  Doesn’t know life any other way than cold and hard? Feels her kids are a couple of the only good things she’s ever done and there’s no way she’s giving them up? Fierce pride and an inability to admit failure?  She might have other mental or psychological issues – certainly addiction reeks havoc on logical thinking.  I don’t know…I don’t even begin to try and understand a woman so different from me, but I’m inexplicably bonded to her – that’s my baby mama and if it werent’ for her, I wouldnt be who I am today.  
So last night before I clicked off the lights and shuffled upstairs to tuck the snoozing baby in her crib, I glanced again at that picture and said a silent thank you.  Because no matter what else she’s done or hasn’t done in her life, she created the children that I love so much, and have changed my life in the most amazing way.

9 Responses to “That’s my baby mama”

  1. Beautiful perspective. Thank you for sharing and reminding me of why I’m donig this. To heal and to preserve… even when that’s the last thing I want to do.

    I totally get your defensiveness. I feel that frequently, too. It’s like when we were kids and someone would tease my brother. I would fight to the death. I could make fun of and beat up on him all I wanted, but no one else could. I think that signifies a special bond.

  2. Lovely thoughts. I sometimes think about the girls mom and wonder if her vanishing was her way of finally doing what is best for them. They gave us our children and we will always be linked.

  3. Beautiful. There is enough judgement, anger, and hate in the world… we would all be better off with more of the love, empathy, and acceptance that you show here.

  4. I don’t really have words, but you are so right.

  5. Superb blog! Do you have any recommendations
    for aspiring writers? I’m hoping to start my own site soon but I’m a little lost on everything.
    Would you propose starting with a free platform like WordPress or go for a paid option? There are so many choices out there that I’m completely overwhelmed ..
    Any ideas? Cheers!


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