I chose single motherhood. I chose this child. This amazing little boy. My son. My heart. My love. And, yes, my stress.
Matthew is the answer to a prayer I've been praying since I was a little girl. I firmly believe God Himself gave me THIS boy. I've always wanted to be a mother. I always thought I'd be a great one, too. Maybe my belief in myself was too strong or maybe God wanted to knock me down a peg or two but I am not a great mother. I love my boy but I am impatient with him. I am impatient with life. I'm working on it though and with God's help and understanding I'll get better.
You see, Matthew is adopted, or rather he is in the process of being adopted. I despair that the adoption will ever be finished but that's a rant for my next post. For this one, let me tell you how Matthew and I came together.
When I was younger, I'd always say I was going to have a child by time I was 30, whether or not I was still single. But 30 came along and financially I was not able to support a baby. Time passed and things got better. Just after my 33rd birthday, I heard through a friend that there was a baby going to be born in late January or early February 2008 who was being given up for adoption. I spoke to the clinic doctors and was told there was another couple already in line for this child. I asked to be kept in mind regardless and was assured I would be.
For the next few weeks, every week, I'd call the technician at the clinic and ask if he had heard any news. The conversation went like this:
Me: "Hi. Sorry to bother you but any news on the baby?"
Tech: "No. No news, we are still waiting for the girl to come back in and you are not bothering me."
Finally, an appointment was made for me to meet the girl on January 31st. But God has a funny sense of humour because on January 30, 2008, at 10 a.m., my phone rang and woke me up. It was the technician saying, "she's here, she's in pain, the doctors aren't here, and now would be a good time for you to come and meet her and when you do, please take her to the hospital!"
I grabbed my mother, out of her sickbed, and the two of us flew to town. We got there at about 11 a.m. and by then the girl was at the hospital, the doctor from the clinic had shown up, the baby had been born and after about 15 or 20 minutes, although it seemed like much longer, he turned to me and asked, if I had any clothes for the baby? I told him I did and he told me to bring them. I got them from the car and at that point one of the nurses took pity on me and asked if I'd like to see him.
Outside of medical staff, I was the first person to touch him.
Matthew, 1 day old, in the sleeper I brought him home in. It was miles too big but having never met the birth mother I had no clue what size this child was going to be.
To this day, no one has said the words, "he is your son" but I brought him home the following day after the pediatrician released him from the hospital. Just before his first birthday, he crawled over to me, pulled himself up in front of my knees, looked at me, said, "Mama" and went back to his helicopter.
To be continued...