Real Moms

Thanks for all the positive feedback! It gave me some motivation. Second post within one week - it will probably never happen again. :)

RANDOM MOM: Oh my lanta, my son is two years old, and he has really hit his mischievious age
ME: Oh, I know how that is. Be glad you don’t have twins – those guys build off of each other.
MOM: Oh, do you have children too?
ME: Well, I was a foster parent last year, and I had some two year old twins for a while.
MOM: Oh… [nods indulgently but patronizingly; cue immediate topic change]

This is a scenario that has happened more than once. In fact, it has happened enough times for me to question it. Enough times for me to be hurt by it. I can’t figure it out. Are you uncomfortable with the topic of foster children, and the foster system? Does my age throw you off? Do you want to ask questions, but don’t know how? Or, and this is where my cynicism comes in, do you think we are so different – you and I? That fostering a child is not the same as having one. That being a foster parent doesn’t really count. That my experience is somehow lacking. I don’t get full membership into the exclusive club of parenting – though, if I donate, I can still attend the gala.

You are right in some ways, I won’t deny that. Fostering IS different than having your own child. My bond with my child wasn’t automatic upon seeing their face for the first time. Sometimes, it took effort. I didn’t get to feel them growing inside of me. I wasn’t there for every milestone. And I won’t necessarily be there for their next one.  I have to get special permission from my supervisors and superiors if I want to take my child out in public – we don’t want an accidental run in with someone the child might know. My kids don’t get to make and play in forts on rainy days, because sometimes sexually abused children will use that cover in order to sexually abuse others. We don't play hide and seek for the same reason. Tag is also off limits because the feeling of being chased can be a trigger. We don’t watch Lilo & Stitch, The Lion King, Oliver and Company, or Cinderella because the main theme of a parent who is no longer there, or homelessness, hits too close to home for some of my kids. You get to update the world on how cute your kid is, and all the fun things that you do together. Confidentiality clauses prevent me from ever mentioning my child by name, or using pictures in which they can be recognized, on anything “trackable”. You know your child’s history – emotional, medical, social - because it is also yours. I am now accustomed to operating with only partially finished puzzles of my child’s history. You listen to your little girl talk about her day. My little girl, in the middle of playing, looks up and asks if I want to lick her nipples. You say goodbye to your child when you drop them off at school, confident in the knowledge that you will see them again. There comes a time when I have to say goodbye to my baby forever, devastatingly confident that I will NEVER see them again. So yeah, they are different. In some ways.

But when you cried when your baby rolled over for the first time, or took their first steps, or said their first words, I too shared that overwhelming joy. When you stayed up all night with your sick child, or sat in a steaming bathroom to ease their cough, I was similarly sleep deprived. When you could tell on the playground, without looking, if the child who was crying was yours – I shared that mommy knowledge. My walls are also covered in crafts, and handprint animals, and pictures of happy days. My stress is also stripped away by a simple hug from my little one. I would also give up anything and everything for my child. And when exhausted after a particularly difficult day, I too felt it was all worth it. Are we actually so different? Is one of us really better than the other? Are you more qualified to call yourself “mom”, and to tell stories about your child – unhindered by skepticism or condescension – because your relationship with your child is more longitudinal? Why do you get to give parenting advice, and little tips and tricks, to new moms while I get, at best, ignored, and at worst laughed at? Why does your idea of a mom revolve around the idea of biological. Around the idea of permanence.

Maybe I’ll form my own club. Where we exchange tips and tricks, heartaches and joys. Where we accept everyone’s story as worthy. And maybe at this new club, the “real moms” won’t be invited. Except for the yearly galas, and only then if they donate.