Disclaimer: I’ve had nearly a whole bottle of wine.
Today I want my mom. I just want my mom. Never before have I yearned for my birth mother the way I am now. I don’t even know her; I don’t know anything about her! But moms are all-knowing, all-comforting, and understand us without us having to speak, right? When we’re in complete need, stripped to our core, void of emotion and thought … moms know what to do, right? They gave us life; surely they can and will sustain us until we can rouse ourselves back from the dead.
I imagine — assume — that my mother can do this for me. And that’s why I want her, need her, so badly.
Life has been difficult lately. It’s been tougher than ever. Lots of things going on. Lots.
Penelope thinks that life is tough too. She wants to walk but can’t. She wants to talk but can’t. So she just cries and screams and fusses and yells and throws her arms up and looks at me like I should be able to fix these things immediately.
So I pick her up and try to soothe her and comfort her and distract her and make her laugh.
But in the midst of that, I’m a bad mommy. I feel jealous — jealous of my 11 month old! Disgusting! But she has me; I have no one. Disgusting! Really?! I’m such a lunatic.
I remember once — one time — my adoptive mother got really, really angry. As an adult and mother, I understand now that she was frustrated and overwhelmed with life! But I will never forgot how her anger visibly brewed until she exploded and threw every single one of our toys into the backyard, yelling and screaming and cursing. We were scared, my sister and I. And confused. And ashamed — we should have picked up our toys and not fought over that stupid Barbie doll! Now look at what we caused! But afterward, my little sister fast asleep, my adoptive mother, in sadness and regret, pulled me close and held me for a long time. She said she was sorry. And I sat on her lap and listened to her heart beat until I too succumbed to sleep.
I’ve never forgotten that — the comfort and safety I felt in those minutes. Finally! I thought. This feels so good! I love you, Mom!
I still love her. But she can be tough. Honestly, I’m struggling to remember another time she held me close, another time she wiped away my tears and just listened simply because listening was what I needed.
I’m that kind of person — sometimes I want to be held and comforted. And now when life is very challenging, I find myself longing for my birth mother of all people. Because she might just get it. But even if she doesn’t … and who am I kidding? The realist in me says that she probably wouldn’t get it … she might just give me the hug I long for and tell me it’s ok.