It's hard to believe that I'm not dreaming. I think it's been hard to believe that I wasn't dreaming from the moment I set foot in Darrow, but this is yet another level. It's hard to believe that I'm exploring motherhood again for the fourth time, with a child that doesn't look a thing like me, but whom I've started to love as much as I love any of my three boys. It's hard to believe that I'm such close friends with the child's biological mother — hard to try and put myself into her shoes, hard to imagine why she doesn't think she'd make a good mother, even though I Know that whole process starts in the mind. If the mind is not ready, no amount of responsibility can make up for those doubts that hide deep in one's chest.
It's the right choice for Molly to give Abigail up for adoption. At least, it's the right choice now. There's a part of my brain that thinks that eventually, maybe after some time has passed and this strange man whom I've never met is long past in Molly's life, maybe she'll want to be a mother again. Maybe she'll want to be Abigail's mother again. And the thought which was hopeful before now feels a little scary, because now that it's becoming real and I'll legally be Abigail's mother, I'm already afraid of losing her.
I guess the thing that makes it easier is knowing that even if it comes to that, there's no reason why Abigail can't have two mothers. In some ways, my grandmother was like my mother for many years. My mother was always working hard, trying to make ends meet, so my grandmother often became the one who took care of our skinned knees and tears.
Families find a way to make things work, no matter what their shape.
When Molly tells me that she's glad we're doing this, I almost start to cry. I can feel my throat tightening as I pull Abigail just a little closer, not squeezing so much that it hurts, but... enough that maybe even a stranger can see that I'm picking up that protectiveness that comes with being a parent. It's as natural as breathing.
"I'm glad we're doing this, too," I murmur quietly, smiling back at Molly, even as I blink a little faster. "I've missed being a mother. I've missed that part of my life so much, and I know I can never replace my boys, but you've given me — you've given me such a gift. I feel like." I stop, I take a breath. "I feel like I'm going to be whole again."
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It's the right choice for Molly to give Abigail up for adoption. At least, it's the right choice now. There's a part of my brain that thinks that eventually, maybe after some time has passed and this strange man whom I've never met is long past in Molly's life, maybe she'll want to be a mother again. Maybe she'll want to be Abigail's mother again. And the thought which was hopeful before now feels a little scary, because now that it's becoming real and I'll legally be Abigail's mother, I'm already afraid of losing her.
I guess the thing that makes it easier is knowing that even if it comes to that, there's no reason why Abigail can't have two mothers. In some ways, my grandmother was like my mother for many years. My mother was always working hard, trying to make ends meet, so my grandmother often became the one who took care of our skinned knees and tears.
Families find a way to make things work, no matter what their shape.
When Molly tells me that she's glad we're doing this, I almost start to cry. I can feel my throat tightening as I pull Abigail just a little closer, not squeezing so much that it hurts, but... enough that maybe even a stranger can see that I'm picking up that protectiveness that comes with being a parent. It's as natural as breathing.
"I'm glad we're doing this, too," I murmur quietly, smiling back at Molly, even as I blink a little faster. "I've missed being a mother. I've missed that part of my life so much, and I know I can never replace my boys, but you've given me — you've given me such a gift. I feel like." I stop, I take a breath. "I feel like I'm going to be whole again."