Motherhood and Cancer Part II: Accepting things won't be 'normal'

One of the hardest things for me throughout this whole process, journey, whatever one may call it is accepting that I have won't have a 'normal' motherhood experience. In other words, I haven't and likely won't experience motherhood the way other mothers do. Now before anyone interjects to say, 'everyone's experience is different' or 'normal is subjective'- I know that. But I also know that there are a number of commonalities that I just won't share. This post is not intended to be a sob story or a 'poor me ' diatribe. Rather, it's about trying to accept and find peace with the hand that I've been dealt, something I must admit I still haven't quite yet managed to do and may never be able to do. But maybe that's okay. All of us, mothers or not, have or have had an idyllic picture in their head of what motherhood is like. We all also know, that usually those idyllic expectations are often met with not-so-nice realities like sleep deprivation and poonami, and nice things like babies' 'firsts' and being the first face your baby sees when you pick him or her up in the morning. I always envisioned myself as being the "supermom." The mom that would nurture and play with her baby during the day, taking him to baby classes and mommy and me groups, and then taking "mommy" time in the evening to go to the gym, and be home in time to put him to bed, fold the laundry and enjoy a big glass of vino before my bedtime. On the weekend, we'd have family outings to the seaside, countryside, the something-side and just generally enjoy time as a family. As a mom, you want to be able to do everything you physically and emotionally can for your child and when you can't, it feels devastating. From a physical perspective, I've just come out of several months where my body wouldn't let me be a "normal" mom to Julian. My back prevented me from carrying him, holding him for long periods, putting him to bed and taking him out of bed, and on 'bad days', even bending over to change his diaper. On really bad days when I was bed ridden, I only saw him for a couple of hours, when he'd hang out with me on the bed, but I couldn't expect him to stay with me all day in the bedroom, as I knew he was happier downstairs with his toys and Maddie. Then without the pain, the days with exhaustion, nausea and sickness meant I only spent a few hours a day with him whilst he was awake, as I'd either be in bed or elsewhere...And who can forget the constant doctors appointments, meaning he missed classes and again, I missed more time with him as he had to stay home with his Nan (I try to avoid bringing him into hospital environments as much as I can). At the time, I struggled with the notion that I may always need someone to help me lift my baby, a task that would only become harder the bigger he got. I couldn't come to terms with the idea that if he needed me, I may not physically be able to pick up him up to soothe him at a time when babies need nurturing the most. It made me frustrated, depressed and to be honest, I don't know if I could or can ever 'accept' or be happy with that reality. Writing this post today, physically I feel like I'm returning to having a normal motherhood, but emotionally, well that's a whole other story.

So we all know bonding with your baby is a tricky business. In short, Most mothers don't instantaneously fall in love and then feel horribly guilty that they are bad mothers, and although this is extremely common, in true it's-too-taboo-fashion, no one talks about it. I'll admit it, I didn't instantaneously fall in love with Julian, but I was quite intrigued by this little thing that has appeared. I would say it wasn't until about a month in to his existence, that I can truly say I began to love him as my own child and no longer felt like I was going through the motions of taking care or a stranger's baby. Then a few weeks later, mole #2 was found and I was upstaged to Stage IV. The big deal you ask? I know you aren't supposed to listen to statistics, but it's pretty hard not to when they are telling you there is a less than 10% chance you will live more than five years. And so my battle with bonding began. On physically "good days" I find myself spending extended periods of time in bed or letting Pat and Gary do most things with Julian. Yes I feel guilty, but I often think 'what's the point of spending time with him and us getting close? It'll only make things worse at the end for both of us.' Throughout my life, my coping mechanism for grief or loss has been to push people away and this is exactly what I have been doing with my son. The less attached I feel to him the easier it may be to accept the very real potential that I won't be there for his third birthday and likewise, the easier it may be for him to cope with me not being there as we wouldn't have formed a strong bond. On other days, I feel an overwhelming need to spend every minute with him because I don't know how many of those minutes where I can sit and play or cuddle him I'll have left. Although this has gone on for months, I still can't stop flip flopping between the two, which brings on the all-dreaded guilt of being a bad mother. Bonding aside, people often remark 'well you have the beautiful little boy to lift your spirits' or 'I'm sure he puts a smile on your face when things get rough.' Truth is, yes he does, but just as many times as he puts a smile on my face, looking at him makes me cry. When any mother looks at their child, it's near impossible to not think about the future: their first day of school, their first girlfriend, their wedding, what kind of person they'll be, what career they'll have, and the list goes on. So imagine looking at your child and not knowing if you'll be there for any of that or even if he'll be old enough to remember you once you've gone. As much as I try to push thoughts like this to the back of my head and just enjoy time with him, I can't always do it. The thing is with any terminal illness it robs you of the ability to dream about the future and when you have a child, dreaming about their future is all you want to do. So although I'm not happy that I won't have a "normal" motherhood experience, I'm trying to learn to accept my new normal and make it work for me. I'm trying not to let my jealousy of the "healthy" moms who I'm surrounded by make me want to isolate myself (which it did for a long time). I'm trying to work through my bonding issues by making him the reason I need to make it through this, so that I don't need to worry about either of us getting hurt if I go. And I'm really trying to make the best of my good days, of which there have been much more of recently, by doing as much with him and for him as I possibly can. Now if only it were all as easy as writing this post. :)