Meet MJ

I have always wanted to be a mother, but I also wanted to ensure that my partner shared the same desire. I never imagined I would become an “insta-mom” (as in INSTANT-mom) or, as I prefer, a Bonus Mom. Raising a non-biological child is heart-wrenching when you're not legally allowed to participate in important medical or educational decisions, but also rewarding when they come to you for advice even as adult children. Either way, he was my first kiddo, so he got the best (and youngest) version of me.

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​I wanted him to have a sibling (and he wanted one too), but sometimes life presents a different plan. After losing two pregnancies, going through inconclusive fertility testing, and having a surgical procedure to help (potentially), I had another miscarriage. It's disheartening when you think the unknown problem is fixed, only to have all the hope invested in the subsequent pregnancy end in defeat. I can assure you that, as much hope existed, each pregnancy was met with fear. Am I going to lose this one too? Worse... What's wrong with me?

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​And then a miracle comes along, but the fear wouldn't allow me to enjoy the pregnancy the way others spoke to me about it. There's immense guilt in that. Throughout the pregnancy, I talked to her, telling her she was a warrior, with the spirits of three lost siblings, and that she could do this — we could do this... and, alas, we did. My rainbow baby [a baby born following a pregnancy loss]. That two-week-late, stubborn little girl continues to hold me to those words in her teenage years. When I'd like to rip into her regarding her attitude, two little birds—my parents—remind me that she is me. Yes, only a better version, I say. In my heart, I am grateful that she stands stronger than I ever did at that age, and I pray that nothing, and no one, breaks that--even, and especially, me.

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An eight-year age gap is significant; I wanted another child so we wouldn't be raising two “only children.” Having a child after losing three gives false hope that the worst is behind you. The fourth miscarriage was the most difficult on me for many reasons that I won't go into here, but if the saying, "I'm not okay," was around then... it would have been my mantra. Then another miracle, but a difficult pregnancy and a traumatic delivery, left me with deep-seated mom guilt because I was shaking uncontrollably and wouldn't hold him for fear that I would drop him. My broken body feels irreparable, and I'm feeling old AF at forty with a newborn. This was not the plan.

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And yet, it was. I wanted children, and I have three amazing kids, all of whom are unique. They aren't just adding gray hair to my head; they're filling my heart with so much love and pride for who they are and strive to be. They don't just drive me crazy or keep me running the mom-taxi; they also make me laugh until my stomach hurts and my eyes tear. I am in awe of them. They are my oxygen. They are my light in the darkness. They are the reason I choose to heal.

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I think sometimes we're tested. How badly do you--or did you--want this? Can you remember the begging and pleading you did for a viable pregnancy when you're about to lose your $h!t for the umpteenth time that day because they're not listening?  Sometimes, when I'm overwhelmed or stressed out, I need to consider this perspective, take a step back, and think of the times when I cried myself to sleep, and be grateful that I was one of the lucky ones who did eventually deliver two rainbow babies--a privilege some are not given. I am blessed. My heart is whole. Our family is complete.