Ain't No Saint (From July 16, 2014

Why do people call me a saint? Because I’m not one, that’s for sure. The nurse practitioner told me that surely I would be rewarded in heaven for my saintly duties as a foster mother. I’m not a saint. This morning when my sleep deprived body refused to obey my command to get out of bed and soothe the crying baby, I was far from sainthood. When children in the past have made me want to pull my hair out or feel grateful when dropping them off in respite care, I was no saint. And while those judging the situation as a single woman taking on the responsibilities of another woman’s child, in reality I am the one getting what she wants out of the whole ordeal. I have wanted an infant from the word go and, even though he loves being cranky all night long, I couldn’t be happier having this little one with me. Trust me, it’s not a wholly altruistic act to assume responsibility for another person's  baby when in reality you are hoping to call that baby yours. When I drag my heavy sandpaper-feeling eye lids up to glare blearily at my alarm, I am reminded that this won’t last forever. Either the baby will grow enough to begin sleeping through the night, or he will be sent home and no longer be my responsibility. Given the choices, I of course hope for the former. I want more than anything to keep this baby and call him my son. He is already so precious to me. He is already beginning to recognize my voice and my touch. I snuggle him close to me and kiss his sweet face, reminding myself he will never be this little again, so I should enjoy him while I can. Do I wish I could get a little more sleep? You bet I do! But, I am so happy to have him, so over-the-moon ecstatic to be given the opportunity to mother a newborn straight from the hospital, to get all the firsts I missed with Primero.