Breast-feeding vs. Formula (From August 6, 2014)

Breast-feeding vs. formula. The age old debate coupled with guilt-ridden mothers trying desperately to do what is best for their babies. Biology has eliminated the choice for me – the little boy I have is strictly formula fed since he can’t get a drop out of me – no pregnancy means no lactation, thus no milk for baby. Most of the time I don’t even think about it, the baby gets formula, it is what it is. But, in perusing the mothering websites for advice about colic, I bumped into the debate and felt the sting of guilt for formula feeding the baby. I had hoped to breast feed my children just as I had hoped to feel them move inside of me, feel my body expand as they grew. Biology robbed me of these experiences and so, like many, many things, I need to come to terms with what is, not with what I wanted or what I thought it should be. And this is true for so much of my life as a foster-to-adopt mother. Primero and I had a rift yesterday and something he said really hurt my feelings. But, then I realized he was just being a teenager and I was taking it too hard simply because I haven’t had umpteen years leading up to this point. It’s just so hard, wanting to be a mother hen to gather my son under my wings and tuck him in safe and sound, but he’s a teenager and he needs to cut the cord and learn to be independent. Sometimes I have to hold my breath so the tears won’t reveal my internal struggle. While Primero is my everything, my only child (at this point – I’m not trying to put the little ones down, but I can’t call them mine, so it is a different feeling with them), I’m just one more person to him. Yes, we have a special relationship and I know he loves me, but let’s face it – I’m number two. Most of the time he still calls me his foster mom (and that’s what I am, but I dropped the “foster” a while ago, when referring to him I call him my son) and he uses my name to address me. His biological mother is still “Mom” and his biological family trumps any new relatives I’ve introduced him to hands down. I’m sure all of this is perfectly normal, but that doesn’t make it feel any better. I feel like I’m adopting a whole new family, not just Primero. I’m getting aunts, uncles, siblings, cousins, former step-fathers, family friends and of course, the “real” mother. I feel superfluous, just the taxi driver, the bank, the provider of home and food. I especially felt this way yesterday. The motherhood I wanted simply does not exist. I have to make the best of what I have and try not to hold my reality to unrealistic standards and expectations I have in my mind. I wish there were other single adoptive mothers that have battled infertility that I could talk to about this feeling, about how hard it is to adopt an older child and accept all the baggage they bring with them. I wish I could hear someone else had the same fears I have, that once he turns 18 he will leave and go right back to his biological family or that I will always be “My Name” and never “Mom.” I’m not saying these things because I am doubting my decision to adopt Primero, I want that to be clear, these are just the hang-ups I have about the whole situation – they are my issues, not his. As far as I can tell, he’s already come to terms with having a biological family and an adoptive family. My struggles are my own. I guess, in a way, it’s just the monster of infertility rearing her ugly head again. If I stop and contemplate everything that has occurred in the last several years, I break down. So, I let myself think of pieces at a time, but never the whole thing because it is too overwhelming. I didn’t sign up for this. I didn’t ask for it and I prayed with all I had to make it not so, but in the end the path I’ve been on has been the one less-travelled and while I know it has made me into the woman I am today, sometimes I still resent the whole journey. There are still moments when the mask slips and I wish things had gone like they were supposed to – love, marriage, baby in the baby carriage. But, I can’t move forward if I’m staring in the rearview mirror, so I have to just move on and let the past be the past. Still, I have never been good at letting go of my expectations, so I’m sure it will take me some time before I truly get used to mothering a teen who (naturally) is seeking independence and freedom. I don’t consider myself a helicopter parent, but I feel like I’m hardly being given the opportunity to parent at all – I lecture on the importance of finishing school, of not using drugs, of using protection when having sex (or even better, waiting…..), but am I really a “mom” if the child I have is nearly ready to leave the nest? Maybe I am simply too sleep deprived to be contemplating these issues. Surely my emotions are less inhibited by my state of mental fog. And who can trust emotions anyway? They are so fickle even in the best of times. And so what if Primero hurt my feelings? I’m a grown up, I can put on my big girl panties and get over it. It’s not as if I have nothing else to worry about right now. The list of things I need to keep on top of is ever-growing and I fear I’m about to hit maximum capacity. In addition to the house being torn apart as the basement room crawls towards completion, the little girl needs to see a doctor for her cough, Primero needs to get enrolled in school, I need to switch the little girl over to my WIC account, I need to get enrolled in the county assisted daycare for both her and the baby, the baby has medical appointments that coincide with my mom’s next round of chemo, Primero’s theatre camp is ending and we have to attend all three of his performances, there are three different case workers clamoring for my attention, I don’t know what happened in court yesterday, I’m supposed to be preparing for a short vacation with Primero in two weeks and need to find respite, the little girl needs blood testing done and might be starting behavioral therapy soon, I desperately need to check on my honey bees, I need to get Primero’s kitten vaccinated, and if I don’t cut my grass and pull the weeds around my house I’m sure I will be fined by the city. It’s utter madness!