I was recently diagnosed with a syndrome. Nothing serious. Just one of those things that they can't fix but could possibly lead to additional problems down the road.
Among one of the many, many things they told me--having children would be extremely difficult.
I'm 41. The truth is that having kids of my own has been slipping away each year. But when "they" tell you kids are pretty much out of the picture--well that's a whole new reality. It feels like a loss. No one really sees it that way, but it still hurts.
This past weekend, I babysat for a friend of mine I've known since kindergarten. She had a baby in May. She is my age and had a perfect, beautiful baby girl in May.
But that will probably never be me.
I would have been a good mom. I would have loved them and cherished them and completely messed my kids up like all parents do, but I would have been there to help them along the way.
But that doesn't seem to be in the cards for me.
And yet, maybe it already has. Maybe I wasn't meant to be a mom to two or three kids. Maybe I was meant to be a mother figure to hundreds of kids. I love the kids in my classroom, even after they leave. I love them even when they drive me crazy. I give them every thing I have even when I feel like I have nothing else to give. Would there be anything else to give kids at home? Who would be short changed--my kids at school or my kids at home.
I know that my kids at school is not the same as having kids of my own. The nieces and the nephew are not the same as having kids of my own.
But maybe that's enough. We all need so much love an support in this world. Maybe I'm there to give that, and my heart, to all of "my kids."
And maybe, just maybe, that is enough.
