Looking back, I can’t remember a time when I didn’t want to be a mother. One question that we are all asked relentlessly while growing up is, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” Each time I was asked I could come up with so many different ideas…….a teacher, a psychologist, an interior decorator, a chef, a tour guide (and the list goes on). No matter what, though, being a mother was always my solid answer.
 
As I have grown older and wiser, I have learned that the dream of being a mother and the reality of being a mother can differ just a little. When I was young, I loved playing with my dolls. I loved dressing them, changing their diapers, feeding them, taking them with me wherever I went and just taking on the duties in which my own mother fulfilled. When I got to be the age where I could baby-sit, I couldn’t wait! I loved being around children and loved caring for them and playing with them. Babysitting, however, brought a little more reality into my dream of being a mother. I began to see that they were not always well-behaved, they fussed, threw food everywhere and changing diapers was a wrestling match. Still, when I was asked the inevitable question about what I wanted to be when I grew up, my answer remained the same.
 
I graduated high school with plans to get a college degree, get married and have a family of my own. However, as usual in life, my plans didn’t go quite like I had planned. I did attend college and got married at the age of 23. During my marriage, I had “womanly problems” and underwent surgery and medical treatments to help iron everything out. I thought that doing all of that would also help me to get pregnant. As time went on, my husband and I realized that our future dreams and goals differed slightly. I really wanted a family and he didn’t want children (or at least for quite a while). The differences didn’t stop there, so with mutual agreement, we decided to end our marriage after 4 years.
 

So, here I was 28 years old, having just graduated with a dual degree in Elementary/Special Education, and I moved to northern Utah to start over and make a new life for myself. I tried to be optimistic and although a little scared, I ventured out on my own delving into my teaching career and attempting to date again (much different experience than the last time I had dated). As if carrying a huge load in my backpack, I had to keep in the back of my mind the warning the doctors gave me. If I didn’t get pregnant right after all my treatments, etc., the chance of me ever getting pregnant was slim. So, did I tell the people I dated that I might not be able to have children of my own? Of course. And, I did it right off the bat. I figured if someone wasn’t willing to try another route to having a family, then they weren’t worth my time. It was a very humbling experience, especially when one of the men I went on a date with told me that men only want children that are their own. He also told me that I would be lucky to find someone willing to date me knowing that about me. I still to this day can’t believe someone said that to me. However, I am grateful he did because it made me stronger and confident in my beliefs that families can be formed in many different ways-it all begins with the love of a child.
 
I guess I better mention that dealing with infertility issues was not easy. It made me feel alone and different. I worried that I wouldn’t experience the things most mothers do that can bear children. I knew I probably wouldn’t ever know what it was like to be pregnant or give birth. But after years of praying for understanding and strength, I found that I can be a mother in so many ways and that someday my chance to have a family would come-it would just be a unique experience for me. Before my chance did come, I had a wonderful time sharing the joys of children through my friends, relatives and neighbors. I was surrounded by the love of children through teaching, not only in public schools, but through church and various volunteer work. I had to redirect my way of thinking and find that within each of us is a mother and we are each unique.
 
Now, at the age of 34, I am married again to a wonderful man who didn’t even wince when I gave him the news on our first date. After three years of failed attempts to have a baby, we adopted two beautiful little girls in the same year. Two babies in one year, but not at the same time. The news of our first child came in February of 2006. She was due in 3 weeks, but came 10 days later. I was terrified that I wasn’t ready because of only 10 days notice, but my motherly instincts were there to help me cope. That and a lot of advice from fellow mothers around me. There wasn’t a chance that I couldn’t love her as my own because I had never loved anything so sweet and tiny so much. It took nine years for me to have a child of my own due to different obstacles, but the wait was worth it. The bittersweet part to all of this is that my father, who had cancer, got to greet my little girl and hold her before he died. When his doctor asked if he had any final wishes, for the first time in front of me, he admitted he just wanted to see me become a mommy. Amidst all of the heartache, we were given such a beautiful gift, the blessing of a sweet baby.
 
When she was a month and a half old, we were notified by a friend that they knew of another birth mother who had just found out she was pregnant. He knew she had the desire to keep the baby, but with no support from the birth father and with her being just 16, he didn’t think she would. So my husband and I spent the next few months praying for this girl and hoping she and the baby were okay. When she was about 6 ½ months along, we got a call from our friend that the birth mother wanted to meet us. After a difficult time deciding what was best for the baby and for her, she chose us to adopt her baby.
 
Just before we met the birth mother, we had decided to move to another city. So, right after meeting her, my husband moved on ahead of us to start his new job. I got to spend time with the birth mother and finish finalizing everything before we moved. We finally moved into our new house a week before Thanksgiving AND a week before our second daughter was born. It was a whirlwind of an experience, but again we were blessed with a beautiful baby girl. We had a lot to be thankful for.
 
I will admit, when we found out about our second child, I was so worried that we would be robbing our first little girl of the quality time parents usually get to spend with their first baby in their first year. I also didn’t think it was possible to love another child as much as we loved her. I was wrong on both counts. With them being close in age, there were challenges and a little bit of jealousy, but now they dearly love each other and are good friends. As far as loving another child as much as our first….well, love goes a long way and I love my second baby every bit as much as the first. They definitely have unique personalities, but their differences make it more fun and it is amazing how much your love continues to grow for each child (even with all the tantrums, food throwing and wrestling matches while changing diapers or dressing them).
 
My girls are now 22 months and 13 months old. I have the wonderful opportunity to stay home with them. My days aren’t always perfect like when I played dolls as a child and some days I’m lucky if I remember to comb my hair. Now that I am older, I don’t get asked the question of what I want to be when I grow up. If someone asked what I do, though, I could proudly say, “I am a mother, a teacher, a psychologist, an interior decorator, a chef, a tour guide and so much more.” I have been given the gift of a family. My dream has come true, my time has come.