Always the Aunt, Never the Mother

As I sit here crocheting presents for my nieces and nephew, it quietly creeps up on me: I won't have any children of my own to receive these presents. Of course, it's always there, whispering in my ear.

I have wanted to be a mother even before I can remember. Old videos show a four year old me holding my baby brother and asking with my adorable speech impediment, "Can we petend he's my baby." Throughout my childhood, I played with many baby dolls, all treating them like a real baby. I even remember waking up early one morning to "feed" the baby. With my wild imagination, even my Barbie dolls were mothers; some even had the swollen pregnancy belly. As I named each one a different, beautiful name and imagined sassy and bold personalities, I knew that I was going to be a great mother.

That was my dream. I babysat, and even despite the tiny phase in high school where I thought that I would die alone surrounded by cats, I envisioned myself being a mother. When I finally met my beau and many conversations revolving around kids (yes), how many (2), and their names (Caterina and Gwendolyn); I was positive that it would happen.

Then, I got sick. I seemed to find myself saying that a lot. I used to do yoga, then I got sick. I used to drink wine, then I got sick. I used to be able to work 6 days a week, then I got sick. But this, this is the one that hurt the most.

For three years I have dealt with chronic pain. Two and half of those years, I remained optimistic. I was sure that with the right treatment, I would be back on my feet in no time. Now though, I'm not so sure, especially since I spent the past few weeks in bed.

Being diagnosed with inflammatory arthritis and bursitis was life changing. It took a lot of blood work, ultrasounds, CAT scans, and X-Rays. Next came the undifferentiated connective tissue disease (pathogens for lupus and rheumatoid arthritis) and fibromyalgia. Before I was diagnosed, I was sure that only the elderly could be riddled with these illnesses.

Along with my long list of illnesses came an impressive list of medications. Some that can potentially be harmful to me, and others that can be potentially harmful to a developing fetus.

I have always wanted to be a mother. At the age of 25 (am I really that old, already?!), many of the people that I graduated with are parents. Hell, even my younger brother is a father. As they post adorable pictures of their seemingly perfect children, a smile is on my face and a deep ache is in my heart. I will never be a mother.

When I tell people this, they seem heartbroken and encouragingly announce that "It could still happen" or "You can always adopt." While both sentiments are said with the best of intentions, I always feel worse.

My reproductive organs work. Neither I or my partner are barren. The problem is with me. I am sick. Most days, I'm too weak to get out of bed and need to rest as I brush my teeth. Although it would mean that I would have to stop my medication and probably be in horrendous pain, I can technically conceive and carry a child. It had always been my dream to feel the baby (along with many other women who will never experience pregnancy). Yet, a lot of those women can still be mothers. Adoption (although extremely pricey) is an option, but not for me. It wouldn't be fair.

Who wants a mother who is too weak to play with them? Who wants a mother who is in too much pain to hold them? A mother who is too fatigued and stays in bed? A mother who isn't able to be the mother that they always wanted to be.

I've combed the internet for articles with this type of pain, in hopes of feeling some solidarity, but I haven't found anything. I've googled such phrases as circumstantial infertility and apparently that means that a single woman who wants to have kids, but can't because she wants to have a partner. However, I feel that circumstantial infertility should mean something else, like being too sick to be a mother.

Yes, being a mother is a dream for many women, but nothing seems more heartbreaking to me than having organs that work and a body that doesn't. It feels as though everything has been ripped away from me. My health. Poof. My energy. Gone. My dreams. See ya.

I will grieve for the children that will never be, and I will love the children that are. I may never be a mother, but I am a wonderful aunt.