When they were younger I had so many ways to encourage them to eat. The doctors all told me I was, “doing it correctly”. You know the only example I had was from women who didn’t birth me and the small amount of time I spent with them.
I contribute so much to what I know about momming to the women who invited me in to their homes, one in particular. Things like this made me remeber the snack basket in the pantry on top of the microwave or on the shelf in the pantry. The idea was that if we were hungry we’d eat those foods before opening the refrigerator. It encouraged healthy choices and eating habits.
So when I became mom forever I was scared and unsure if I was doing any of it correctly. I had no clue. Had I had little ones I cared for as if I was mom before? Yep. Babies. I was good at babies. 8/9 years old, whoa! I had no clue.
I guess that’s the same feeling all first-time moms feel, especially to “twins” (my guys are like twins, bio-brothers adopted on the same day, learning and growing up from the exact same level although they were 15 months in birth age apart). My guys two guys I had to learn to navigate and they had a lot of learning to do as well. And sure I didn’t carry and birth them but I’ll tell you all the emotions, all the fear, all the anxiety, all of it I felt it too. Was it from hormones? No. But it was for every reason that makes mom, mom—love. A love so much greater than anyone could ever explain. It’s that kind of, “I’ll bite your face off if you mess with my cub”, type love. That love makes you worry about every possible scenario that could potentially come up, long before they can possibly even come up.
All of a sudden, out of nowhere, you a person who has never really been a “worrier” is now exactly that, a “worrier”. Worrying about this and that. What the future for them looks like if I make a mistake. Worrying if I’m setting a good example. Worrying about what happens if I don’t. Wondering if I need to change this habit or that habit to make sure they know how to live. Just an overwhelming sense of worry. Every possible fear and anxiety about what could happen to these two precious lives if I messed up, or what could happen when they walk out the door…it’s hard on a mom.
Here I was responsible for two lives that had not been easy and I had no real example besides my mothers bad examples and some good examples from the weekends or weeks at a time I would spend with my best friend. So I was constantly confirming with the doctors, the therapists, the psychiatrist, and the school that they saw improvements and that I was doing the right things for them. And honestly I always loved when those people made suggestions. I mean I was literally trusting them with the most precious gifts I had even been given, so why wouldn’t I take their advice?
I was told I was doing it wrong. I was told I was, “babying” them, I was told so many terrible hurtful things, but I decided that the people telling me these things their kids hadn’t turned out so well so maybe I shouldn’t listen to their advice. I actually remember calling some of them out to their faces about the inability to be a good person—that did not go over well, but necessary. I trusted myself even when I doubted myself and people were cruel.
Now they eat, they go to bed on a pretty consistent schedule, and are hardworking healthy young men. I’m so glad I trusted my instincts regardless the criticism and blow back I may have gotten. A Warrior for sure. People may have broke me emotionally, but you can always fix what’s been broken not destroyed.
And just so you all know and understand. That all of this I’d do it again 1,000 times if I could. All of it. All the fear. All the worry. All the everything…the smiles, the laughter, the love is worth every sacrifice.