Pollyism of the week
Iam the mother of three and had I been fortunate, I would have been a mother of seven. Now that’s a disparity, ain’t it? I got pregnant first (that I know of) two years after Grant and I were married. I’d started a job in Auckland doing breakfast radio with the infamous Kevin “Blackie” Black. It wasn’t ideal timing, but it would be OK.
Then at 12 weeks, I started having problems. I was put on bed rest in Auckland Hospital and things sort of settled down, but at 18 weeks, I miscarried our first baby and gave birth to a tiny boy. It broke our hearts. I wanted to die. Not figuratively – I genuinely wanted to die.
I decided the pain of miscarriage was just too great and that we should adopt. Because we were young and of mixed race, it didn’t take long to be selected as adoptive parents. We were excited.
The baby boy was born on my birthday. I knew the mother would change her mind. I knew it and I completely understood. I harboured no ill feelings or resentment. Of course, she wanted the baby in her arms.
We decided just to stop worrying and get on with life. Three weeks later, I found out I was pregnant again and immediately got the best specialist ever, Mr Adrian Stewart. I believe without the outstanding skills of that man, I would never have had a live birth. That same week, we were told adoption services had a baby for us. As badly as I wanted to grab that little mite, we had to come clean and admit we were expecting.
Tom was born. I didn’t buy a thing for him before he was born. I was convinced the pregnancy was all in my imagination. I daren’t get my hopes up.
Twenty months later, we had Katherine, not without a threatened miscarriage. Two years later, another miscarriage and then, despite almost losing him too, McGregor came along.
I have three children who make me proud every day. They are good, kind, intelligent and funny kids. I still mourn for Matthew, my first baby, and wonder about those two baby boys we almost adopted and the other lost baby, but I’m lucky I have my three.
As crazy as it may seem, I’m lucky to have experienced all of the hardship and heartache because it has taught me about a mother’s love, the pain of losing the dream of being a mum and the understanding of the heartache she must go through deciding if she can adopt out her baby.
I’m a better mum because I wasn’t, I almost was and I am. Happy Mother’s Day to mothers, stepmothers, grandmothers acting as mothers and those women who would be if they could be. Happy Mother’s Day, you brave and outstanding women who fight the fight each day.