Mother's Day

I have always wanted to be a mom. I used to dream about the babies that I would one day have. I had their names picked out by the time I was eight and even though those names are not the ones that we have chosen I have always known that what I wanted, more than anything, was to be a Mom. When Mehran and I got married he knew that I wanted nine. That's right. Nine. Then I got pregnant with Ruhi and got, on top of the mutant Israeli flu we picked up in the Holy Land, a raging case of "morning sickness." I mock that term because the nausea and vomiting took place 24/7. I tried all the remedies, B vitamins, ginger (which sadly triggered projectile vomiting. I didn't even make the toilet.) even anti-vomiting drugs (which I promptly threw up). I pretty much spent nine months with my head in a toilet, looking like a non-bald version of Uncle Fester- so much for the radiance of pregnancy. If I wasn't actually in mid-vomit I felt like I should be. I had no idea how I was ever going to go through this again, because despite how disgusting I felt there was only one baby in there and I knew I wanted more. I'm greedy like that. After Ruhi was born the nausea miraculously stopped. Just like that. I had the most beautiful, amazing, daughter and although I will admit that there was a brief moment in the hospital when she was 3 weeks old and I was being treated with and I quote: "the worst case of mastitis" the nurses had ever seen- barely able to stand, let alone walk, veins collapsing from the sheer amount of antibiotics being pumped through them by doctors desperately trying to get the infection under control- when I faltered and in a moment of self pity adamantly proclaimed that I am never going through this again. Ever! Well, those antibiotics kicked in, eventually, and we went home and I enjoyed, really enjoyed, being a mom. I loved it all, except perhaps the sleepless nights. Those sucked. A lot. But by the time we found out we were having another baby I was only waking up to Ruhi once or twice at night, so much of what had seemed so difficult at the time was long since forgotten and I couldn't have been happier that another little soul was on the way, nausea and all. Then at about 10 weeks the placenta started to separate and we were informed that we had lost this child. The ultrasound however, told another story. That the baby was hanging in there, that I should rest and that we would see what happens. I spent the next six months trying not to move. Easier said than done, especially when there is a two year old involved. But hold on she did. That Anisa is one tough girl. By the time we were expecting Bayan I kept waiting to see what would happen, what challenges I would face this time and then... nothing happened. Sure there was nausea and sporadic vomiting, but nothing like what I experienced with Ruhi. There was no dramatic admission to hospital or anything out of the ordinary. We were blessed with a beautiful, serene, baby boy and I couldn't believe how lucky we were. Mehran said we were done. That's it. And while I tried to be done for his sake and focus on the family that we had, in my heart of hearts I still yearned for more. Not that what we had wasn't enough, but that there was just someone else out there and there was more love to be had (that probably sounds nutty. But it's true.) Then the phone call came telling us that Anisa would need a pace-maker... immediately, as her heart rate was slowing, especially when she slept, and they were worried that she would fall asleep and not wake up. Everything else faded away. There are no worlds to express what we went through during that time. We waited six weeks for that surgery. Every night Mehran or myself would sleep beside her because I couldn't bear the thought that she might pass away and we wouldn't be there. Right beside her. Holding her hand. Stroking her hair. If she was going to go, we couldn't let her go alone. Thankfully she didn't go. She survived those weeks, she received her pacemaker and she came home. Sometime during all of that something happened to my heart and slowly I began to believe that we couldn't have another child. I couldn't stand watching that child suffer or loosing that child or having that child take me away from the children that I already have. If ever anyone asked: "Are you having any more?" I would just say that Mehran doesn't want any more. That was true and I could hide behind that, because even though I dreamed of more children I couldn't stand the thought of loosing one of them. I forgot to have faith. I forgot to trust in God. I forgot that He is the one in charge and that my control freak self isn't really running things. I forgot that above all else in this world I wanted to be a mother. Shame on me. I am humbled and grateful and honored that we have been blessed once again with a gorgeous, healthy baby. That God has trusted us with another of His children. I only hope that even though I lost my faith in Him that I can be worthy of His faith in me to be a good mother to these wonderful people who I am so blessed to be able to call my children. So while the mothers of the world (lets hope) are being showered with presents, cards and phone calls today lets just remember that getting to be a mother is the best gift of all.


Happy Mother's Day.