The Mothers I Have Been
BY KELSEY CICHOSKI
Photo Courtesy | Kelsey Cichoski
There’s an experience in motherhood that I've had more than once. It’s normal, not offensive, and appropriate for conversations in the community. Yet, I still haven’t perfected navigating this experience from my end. It happens when a stranger or new acquaintance asks, “How many kids do you have?” A very common question. Yet, I still can’t decide for myself what it really means.
I typically give whatever response I feel like giving at the time. Something like, “I have one at home,” or “I have two but one’s in heaven.” These days I prefer giving a vague answer like, “I have both biological and foster kids at home right now.” It doesn’t answer the question exactly, and for some reason, I like it that way.
No matter which answer I choose to give, I inevitably end up wondering what they really meant after I’ve left the conversation.
Do they want to know how many kids are currently living in my home? Do they want to know the number of children that have been birthed through my womb, or just the amount that survived? Total children I have mothered? What does it mean to mother, anyway? My mind can’t help but drift as I think of how many ways I could have answered that question. It makes me think of the different types of mothers that I am and that I’ve been.
I’ve been an expectant mother. I’ve felt the awe that comes with an expanding belly, wondering what my child will be like. I’ve heard congratulations from strangers and friends, adding to the anticipation. I’ve wondered if I would be a good enough mom for my baby, and how I could learn all there is to know. I’ve stared at ultrasound photos, looking closely to decipher what I’m really seeing in each picture.
I’ve been a bereaved mother. I’ve felt the pain of being told that my baby did not survive. I have cried in the hospital, not wanting to leave because it would mean actually having to say goodbye. I have mourned as a tiny casket was lowered into the ground, creating a special piece of land that will forever be cherished by me. I’ve seen the stares that came after returning to work, and noticed the many others that chose to avoid eye contact instead.
I’ve been a scared mother. When I was given a cancer diagnosis in the midst of an already high risk pregnancy, I wondered if my unborn child would survive. I had intimidating meetings with many doctors. I said prayers of fear and prayers of faith. Ultimately, I just tried to do my best during this season of motherhood.
I’ve been a grateful mother. I held my daughter on my chest just moments after giving birth to her. Tears poured out of my eyes because she made it. She was alive. With a team of doctors in the room ready to assist in case the situation was grim, I marveled as they said to each other, “This is a miracle,” and “We can’t believe she’s doing this well right now.” I was overcome with gratitude that even though I was not done with chemo treatments, my daughter had safely arrived.
I’ve been a postpartum mother. I felt the physical and emotional aches that come after giving birth. I experienced the tears that happen uncontrollably, the exhaustion that can’t be helped, and the love that grows so beautifully. I’ve wished my body could heal faster from the birth experience. I’ve worked to accept over and over again the changes that my body has endured. Despite the changes of my body, I work to give it the love and respect it deserves. It has given me so much.
I’ve been a working mother. I’ve felt successful at work and tired at home. I’ve felt tired at work and successful at home. I’ve entrusted others to care for my children as I help provide for my family. I’ve felt proud of my contributions to my community that my work provides. I’ve missed my family and wished I could spend more time at home.
I’ve been a foster mother. I’ve rocked little ones to sleep as they tell me they want to be with their real mom. I’ve talked with them as they’ve tried to understand how they can love more than one family at once. I’ve witnessed pain, confusion, and healing as a foster mom. I’ve received unexpected phone calls, asking if we had room in our home for more children. I’ve said yes, and I’ve said no.
What about when I was a teacher? What kind of mother was I then? When my young students came crying to me and blushed as they mistakenly shouted for “mom” instead of “teacher” or my name. When I helped them make a friend or comforted them after scraping their knees. Surely, teachers provide a type of mothering, right?
The list of mothers that I’ve been could go on. Tired, fun, new, old, calm, impatient, struggling, or thriving plus many more. I know I’m not alone in this. There is no set route to motherhood. There is no one way to be a mom. There is no mother that fits a certain “type” of motherhood. No mom fits into only one or two categories. Besides being a mother, there are an endless amount of experiences and interests that have made us who we are.
My goal is that no matter what kind of mother I am at any given time, love can be found there. With imperfections in every season, there is no flawless motherhood. Still, we can find love in the messy dinners, love in the late nights, and love in every attempt at kindness. Many things will be forgotten. For the children I have mothered, my greatest hope is that they remember they are loved.
Next time you strike up a conversation with a fellow mom, consider asking them to tell you about their family, instead of asking how many kids they have. You might just learn about the many mothers that she has been, instead of how many kids are in her home.
KELSEY CICHOSKI is a mom to a baby boy in heaven and a little girl on earth. She's a former teacher, former foster parent, and is navigating life after cancer and the many other twists of life that keep on coming. She currently resides in Idaho.