When I was little I used to run around with a pillow under my shirt, pretending to be pregnant while also pushing a doll in a stroller, with another doll on my hip. Pregnancy was always part of my plan. I also wanted to love other people’s kids. I didn’t always know what words like “foster care” or “adoption” meant, but I knew I was built to love children and I would embrace whatever way they came to me.
And then at age 22 my husband and I got our infertility diagnosis.
I guess I’ve always known the Biblical story of Hannah, but after our infertility diagnosis, her words began to feel very personal. She begged God for a son. She was so moved in her prayers that Eli the priest thought she was drunk. I knew what those prayers sounded like. I had prayed them myself.
I had cried out to God for a child, but he didn’t seem to remember me the way he remembered Hannah. I was sad and confused and desperate, which is not a great way to begin a journey toward motherhood.
Pursuing adoption meant coming to terms with my own grief. I was ready to jump into the adoption world with both feet, but it took some time to realize adoption is not a band-aid for the wound of infertility. An adopted child didn’t need to enter my life with a job to do– to heal my hurting heart. I needed to be able to love him for who he was, not expect him to fill the infertility hole in my heart, but the first step was acknowledging that there WAS a hole in my heart.
Something struck me as I read through Hannah’s story that I hadn’t initially noticed. Hannah does everything “wrong.” She bargains with God: “Lord Almighty, if you will only look on your servant’s misery and remember me, and not forget your servant but give her a son, then I will give him to the Lord for all the days of his life, and no razor will ever be used on his head.” (1 Samuel 1:11) Infertile women aren’t supposed to do that. We’re supposed to pretend we’re fine and “content” with our infertility. We’re supposed to trust God with the outcome. We’re supposed to hide our pain and shame. And we definitely aren’t supposed to make vows to God about what we’ll do if he gives us a child.
I also realized Hannah didn’t really ask to be a mother in the way I generally think about it. She didn’t ask to raise up a son, to watch him grow, to see her grandchildren someday. She just asked to experience a very short window of motherhood: pregnancy, breastfeeding, infancy and maybe toddlerhood. This was a window of motherhood I was potentially giving up by becoming a mother through adoption. It is a loss worth grieving.
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