Why I'm Going To Be A Great Mom

I announced a while back that my husband and I are pursuing surrogacy as a means to become parents. While most people are supportive of this decision, there are still some who disagree with our choice for various reasons. Needless to say, we made this decision after careful thought, consideration and discussion. We have no doubts about our capabilities. Still, I could hear some of the opposing questions in the back of my mind. “Aren’t your lives hard enough already?” “What if your disease takes a turn for the worst?” “Are you physically capable of caring for a child?” Then I came across an article that will hopefully help to put those questions to rest.

The September 5, 2010 issue of Parade magazine included a cover story called Miracle Mom. It tells the story of a woman who has a severe neuromuscular disease, which makes her bones extremely weak and brittle and her lungs prone to infection. She has never walked and her bones have never borne weight. So, obviously when she found out she was pregnant, there was some concern.  There was the possibility that she could pass on her disease to her child, her bones and lungs could have collapsed from the added weight of the baby and the baby could have been born premature, to name a few. Still, she and her husband decided to start a family, and it all turned out all right.

She made it through two pregnancies without incident and credits her husband for their success as parents. Since there are many things that she couldn’t do physically, her husband had to perform double duty, filling in where she could not. They adjusted their schedules and their lives to accommodate the changes and she feels her children are stronger and more independent and compassionate because of her disease.

I decided after reading this article that I would keep it close by as a reminder that we’ve made the right choice. There are many similarities between this woman and myself. I, like her, will not be able to lift my child in and out of the crib, nor will I be able to “run” around with him/her as much as I’d like. But as the article states, that’s not the mark of a good mother. I have a wonderful, devoted husband who has enough energy for both of us and we are blessed with a huge, loving, hands-on family. And, I am, like her, pretty feisty too and choose to live my life on my terms.

Our child is desperately wanted and will have, not only our love, but also the love of our larger than life family, which includes countless cousins to play with, aunts and uncles with hearts of gold, active grandparents, dogs and cats trained to tolerate ear/tail pulling and extended family in every corner of the state. He/she isn’t even close to being born yet and already has love and support beyond what many children receive in their entire lifetime. I’d say that’s a pretty good start.

So, yes, I’m going to be a great mom, regardless of cancer and crappy treatment side effects, with or without hair, in spite of and perhaps because of every obstacle thrown at me – and I can’t wait!

Thirty

There is a day that exists in the not so distant future. It has been fast approaching for some time now. This day and the moments leading up to it are filled with anxiety, excitement, fear, and celebration. It will be a regular day for most of you, but so much more for me. The date is February 9th and it is my 30th birthday. 

Thirty is something my friends fear. I've listened to them complain about getting closer to it with child-like disgust, as if it has cooties. I suppose I would too, if it weren't for my mortality being shoved in my face every second. Then again, I've never been the kind of person who places emphasis on such things. I'd like to think that non-cancer Tracy would float gracefully into thirty, looking forward to a new decade of lessons and wisdom. She wouldn't get caught up in the "I'm getting older, it's the end of the world" mind game. In fact, her life would be so busy with a career and children that she wouldn't even have time to ponder something as insignificant as age. But non-cancer Tracy is fictional and it's cancer Tracy that is turning thirty in twenty-two days. 

The truth is, thirty is a little frightening for me too. But not because I'm worried about the early signs of aging or that I'm afraid of getting old. The numbers three and zero together don't threaten me because I'm entering another decade; they threaten me because it's a decade that, statistically, I shouldn't be entering. Thirty, for me, means wondering how many years are left. Thirty is one year away from the five year mark - the statistical mark that most stage IV women never make it to, and even fewer make it past. Thirty represents a parallel of unyielding happiness and overwhelming fear. 

And so, cancer Tracy will handle this birthday quite differently, because she's had plenty of time to listen to the little voice in the back of her head. The one that's wondered for three and a half years if she'd even make it this far. Cancer sucks in so many ways that I could never use enough horrible words to express it, but cancer is the reason this birthday is so meaningful. Because of cancer, thirty is something I will embrace with open arms. I will clutch it in the deepest trenches of my being. I will savor every sweet moment that thirty has to offer. It isn't a birthday, it's a victory - like reaching the top of a mountain that everyone said you couldn't climb. Thirty is my golden globe and I will display it as such. 

Thirty is also a beginning, a new era if you will. My thirties will be the decade of my dreams coming true and an extension of the things I've already achieved. I decided early on that thirty was a number I had to get out of my head if I planned on getting to forty. And I do plan on getting to forty. Because I believe that if life can change so suddenly and dramatically for the worse, it can also do the same for the better. Hell, I've already defied statistics. Here's to many more years of better.

Happy Birthday to me!