seeds for thought

Legacy, what is a legacy?

It's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see.  

– Lin-Manuel Miranda, “The World Was Wide Enough”, Hamilton: An American Musical

Today is my first Motherʼs Day as a mother. Iʼve thought a lot about my own birth story and my birth motherʼs pregnancy with me over the past twenty-four and half weeks. That is, Iʼve imagined what it might have been like. 

The beginning of my pregnancy was hard. I felt nauseated daily, I had little appetite, I lost weight over the first three months, and I was always exhausted. But I was still excited about our baby and felt proud to know that these were signs of my body doing an important job. 

The symptoms also made me wonder about my birth mother’s pregnancy with me. Did she feel as sick as I did? As tired as I did?

Iʼm acutely aware of the stark differences in our circumstances. I have a few sentences on ghost-thin paper about my mother’s pregnancy and my birth. I don’t know what symptoms she experienced, but I do know she was working in the city to send money to her family in a more rural area. I know she fell in love with my biological father, a “coffee shop DJ,” but “it was a one-sided love.” I know that she bound her stomach so that she could continue working. I know that she made the (literally) life-changing decisions to give me life and a chance at a life beyond what she would ever be able to provide.

I am overwhelmed with gratitude at the sacrifices she made. Her choices made way for the life I have now. As sick as I felt in those early days, I was working from home. I had sick days I could use. I had a husband who loved and took excellent care of me. 

As I continue to grow our baby, now starting to feel their kicks and somersaults, I am amazed at just how much I already love them. I like to think that my mother felt the same way. She saw the potential, the value of my life. Without her knowing anything about who I was or would become—about my personality, gifts, or skills—I was enough. Enough for her to endure the months of unpleasant symptoms. Enough for her to let her body be stretched and altered. Enough for her to go through additional discomfort to hide those changes so that she could continue to do what was expected of her.

My birth mother planted a seed that my adopted mom (and dad) were able to water. She gave me life and a family and opportunity. I hope, somehow, she knows that it was worth it. 

My life is her legacy.  And that legacy continues on through the life of my baby.