The Tin Mama

“I thought about the cast of The Wizard of Oz on the yellow brick road and wondered which character I was. Perhaps the Tin Man, in search of a red, pulsating heart. Or at least someone to give it to.” - Author Kate Rockland

Confession time: I’m a little nervous about parenting a young neurotypical child. Yes, I did it already with Jackson, but when he was younger I was working full time. Of course I still parented him. There were routines and boundaries, consequences and rewards. There were tantrums in grocery stores, department stores and drug stores. There were spaceships built out of blocks that dinosaurs destroyed, then rebuilt only to be destroyed all over again…and again and again and again. And then I was relieved when Monday rolled around and I got to go back to work because 24/7 parenting is exhausting. By the time I had transitioned to being home full time with Adelaide, Jackson was already in full day pre-school.

I thrive on structure and appreciate a good goal. I cling to control wherever I can find it - all things a young Jackson loved to shred into tiny minuscule pieces like a cartoon dog with its owner’s newspaper (or our pup Sriracha with our couch cushions…). At home I sometimes felt captive to a tiny tyrant, (that I adored and loved with all my being), while work felt like an effortless moonwalk - well, in comparison anyway. At work there was reason, rationality and fairly clear cause and effect. All things missing in children before the age of five or so. 

Because these are all aspects of life I crave, I suppose it made me well suited for the medical mama life. Our life with Adelaide could not exist without strict adherence to structure and while a solid wrench could be thrown into the mix at any point in time, there was usually a bread crumb trail to follow from effect back to cause. Epilepsy may not have been rational, but the doctors we worked with certainly were and it was in that environment that I found a new voice. 

Medical parenting is a different beast altogether: instead of focusing on the future by preparing your child as best you can for their best possible adult life - as a medical parent you live for that day, for the inchstones. Perhaps because tomorrow is not guaranteed but also because often today is about all you can manage. Music classes and soccer practices are replaced with therapies and doctor’s appointments. Files of art projects and report cards are replaced with medical records and test results. Perhaps wheelchairs replace bicycles, interpreted signs replace spoken words and detailed diagnostic data fill empty spaces in our brain we never knew we had. 

One isn’t better than the other, they are just different.

Except for the tantrums, they tend to transcend medical status and ability - - - as does love.

As challenging as being Adelaide’s mother was, there are certain things I know were easier. For example, not being mobile meant that when I put her down somewhere she stayed there. She never ran away from me or got into something she shouldn’t. Thanks to her g-tube we never fought over taking her medicine or eating her vegetables. Oh, and bedtime was a breeze. 

But with our new child I will likely be walking back into that dark den of frustrated feelings, my path lit only by their incendiary irrationality. As I said last week, I know Adelaide will be with me, that she has provided me with new perspective to find a reserve of patience I could have only dreamed of with Jackson.  My medical parenting experience will provide a cushion for our inevitable trips and falls as I trek back through this other kind of parenting - though this time without the escape of an office to run to. It will be hard, it will be scary, it will be overwhelming and, in the middle of it all, I hope it becomes one of the most beautiful and rewarding parenting experiences I’ve had to date. Like watching Adelaide turn to her Daddy when he played guitar and sang for her, or listening to Jackson as he relates his own loss and trauma to that of our future child’s.

I will be the best mother to this child that I can be, just as I have been to Jackson, Elvis and Adelaide. I know I can do hard things and that, make no mistake, this will be hard. These fears don’t mean that I want this child any less, I’m simply being honest. I imagine this is just part of the adoption ‘pregnancy’ process. After all, I remember feeling this way when I was physically pregnant with each of my previous children. With Jackson it was, will I be a good mother? With Elvis and Adelaide it was, how will I balance parenting multiple children? I suppose this isn’t any different. Except that I have done this all before: parenting a neurotypical child and parenting multiple children - I guess I’m just a little rusty. Thankfully, rust can be greased up and cleaned away. Just call me the Tin Man, or Tin Woman, no - the Tin Mama. “When a man’s an empty kettle…"