Shoulda….Woulda….Coulda

I feel weird saying the words out loud. I know the reality of the situation, and I know I cannot stop the inevitable. But to say them out loud just seems surreal.

“I am about to be Grandma.”

This is not a vanity issue. I am not hung up on the image of gray hair, thick knit cardigans, and rocking chairs. Many younger, fitter, and less wrinkled than I proudly hold this title. I am not lamenting my launch into the next generation.

This is not a parenting issue. My daughter is an adult married to a mature, amazing adult. They will be great parents; they don’t need help in that area.

This really is more of an “Am I qualified to be a grandparent?” issue.

 Yes, I have raised two beautiful daughters who have good hearts and fierce spirits.

Yes, I think I have proven to be a decent aunt over the years. I visit, communicate, and celebrate birthdays and milestones with all 11 of my nieces and nephews.

And yes, I am a big fan of kids—even teenagers!

But…

…I never had a baby.

I never had strangers place hands on my belly and ask, “When are you due?”

I never felt a baby kick inside me.

I never felt the excruciating pain of labor, and I often retreat into silence when ladies get together to share their “labor war stories.”

I never earned that combat patch.

My husband knew this when he married me. He knew of my “flaw,” as I used to call it.

He loved me anyway.

Many people would ask us (with good intentions) about our plans to start a family. The first 10 years of our marriage, we artfully dodged the questions. There really is no polite response to the baby questions.

Smiling and nodding seemed to work. But, the questions turned into statements over the years:

“You two should start a family,” from well meaning friends. Or, “this could be you two very soon,” from friends celebrating their pregnancy. And finally, the one I heard over and over: “You two would be such great parents.”

At some point, my response became “shoulda, woulda, coulda.” I did this with self-deprecating humor that only those who truly know the ache created by barrenness would understand. It was easier to deflect the statements with a glib response.

I knew there was no ill intent or malice behind those well-meaning statements, but they stung nonetheless.  I turned my “shoulda, woulda, coulda” into a game, hitting the question back into their court, asking what they wish they could have done differently with their lives. It often made for great late-night conversations, and over time, the hurt faded and altogether disappeared as we became foster and eventually adoptive parents.

Until the word “grandma” entered my vernacular, edging out “50 is the new 40.”

Why was it bothering me so much?

I got the answer to that question as those three little words reappeared in my life from my two incredible Army sisters.

“We should throw her a baby shower!”

“Would the 7^th of November work for you?”

“Could you help her make a registry?”

Asking the person who thought a Diaper Genie was someone who came and changed the diaper for you to make a baby registry was not a good idea. It brought back all my feelings of inadequacy and doubt about being a grandma.

After all, my first act as a mother was to buy my 10-year-old a bra. I was woefully out of touch with what a baby or new mother needed. I never bought a crib or even had a baby seat in my car.

I still cringe when someone mentions sore nipples.

But, thanks to our supportive tribe, the shower was a success. I kept myself busy with hostess duties. As the day wore on with so many stories and words of wisdom thrown about the room, I had to accept the fact that I had not walked this particular road before my daughter did. I also realized that she wasn’t walking it alone. Although I am missing the traditional “mommy gene,” I have an arsenal of battle buddies and sisters who are helping me carry the load.

They took my burden of doubt and insecurity and added it to their own heavy rucksacks. I gave my daughter a community of women who know exactly what she needs. They gave birth. That is what women are supposed to do, and I am forever grateful for all of them.

I am also grateful that we can give birth to many other important things in life.

We give birth to second chances and fresh starts. We give birth to non-traditional families and communities. We give birth to hope and restoration.

I didn’t give birth to either of my daughters, but I helped create a safe womb of unconditional love for them. I will love their children as well.

We are approaching to the final countdown to baby Sawyer. The only thing left do is to pick out a grandma name.  I should pick something appropriate, I would love some suggestions from y’all, and could you try and come up with something just a little “bad ass?”