Three Ways In Which I’ve Been A Mum

It doesn’t matter how you come to be a mum or how long you are a mum for, what matters is that as a mum you care, nurture and love in a way that protects your child from everything.

I had always loved children and coming from a family that was complicated and not a particularly pleasant place to be, I knew how different I would make things for my own family. 

Throughout my life I’ve had both the good fortune and the heartache to be a mum in three very different ways.

Back on St Patrick’s Day in March 1968 I was in labour in a little cottage hospital and I still remember the lovely midwife who cajoled me with stories of her Irish heritage. The moment the GP entered the room, I sensed something was wrong. I had no idea how wrong.  

My son’s lifeless body was brought into the world. And then left. It was like he was never here. He was wrapped up and swiftly taken from the room. I never got to see him, never touched him nor held him.

Stunned and in shock I spent the night in a room next to the hospital nursery listening to the all of the babies that arrived, that survived. There was no time in a busy hospital for sympathy or comfort, all I could do was pretend I was ok. 

And that is how I carried on in an attempt to deal with the grief and the loss, the heartache and the longing. It wasn’t just my baby that had gone. The hopes for his future, of our life together as a family, of being a mother to the baby I had grown and cared for for all of those months – that too, had gone. 

I stopped being able to look people in the eye for fear of them asking where my baby was or how I was doing. I didn’t want to upset those closest to me so, stiff upper lip in place, I put a brave front on almost all of the time. I didn’t feel I could speak of my grief or show it to anyone. After all, as I was often told, I was just 21yrs there was plenty of time for more babies. But I’d had a baby, one that was longed for and loved. 

To this day I mourn my first stillborn son. Nothing can ever take away the pain of losing a baby in that way, but nowadays stillbirths are given dignity, time is made for memories to be formed and acknowledgement, space and support are given to the ensuing grief. 

I wish that had been my experience, to have held and seen my little boy would have meant everything. It pains me that I still don’t know what happened to him or where he is. 

In 2020, the MP Caroline Harris started a debate that created the support now available to bereaved parents to search for the resting place of their stillborn child.  Searches are ongoing in my case and perhaps I will never know what happened, but I do know that I was his mum.

My nurturing instincts lay rejected. Months and then years passed without sign of another pregnancy. Hospital visits and tests filled some of that time, with eventual news that I wasn’t able to conceive again. 

I still longed to be a mum and so we sought adoption becoming the proud parents of a six month old baby boy. I was a mum for the second time, family life started and it was joyous.

We were joined for a brief time by a baby girl too. She had a heart condition that her birth family didn’t feel they could manage and so we brought her into our family, cared for her and loved her. We explored her medical situation with health professionals and tests confirmed she had a mild heart murmur that wouldn’t require treatment and shouldn’t cause her any trouble. We told the authorities and 3 days later her birth family welcomed her home, all hope of us adopting her was gone. 

I remained a mum to our growing boy. By the end of his first week at school we were called in, the school didn’t feel they could keep him there. Sadly the older he got, the more concerning his behaviour became. By his third birthday our little boy had been diagnosed with severe learning disabilities, he would become frustrated and hit out, it was his way of expressing himself. 

At the age of 11yrs our boy’s behaviour was such a challenge that no school could calm, or educate, him. The authorities placed him in a care unit both for his safety and that of others and our parental rights were taken. 

I carried on trying to be his mum; visiting, calling, having him home for weekends when allowed, until he was 18yrs. At that point he was moved from a care facility to a secure facility and we were not allowed contact, I had no entitlement to remain his mum.

While our adopted son was still young a chance conversation with a gynaecologist led to the possibility of my infertility being caused by the condition Hyperprolactinemia. A flurry of tests and treatment led, 12 years after my first pregnancy, to the conception of my daughter. She arrived safely; healthy and beautiful. She was joined by a baby brother a few years later, equally as healthy and beautiful. I was a mum again.

Family life brought such meaning to my days and the joy that came with being a mum was worth the heartbreak that accompanied it. For me that involved such incredibly painful loss yet it’s true what they say – time is a great healer – and I am grateful to still be a mum and now a grandmother too!