A different kind of mother’s love

“Sometimes I go through several days and realize I haven’t really connected with him.”

The admission comes from my guilt-ridden voice and lands on the ears of our social worker, who just smiles and responds with grace and affirmation.

There’s a picture in my mind of what motherhood should look like. It’s nurturing and tender. It’s what other mommy bloggers call “intentional mothering” or “purposeful parenting.” The picture involves snuggles and hours of reading under blanket forts, heartfelt conversations over family dinners, spiritual instruction and teaching with cute devotional books, tickle fights, and goodnight kisses. The picture is all about connection.

I learned early on that motherhood will never look like stock photography. That’s no secret. But the image of intentional motherhood, rich with meaningful connection with these tiny humans, persists in my ideals.

But when you have a child whose needs push against the box of what’s typical, sometimes, this level of connection falls by the wayside as other needs become pressing. Research, therapy techniques, meetings, and appointments crowd in.

And this mother’s love starts to look a lot less like stock photography and more a complex machine.

This summer, long before Ezra had a diagnosis, Katie and I talked about this very thing. She shared the very wise words of her family counsellor.

“My counselor tells me that it’s a different kind of love. The way I express love to Jack is completely different from what I expected it to be. It just has to be. And it’s okay.”

Her words stick with me, over and over coming to mind.

It’s a different kind of love…when Ezra is watching Octonauts for an hour while I pour over websites looking for family or play therapists that could help us after Ezra is discharged from inpatient therapy.

It’s a different kind of love…when there’s no clean undies for the boy and we are eating hotdogs or spaghetti (again) because mom visited eight preschools in two weeks for options after discharge.

It’s a different kind of love…when my fingers are flying over the touchscreen talking with other moms about ADHD medication and maybe I’m not as focused on him as I should be in the moment.

It’s a different kind of love…when instead of “intentional” conversations over dinner we are playing focus games that involve not talking in an attempt to make future dinner times easier and help strengthen his attention span.

It’s a different kind of love…when I’m sitting in meetings with a recreational therapist, a developmental behavioral pediatrician, or a special services preschool intake evaluator.

It’s a different kind of love…when my brain gets overwhelmed with coping strategies and when our conversations involve purposeful scripting because it helps him cope or behave in the moment.

It’s a different kind of love…when I’m sitting in meetings with a recreational therapist, a developmental behavioral pediatrician, or a special services preschool intake evaluator.

It’s a different kind of love…when I start to feel more like a case-manager-slash-behavioral-therapist and less like a mom.

It’s a different kind of love…but it’s still a mother’s love.

And it’s okay.

Our social worker reminds me of the ways I do connect. The swimming trips to the YMCA. The rocking we do at the end of the night.

She tells me I don’t give myself enough credit. And she’s right. 

So from now on, it’s all going to count. The snuggles, the blanket forts, the finger painting…and the trips back and forth to therapy, the hours of research, the putting tape on the floor, and the appointments.

And maybe someday, this different kind of mother’s love will make such a difference that motherhood will look ever-so-slightly more like stock photography and less like a complex machine.