My mother, Kidlet’s biological maternal grandmother, was the first (non hospital staff) to hold him. She was in the operating room during my c-section and held him up to my face as they closed my incision.
My father, Kidlet’s biological maternal grandfather, wheeled me down to the NICU to see Kidlet after we’d been separated for post op recovery.
And yet despite these very distinct memories I have a lot of anger and resentment toward my parents. I’m trying to get past it. To let it go. But, it’s not that easy.
During my pregnancy I felt alone. Ignored. I remember the harsh words more clearly than the gentle moments, and in turn I want to punish them in a similar way to how I felt punished.
Any time I was sick, whether it was pregnancy related or a migraine I’d be reminded that it was my own fault.
When TheEx’s parents kept pushing adoption my parents didn’t stand up for me. Didn’t even hint that maybe I could be a good mother.
A year after placement my mother gave a bunch of baby clothes to a friend. Baby clothes she’d bought for Kidlet without telling me. I’d believed my parents when they’d said I’d see no help from them. How was I to know they’d been stocking up on baby clothes on anticipation of me parenting.
When they ask for new pictures or information I want to hold out on them. I want to withhold their grandson. The grandson they are partially responsible for living 3000 miles away.
I know my parents love me and Kidlet. Without a doubt. I also know they were being true to our family’s communication style (or lack thereof). I try not to hold it against them, but it’s hard.
It’s hard, when M suggests momma and I stay with them when she and I go to their state for some genealogy research in 2013. I want to yell, “why should she get to infringe on my Kidlet time. What right does she have?! ”
She has the same right any other grandmother has. Perhaps that’s the key. Remembering them as Kidlet’s grandparents, imperfect as they may be instead of as my imperfect parents.