Because of all this baby stuff going on, there is a lot I'm not writing about that I normally would. But this post reminded me of something pretty major that happened. Regular readers will remember that I recieved a package from my mother awhile back. It was the first contact I'd had from her since Oldest was born. She'd moved apartments and changed phone numbers without telling me.
After I recieved her package I wrote her this long 6 page letter pouring out all of my feelings and telling her all the important things that had happened in the last two years and opened up about how I felt about certain things that had happened in my childhood. I never had the courage to send the letter, and it's still tucked into my notebook and buried in a box in my bedside table.
But luckily and surprisingly a month ago, I managed to speak to my aunt, my mom's youngest sister online and she gave me my mother's telephone number. I called for a week at different times and there was no answer. Sometimes it went to voicemail, but I was too nervous to leave a message. Sometimes I got a busy signal, which would send my heartbeat racing because I knew then that at least she was at home. But I didn't get through to her until maybe 10 days had passed and I'd obsessively called her house 10-15 times a day.
And when I did get through to her, it wasn't what I was expecting. In fact, it was really disappointing and I'm still processing my feelings about that conversation. She was happy to hear from me, of course. But she didn't seem upset that it had been two years since we'd spoken.
She spent a lot of the conversation telling me about the problems she was having with her new husband or laughing with her sisters who were at the house with her. She didn't ask me many questions about my life here or much about Oldest, which killed me. I didn't care that she didn't ask about me, how I was doing or what I get up to during the days, we've never had that kind of relationship. We've never had that close bond that other mothers and daughters have, but Oldest is her grandson, and I hate that any problems that my mother and I have may be passed down to Oldest and now to Littlest. That her feelings towards them are affected by her feelings towards me and everything that we've been through.
I am glad that I got a chance to tell her that I was having another child. I spoke to her a few weeks before Littlest was born, and have yet to call her to tell her that her second grandson is healthy and happy. I just can't do it yet. I don't have it in me right now to do that. I will soon, I know that. It won't be something that I put off forever, but I need a little more strength first.
I find my mother to be very strange. And I feel sorry for her, more than anything, especially now that I have my own children. I know she loves me in her own way, but it feels conditional and a mother's love shouldn't have limitations. I was worried, when I was pregnant with Oldest, that I would take after my mother in this way, that I wouldn't be able to fully love my children, that I'd hold back. I remember crying when I was pregnant, crying at the thought of harming my children in this terrible way by having a closed heart like my mother.
And at least now I can look back and realise that my worries were for nothing, because I couldn't love my children more than I do, and I know that I would do anything for them.