My name is Amber. I am 22 years old. I grew up in the LDS church as the second of ten children. I gave my blood, sweat, and tears to finish my degree at BYU this past August in Marriage, Family, and Human Development. Because I came from a big family, I sacrificed many things to pay my way through school. Through this, I learned how to work hard for the things that are important. I also learned to listen to the Spiritual guidance I received.

I love children. I love watching their minds find solutions to puzzling situations. I love watching them grow into young adults, then into adults. I love watching the process from the beginning.

I was married when I had about two years left of school. I had told my husband, frankly, that we would wait a year before trying to have kids so that I would be finished with school. However, within a month the Spirit was indicating a different direction. After prayer and fasting, I realized I needed to change my focus from what I thought was right for me to what Heavenly Father wanted for me. My husband had already expressed his desire to have children immediately, so when I came to him with a change in heart he was very excited.

I became pregnant a couple months later. The delightful pregnancy I had envisioned was not to be. I was so sick that I had to visit the emergency room of the hospital a couple times to receive IV hydration. Through all of this, I managed to stay on top of, or ahead of, my schoolwork. I managed to attend all my classes faithfully and subsequently did very well on all my exams. My faith in our decision remained steady. It was difficult, but everything was working out better than I could have imagined.

My husband gave me a few Priesthood blessings during this time. These blessings did not promise I would get better. In fact, one blessed me with strength to handle the difficulties ahead with my pregnancy.

Shortly before my 24th week mark, I began having horrible abdominal cramps. I could not walk very far without the pain becoming so intense that my husband would have to get the car and drive me home. I ignored them at first because I did not want to go to the ER again. That soon changed. One evening, they became unbearable. While I lay on my bed sobbing, wishing the pain to go away, my husband determined it was time to go to the ER. He practically carried me out to the car and sped to the hospital.

After hours of waiting, an ultrasound, CT scan, and MRI scan, they finally concluded the pain came from an inflamed appendix. I was to be rushed in for an emergency appendectomy. The surgery was necessary, but put me at risk for going into premature labor. They asked me the question, “if this baby was to come, do I want them to do all they could to keep her alive?” My husband and I told them absolutely. After a Priesthood blessing, I was calm and ready for the surgery. Despite the many risks, everything went perfectly.

The rest of the pregnancy continued without further incidents. I delivered a healthy baby girl a week before my due date. 2 weeks later my husband and I were back in school. Balancing school work and a newborn baby was extremely difficult. I often questioned whether we really had done the right thing. The Spirit continued to comfort me during my most difficult moments.

When I suspected I was pregnant again only 5 months later, I was very dismayed. I did not know how I could manage having two babies while in school! Heavenly Father once again provided comfort. During one Sacrament meeting, I felt the comforting arms of the Spirit wrapped around me. I knew everything would work out as it was supposed to. When the pregnancy test confirmed my suspicions a couple weeks later, I was delighted. With this news, my husband and I figured out a way for me to finish school before baby number two arrived.

As before, I became really sick. I began outpatient IV therapy to help me stay hydrated. Thankfully, my husband did not take classes during the next term. With his help, I was able to finish up my classes.

People will often raise their eyebrows when they find out how close our children will be. I hear the inevitable “You will be one busy momma,” “That is quite a load to handle,” and (sarcastically) “Good luck!” As tough as it may be, I have learned to follow the promptings of the Spirit. Even though I have graduated, I know having two babies will be quite stressful. At the same time, I am very happy to welcome a new baby into our family. Even with two babies in two years of marriage, we could not be more content.

As a Mormon woman, I have learned to value children. Jesus Christ often directed his followers to become like little children. The innocence of children allows them to follow with steadfast faith and without doubt. I still struggle to have such an undoubting heart, but each day I am with my daughter (and my little one who is on the way) I learn a little bit more.

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As Mother’s Day approaches, the concept of motherhood and mothering cannot be avoided. Greeting cards for Mothers, Grandmothers, and even Fathers who have been the “mother” at home appear on the shelves. As usual, I search for the plainest, most dull card around- sometimes even getting a blank card with a flower on the front. I write on the inside, “Happy Mother’s Day”, sign it and send it to my mother.

I have had a strained relationship with my mother stemming from abuse as a child. At best, I speak to her twice a year- and that is plenty for me. When I was 15, and finally starting to overcome and look forward to exiting my painful home life, I was diagnosed with Mayer-Rokitansky-Kuster-Hauser Syndrome– in my case, I have no uterus (but I have fabulous fully-functioning ovaries). Quite in character, my mother began a series of lectures on how I was evil in the pre-existence, how children were being protected from me because I would be a terrible mother, how God choose to punish me in “this way”, how adopted children were violent/bad/sickly (therefore the reason they were up for adoption) not to mention accusations of unchaste behavior.

Soaking all of this in and fully believing that no man would ever want to marry me, I stopped going to church on Mother’s Day. I hated my mother and never would be a mother- so why go? I could not stand and receive a carnation as a “future mother”. I could not bear testimony of my adoration for my mother. If there was ever a place I did not belong, it was in church on Mother’s Day.

I did have a testimony, so although seriously doubted and disbelieved my own worthiness for membership, I kept attending church. Having left home a few years later, I queried an Institute teacher about how to not be sealed to one’s family. I did not want to be “sealed” to my parents, though I loved my father, my sense of betrayal, resentment and frankly, downright hated for my mother was keeping me from emotionally progressing. I didn’t date returned missionaries for fear they might see through what I thought was my inherit wickedness. I thought they would demand to know why I had not repented for whatever I had done to beg the infertility curse from God. I hated who I was and wanted to be free, so I assumed that other than apostasy, there must be some way I could be “un-sealed” from my parents. This query startled my sweet, almost elderly institute teacher, and he invited me in to his office to talk about why I might not want to be sealed to my parents.

The meeting was short, yet profound. I briefly told him who I really was. (Keep in mind, my mother taught me some very warped and incorrect things about sealings- i.e. children are sealed to their parents as virtual slaves for eternity). This sweet institute teacher told me that I need to be eternally grateful to my mother for giving birth to me. Beyond that, he said, ‘You owe her nothing”. I was knocked out. I owed her nothing but gratitude for birth. I cannot express how liberating that was for me… and yet, how difficult it was to come to terms with being grateful to her for giving birth to me. Since the age of 7, I had entertained ideas of suicide, finding myself jealous when I heard people being diagnosed with cancer, and being killed in car accidents (no kidding!). I thought I had no reason to live. Somehow, this advice liberated me. I was not trapped as an eternal slave. I was infertile, but not trapped.

Through the next few years, I learned that I can forgive, but not have a relationship with my mother. And I am truthfully VERY grateful to her for a number of things. Wacky doctrine and neglect aside, she taught me about the Book of Mormon, how to sew and how to drive a car. Those things deserve an annual card with the words, “Happy Mother’s Day”, nothing else.

But the Mother’s Day church thing… still wasn’t okay with that. I was very uncomfortable sitting in sacrament meeting with people professing such gratitude for their parents and children. I realize now that I was deeply envious; they had mother who the believed with all their heart loved them and I was infertile. What was the point for me? I felt like an orphan who would never be a mother. So, about 10 years ago, as another horrific Mother’s Day approached, I decided to focus on nurturing and mothering, not the ability to bear a child, but the ability to love a child. I wrote heartfelt letters of gratitude to the Young Women leaders who taught me, my seminary teacher who I loved deeply and an aunt who had always listened to my hopes and fears without judgment.

For the first time, Mother’s Day meant LOVE for me. I am eternally grateful to these women- who taught me about make-up, set marvelous examples for me, complimented me when I looked nice, encouraged me to pray and study and live the gospel, and more importantly- one brilliant YW leader who told me that being infertile meant that I would really, truly marry a good man who would love me for me, not for my body. A few short years later, she was right, I did marry a wonderful man.

Finally with an extraordinary man at my side, the emptiness on Mother’s Day ended and it simply became a day of primary talks, not directed at barren me. I could sit through the meeting without anger, though I still had sadness and a sense that perhaps if I were really a good person, I might deserve to be blessed with a child. It was all based on me being good…could I ever be good enough? How were these pregnant single mothers still “more blessed”, therefore more righteous than me? Then I read Following Christ. It hit me, somewhere in-between the pages of this book- that my infertility was a result of the fall of Adam- i.e. mortality. I had done nothing to offend God, I was not “blessed” with this challenge, I am simply mortal! I am mortal! That is all! Not good, not bad or otherwise- just human. 100% Dumb luck. What an epiphany! (I now think: “duh”!!!) But it took me ages to really learn this and apply it to me. Infertility wasn’t my fault. God didn’t hate me. He loves me. He wanted me to have everything, so He sent His Son. I FINALLY understood it, and begged His forgiveness for the past anger towards Him.

So now- Mother’s Day- I love it. My fabulous husband has always bought me cards, flowers and/or gifts on Mother’s Day because I am a mother in spirit, I am the woman of the house, I nurture, I love… and my husband is fabulous. I get to celebrate Mother’s Day as a holiday for me BECAUSE I am a woman. I understand now, that being a woman is all I ever needed to be maternal. I understand that not everyone is like me, emotionally, spiritually, physically. But we- as women- all are mothers in one way or another. Our potential for nurturing is beyond limit.

So this year, I am looking forward to Mother’s Day with a greater joy than ever. If I were not infertile, I would still be considered within child-bearing years, so I have time and ability to begin alternative processes of becoming a mother. I understand that infertility NEVER limited my ability to be a mother, it just meant I needed to take a different path. And there is nothing even remotely wrong with that.

One of the most profound conclusions that I have come to over these trying years is that a significant number of women also struggle with Mother’s Day. Perhaps they are adopted, feel unsettled, imperfect, have lost a child, lost a spouse, or feel motherhood as oppressing. For me, as soon as I decided that motherhood wasn’t about me and my experiences/limitations, but the celebration of nurturing in mother earth, in admiration of imperfect but loving women who set tremendous examples for me, it became a day of celebration. No honor, but celebrating the women sitting by me who church shush their babies, celebrating the elderly women who give me a kiss and a hug every Sunday just because they can, celebrating the character of nurturing, true motherhood. The celebration of nurturing and womanhood became more glorious and applicable to me than ever before.

Happy Mother’s Day to all women out there! All women regardless of our unique situations because we have the ability to love and nurture and are mothers, regardless of our mortal place in time.

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