I’m a foster mother. 

What this means is that there are so many unknowns in my life that are unique to my motherhood journey, things that are present only in my foster parent experience, that never presented themselves in my biological motherhood experience. And I think a lot about how I could certainly frame a lot of these things as losses. Losses of control, losses of privacy, losses of knowing my foster son will always be my son. Right now, I don’t know if six months from now my foster son will still be in my home; when he asks in his toddler diction, “Will we go beach in summer?” I can’t answer that, not really, because I don’t know. Not that I don’t know if we’ll go, but will he go with us, will he still be with me? It’s a huge question mark that looms over our family life.

 

But.

 

What I want to tell you is this. 

 

That becoming my foster son’s foster mama has made me a better person. Being a foster parent, in general, has given me so many growth opportunities, and experiences in which to examine my own assumptions and privilege. But even more importantly, it has given me a way to look at motherhood less as a game of being the best (I don’t get to make all the decisions!), or of planning out what educational and enrichment experiences I might invest in (important, but I can only plan so far ahead when your family is in part managed by the courts and the Department of Social Services). Suddenly, when you strip away all the ephemera, the little things that pile up into something resembling modern motherhood, you are left with a different creature.

 

This creature — the foster mothering creature — makes her choices based on what works right here, right now. This creature dwells on what is best for a child’s sense of self and security in the family where they are — better to have photos on the wall than albums that grow dusty on the shelf. This creature talks of the child’s mother with love and affection, never cruelty. Should we get ice cream? Yes! Should we go to the park today? Yes! We are here! We love each other! We will revel in that today, for today? Today might be only one of so few todays that we get to share together.

 

Not to get too sentimental, but the classic musical RENT isn’t wrong with its lyrics to No Day But Today. While they weren’t written with foster motherhood in mind, the lyrics, I’ve found, are particularly apt when they say:

 

There’s only us, there’s only this

Forget regret, or life is your’s to miss

No other path, no other way

No day but today

 

…

 

I can’t control my destiny

I trust my soul, my only goal

Is just to be

 

And so that’s what we do, my family and me: we lean into every today that we can, enjoying every moment, knowing that the family we’ve created and built and loved may not last. Granted, the same could be said for any family. Terrible things happen, heartbreak and tragedy are boundless in this world. But so is love. And boundless love — that’s something worth going through the pain of foster parenting to embrace. 

 

So I hang the pictures on the walls, I make plans but not plans too far out, I giggle, I tell bedtime stories, I make rituals and songs and memories, and most importantly, I love.

 

Because no matter how your family is built, or how long it lasts in its present form, it’s love that matters most. My journey isn’t like many other mothers. But that’s all right. What matters isn’t the journey, but the love you feel along the way. And anyway — foster motherhood isn’t about me, anyway. 

 

The most important thing is that my foster son knows how loved he is.

 

If that’s happening?

 

I can shoulder anything, one day at a time, embracing no day but today.