I carried him in my womb for 9 months. Luckily it was a pretty "easy" and "uneventful" pregnancy. Inside my womb where he was protected and untouchable, at least. Outside, my world was crumbling during those last two months. His little beating heart was the only thing that kept me going. 
 
He was safe.
 
Once he was born, my ability to shield him from all of life's harsh realities ended. And as he gets older, it will only get more difficult.
 
At times I find myself feeling helpless and angry for having to one day explain to my son that his biological father died tragically before getting a chance to hold his first born in his arms. We are blessed to have found a man that he adores and now calls "Daddy" on Earth, and for that I am so grateful. However, it still doesn’t ease the pain from the loss of a father he will never know. He is not capable of fully understanding yet, but one day he will be, and it will probably hurt.
 
My job as a mother is supposed to be to protect my baby from pain and suffering, isn't it?
 
Well, no – not entirely.
 

As mothers, we sometimes assume all responsibility for our children’s pain. We forget that it’s not only impossible to absorb or prevent all of their suffering, but it may also be detrimental to their well-being. Sure, we want to eliminate whatever stressors we can, but some obstacles will not be removable. And sometimes, just because a challenge can be avoided, doesn’t mean that it should be.

 
There will be lessons that must be learned and can only be learned one way: through experiencing the pain that they bring. Even the most beautiful lives are plagued by very difficult times. It isn't our job to make sure our children never hurt, but rather to be there for them, unconditionally, when they do.
 
At some point in his life, Mason will be rejected. But I'll be there with open arms to remind him that he has a place where he will always find acceptance. 
 
He will be treated unfairly. But I'll be there to remind him that unjust treatment from another person is a reflection of their inner struggles and not of his own self-worth. 
 
He will fail, but I'll be there to remind him of all the times he has succeeded and to encourage him to keep trying. 
 
He will question life, the reason for his sadness, and perhaps the purpose for all the suffering in the world.
 
I won’t have all the answers, but I will be there to hold his hand or wipe his tears - if he wants me to.
 
When he needs to struggle on his own, I’ll be there to greet him on the other side to celebrate his triumphs.
 
Because that’s what good moms do.
 
Always.