An Accidental Mother

225 Pages·2011·7.14 MB·English

by  Katherine Anne Kindred

AN ACCIDENTAL MOTHER

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An
Accidental
Mother
Katherine Anne Kindred
UNBRIDLED BOOKS
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Earlier versions of the essays “An Accidental Mother”
and “I Will Not Lie” were combined as one essay titled
“The Accidental Mother” and published in
the Spring 2008 issue of Memoir (and).
Unbridled Books
Denver, Colorado
Copyright © 2011 by Katherine Anne Kindred
Drawings by Michael
All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be
reproduced in any form without permission.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Kindred, Katherine Anne.
An accidental mother / Katherine Anne Kindred.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-1-60953-058-7
1. Motherhood. 2. Parenting. 3. Separation
(Psychology) I. Title.
HQ759K543 2011
306.874'3—dc22
2011016104
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Book Design by SH · CV
First Printing
Dedicated to the little boy who
gave me the greatest gift of all— motherhood.
Near or far, I will love you always.

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An Accidental Mother
K
ate! There’s a monster in my room!”
Still mostly asleep, I notice that without the
help of my conscious mind to direct them, my legs
have somehow begun on their own, swinging over the
side of the bed, moving me toward the door of the
room as my arms reach out in the dark for the small
boy I know is somewhere near. I take his hand as my
pupils begin to dilate enough to allow me to see down
the hallway toward the glow of his bedroom nightlight.
“Let’s go see,” I whisper, and pull him gently along,
reaching for the light switch the moment we pass
through the doorway. The room is suddenly fi lled with
light, and my eyes squint as I look around. I see an
unmade bed with a Spiderman pillow in the middle,
tiny jeans lying on the fl oor next to the laundry bas-
ket, storybooks on the table beside the bed.
“I don’t see a monster,” I say, and look down into
the tear- fi lled eyes.
“It was in my dreams!” he tells me, and I notice
he’s been dragging his teddy bear along with him the
whole time.
We’re making progress, I think. For a long while he’s
been convinced that the monster is somewhere in his
room. That he understands it’s only in his dream is a
giant step forward.
I pick him up to comfort him; he just turned fi ve
and is almost too big to hold, but he wraps his arms
and legs around me and lays his head on my shoulder.
I notice he is trembling. It only takes me a few min-
utes to get him snuggled back into bed, to reassure
him that the monster dream is over, to tell him that
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instead he can dream about Grandma and Papa’s house
and going to the movies with his cousins.
I return to our bedroom and climb back into bed,
now wide awake.
“Thanks for getting up with him,” a voice whispers
beside me.
“You’re welcome,” I whisper back.
That’s when I realize the boy called out for me, not
his dad, to protect him from the monster.
Me. Kate. Not his real mother, his accidental one.
I
’ve never made any apologies for the fact that my
only “child” turned out to be a border collie named
Annie. I adopted her when she was two years old.
Having come from an abusive home, she was skittish
and needy. She’s been with me for more than a decade,
and I’m certain it’s because of my patient nurturing
that she now feels so well loved and secure that she
disobeys nearly every command I offer— unless, of
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