I was having one of those mornings today. But the stories I
shared with my kids weren’t typical. Because my kids were both adopted.
I have no labor stories to share. I never felt them move for
the first time. I never had a craving. I didn’t get to struggle physically to
bring them into the world.
But somebody did.
So this morning, when my son asked me to tell him about when
he was born, I got to talk to him about his tummy mummy.
My boys have known from day one all about their tummy mummy.
They know her name and her face, they visit with her when we can meet up in
Colorado. We’ve spent years sending emails and pictures. I keep her updated on
Facebook, so she can see how they’re doing, and that they’re happy. We brought
her out for my son’s baptism last year when he turned 8. It was one of the
sweetest moments of our lives, to have all the parts of my sons’ family
together in one place.
So I told Kaalam today, all about the middle of the night
trip to the hospital to see him come into the world. I told him about how
beautiful he was. I talked about the three days he got to spend at the hospital
with his tummy mummy and her family and how much he was loved by everyone. I
told Xander about driving out like madmen from California to Colorado on his
due date, scared we’d miss his birth. Then how we sat around at Grandma’s house
for two weeks waiting for him to finally come. We told him about the parade of
visitors who came to the hospital to see him – her family, our family, and so
many friends. The nurses weren’t sure what to do with the genial family
atmosphere. I suspect it wasn’t entirely typical for adoptions.
But mostly, I got to tell my boys how much they are loved.
And they always have been. By us, but first, by their birthmother.
Then Kaalam asked the question I knew for years was
eventually going to come- ‘why couldn’t she keep me?’
So before school this morning, we got to talk about Roni.
She loved and still loves her children. I see it in the way she looks at them.
I saw it in the heartbreak she experienced when she first said goodbye. Giving
away a child is not taking the easy way out. It’s the hardest, most loving, and
most self-sacrificing thing a young teen mother can do.
So I tried to explain the nine year old version of Roni’s
situation to my son this morning, and he seemed to understand. We focused on
how much she loves him. The older he gets, the more we’ll be able to discuss,
and I hope, the more he’ll be able to understand. And someday, he might take
his questions straight to her. I hope that day is a good one.
So today, I’m feeling nostalgic. But I’m also feeling
grateful. I didn’t get to feel my baby’s kick. But I got to hold their birthmother’s
hand. And I got to know firsthand that my kids are loved, always have been, and
always will be.
Happy birthday, Kaalam. Nine is going to be a
great year!
