Real Mom

I sat down to write and really just didn’t know where to start.  So I began just by taking a breath.  A big long deep breath. And I reminded myself where I am now and what I had just been through – where WE are and what we have been through.  It’s a miracle really.  This time last year we were driving our boys to their first days of American school.  I was way more scared than they were (I think).   After one year, I’m pretty sure I still don’t know what I’m doing and more scared than they are, but I find comfort in hearing almost every other parent say that back to me. 

Recently I posted this picture of our boys after taking them to the Parthenon replica here in Nashville and said “…we took an unexpected exit to see the Parthenon and get snow cones. And that’s exactly what this journey feels like – surprise turns and treats.  Most days this is really hard.  Every day it’s really worth it.”

And their heartbreaking questions and comments are beginning…

“Mom, did you and Dad buy us?”

“Mom, tell me the story about when my mom Haitian said you could have me.”

Their curious hearts and minds can’t wrap around this, and I get it. Their stories rest so heavy on my heart.  I do not know what their little diaper bottoms looked like.  I do not know their first word spoken.  I do not have a baby book with recorded memories for them.  I grieve those moments I did not share.  And what I now understand is that those were not mine to share. These moments – days at the Parthenon eating snow cones – are mine to share. And I grieve in a whole other way that their Haitian mamas don’t have those.  

A lot of adopted parents get pretty defensive about the “real mom and dad” language.  For example, if someone asks who is the “real” mom and dad, it’s hurtful. But I don’t want to shame or judge anyone about that – most people mean no harm.  What I do want to acknowledge and honor is that my boys have 2 moms and 2 dads.  Real ones.  We all play a really important part of their lives.  When I answered my boy's second question above, I said, “your mom Haitian told me she wanted you to have an opportunity to grow and learn. She loved you so much that she and I became a mom team.  She gave you life, and I help you grow and live your life. She is always in your heart loving and believing in you, and so am I.  I will never take her place.  She is special in her way, and I am special in mine.” And then we hung their Haitian mothers’ pictures in our kitchen.  And then I went to my bedroom and cried for hours.  I wonder if their Haitian mamas would be proud of me.  This is so freaking hard.

I found two crumbled packets of crackers in our pantry a few days ago and just wept.  It is what the twins’ Haitian mom gave them on the day they last saw her. She said she wanted to make sure they had a snack for the plane to America.  They would not eat them. They wanted to save them. Can you imagine what that must have been like for her to offer what she could give them one last time – and for them to save it so sweetly?  I have them tucked away in a special place.  We are all just carrying the grief and tucking it away.

I also realize that some people don’t feel like they can relate to our story or don’t understand adoption and why we chose this path.  But I’m a big believer we can all connect in our stories – no matter how different.  For example, a new family moved in our neighborhood - two women and their daughters - and one of the little girls excitedly told me “Guess what? I have TWO mommies!”  I said, “I think that’s really special. My boys have 2 mommies too!”

I am so thankful for all real mamas and daddies.  We are in this together.