I used to get so upset when people would prefer to my foster care adopted kids’ biological mother as their mom; as evidenced by the many adoption blog and facebook posts, over the years. But, as time moved on, it has bothered me less and less. This is probably partly because it happens less since the adoption is not as much of a hot topic.
My kids are adopted but I no longer feel the need to announce that. (Except for right now!) I don’t know why I ever did. Well, yes, I do. I wore it like a medal of honor. It was who we were. It’s the Parkers who adopted from foster care! That’s still who we are. But, not in the same way. I don’t think about the fact that we adopted. It just doesn’t come up like it used to.
Anyway, something occurred to me last night when my busy mind was keeping me from sleeping. I realized why it used to bother me so much. Insecurity. This probably wasn’t news to anyone, including me, but it felt like it, last night! I didn’t like the idea that she got part of my kids that I didn’t and I also didn’t understand why she could give that up. I think I was insecure about it since I had become their mom in a round-about way. And maybe people thought of me as the stand-in for her. Like I’m only taking care of the kids because she couldn’t or wouldn’t. That is the reason that they came to us, but not the reason that we wanted them. We wanted them because we wanted them. It was simply meant to be. We are the Parkers.
IT HAPPENED AGAIN
So, after that whole, it not coming up like it used to thing, it did. The other day, a friend referred to her as their “mom.” My feathers were instantly ruffled and I barely processed what else was said. I was about to remind him who their mom is, like I had so many times before (to others), but then I didn’t. I realized that it wasn’t such a big deal now. Tacky? Maybe. A reason to make him feel bad? No. Because I know I’m their mom. I’m mom in every little way except biology. And as for not getting to give birth to them, I think I probably dodged a bullet because “Ow!” 🤣
WHAT MAKES A MOM?
Anyway, I’m Mom. I’m the one who lectures and loves them. I’m the one who they ignore when I tell them to clean their rooms. And the one who they come to when they have a headache. I’m the one who gets to watch them grow. I’m the one who feels like her insides will explode with joy when they are extra happy about something. And I’m the one who is currently being interrupted by a little girl who is annoyed that she can’t find anything to eat.
YOU HAVE NO CONTROL
While I’m having revelations, let me share this one that came from an unexpected source. “Hamilton.” Hamilton’s the greatest thing ever, for the record. But, anyway, there is a line in the play….”You have no control who lives, who dies, who tells your story.” After watching the film and listening to the soundtrack approximately a million times, it has sunk in. I can’t control what others think or say, so I need to let it go.
I’m their mom. Always and forever. I know that and they know that. Nothing else should matter.