Is that your real mom?
“Wake up,” I whisper to my husband, “They’re about to open.” He’s sleeping in shotgun next to me in the Target parking lot. It’s 7:55am in Flagstaff Arizona, and we need a carseat, diapers, and bottles.
We had just driven through the night from Colorado. We had another hour drive in front of us before meeting our newborn daughter in the hospital.
Nell is almost two years old now. We get a lot of questions around her adoption. Nothing feels inappropriate because until you adopt, it’s unknown territory for most of us. I love talking about adoption and would be thrilled to see more people consider it.
One question that comes up (either underlying or upfront) is, “Does it feel like you’re Nell’s real mom?”
I’d be lying if I said this never crossed my mind. It pops up when I drop her off at daycare and she has no issue saying goodbye. I see a few kids cry and cling to their moms and wonder, is she less attached because she didn’t grow in my belly, or is it just her personality? We’ll never know.
I do know the love I feel for Nell is overwhelming, I can’t really put it into words. I’ve also learned that the amount of love that exists in all my relationships is completely dependent on how much love I feel for that person, not the other way around (which is completely out of my control).
To get mushy for a bit
When Nell wakes up and starts cheerily yelling, “Mommy!” it feels like a big rope is attached to my chest and is pulling me straight into her room. Doesn’t matter if I was about to enjoy my first sip of coffee or if the doorbell just rang – Nothing can get in my way from skipping to her room to say good morning. If I’m traveling or working late and don’t get to say good night, my world feels a little off.
One time I got to watch her from afar at daycare. She was playing outside with her friends, and for some reason, it put an overwhelming emotion in my gut that crawled up to my throat. I sat wondering why I wanted to cry all of a sudden. The only answer I came up with is that I love her.
I asked my husband, “Does it feel like you’re Nell’s real dad?” A man of many words, he said, “Yes.”
I asked him to elaborate… “Yes, it totally feels like I’m her dad. Sometimes I wonder if it will come up in five years or fifteen years. But today, it doesn’t cross my mind. When she wakes up each morning, when she plays, eats, goes to school, gets dressed. I’m connected with her. If she’s upset, I’m connected with her and know what she needs. That’s just what a dad does.”
Once we started looking into adoption, I quickly learned we shouldn’t use the term “real” mom. “Biological mom” or “birth mom” is the accepted term for the woman who gave birth to her (in our household, we just call her by name), and I am her mom. Because what makes a mom a mom, after all? Giving birth, or being the person who kisses her skinned toe? The person who packs her lunch each day, teaches her how to put on her pants, and reads her two books each night before bed.
Who’d she get that from?
Nell has big brown eyes. Mine are green and Tommy’s are blue. When people comment, we’re happy to explain that we adopted her. But other traits show up that are beyond physical – It’s funny to see her pick up my own mannerisms. When she sees something cool, she’ll say “no waaaaaaay,” or “whoooooooaaa,” or “nice.” She wipes her mouth with a napkin because I just did, or puts her hands in her pockets because that’s where mine are. She loves to draw, cook, and lay down at the end of the night with her feet propped up against a wall. Would she do all of these things if she spent each day with a different mom? Maybe. Like I said before, we’ll never know.
Just like any parent, we strive to raise a kind and confident person who’s courageous enough to be herself. That goal gives us a bright and happy space to live from. The other thought that helps me when I feel like I’m being a terrible mom is, “I’m exactly the mom Nell is supposed to have.” How do I know? Because I’m the mom she got. And as Byron Katie would say, “When I argue with reality, I lose—but only 100% of the time.”
Me not being her biological mom isn’t something we hide from in our house. We hope she’s proud of her adoption story and how we all became a family. But am I her “real” mom? Nothing feels more real than loving and taking care of that girl.
