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When I think of words to describe who I am ( mom, domestic goddess, charmingly lazy, hilarious.....), I can't escape one in particular that defines me deeply: Adoptee.
I grew up in an amazing family with a sister who is almost ten years older than me...and is the natural child of our parents. She was born premature and spent several weeks in an incubator before she was allowed to come home. A few years after her birth, our mom had another daughter, but there were complications and she was stillborn. The doctor warned my parents that if a third pregnancy was attempted, it might not be just the baby who didn't make it. My parents took him at his word, and decided to adopt. Enter, me.
I was born to an unwed mother who had 3 other children from her previous marriage. I suppose that the idea of feeding and clothing one more little one played a major role in her decision to place me for adoption after my birth, and at no time in my life did it ever occur to me to be angry or sad about her decision. I was told from the time I was able to understand words that I had been 'chosen' to come into the family that adopted me, and I always wore it as a badge of pride. I was special. It's probably part of what developed the undeniable ego I have, and some might silently wish my parents hadn't hammered the "chosen" thing home quite so much.
In any case, my parents are loving and kind people who taught me much about what being a parent means. My sister and I, despite our difference in age, grew up as best friends. She was almost a second mother to me and was the person I would confide in when I felt our mom just wouldn't understand. I never felt I didn't "belong" in our family ---aside from not looking like anyone--- and my parents always let me know that, if the day came that I wanted to find my biological parents, they would support me in any way possible.
As a teenager, I occasionally wondered what my birthmother looked like. Like many adoptees, I sometimes wondered if my birthparents were secretly rich or famous --- don't ask, it's apparently a coping mechanism for when our "adoptive" families weren't being cool enough. I honestly never gave my birthfather much thought, aside from wondering if I looked like him. Maybe I worried more about how my birthmom was coping with losing a child, and men didn't seem as 'connected' to children. To this day, I'm not even certain he knows I exist.
When I became an adult and had my first child, I was surprised that one my first thoughts as I held my newborn son was that of my birthmother. I pictured this poor woman having to say goodbye to a child she had carried for 9 months, and as I looked at my new baby, it hurt me to think of all the years that she had spent worrying about me. I decided at that moment that I MUST find her. I absolutely had to let this woman know that I was okay, and to stop her suffering.
As expected, my parents were hugely supportive of my decision to search, and although my first attempts were minimal and fruitless, I was eventually able to locate my birthmother when I turned 30. I have previously written about my experience and you are welcome to read about it here:
It is now 17 years later, and there has been no change in the ending to that story. But a brand new story has begun, and in part 2 of this blog entry, I will share with you how my family has grown in a way I had never expected. Stay tuned :)