Somebody said something to me the other day that really, really hurt me.
I was with a friend, and she asked me what I'm sure she thought was a really innocent question.
"So do you and Dave ever want to have your own kids?"
It's not the first time I've ever heard this. And she is not the only one to have said it. But unless you are an adoptive mother, you just have no idea how much this comment hurts. Or what it implies.
It's like nails on a chalkboard. It's a sinking feeling in my stomach. And I cannot even begin to answer what I think she meant because I'm too busy deciding if I should embarrass her by correcting her.
I didn't correct her. And I wish I would have.
She doesn't know that by saying "your own kids" she is implying that Kingston and Kyrie are not my own. That I'm raising somebody else's kids. And can you imagine if Kingston and Kyrie were in the room? Or just a little older and able to understand those implications?
I have heard the comment before about adoption. "Oh, I could never raise somebody else's kids. I just couldn't do it."
Kingston and Kyrie are MY sons. My own sons. I may not have carried them, or birthed them. But I prayed for them long before conception. Before I even knew their birth country. Before I knew that they would be boys. Or twins. Or brown. And I prayed for them, and ached for them, and yearned to hold them in my arms just like their birth mom did. I filled out more paperwork than you've ever seen. Had more things notarized than I care to remember. Overnighted documents, flew across the world, and experienced love at first sight. Twice. In a row.
I may not be their first mom. And I'll never replace her. I don't want to. Or need to for them to be my own. They're my own because I'm their mommy. Their mama. The one they run to when they get hurt. The one they reach for when they need to snuggle. They one they look up at, pucker up to, and smooch. I'm the one who rubs vicks on their feet. Deep conditions their hair. Wipes their faces, and noses, and bottoms. Combs and braids their sweet curls. Sings lullabies at night. I'm the one that tickles, and chases, plays legos and trains, and dances with them in the kitchen.
I'm their real mom and they are my own babies.
So there is your answer.
I was with a friend, and she asked me what I'm sure she thought was a really innocent question.
"So do you and Dave ever want to have your own kids?"
It's not the first time I've ever heard this. And she is not the only one to have said it. But unless you are an adoptive mother, you just have no idea how much this comment hurts. Or what it implies.
It's like nails on a chalkboard. It's a sinking feeling in my stomach. And I cannot even begin to answer what I think she meant because I'm too busy deciding if I should embarrass her by correcting her.
I didn't correct her. And I wish I would have.
She doesn't know that by saying "your own kids" she is implying that Kingston and Kyrie are not my own. That I'm raising somebody else's kids. And can you imagine if Kingston and Kyrie were in the room? Or just a little older and able to understand those implications?
I have heard the comment before about adoption. "Oh, I could never raise somebody else's kids. I just couldn't do it."
Kingston and Kyrie are MY sons. My own sons. I may not have carried them, or birthed them. But I prayed for them long before conception. Before I even knew their birth country. Before I knew that they would be boys. Or twins. Or brown. And I prayed for them, and ached for them, and yearned to hold them in my arms just like their birth mom did. I filled out more paperwork than you've ever seen. Had more things notarized than I care to remember. Overnighted documents, flew across the world, and experienced love at first sight. Twice. In a row.
I may not be their first mom. And I'll never replace her. I don't want to. Or need to for them to be my own. They're my own because I'm their mommy. Their mama. The one they run to when they get hurt. The one they reach for when they need to snuggle. They one they look up at, pucker up to, and smooch. I'm the one who rubs vicks on their feet. Deep conditions their hair. Wipes their faces, and noses, and bottoms. Combs and braids their sweet curls. Sings lullabies at night. I'm the one that tickles, and chases, plays legos and trains, and dances with them in the kitchen.
I'm their real mom and they are my own babies.
So there is your answer.
9 comments:
Hells yeah, Sister! You and Dave are GREAT parents to YOUR kids! Keep up the stellar work!
yes. I really wish people would see how much those words sting. I don't think many people can imagine how much they are our own kids because they have experienced the beauty of adoption. Beauty that comes with loss, the loss of our children's first parents but their first parents do not take away what we are to them just as we do not take away what they are to them.
I'm glad you posted this. Perhaps unknowing friends will think before they speak. I wouldn't have been so polite.
Yes, yes, yes...and so beautifully written!!
Hate the own/real questions. My favorite answer is "All our children will be our own, whether they join our family thru birth or adoption!"
Rude. She can come talk to me and i can tell her whats up ;)
People have asked me this about you guys and I ALWAYS correct them and tell them you already have TWO of your own, and you don't know if you'll have more in the future or not. I don't even acknowledge whether that means birth or more adoption because either way? they are ALL your real kids. I mean, DUH.
I know they don't mean to be assholes, but people need think before asshole accidentally falls out of their mouths.
I've watched from afar the way your and Dave's family have come together. I remember you guys talking about adoption before you were even married. It has ALWAYS amazed me how you both were made to go through this process and have your first children this way. You have taught me and others the way adoption should be and the way we should love our children. It's obvious Kingston and Kyrie were created to be your's.
That being said, I asked you once the same question your friend did. I honestly don't remember how I worded it; I think I stumbled over my words. You graciously smiled and helped me by saying something like,"Would I like to experience pregnancy?" By doing that, once again you educated me on what would be the correct way to ask. At the very least, you need to do that to others! Speak up! And walk away from the moment knowing that God has given you a beautiful experience with your first children that others may never get the chance to understand.
I can't even imagine asking someone that.
Maybe asking, 'Do you guys think you'd have more kids?' - but to imply that Kyrie and Kingston are not "real" children - I would be hurt as well. Maybe (if she doesn't read your blog) one day you can sit down with her and calmly explain that her comment is insensitive - she probably didn't think it through - but I'm sure she would appreciate not hurting you again - or someone else.
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