Me – Hey G, what’s this?
G – Mommy, that’s a book I made… Once there was a little boy who had a teddy bear and was waiting to be adopted. Then a dragon came to eat the bear. A ninja came and killed the dragon and cut the belly open to rescue the bear. The End.
Me – What happened to the boy?
G – Oh, the ninja adopted him.
My little guy is really into making books right now. He is also into dragons and ninjas. My first reaction? Did he just say ‘adopted?’ The word flew out of his mouth so quickly I thought my heart stopped for a second. My children know my story, the basics, not the complicated stuff. I have never had a real tough time telling them things that others might find difficult to talk about. Adoption is a part of our family constellation.
My big boy had a pioneer day at school where he made paper and food from the time of the pilgrims. In addition, there was an elaborately decorated birth certificate he had to complete. It was written with olde language and to every single person in the room, it was a non-event. I looked at that paper and could remember the sinking feeling I would have every time I had to do something like this. P came over casually and asked what city was he born? That was a question I could never answer for myself when I was his age.
My children will never know what it feels like to “not know” and it continues to surprise me every time. My life is not theirs. It is lovely to see how seamless it has been. I am wistful and yet thrilled that they are living the extraordinarily ordinary life I wished for them.