I am my daughter’s third mother. I accept that now.
For a long time I didn’t get it. Before I adopted, I thought all the emphasis on birthparent relationships was a bit ridiculous and certain to be confusing for the child. I greatly admired women who choose life for their unborn babies, and make a painful decision so that their children can gain a stable upbringing. Still I thought of them almost more as surrogate mothers.
After all, motherhood is not dependent on mere biology (and “mere” is exactly how I thought of it). Motherhood is changing diapers, making tough decisions, teaching kids the ABCs, tucking them in at night, rearranging your life for eighteen-plus years around your child’s best interests.
I thought we should coin a word a little less, well, emotional. “Birthgiver”, perhaps. “Lifegiver.” “Biological ancestor”. “The woman whose tummy you grew in.”
But once I knew the stories of the people involved, it was crystal clear that an emotional word was needed, because an emotional tie was indeed present—not greater than mine, perhaps, but no less, at least for a time, and absolutely crucial to my daughter’s well-being.
A young woman gave life, against great pressure to do otherwise, to my daughter. My daughter was formed inside her for nine months. She felt my daughter kicking and hiccupping. Having carried a child myself, I know that her body likely never will be quite the same.
She had no support from parents or partner, no stable housing, no Medicaid or insurance to care for a baby with a heart problem. Yet in the two weeks after she gave birth, she met with a social worker several times, agonizing over her decision.
She was my daughter’s mother.
Then a foster mother took the too-tiny baby. She fed her around the clock with a teaspoon, rushed her to the hospital when she had pneumonia, carried her everywhere on her back, lay next to her at night.
She was my daughter’s mother.
My husband and I are my daughter’s only legal parents. Adoption, even open adoption, is not a joint custody agreement. The responsibility and authority are now ours. But there were two others, before me, who nurtured and toiled and loved and sorrowed.
I am the lucky one who will be her mother forever. But we have all been her mothers.
Please see these related blogs:
How Do You Introduce Yourself to Your Own Child? -Part One: Prepare Them
Ease Your Child’s Transition: Learn Cultural Child Care Practices