Who is Your ‘Real’ Mother?

Adoption awareness month is coming to an end and I wanted to share this blog written by a guest blogger. As adoptive parents we hear our children asked this question so frequently, and our children hear it much more frequently. It can be a tough question to answer but the writer makes it so clear that children can easily understand. Hopefully this story will help parents also and open a conversation with your children, both adopted and not…

Trying2Express Blog

The following is the first in my series of blogs on the topic of adoption. This is written by a guest blogger who wishes to remain anonymous. I feel it’s the perfect story to open the subject, as it touches on one of the most difficult questions adopted children and families face. There are many ways to answer this question, but I feel the analogy the writer makes here is treated beautifully, with respect to all those involved in the adoption triad. The adoption triad includes birth family, adoptive family and child. I cannot express my gratitude enough to the writer for sharing one of her personal experiences which will hopefully shed a little light on a sensitive topic.  

Who is Your Real Mother?

Over two decades ago, my husband and I adopted a six-year-old girl from another country.  Since Elaina, as I’ll call her, did not speak our language, or look at all like us, or the…

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How It All Began

Because it’s Adoption Awareness Month I was looking through my blogs to repost a previous one on adoption. I thought this was it, but instead realized I veer off topic rather frequently. So, it all began with Melissa’s adoption and somehow turned into a massage. This was in the early days of introducing myself and my family, so in some small way it makes sense. It did all begin with adoption—that life-changing, redefining moment–the story of who I was and who I am today…

Trying2Express Blog

The decision to adopt was an easy one.   The process of adoption was much more difficult.  The bureaucracy, the agencies, the paperwork, the discussions, the classes, the prying into our personal lives, proved to be exhausting.  The final payoff though, was worth every agonizing moment. 

Our Social Worker quietly whispered to my husband and I that she would like to see us in her office after the group concluded.  “Could there be a problem,” I wondered?  “Did we get a negative reference?  Was there more paperwork?”  It was too early in the process for her to have a child identified for us. 

The class seemed to go on forever and the anticipation was growing stronger.  Finally 9:00 rolled around; we helped her straighten up the room and said good-bye to our fellow classmates.  We met in her office where she pulled out a note, which was tucked under other paperwork…

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