The Day I Wish All Moms Could Have
Please catch my newspaper column each week in the Atlanta Journal Constitution, the Dayton Daily News and other newspapers across Ohio. Here’s this week’s column:
It seems unfair.
It’s something so wonderful I wish all moms could have it.
And yet, only a small minority of us get to.
My fellow adoptive Moms, this is the column you could’ve written.
That Sad Look
You know that sad look some people give when they see someone who came to motherhood through adoption?
That, “Oh, but you didn’t get to experience the miracle of childbirth” look? Sniff. Sniff. Dab tear.
No, we didn’t.
But here’s the thing, Moms.
We all get something.
I figured out you just have to love the thing you get.
My thing, my daughter’s and my thing is coming up next week.
It’s our anniversary.
Our first, actually.
A day to tear up when we think how one year ago, we stood in the judge’s chambers and watched as she signed the papers.
A day to say, “Sweet Daughter, she made you mine. She made me yours.”
Miracles? You want miracles?
How about a day to revel in miracle that a single dad found me four years after his first wife passed away?
I’ll take that miracle.
How about how a day to marvel how he found someone who always wanted to be a mom, but had given up on that dream?
I’ll take that miracle.
How about a day to get weak in the knees when I think how a man who would love and trust me enough to help raise his only child?
I’ll take that miracle. Somewhere in the world a man has given a woman a huge diamond, furs, and fancy cars. I know, however, no one has ever given the woman he loved a bigger gift, than the gift of his child.
And so here we are a year later.
You better believe we’re going to celebrate!
A year of starting high school, messy rooms, French braids, volleyball, trips far and wide.
12 months of personal taxi service, sharing secrets, learning how others should treat you.
Some of it has been joyful. Some of it exhausting.
Sweet Daughter, I’ve managed to stamp my “Mom” card by embarrassing you by “acting so weird” in front of your friends.
And you’ve have stamped your daughter card by acting beautifully in front of mine.
Some families call this their “Gotcha Day” because it is the day they got their kid.
That doesn’t quite fit for us, since I feel like I got you the day I met you which turned out to be almost 3 years before the judge made us legal last year. How many kids get to test drive their new mom before saying, “Yep, I’ll take her. She’s a keeper.
Moms and kids everywhere can celebrate each other on birthdays. Those are great.
We get one more—a day celebrate that we chose each other.
What will we do? Take a trip? Go to dinner? High tea? Shop? Cuddle?
It has yet to be decided. We get to choose just like we chose each other.
What I Will Say
One thing is set—I know what I will tell you on our special day.
That I’ve met Presidents, walked Oscars’ Red Carpet, traveled with rock stars—
Getting to be your mother, Sweet Daughter, is the great honor of my life.
I will tell you, that though I never met your first mom, I just know she felt the same.
Look at you—just a young teenager and already the highlight of two women’s lives.
So, I say, Sweet Daughter, Happy First Anniversary.
I choose you all over again.
The chance to say that? It’s not the same as carrying you inside my body for nine months. No, it’s not.
But it’s part of our miracle, one I wouldn’t change.
Well, except the part where this all going by too fast, something that all moms, all kinds understand all too well. That part is really not fair.