Can You Love as Much? Adopted Vs. Biological Children

I am the mother of ten children. Seven are biological, and my youngest three are adopted from the foster care system.

As a biological mother for 33 years, I've read a lot of parenting books and even taken some classes. It seemed no one ever doubted that a biological mother loves her child totally and unconditionally.

As an adoptive mother for almost three years, I've also read a lot of books, taken classes, and I've joined some adoption and foster/adoption lists over the internet. This has been invaluable to me, helping me learn issues I didn't know that adopted children would have, as I've gotten to know all members of the 'triad': adoptive mothers like myself, the first, or birth mothers who have given up or lost their children, and adoptees, themselves.

One thing I was not expecting is the statement I seem to hear on a regular basis: "There is no way you can love an adopted child the same way you love a biological child."

I am always taken back by this statement. It causes the mother bear in me to rise up. I heard this statement yet again this morning, and it has caused me to think about all the children I am raising.

My biological children grew in my body, and I saw them for the first time after giving birth, a time full of blood, pain and much effort. They were placed in my arms, wet and warm, and they were mine from the moment of their conception.

My adopted children came to me at various times. My first adopted child, a boy, was taken from his first mother at birth. He was actually my oldest daughter's foster child, and came into her foster home to join his older brother and sister. My husband and I began to pursue our foster/adopt license hoping to adopt the older children - who already had a termination date set - before we knew this little boy was on the way. In the end, the mother got the older children back, but relinquished her baby. Although we thought he would then become our son, there was one social worker who was determined to place him somewhere else, and thus began my 'labor' with him. It was also long, hard and painful, and full of tears before God intervened and we were able to adopt him. I still look at this little boy with awe; I can hardly believe he is my son, even now, after almost three years.

Our second adopted child came to our own foster home at the age of two years and seven months. It was nearly a year before we knew what would happen with her, as her drug addicted, mentally ill mother struggled and fell, struggled and fell. There was no doubt she loved this little girl, but she just could not make it. She was not able to keep herself safe, much less a little girl. A year and eight months after she came to live with us, this little girl became our daughter.

About six weeks after her adoption was final, her full sibling baby brother came to live with us. He liked one day being six months old. He had been in another foster home while some family members worked on getting custody of him. But when it was certain that the parents of these two children would not make it once again, they asked if we would adopt him and let him grow up with his sister. We said yes, of course. Eight months later, his adoption was final, and he is our son now, too.

Do I love these three children as much as I love my seven biological children? That is not a question that even crosses my mind to ponder. I have taken the responsibility to raise them. I am the mommy now. The training of these little lives is in my hands, just like it is for the children I gave birth too.

I have held my little adopted daughter as she grieved for the first mommy she lost. I have spent hours researching, trying to make sure I say the right things, feel the right way, and allow her what she herself needs to feel. I have learned not to be threatened by a mommy that was there first. Just as I have been there for my older children during the love losses in their own lives, I am here for this tiny, vulnerable little girl.

I have sat up nights during the asthma attacks and RSV of my first adopted son. The fear watching him struggle to breath could not have been greater if I had given birth to him. I have prayed over his little head just as I have prayed over the heads of my biological babies.

I have worked through the attachment problems of my second adopted son, who was just in too many homes, and had too many mommies during his first six months of life to learn to trust anyone. I stood strong as he pushed me away, and brushed away tears of joy as he finally turned to me and accepted me as his mother.

I know that the big toe of my youngest biological daughter is shorter than her other toes. I know the middle toes of my youngest adopted son is shorter than his other toes. I know where a freckle is that no one else can see on the body of one of my biological children, and I know where a freckle is that no one else can see on the body of one of my adopted children. I know where the birth marks are on the chest and foot of one of my biological sons, and also where the almost identical birth mark is on the back of my adopted son's leg. I know that my adopted daughter's toenails don't grow just right, just like I knew where a 'bump' was on the foot of my oldest biological daughter.

I know my twelve year old daughter is not ready to stay alone in the house by herself. I know my adopted daughter still cries in her sleep. I know both my biological and adopted daughters love Polly Pockets and American Girl dolls. I know my oldest adopted son wants to be just like his big brothers.

I have held the heads of all ten children as they threw up. I have coaxed just one more bite into the mouths of babies who didn't want to eat the right foods. I have changed poopy diapers on them all. I have kissed them when their noses were runny. I have watched in terror as they came running to me with blood dripping from various places. I have walked the floors with them; I have rolled on the floor in play with them. I am their mommy. They are my children

We are a family. Everyone one of us is different, and yet, we are all alike as we live together. The Bible says in John 15:13 "Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends."

I know I would die for any of my ten children. I don't have time for anyone who tries to tell me I couldn't possibly love my adopted children as much as my biological children. I'm too busy raising and loving them for that!