How Being Adopted Has Shaped My Life

I am a 37 year old woman who was adopted at two years of age by my maternal grandparents. My mother died of a brain aneurysm at the age of 28. My father was a career criminal with no interest in raising a child. To this day, I have never met him or any other members of my father's side of the family. This has presented various emotions throughout my life. As a child I was terribly curious, as an adolescent I was bitter and now as an adult, the main concern is the lack of knowledge regarding genetic history. What predispositions do I have and therefore passed onto my children? For most of my life, I have struggled with where exactly I fit into my family tree. It has always been biology vs.legality. My parents were genetically my grandparents, my brothers my uncles. It is important to note, this all internal. My parents considered me their daughter, my brothers their sister. To them there was no question, for me it was always a question. I dreaded getting the "family tree" assignment. I dreaded my parents coming to any school functions because invariable someone would ask me why my parents were so old compared to everyone else's. I was fully aware of the circumstances since I was seven or eight, but even to this day, I struggle with when to tell people, of I even have to.

I realize the tone of this article is extremely somber and I don't mean it to be. I have always been loved, supported, fed, clothed and cherished. My mother was my mother in every sense of the word. But, like most adopted children, I have always wondered if she loved me even just a teensy bit less than my brothers because I was essentially her grandchild, not born of her womb. I got my answer at twenty eight.

After a beautiful, healthy pregnancy, I was the proud mother of a bouncing baby girl. The nurse placed her in my arms and I waited for that overwhelming wave of love to wash over me for this tiny little thing that had my nose and eyes. And, I waited. And I waited some more.It never came. Not like what I read about and took for granted would happen the moment my baby came into the world. I was horrified.I felt even worse later that night when my husband told me how he felt the moment our daughter was born. HE had the feeling, why didn't I? What was wrong with me?

The answer is nothing. After confiding to a friend who gave birth the week before and finding out that she had the same experience and also was worried about it, I relaxed. And then one day, about three weeks later, after feeding, bathing, dressing and consoling her became my whole life, I realized that I was completely and utterly in love with my baby. I would do anything to make her happy and god help the person who tried to do her any harm or even not hold her in the correct way!

It was then that I realized that being a mother is not about the nine months leading up to the birth of your child. It is the experience of raising a child that makes a mother and a child. The smiles and the tears. All those miraculous "firsts", and oh, the love.More love than you think your heart can hold. I only wish my mother was still alive so I could tell her "I get it."

Somehow, I think she knows.