Lunch

“Is there any more sauce?”

“Can I get some more water?”

“So I was reading that part where Jonas gets to the—”

“What’s the name of the mommy whose belly I came out of, again?”

And again, right there, I am struck.

Struck by the simple acceptance that our family has fostered in the role of adoption in all of our lives.

Struck by the fact that right there, over leftovers, thoughts of a birthmom he has no memory of have floated to the very forefront of his mind.

Struck by the fact that he is comfortable enough to ask.

Struck by the fact that I can answer, without skipping a beat, without making this a thing, without feeling a surge in my heart.

Struck by the fact that no one else at the table squirms or feels uncomfortable.

I remind him of her name, the woman who chose to allow him life, the woman who made choices both before and after his birth that were brave and awful and wise and terrifying.

He nods, and goes back to his spaghetti, twirling some noodles on the tines of the fork he holds with his left hand, like her.

“Can we go to the park today?”

“I spilled my water!”

“What’s for dinner?”

He looks up again, and I wait for the next question, which could be anything. Something he’s already asked, something new that has occurred to him. I smile and wait while he formulates his thoughts.

“Mom,” he says finally, “How do butterflies get out of those cocoons if they don’t have an egg tooth like a chick?”

And like that, we have moved on. 10427349_10152557212222472_3929662445571516627_n

 

4 thoughts on “Lunch

  1. <3 I love that he can ask and you can answer and that life goes on. Because that is the most important thing – that the love in his life goes on. <3

  2. I love this about kids. Everything has value and should be discussed as soon as it’s thought about. I don’t know what I’m going to do when my kids outgrow that stage.

  3. This still makes me smile.
    I thank God for making families both in the usual way and in the un-usual way.

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