Everyone who has known me for any amount of time, knows that I am adopted. It's nothing I've ever felt the need to keep secret, and for the most part it's something I'm very proud of. The older I get the more meaning it takes on. In every phase of my life, it's meant something different to me. So here's the story.
Now, I realized cover looks extremly sterotypical, but it was the message that stuck with me. Along with reading books with adoption themes, my mom would tell the story of how our family was made. I remember asking her many nights to tell the story of our family. I took comfort in hearing how much my parents loved each other and how much they longed for and chose me. I loved how it was a fact to her that we were made to be a family.
I never struggled with why I was given up for adoption, I knew that I was given up at birth and lived with a foster family for the first three months of my life. The only thing that makes me sad today, is that I have never seen a picture of me as a tiny baby. My mom more than made up for it with my pictures later on :)
I never gave a lot of thought to my birth parents. I really only thought about being adopted when someone else brought it up, or genetics came up at school. I remember thinking it was fun at the doctor when we would tell him we didn't know my health history and he would look at my mom questioning. We would always giggle like it was a inside joke.
In the winter of my Junior year of high school (2003) my mom and I were coming home from some regular errands and we stopped to get the mail. When we pulled up to the mailbox, we had no idea that what it held would begin a whole new chapter of my life.
to be continued...