Tonight Blythe said to me, without any preamble or context, "You're not my real mom." I was taken aback, but I don't think I let it show. "Keybug is my real mom," she continued. "I came out of her tummy. And I know who my sister and brother are--McKenna and Greyson."
All of that is true, and I agreed with her. I was calm and unemotional on the outside, but inside, I must confess, I felt stabbed to the heart. I have known that those very words, "You're not my real mom," were going to come out of Blythe's mouth one day, I just didn't expect that day to be so soon. I figured it would happen in the throes of a tween/mom fight about what she was wearing or how she was misbehaving, not in the quiet of bedtime at five years old. Blythe is a deep thinker so I tried to explain in simple terms why she lives with us. Keybug is her birthmom, the woman who carried her in her body and who gave birth to her. But Keybug is sick, as Blythe is sick at the moment, but she's not going to get better easily or soon (if ever). Blythe's body will fight the virus she has and in a day or two, she'll be up and busy again, running and jumping and going to school. Keybug, however, won't. She can't take care of herself, much less a child (or two or three), and so Blythe came to our family.
Then I tried to explain that moms are more than just the person who gives birth to you. She is the one who feeds you every day, who takes you to dance, who reads you stories and helps you with your homework. She's the one who gives you a soothing massage when you feel lousy and holds you and rocks you and snuggles you in the middle of the night when you have an ear ache and feel so horrible you want to die. She is the woman who is there day in and day out, putting up with your tantrums, cheering you from the sidelines, coming to school and helping out in your classroom or on field trips. She's the woman who is there for you, in body and mind and spirit, who prays for you and loves you and worries now about what will become of you when you are a teenager and if your spouse will be good to you. A mom is the woman who knows all your favorite things--food, color, game, outfit, story--and works really hard to make sure you can enjoy all your favorite things regularly. She is the person who celebrates your triumphs and cries with you when you fail, who wants everything that is good for you and hopes everyone sees all the good in your and will ignore all the not so good.
I didn't go into all this detail with Blythe because she is sick and was tired and needed to go to bed. But I did tell her that when she was adopted, the judge told me I had to take care of her. She was my responsibility and that I took that responsibility seriously. That was a happy day. And two days later was an even happier day because when she was sealed to us, she became part of our family for eternity. Dad and I love her and rejoice that she is part of us.
At five, how can Blythe possibly understand all that she was saved from when we adopted her? Just as I knew she would one day say, "You're not my real mom," I know the day will come when she will recognize that she was better off with us than with Keybug, as much as Keybug may love her. And I hope I am surprised by that day coming earlier than I think it will. I hope she will come to see how much I love her, with a love that is as real as any love a mother who birthed a child ever had for her daughter.
