Are you my Mother?

Something has been on my mind for the past couple of weeks, thanks to questions asked by a curious friend.

As a lot of you know, I'm adopted. My parents adopted me when I was two months away from turning three, so almost the same age as Cael is now. I know absolutely nothing about my birth parents, and very little about my life before the adoption. I know I spent some time in a foster home, but I don't know how long. If I go by pictures, then I THINK I was placed in care at about the age of 18 months. I say this because I have very few photos of myself as a baby, and the ones I do have are so blurry you can barely make out my features. (I do see a lot of me as a baby in my kids though, no matter what the MIL says…) There are a lot more photos of me as a toddler, which makes me think that my birth parents took very few pictures, but my foster family took more when I was placed with them. One of the few baby pictures shows me at about nine months old with a black eye.

I had fallen down the stairs in my walker at the babysitter's (according to the picture caption) and had spent some time in the hospital. Notice that I am sitting/standing in…the walker. The photo was taken the same day I got home from the hospital. Great.

So now, here I am. Thirty-one, married and two kids. I still have no idea who my parents are or where they are. I don't know how old they were when I was born, I don't know the circumstances surrounding my foster care and adoption. All I do know is that Jon and I aren't related…mom checked when we got engaged.

My brother was also adopted, four years after me. I remember very clearly being allowed to take the day off school so we could go pick him up, and I was the first to hold him. He was only three months old and so tiny! My parents were thrilled to have the opportunity to care for an infant, since I was well beyond that stage when they got me. They happily got up for night feedings, made bottles, changed diapers and wiped spit-up. And he was an incredibly good baby. So happy and giggly…I had so much fun with him! Especially when he got to the jolly jumper stage…he loved it when I would pull him back and let him swing through the doorframe. Until mom caught me…she wasn't too impressed.

My parents have always been very open about my brother and me being adopted. I'm sure they would have answered any questions we may have had growing up, but we just never asked. Partly because we were happy, loved and well cared for…why would we question such a great life? Neither of us have ever used the "you're not my real parents" thing in a fight and I can't imagine what that would have done to them…my mom for sure would have been devastated. Because as far as I'm concerned, they are my parents. They are Mom and Dad, while my biological parents are known as my Mother and Father. I don't share DNA with Mom and Dad, but they've raised and nurtured me to become the person I am now. And I think I turned out pretty good! I'm polite (which I'm sure came from growing up in the political spotlight, with dad always being involved at some level), environmentally aware and vote New Democrat. All from them.

Which leads me to the nature versus nurture debate. I think I'm a LOT like my parents. I have a temper, which most attribute to the hair and that I MUST have some Irish blood in there somewhere. But my mom is pretty firey herself…so it may have come from watching her. I'm fairly scientifically minded. My dad has a BSc in biology and is always interested in all things scientific. My mom is insanely mathematical….I'm SO not. She does Sudoku like its going out of style…she loves it. But she is also bookish…and so am I. When I was a kid/teen you'd never see me without my nose in a book. We'd go to the library every weekend and my mom and I would each get a few books each and read them all within the week. I knew from a young age that I wanted to be a broadcaster, and threw myself into school. Didn't get a job even remotely related to my training, but that's ok…the interest was there to take the course, and I'd still love to get back into it in some form someday. I'm sure that comes from my dad…he could sit and watch the news all day, as could I. I love cats. So does my mom. Although I have a toddler photo of myself at the foster home petting the resident cat, a big fat calico, practically curled up in the chair with her.


When I was pregnant with Cael, it was pretty much understood that I would breastfeed. And use cloth diapers. (Actually, that's how I broke the news to them that I was pregnant…I handed Mom a Kissaluvs diaper and asked if she could replicate it since she is a good sewer). Mom was thrilled about both. Little did I know that her biggest disappointment of not having biological children is to be able to breastfeed. If she were to adopt today and knew more about the options, she would have done induced lactation. And she used cloth on my brother until he got such bad rashes that she switched. I had no idea of these things until I was pregnant.

So where do I get the traits mentioned? IS it from Mom and Dad, or Mother and Father?

I look at my brother. He is very artistic. So NOT like mom and dad. Neither of them have any artistic ability whatsoever. But since we grew up in small town Nova Scotia, a man who is an artist MUST be gay. Unfortunately my brother is easily swayed by public opinion and decided against taking any art courses. For a time he wanted to go to chef school, but changed his mind for the same reason he didn't pursue any art training. He hasen't taken any training since he graduated high school six years ago. He just doesn't know what he wants to do, and won't go with what he's good at. Now he's working as telephone support for a high tech company. And its looking like he's going to go west at some point to work on the oil rigs. He does have an excellent work ethic, which would come from both parents…my dad grew up a farmer and my mom was in a military family. Both pretty strict. So I guess it’s a mix…he gets the artistic ability from someone, and is sure as hell isn't mom or dad.

Usually I don't even think about being adopted. Its part of who I am. But sometimes I get a pang…I'd like to know who my parents are. When I'm home I look at people in the street, wondering if we're related. Who do I get my fast metabolism from? And the hair? And the damn freckles? Do my kids have any traits from them? What are their occupations? Do I have brothers/sisters/nieces/nephews somewhere? What happened that I ended up in foster care? I'd even like to touch base with my foster family, more than anything to thank them for taking care of me until a more permanent family was found.

But somehow I don’t think I'll ever find out who they are, let alone meet them. And that's ok. I am very lucky to have parents who have supported me in whatever I wanted to do, and I wouldn't trade it for the world.