Birth Mothers. Biological Mothers. First Mothers. Natural Mothers. Even though I’m not really comfortable with any of these terms, I want to talk to you. You women who carried these children first. Mostly, I just want to call those women who gave birth to my children by their first names. And I don’t really even care if my children call you, “Mom.”
We are, you know, both of us moms. And I love you. Okay, so to be honest, I don’t love you every hour of every day, but often at unsuspected times, I simply love you.
Maybe you don’t understand that love. I get it. One day, a few years back, a woman waved a handwritten letter at me and said, “The couple who adopted my baby just wrote me and said they loved me. They can’t love me.”
“Well, they do,” I said. “It’s a weird kind of miracle, that when we love your baby, that love extends to you.”
“That’s crazy,” she said.
“It is,” I agreed.
Besides loving you, we’re grateful to you. Oh, not every hour of every day. Definitely in the early years, the gratitude is pretty consistent, but, uh, maybe later on there are a few nights when we kneel to pray and forget to express thanks to you. Sometimes, when the replacement transmission for that girl’s car cost $4,000, I’m not so grateful. Sometimes when I haven’t slept because that boy has stayed out all night, I’m not feeling gratitude. But the rest of the time, yes, we are.
Because of that love and gratitude, we don’t want you isolated. Please, come to the social workers, or the agency, or someone to have your feelings validated.
Because, that’s what moms do—adoptive mothers, birth mothers, first mothers—they stick together.
The above blog was written by an adoptive mother who really does love birth moms. You can read more about her at Motherhood in Black and White.