Revealing the beginning....

One thing I have learned in my 35 years on this planet, is that there will be many conversations in which we will engage that would be considered, unpleasant or uncomfortable.

We've all had them. There is the conversation your parents have with you to tell you where babies come from, the first time you tell someone you "like them, like them" or the " I don't think I love you anymore" talk.

I have engaged in my share of tough conversations.

I have had the I -like-you- like you-talk with someone who did not feel the same way and I have also filled the other's shoes on occasion. I have had to terminate people from their employment cutting off their livelihood (although I must say I had to get to a point where I realized I didn't fire people, they fired themselves.)

Nothing, however, prepared me for the conversation Tim and I had with Nala yesterday evening.

It isn't as if we didn't try to prepare ourselves. We took the classes, we talked about it, talked to others who had done it before and finally, bought the books. But when it came right down to it, I felt horribly, inexplicably, unprepared.

Last night we let Nala know that she did not grow in my tummy. We told her that she grew in someone else's tummy.

The conversation came about after the books we read concerning adoption. One, entitled Tell Me Again About the Night I was Born, by Jamie Lee Curtis was the first pick. I enjoyed reading my part in the book (Tim read the other pages. We took our cues from Nala who orchestrates bed time reading as if she is conducting a symphony) and she seemed to enjoy it.

Once we had read it a couple of times, we told her that some babies come from mommy's tummy and some come from another tummy, but we get to raise the babies. Or something like that.

She smiled the entire time, kind of a nervous smile believe it or not and even asked whose tummy was she in? I could not bring myself to call her the birth mother, as I didn't want to confuse her. I called her by name.

Nala asked was she too young to take care of her(like in the book) and my first response was "yes". It was easy. Convenient. It was a lie. She is two years older than I am. I recanted and said that she could not provide for her, she didn't have enough money so we took care of her instead.

I told her about the phone call I received asking was I ready for a little girl and I said yes. We told her the next day she came home to us.

The next three minutes seemed like three days as Nala rambled on about doctors and hospitals and tummies and Max. I think it was a mini anxiety attack. We asked her did she have any questions and she said yes, and then went on another three year old rant involving something important to three year olds.

And then she requested the usual things on her bedtime chart, conned Tim into reading one more story and went to sleep.

Tim and I didn't discuss it after it happened. Truthfully, I just wanted to go to bed. And I did, drifting into a sleep that was full of dreams of Nala and myself at an amusement park with roller coasters and lakes in the distance.

It was, by far, one of the scariest conversations I have had to date. The challenge with any conversation you may not necessarily be dreading, but definitely not looking forward to is gaging the reaction of other said party. Trying to figure out a three year old's reaction is impossible.

I also realize that the biggest issue of our letting her know is my (and perhaps Tim) fear she will reject me because I didn't grow her. What if she all of a sudden felt no connection to me? What if she no longer thought of me as her mother? What if she just didn't understand?

Sure, I told her last night that before she came I prayed every night for God to send her to me. That made her smile. Sure, I can tell her of all the things she did when she first came home, how she always waited until I changed her wet diaper and then pooped, or even how I stayed up for two days straight staring at her as she slept because I was afraid something would just happen and she would stop breathing.

Would that be enough?

This morning I woke her up as usual, kissed her up telling her it wasn't me giving her kisses but my lips who had gone awry. She laughed like she always does.


I found myself looking at her, waiting for her to ask something about last nights conversation. I looked to see if she treated me or Tim the slightest bit differently. The morning went by smoothly, even when we put on her socks and shoes (which is easily a time for melt downs in our house for no real reason).

We drove to school and she chuckled in back seat because the woman on the radio could not sing. She talked to Max like she does every morning.

As we approached the front door she asked her usual "Is Sister there?"

"She sure is. Let's go."

I gather her up and walk her to the gate and give her kiss and tell her its my lips not me. She laughs again. I bid her good day and start to walk away when she calls me back. " I didn't kiss you back" she says.

I go back for my kiss and she hugs me real tight, walks to the door and then shouts
" I love you, Mommy!"

" I love you, too, Noodle."

And I do. With all my heart.

My tummy never entered the conversation.

Until the next time,
your recovering fat girl
Mikki