In the grand scheme of things, nine months isn’t terribly long. That is how long we have been Tripp’s parents. His first Christmas with us he was 2.5 months old. He was still our foster son. Last Christmas, he was one years old and technically he was a ward of the state. This Christmas, at two years old was his first as our son and we loved every minute. Due to covid and him being high risk it was a quieter year. We intentionally did less Christmas crazy. We definitely celebrated through the eyes of our two toddlers and it was wonderful.
On Christmas eve, while my little boys were napping, I was sitting on my couch just watching the Christmas tree. It was a quiet moment, which is sometimes rare with multiple toddlers in the house. I decided that it was a good time to reach out to both of my kids’ first mothers. I try to reach out three days a year….mothers day, their birthdays, and Christmas.
I opened my phone and the text message conversation with Tripp’s first mom. The last message was my message to her on his birthday in October. I was reminded that I never got a response. I scrolled up and saw the last things I did receive from her. It was on mothers day and it was a short but nice exchange. I hesitated as I typed the message I wanted to send her for Christmas. I erased and retyped several times and then finally hit send. Two days later, I still haven’t heard from her. She is notorious for changing her phone number several times a year. I never have the new one until she reaches out, but that is becoming very rare.
Here lies the paradox of foster care.
Tripp is undoubtedly my son both legally and every other way. I will forever believe with my whole heart that he was born to be my son. He will never know a day when he isn’t a Murphy. I know where his freckles are. I know what he’s allergic to and where his tickle spots are. I know what his favorite foods are and the face he makes when he says, “love you mama” is firmly tattooed in my memory. I am that little boy’s mama.
But, I didn’t give birth to him. She did. She carried him and named him. She went through the pain of birthing him. She heard his first cry and very likely was the first thing his little eyes opened to see. He has her chin and the shape of their eyes is identical.
The greatest joy of my life was born to another woman. Because of the pure and true love we have for our son, Ryan and I will always hold our son’s birth parents in positive regard. We will always be connected to them. It is because of that deep love I get a little emotional and maybe sad when she doesn’t respond. I know that sounds so crazy.
It’s confusing and I struggle putting how it makes me feel into words or why I have them at all when he is my son now. Maybe it’s because I think my son deserves the world. Maybe it’s because I sincerely want his first mom to be safe, warm, and healthy. Maybe it’s because this is all just a reminder of the brokenness he was born into. Maybe it’s just a reminder why God entrusted him to me as my son. Maybe it’s because I want to protect him from all hurt feelings both now and looking into the future. Or, maybe it’s because I can’t protect him from the past.
Adoption is weird, and messy, and beautiful, and hard, and the craziest journey.
If I heard from his first mom today, I would tell her I hoped she was safe, healthy, and warm. I would tell her I hoped she had a nice Christmas. I would tell her that the little boy we both love is growing too fast. I would tell her that he loves Christmas trees, Christmas lights, and all things snow men. I would tell her he is loved and has the best smile.
It’s confusing I know, and maybe one day it won’t be as hard to explain. For today, I will hug the little boy I am madly in love with.
Merry Christmas all,
Koko