Sometimes I tell, and Sometimes I don’t



How you came to be our daughter is a complete miracle. Your origins are unique and sacred. I will do everything I possibly can to honor them, treasure them, and not exploit them.

I want you to know everything you would ever want to know about how you came to be ours. Please, ask any and every question your little heart desires. I will withhold nothing.

You are nothing to be ashamed of.

You are everything to be esteemed.

But, dearest daughter, I want you to know something. Because of everything I just mentioned, you may notice that I don’t always freely tell others about your precious journey to us. Certainly, those who matter know. But, when some sweet old lady at the grocery store comments on how you must have inherited your Mommy’s blond hair (hello! I was simply born to be a blond), or where did you get your sky blue eyes, or don’t you and your brother look so much alike, sometimes I just smile and nod.

Sometimes, daughter, I don’t share.

And I want you to know that it is not because of any other reason than that I simply want to employ my mother bear instincts and protect you from puzzled looks, awkward facial reactions, or uncomfortable pauses.

The sweet old ladies of the world can continue to believe you to be mine, genetically, and I will leave it to the embryo adoption ambassadors of the world to preach your message to the masses.




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