There's been a lot of conversation on the blogs I read about what to call the various parents in an adopted child's life.
I've chimed in occasionally with what we do here. BabyGirl calls Mitzie and Raoul by their first names and says that they're her birthmom/dad or her firstmom/dad. I admitted that when she said they're her "real parents," I had a bit of a wobbly feeling. That one hit a little too close to home that, indeed, she didn't grow in my uterus and Mr. Handsome's sperm didn't kick-start my egg.
But, I added. It's not about me. It's about her processing her own story of how she came to be and how she came to be a part of our family. We've always believed that, as parents, it's not our job to do what's easiest or most comfortable for us, it's to do what's right for her. Period. Have I always been successful at living out that credo? Not always, but with regard to her relationship with Mitzie and Raoul, yes. I'm trying to remember that she's only 5 and she's doing her best to figure out some mighty big ideas. And if she wants to call them her real parents, I'll adjust and learn to celebrate that, too, because, after all, they're as real as we are.
So yesterday morning, she came charging into my home office with two folded pieces of paper saying, "These are for my two moms." She made beautiful portraits of us. Mine is hung up already and we put Mitzie's in the mail right away. I know she'll cherish it as much as I cherish mine.
Mitzie, with her lovely hugs-and-kisses top and a crown.
Me, a floating head.