Wednesday, April 30, 2014

The genes mattereth not

Yesterday all three of my big kids climbed up next to each other on the couch and
I put on a video for them
while I fed the baby a bottle.

Their blonde and light brown heads were next to each other.
Big brother,
little brother,
littler sister,
and my baby.

Our dog rested at their feet
emitting his morning sighs as he stretched
and turned on his back
begging for a child to scratch his belly.

And as I sat there watching those three heads side-by-side,
sharing the couch and their juice cups
and a big blanket
with the fire crackling a few feet away ...
I couldn't help but think:

And in that moment of motherhood bliss
(which would inevitably be blurred nearly immediately by poopy bottoms and a spilled breakfast and arguing and noise levels far beyond what one person should be privy to)
I was not thinking I love being a biological mom.
I was just thinking I love being a MOM.

I love the hugs.
and the kisses
and the squeezes
and the cuddles.

I love when they call me Ma
and then Mama
and then Mommy
and then back to Mama again.

All of them.

I love their baby feet
and their chubby thighs
and the little dimples
on the tops of their hands.

I love seeing them learn
to read
and write
and spell
and ride their bikes
and catch a ball.

I love seeing them color
and draw
and then searching to find an empty wall
that they can hang their picture on.

And when I am loving all of this,
sharing amazed glances with my husband,
sending him emails at work to share a funny story,
and recollecting over daily events during dinner ...
I am not thinking: I love that they are biologically mine.
My heart is not discerning adopted and biological.
My mind is not recognizing the difference between blood and not.
My being does not care.

Motherhood does not care.

For any of you today wondering if you can love a child not of your flesh just as one born of your womb, please picture my living room -- with a dog that I love (who isn't even human!)

Picture bowls of cereal
and lining up for baths
and taking turns for piggy back rides
and counting M&Ms.

That picture doesn't include genes or DNA.

It includes love.
I love being a mom.
The genes mattereth not.

People spend so much time contemplating whether the love can be the same.

It can.
It will.
It shall.

You will smile wide when you see a little boy crawl across the room to his daddy's arms.
The same smile that you would smile had he been birthed from your womb.
You will rock him,
bathe him,
kiss boo-boos,
tell stories,
calm fears,
read books,
hold hands,
play games,
and love him.


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