Parenting
As I look at my three children, I notice they all share a physical trait: my dimples. It’s a distinctive feature that connects us, even as I compare their baby photos and see glimpses of their personalities reflected in one another. My youngest, a 12-week-old son, is nestled in my arms while my 3-year-old plays at the park with his father. Meanwhile, my 17-year-old son is in Virginia, likely settling down for the night in the home of the family who has raised him since birth.
Being a birth mother often leads to complex emotions. When people inquire if my two younger boys are my only children, I find myself hesitating. Should I share the truth of my journey? This feeling might resonate with parents who have lost children—balancing honesty with the discomfort of their loss. Some days, it feels simpler to say, “Yes, these are my only kids,” because, in a sense, they truly are. This admission carries its own weight of pain.
While adoption offers a profound blessing to many, including myself, it comes with its share of heartache. The emotional struggle hasn’t faded for me over time; rather, it has intensified, especially with the birth of my latest son. Recently, I was struck by the awareness that I have a part of myself—a piece of my flesh and blood—living elsewhere, never having been with me. He has always belonged with his adoptive mother, which is how it was meant to be.
I have made peace with my decision since the day I met his parents 18 years ago, yet the ache remains. Having my own children sometimes magnifies this pain—a longing for a connection that will never be. Seventeen years ago, I brought a child into this world, yet I never experienced the nurturing moments or the joy of his milestones. Instead, I have lived my life separately, pursuing education, friendships, and personal growth.
I recognize the privilege of being part of my son’s life, and the bond we share has remained strong. His adoptive mother has become like a sister to me, sharing her love and compassion. She embodies the kind of mother I wish I could have been to him and is a source of strength for me.
Giving birth does not inherently define motherhood; it creates a unique bond that shapes one’s heart and soul. Knowing there is a part of you being nurtured by another can be overwhelming. I carried my son for nine months, and after his birth, I entrusted him to his mother, leaving with him a piece of my heart. I miss my son, who was never truly mine. I am a birth mom.
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Summary
The experience of being a birth mother involves navigating complex emotions, especially when another family raises the child you gave birth to. While adoption can be a blessing, it also carries heartache and longing. The author reflects on her unique bond with her adopted son and the emotional journey of motherhood that extends beyond biological connections.