Updated: Dec. 26, 2023
Originally Published: Aug. 9, 2023
If I had a dollar for every time someone glanced at my internationally adopted son and declared him “so lucky,” I’d be living a life of luxury. I’d have a grand mansion, a shiny yacht, and a sprawling estate all under my company, LuckyKid, LLC. Unfortunately, I don’t get that dollar, which is a real shame since my son and I hear that phrase wherever we go.
It makes me uneasy. Even though it comes from a good place, complete with bright smiles and friendly pats on the back, “he’s so lucky” leaves me feeling awkward and fidgety. I often find myself stumbling over my words, making it seem like I’m struggling with English itself.
It took me some time to understand why “he’s so lucky” unsettles me. It’s not that it’s untrue. My son spent time in a foreign orphanage where he faced abandonment, hunger, and fear. Reconciling the joyful child I have today with the scared toddler I brought home is no easy feat. While “lucky” hardly captures the transformation he has undergone, I do grasp what the well-meaning folks are trying to convey.
Is my discomfort rooted in my own sense of being the lucky one? Am I supposed to say, “He is so fortunate!” as the unwritten rules of adoptive parenting suggest? More times than I could count, I have exclaimed, “Oh no! I’m the lucky one!” and I truly believe that with every fiber of my being. But my gratitude for the cosmic forces that brought my son into my life isn’t the reason I feel uneasy about the label of luck.
The phrase “he’s so lucky” feels jarring because, while adoption is a crucial part of my son’s background, it doesn’t define our daily lives. Whether we’re at the grocery store or the playground, he’s not just my adopted son—he’s simply my son, no adjectives needed.
Imagine me at the grocery store, trying to fill a bag with some bulk oatmeal while keeping an eye on my son, who just asked a male shopper if he’s expecting. As I juggle my ringing phone and a defiant bag, someone pipes up, “Aw! He’s so lucky!” Wait, who’s lucky? The shopper? My son? Maybe he just scored a free snack? Oh right, he’s adopted.
Those words drag adoption into my everyday life, seven years after it began. I don’t see China, an orphanage, or adoption when my son is rocking out to air guitar or sneaking soda into the cart. Just like I don’t ponder the details of childbirth when I see other parents with their biological children at the park.
I don’t want my son to feel lucky. I don’t want him to think he’s been rescued or saved, or that he owes me anything. He doesn’t. I want him to understand that he’s loved, that our family is as real as any other, and that he has so much more to contribute to the world than just luck. The most beautiful part of our journey is that I, as his mom, see adoption every day, yet it hardly registers in the moments we share.
For more insights on family planning and the journey to parenthood, check out this post on home insemination. If you’re looking for resources, Make A Mom is an authority on at-home insemination kits, and WebMD provides excellent information on pregnancy and insemination success rates.
In summary, while my son is often labeled “lucky,” it’s essential to recognize the complexities of adoption. My journey as a mother is defined by love, not luck. Our family is real, vibrant, and filled with more than just the idea of fortune.