This guest post is by An Adoptive Mother Who Is No Longer Waiting.
I didn’t carry him inside of me,
so when he kicks my belly from the outside
and kneads his toes into my skin
as he snuggles up beside me,
I wonder how this would feel
if my skin was turned inside-out.
I didn’t carry him inside of me,
so when people tell me their concerns
about the dangers of co-sleeping
I smile and nod and think
about how I’m making up for the 9 months
he co-slept inside of someone else.
I didn’t carry him inside of me,
so my love of baby-wearing was immediate,
strong, and visceral.
I didn’t carry him inside of me, so I
carried him on me, in soft wraps
filled with sleepy dust.
I didn’t carry him inside of me,
so I pay attention to replications
of his time spent in somebody else’s belly.
I look for moments of comparison.
I didn’t carry him inside of me, but it’s me
who carries him, cares for him, now.
— An Adoptive Mother Who Is No Longer Waiting.
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