Dear Ms. Campbell,
While the two of us couldn’t seem to have more vastly different lives (you’re a famous model and mom of one, I’m a mom of 8 who just finished eating a Valentine Ding Dong treat she pilfered from her kids’ stash) we do have something in common. We’re both older women parenting babies. We’re about a decade apart, but I feel like we belong to the same club. We’re more seasoned, more wise, more aware of our resources and we want to enjoy every minute with our babies since we know we may not have as many years together as women who added to their family in their twenties.
I read an interview you did as part of appearing on the cover of “Vogue” with your beautiful daughter, but one part of the interview gave me pause. Apparently you were private about your journey to motherhood (which seems to be a rarity these days). Maybe because you were so quiet, people have assumed you adopted your daughter. In refuting that assumption, you said the child “isn’t adopted” and added, “she’s my child.”
I take issue with that language choice.
Most of my kids came to me through adoption. One international adoption, four adoptions through foster care and one precious foster baby whose adoption process is just beginning. I did not conceive them, did not grow their bodies, did not give birth to them, and yet I can promise you that each one is fully “my child.”
I’m the one they turn to when they have a bad dream. I’m the one who makes their dinner and kisses their scratches and helps with math homework (even though I LOATHE math homework). I’m also the one who has answered their tough questions about their birth families. I’ve learned to do hair that’s so different from mine. I’ve invested hours and hours in education about how to be the parent they need to help them navigate the trauma of adoption, or deal with their history, or their cultural identity. While we are both older parents with a little one in our home, I’m dealing with an extra layer of parenting demands. And do you know why I do that happily and with great tenacity?
Because these kids are MY children. They are my responsibility. They are my joy.
And yet, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in becoming a parent through adoption, it’s that my kids are never really “mine” to own. Not my foster kids, not my adopted kids and not my biological kids. They are gifted to me for a short time to provide them with nurture and structure to help them become who they were meant to be. My hope is that in doing this mothering well, they will someday choose me after they no longer need me to help them navigate their daily lives. I’m doing my best to steward their lives well because they aren’t mine to own. They are mine to love and treasure and to release into the world.
I also share them with the families that loved them first. That level of involvement changes with the desires of all parties involved, but as much as they are “mine” they are also “theirs”. The best thing I can do for my kids is to help facilitate the interactions they want with the people they came from and help them establish a connection to their communities. And why do I do that with passion and security in my role, even when those interactions are hard?
It’s because these are My children. My job is to meet their needs, even when it would be easier to pretend they didn’t have those needs.
I don’t think there’s an intention to offend when someone clarifies that their child is biologically theirs, but the words we use matter. They have consequences. I will never refer to my biological children as “my own” as though their adopted siblings aren’t my own. They are equally my children. If your desire is to let people know that this child is biologically related to you, that desire is not what’s offensive. I can understand why as an older mom it may be something you want to be clear on. But here’s how you do it. You say, “My daughter isn’t adopted. She’s my biological child.”
I’m happy to address these language issues when they come up. They need to be confronted because they contribute to the idea that adopted kids and their relationships with their adoptive parents and siblings are somehow lesser. Other. Different. Something other than “real”. I can tell you with full and total certainty that the love and connection I have for my child born in Africa and my child born in a hospital in my city while I was blissfully unaware and the children I birthed from my own body— it’s all the same. I will forever be correcting people who ask me about my “own” kids when what they mean is “biological” kids even when that makes a conversation take an uncomfortable turn.
And I will do that because these are MY children. I’m proud to be their mom. I will make sure everybody knows it.