Birth Moms.

     My Zeke always kicks me in the heart when I'm least expecting it.  He was apologizing for pouring a large cup of water on my chest (don't ask) when his sparkly eyes welled up with tears.  This kid repents like no other.  We snuggled it out and began talking about his favorite goodnight story: the time we first met.  I love telling him how the moment I saw him, my heart popped and I just ran to him.  Usually he than asks what I did to get to him  home, but tonight was different.

"What does my birth mom look like, Mama?"

     Sigh.  I have had many little talks about our birth moms.  The scientific, evidence-based corner of my brain knows that developmentally, Zeke can only process concrete thoughts.  So this is what I said:

"I am sure that your birth mom had caramel skin, like you do and I bet that her eyes were sparkly like your eyes.  Probably her hair was fuzzy soft like a teddy bear.  She didn't have water or food or space and she knew that Daddy and I did.  She knew that God made me to be your mom."

     For tonight, that was enough to satisfy Zeke's little heart.  I know that there will be many, many more conversations regarding this woman.  I want to honor her by portraying her decision as one of sacrificial love.  I like to believe that she loved my little boy so much, that her actions were for his best interest.  In my mind's eye, I see her longing to give him everything that every child deserves: two parents, a home, love, the abundance of basic necessities like clean water and food every day.  I won't ever know the whole story but I know the best part.  That Ezekiel is mine.