Dear Birthmother
Amy Medina
My children are mine, no doubt about it. Legally, emotionally, forever and always, through late-night fears and throw-up on the floor, first toddling steps, fingerprints on the walls, bright scrawled drawings on my refrigerator.
They grin at me and yell "Mommy!" when the tooth comes out.
They look to me and whine, "Mommy............" when life is unfair.
They cling to me and whisper, "Mommy" when the doctor comes at them with a needle.
I am Mommy. But you are too.
There is a part of them that is yours, and always will be. I look for you sometimes, in their faces, in their movements, in their reactions. I wonder if you have the same shoulder dimples, if you have the same almond-shaped eyes, if you have that slight frame.