Tummy Mommy

We have started to talk about it recently and it inspires in me a dark, deep-down fear. Your brother looks at the picture on this blog and chirps brightly, with grave knowledge, "That Darrett. That's Darrett in Momma's tummy."

"And Saige," you chitter, "and Saige in your tummy."

Garrett nods gravely. You do every thing together. It is all you know. You are far too innocent and unsullied by our boring world to look at each other's skin and question that it was not always so. That the bond does not stretch back to that quiet water-filled place. Unlike those we meet every day, the jaded masses who know in a glance that you didn't sip from the same uterine cup.

"No babies," I correct again, "not Saige. Saige grew in her tummy mommy's belly, in Haiti." I wish to just say yes, to keep it simple for you for a short time, while you are simple, but I'll never lie to you about this for my own comfort. Not even once. As I speak, my heart clenches in dread for the questions that will follow. Not today. Not yet. But someday. Soon.

Where is she now? I don't know. Why did she take me to an orphanage? She didn't have any way to feed you and she loved you beyond words and thought, way too much to let you starve.

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Stacey is one of the contributing editors for International Adoption. She writes daily at Is There Any Mommy Out There? where she discusses life with her adoptive, multiracial family.