Monday, July 26, 2010
We were driving home from a friend’s house, when Mister spoke up. I turned down the music.
“Remember the picture when Sis was born? She was so messy.”
“That’s right, son. She was so messy when she was first born. And so were you. I know I wasn’t there but it was just the same, I can promise you that.”
Silence confirmed the end of the conversation. I turned the music back up and we kept driving.
The next day I was bathing Mister and looking into the striking almonds of his eyes. I told him that I was so glad I get to be his mom. Without hesitation he asked me plainly, “Did you know someone in my special book had two moms?” I told him that was interesting and asked who he was talking about. He was not really clear, but I did not want to miss the opportunity to talk at a time that felt safe to him. I asked if we could look at his book together so he could explain to me what he was trying to say.
So, fresh and soapy from the tub, he crawled onto my lap and opened the book.
“Not this page. Not this page,” he said casually as he gentle picked up the corners. “This page,” he said, stopping at the picture of his mom and dad with his birthmother. “Did you know I grew in her tummy? And when I came out I was so messy.”
“That is right, sweet Son. You did grow in her tummy and she loved you.”
“But do I have a belly button?”
“Yes, son. Your belly button is right here,” I said giving it a playful poke.
“But nobody cut it. How did it get cut?”
“Baby, the neighbor lady probably cut it, but you had an umbilical cord same as your sister and it attached you to your mother when you were in her tummy. It was the same for you as it is for all babies.”
We continued to look at the book together slowly and I watched his beautiful face as important inquiries bubbled up from his open heart. And I thanked God for this amazing son, his tender questions, and the ways he continues to bravely make sense of his world. And I thanked God, also, for the little bits and pieces that fill the emptiness left by starting over as a toddler, the small and powerful truths that cover, like vernix, new and delicate skin.