Baby B: Mommy! Mommy, look!
Baby B: I get A. Il faut regarder… (shows me language arts homework)…T’as vu ca? Ca, c’est A!
me: Waaw, Babacar, c’est bien, ca.
Baby B: Yes. Tout ce que je fais c’est awesome. Hallelujah!
Babay B: C’est pour cela je vais avoir beaucoup l’argent. I do excellent… (walks away, praising self and giggling)
Baby B posing with “his” yellow mums after church
I have stopped pretending like I don’t know who Baby B is talking to when he screams out “Mommy!” I don’t know who told him my given name wasn’t good enough, and I suspect manipulation on his part, but everyone knows it’s cruel to tell a clingy 2nd grader that you’re-not-his-mom-and-please-call-me-Marissa. “Legal guardian” was just fine with me, and I was slowly growing into “future step-mom.” However, having read the heartbreaking (mostly because of folks’ responses, or lack thereof) story about the 15 year old who wants someone–anyone–to adopt him, I’ve decided to surrender and let Baby B adopt me. It feels like a loss of many things–independence not the least of them–but you have to let the kid win. And THAT–letting the kid win– is what makes me a…ugh…Mommy, for
awkward better or for worse.
If you’re interested in being adopted, please check out Davion Only’s story. I know there is someone who has room in their life for that amazing, inspiring child.