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Daughter

She received her birthday present from me the other day. Her Mom let me know that she loved one of the gifts that I included. (Of note: five year old girls love beads.) I was pleased that I picked something that met her approval. I was pleased that she was enjoying something that I sent for her.

I didn’t send a card. The boys did. I helped my oldest son write his name and a message. The letters he writes on his own aren’t quite letters yet. And I helped my youngest son hold the purple marker and scrawl out his name as well. He loves to make marks on paper. Or our chalkboard in the playroom. Until he decides that he wants to eat the chalk. All the same, the boys sent a simple construction paper card.

But I did not.

I buy Munchkin’s cards whenever I find one that says something that I want to say. Years and years ago, you know, five of them, I asked her Mom if it was appropriate for me to buy birthday cards with the word “daughter” on them. She gave me the go ahead and I have been doing that for five years now. I mean, I had the card this year. I had it pulled out when I wrapped up the present. But I didn’t sign it. And I didn’t place it in the package. And I left it sitting on our table for two days after the package was sent before I retired it to the box where I keep all of our cards.

Early on, I suppose, it was important to me to be able to refer to her as daughter. It was important to me for her to know that I was a mother to her in some form or fashion. It is not as if that inner need has magically disappeared exactly. My inability to send the card this year is also not based on the whole alleged confusion factor that those against open adoption want to blame for the faults of the world.

It’s very strange.

Parenting these boys has changed me in so many ways. I see things a bit differently. As an example, I do not need to buy either of them cards with the word “son” plastered all over in order for them to understand who I am to them and what I do for them at any given time. Maybe I’m hoping that the Munchkin views me in the same way. She does know who I am and I hope that, in time, she realizes what I do for her. It is not that I do not feel that she is my daughter or that I do not feel as if I am a mother to her in some form or fashion. Perhaps it is more of a point where I am falling into place with my role in her life. I am finding a comfort level in how she views me, how she responds to me and how she speaks with me. Maybe that fear that she won’t ever recognize me as a mother is dissipating five long years later.

I don’t know the specific reasons. But I didn’t send the card. I willfully made the decision. And, yes, part of me feels guilty even though the rational part of me understands the complex reasonings behind that decision.

All the same, she will always be my one and only daughter. And I’m finding peace in that fact.