“We’re a family now, isn’t that weird?” I whispered into Velma’s ear.
And then it hit me. As we laid there in each other’s arms in the hospital bed, with our new little boy downstairs tethered to monitors and IV, it hit me. And the emotion I felt made me cry uncontrolled tears.
In that moment, I unlocked in my head some tiny, different meaning of the word family that I’d never understood in quite that way before.
I was adopted, and I’ve never met my biological parents. While I’ve never felt a huge lack for not knowing them, and I certainly felt loved by my parents who raised me, I have sometimes wondered about those two who caused me literally to exist.
I think it was being adopted that made something click when I uttered the word “family” for the first time as a member of a brand-new three-person family.
I don’t expect this reaction to sound astounding to anyone who’s not adopted, who probably think, “All new parents feel that.” But I wonder if other adopted kids felt something similar when they became biological parents.