That's what little girls are made of

Most days I don't think about adoption at all.

Then there are days, like today, when adoption is part of every other thought.  When adoption fills my brain up so much that it whizzes and rattles and burps the idea.  

Not that I want to adopt again.  Most of me doesn't, this little tiny part of me does but it is very, very small.  

But today I am thinking about my need to justify Carly's existence in my life.  The explanation that pops to my lips (I often bite it back) when I see people looking at her just so.  The look where people are being too polite and don't want to say out loud 

"She's black."

I can see it in their eyes though.  I can see their brain walking down the road and drawing conclusions.  

When it is just Carly and I, most people assume my husband is black.  They assume my older son is black.  I suppose that is a good thing because that means she fits very naturally in my arms.  And I rarely, if ever, correct their assumption.

First, because it is none of their business.

And second, because it just doesn't matter.

When it is the four of us, I can see people walk down the road to adoption all on their own.  And I can see people start to think:

They are so kind.  They are so generous.  They are so open-hearted.  She is so lucky.  She is so blessed.

And I rarely, if ever, correct their assumption.

The fact of the matter is - we aren't that different from any other loving, lucky parent.  I love both my kids, differently.  I went through pain and tears and heartache for both of them.  I have been blissful and confused and enraptured by both of them.  

Perhaps, someday, there will be no need for adoption.  You know, in the millennium or something.  A big, BIG part of me thinks that is tragic, in it's own way.  

What else but adoption could bring me a little black imp-girl with dancing eyes, a song in her heart, and sass enough for two?  What else but adoption could force me into recognizing the idea that we are all just the same inside, all beloved children of God, all perfect in our own ways, all created by the same loving force?  What else but adoption could show me I am capable of living through the worst days and coming out on the other side happy? 

Adoption, the miracle and trial of it, has changed me from the inside out.

But, most days I don't think about adoption at all.