“Where was Mama and Daddy while I was living with Nanny and Papa?”
That was how it started. When I told A about having another mommy, that is. A picture got the whole conversation going, actually. A picture that had been packed away from the move and just recently gotten unpacked and placed within eyesight of little A.
“Who’s that, Mama?”, he asked with a twinkle in his eye. He knew who every person was in the picture.
I turned the question around and asked, “Who is that, A?”
A grin appears on his face as he points and says, “That’s me. And that’s Mama. And Daddy!”
“That’s right, A! That was the first night Mama and Daddy met you! This is our first family picture.”
He continues looking at the picture so I keep going.
“That was when you lived with Nanny and Papa, before Mama and Daddy knew you.”
“Where was Mama and Daddy while I was living with Nanny and Papa?”, he asks.
“We were at home.” I pause. “Waiting to meet you!”
“A, did you know that you came out of another mommy’s tummy?”
“Yes, you did. Her name is Miss S. And you came out of her tummy.”
“How did I come out of her tummy?”, he asks with a bewildered look on his face.
“I don’t know,” I answer, not ready to broach that subject yet. First adoption, then the birds and the bees.
“Maybe I popped like a balloon!”, he says as he starts giggling.
And that was our first conversation (of many, I’m sure!) about A’s life story. I want so desperately for him to feel comfortable about his story. To love and honor his parents that gave him life. And to never be scared or feel intimidated to ask me questions.