For the fourth time now I am doing language arts lessons designed around the children’s book Make Way For Ducklings. It is a very sweet book about a duck couple finding the perfect home where they can settle down and raise ducklings until said ducklings are old enough to go with their parents to an even more idyllic spot where people float around in boats and throw peanuts for the waterfowl to eat. When that anticipated day arrives, the little ducklings line up behind their mom (they were meeting dad there) and walk through the city, stopping traffic and melting hearts along the way.
Of all the times I have taught this lesson and given the assignment for my various and sundry kindergarten children to color the mother duck and her babies and then cut them out and string (or glue – I’m getting lazy in my dotage) them in a line, this is the first year any one of my children has given me
I have had three school years of little yellow ducks following their white mom duck across some wall or another in my house. This year I get a flock of little mallard boys following their distinctly female mallard mom.
I am impressed.
In other Tank Boy news, he has been talking more about his adoption lately. The other day I did something that made him happy, told him he could have a cookie or some such earth-shatteringly nice thing, and he said, “I love you mom. You are my best mom.”
Just as I was contemplating whether or not to ask, “Oh? How many moms do you have?” to see if he was thinking adoption, he added, “I love you more than my foster mom. I love you two-thousand, but I only love her about one hundred and nine.”
He does like to quantify things.
But he left out his birth mom, so I asked him if he knew who his foster mom is. As I suspected, he had the two of them confused.
“My foster mom loved me,” he said, “but she wasn’t ready to have a baby and be a mom.”
So I explained that, no, his foster mom was the woman who took care of him after his birth mom, but before he came home to us. That is the Reader’s Digest condensed version, of course.
I guess I should also blog about the fact that last week he asked me the question I’ve been waiting for: “Mom, did I grow in your tummy?”
It’s hard, as a mom of both biological and adopted kids, to tell one that he didn’t, in fact, grow inside you like the others. But you know what? He didn’t act like it was hard for him to hear.
Actually, unlike the last time he started talking a bit about his adoption, his behavior has not regressed at all this time. In fact, he has made great progress on giving up the finger sucking. As in, I think he’s licked that habit for good, and he proudly shows me each day how his life-long callous is healing.
So we reviewed who his birth mom is and who is foster mom is. We have pictures of him with his foster mom, and I explained again that she is not the woman who carried him in her tummy. He asked me what his birth mom looks like, and I had to tell him we really don’t know. I wish we had pictures of her for him, but we don’t. I told him when he is a bit older, if he wants to, we will try to find her.
It is at times like this that I am so very, very thankful that I have both biological and adopted kids. Because? I may not be able to tell my son or show my son what his birth mother looks like, but I can tell him without a doubt in my heart and mind, that I, his mother, couldn’t love him any more than I already do, even if he grew in my tummy.