Bittersweet life of an adoptive mom

This letter sums up my thinking and emotions. Here is just a bit:

After a year of making more sacrifices than most mothers to care for my broken children, still they tell me their hearts are only half as full as they were before – with their father. Their father who spent his days so strung out on drugs and alcohol he didn’t know they were there. The same father who can’t even keep appointments to come visit them. All my effort and sacrifice cannot measure up to him in their minds. It is I who pays for his sins. I pay for sins that are not mine in the face of society. My eldest, if I’d given birth to her would have made me a teenage mother.

I bear that stigma everywhere with frowns and sideways glances. It is especially bad at church where I’m the youngest woman there with a child in elementary school. Most women my age are in the nursery commenting on how much their kids look like them or their spouse.

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