(versus personally birthing ’em that is)
We want kids who look like us.
Actually, it goes deeper than that. I think we want kids who are like us. My oldest girlie is a smart cookie, and that makes me so proud because it means that she got it from somewhere, right? My second girlie has a creative brain that swirls in colors like leaves in an autumn wind. I like to take credit for that one, too.
It’s only since adopting a kid who’s DNA I had absolutely nothing to do with that I’ve realized how much childbearing can be an extreme, but common form of self-love.
I love the Myself Factor in my kids.
When they succeed and other people point out how smart, creative, funny, sweet, and way above average they are, I take it very personally because I knew all along all those things have applied to me at some point in my life. All those compliments aimed at my kids are kind of like long overdue recognition of my own intrinsic awesomeness.
Which is why adopting a rascal that doesn’t look much like me was, selfishly, one of the best things that could have happened to me. When people compliment my boy on his smartness, cuteness, cuddliness, mischievous streak, and obvious potential towards being a pretty big guy someday- I can nod and smile but it’s God who gets the credit for His handiwork, not me.
And it’s taken that to realize that it’s God who made my girlies, too, not me. He’s gifted them with things but it was all His to give, not mine to genetically instill.
He gave these three to this mama who’s half crazy on a good day, and I’m blessed to raise them, but they were God’s at the beginning and they’ll be His at the end too.
Loving my kids because of who they are as people is much harder for me than loving them because I secretly (or not so secretly) love myself in them. But recognizing that tendency in myself so that I can fight it, is one more unexpected gift my little boy brought me when we added him to our family.