I can't think of title for this.

It's weird to have two kids, one adopted, one not. I tend to analyze the nature vs. nurture thing all the time.  And I question myself and my motives. Do I treat them differently? Do I love them differently?  Lucas is often a mystery to me. Is it because he's a boy? Or because he's an oddball six year old, or is it some deep biological bond that I just don't have with him? Do I relate better to Merry because I grew her with my lady bits? I don't know.

The other day, Lucas was looking at a poster that he had brought home from his week of being the superstar in his kindergarten class. It had pictures of him and his sister and his pets and a map, showing where he was born, Guatemala, and where he lives now, Minneapolis. And he goes, "I wish we could go to Guatemala. I miss my parents."

Lucas has no memory of his birth parents. And I know what he said is just his way of processing the understanding that I didn't give birth to him, and there is someone else out there in the world who did, but man, ouch! And of course, I knew this was coming. Just like I can probably count on at least one teenage tantrum with him yelling, "You're not my real mom!" Probably several. But I was really surprised by how much it hurt.

I had to go in the bathroom and cry a little.