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.