I’m a “pink” foster mama. Baby Girl is our precious dark chocolate 2 year-old princess. We have had her in our home since she was 6 months old and she hasn’t known anyone else, but us as “her family,” since that time. We have encountered several people who have questions about the fact that we don’t “match” in color or who look at us with a questioning look when we’re out and about, but most of the time everyone just goes about their business and we go about our’s. When we go to the city park; however, we are kinda just asking for it. The other night it was HOT! So, I loaded the kids up in the truck and we visited the Splash Pad at our city’s park. Tons of kiddos were running around jumping and splashing in the water that shoots from the ground! Everyone was having a great time!
I see her out of the corner of my eye. She is watching us. She is taller than my youngest biological daughter, so I’m guessing she’s about 8 years old. She makes a beeline for us. She looks at me, looks at Baby Girl and blurts out, “When wuz you pregnant wit her?” Okay, so I then realize she may be younger probably six, her height threw me off. “I was never pregnant with her honey, she grew in another mama’s belly.” The little girl looks at me like I’m crazy. We keep playing and she goes up to Baby Girl to look at her more closely. The little girl says to me, “I was standing over there thinking, when wuz you pregnant wit her?” I smile. This should be interesting. “I wasn’t,” I say, “another mama carried her in her belly, but I’m the mama who takes care of her now.” The girl looks at me again, she is NOT convinced this is “right.” She runs up to my son who “matches” me. “Is dat your sister,” she asks. “Yep,” he says not missing a beat and running in the opposite direction. I look around, I see who I think is her mama and she is laughing. She is totally happy to let me handle this. I smile and laugh to myself. This precocious little girl just can’t figure this out and I really don’t know how much I’m wanting to or willing to share. Then, the little girl spots my middle daughter who also “matches” me. She runs to her and says, “Is dat your sister?” My middle girl says, “Yes, she’s my sister,” and runs up to Baby Girl, picks her up and runs to play. The little girl takes one more look at me and shrugs her shoulders. She’s satisfied. Once she had the same story from all three of us, apparently that was enough for her. She went off to play and didn’t give us another look.
These things are going to happen. We don’t “match.” We look different, but I guarantee you that if that little girl had asked Baby Girl, “Where is your mama,” she would have run straight to me. And, to me that is what counts.