Is She Yours?

"That baby is so beautiful! Is she yours?"

For those of you who have not had the pleasure of meeting our peanut, our foster daughter is African-American. Her skin is beautiful and dark, and she has the fluffiest little afro sitting on top of her cute head. 

Nearly every day, whether it is on the bus or at the grocery store, people ask me, "Is that your baby?" Now, I completely understand it is natural for people to wonder if I grew this tiny human inside my body, considering my translucence. People are curious, and maybe they themselves have adopted children of a different race or have mixed biological children. That's what I've been telling myself anyway.

Lately though, I have found myself being increasingly aware of and bothered by this question, and by the many other ruder questions people ask. I try to not be overly sensitive or one of "those" people who looks for a fight in everything. Even still, the "Is she yours?" question remains on my mind. If baby girl was light-skinned with brown straight hair, no one would ask if she was mine. When I'm out with my blonde-haired, blue-eyed foster sister, no one asks if she belongs to me.

Forgive my ramblings, but I guess what I'm trying to grapple with is how much having a foster daughter who is a different race than I am has opened my eyes to what people think a family should be. My little girl doesn't fit in with what people imagine "my" children to look like.

This is the bottom line of how I feel about that: Whether my children grew in my belly or someone else's, they will be mine. My future family will likely include children who look much different than Brian and I. They will still belong to us.

I feel blessed that baby girl is much too young to understand what people are asking, and I dread the day when she or another foster child grasps the concept of belonging. By asking if my foster children are mine, I feel like it punches kids in the stomach. Foster kids are painfully aware that they are unwanted, abandoned, "troubled", and many more unsavory adjectives. Questioning whether they belong in my family is a sobering reminder to them that they are not living with their biological family. 

Our foster children will know that they are wanted, they are loved, and they are ours. I will advocate for their needs, love them fiercely, and be the best mama I can. All of our foster kids - whether they are with us for two weeks or forever - will belong to Brian and I for as long as they're with us, and possibly even beyond that.

Sure, this attitude will probably make it more heartbreaking when our kids leave us to go home or to a different placement, but I can't be selfish. I can't guard my heart by telling myself and others, "She's not really mine." To this precious child, we are hers, and that's all that matters.