My sweet one, you and I might not share DNA, but I am forever and always, biologically yours.
Biology: the science of life or living matter in all its forms and phenomena,
especially with reference to origin, growth, reproduction, structure, and behavior.
If you researched our story, you’d begin with the origin of our love, the moment when my head and heart began its connection to yours. God placed the seed of adoption in the hearts of your daddy and I, and the story of our life together was born. The dates and times, first conversations, and plans made are the very first data that you could record. Long before we laid eyes on your dark hair and almond eyes, we loved you, and that love grew rapidly, like a multiplying molecule.
Our connection cannot officially be quantified by science, and there is no scale that can weigh love, but oh my, is there evidence of both. God created your biological body and mine too. He designed our personalities and gifted us with souls. He is the author of love, and the chemist that put our family into motion.
If you study this mother’s love for you, you’ll see growth, and behavior that demonstrates our biological connection in many forms.
Science: systematic knowledge of the physical or material world gained through observation and experimentation.
Look at my life and my days, sweet one. Observe my actions closely and you’ll see our biological connection. We could fill a thousand lab journals with physical and behavioral proof:
Daddy and I pursued you, though you were a world away, with blood, sweat and tears.
When I first held you, every last one of my senses burned awake. Tears pooled, my heart beat faster, my mind raced, my skin tingled and my stomach twisted. We were mother and child, and my body felt it.
In those first days together, I slept beside you and watched you sleep. I breathed you in and watched you until I couldn’t hold my eyes open. And so we slept, resting our bodies under the same blanket.
When relationship building was hard, we pressed on, experimenting until we figured it out.
Over time, our relationship gained chemistry. I “got” you and you “got” me. I could look into your eyes and guess your thoughts, presume your feelings. You knew about my chocolate habit and I knew spiders make you shriek.
Now, this body of mine knows you with all its muscles, all its functions and all its senses.
I tune my ears to your voice and listen again and again when you tap me on the shoulder and ask if you can tell me just one more thing.
I turn my eyes to you in our backyard grass, and watch one more time when you plead, “Watch me, Mommy!”
When you bake up blueberry Play doh muffins, I lift them to my nose and smell them before pretending to nibble.
Your hand knows to reach for mine in the Target parking lot. Our touch is familiar and safe.
Every day we pull chairs up to the same sticky table, both noticing the sweets and the sours in the food we eat.
Keeping your taste buds in mind, I taste the chili to make sure it’s not too spicy for you.
I push your swing until my muscles ache.
I see you on the soccer field struggling to learn, and I start sweating.
When a friend hurts your feelings, tears pool in my eyes.
When you walk onto the Christmas recital stage, my stomach becomes knotted.
I experiment with getting you to school on time. A 6:00 wake-up or 6:15?
While on the grocery cereal aisle, I consider the protein, calcium and vitamins you need to make your body strong.
I rinse the mud off your toes at the end of the day.
I brush your hair and let you brush mine.
When you scrape your knee, I rub your back, hold you close, and gently cover the blood with a band-aid.
When you are frightened, I let you feel my heartbeat.
You use my toothbrush and my hairbrush, and I can’t get you to stop taking sips of my water.
I paint your fingernails and you paint mine.
I survived your potty training, and you like wait outside the door during my “potty time”.
So, though you didn’t grow in my belly, and a microscope won’t prove it, the chemistry is evident, the connection measurable. In truth and great love, genetics defines another woman as your scientific “biological mother”, but I’m forever and always, biologically yours.