We may Differ Skin wise, But Yes He is Mine

I have been warned by friends that the day will come when I will be asked if my youngest is really mine or if I am the nanny. I brushed if off as that will not happen the year is 2013. Well a few days ago I was asked the dreaded question. I was shocked and a bit hurt. Yet wrote this as my dream response to that lady.

“Is he yours? I only ask because of the blonde hair and his light skin.”

Asked the woman in our community laundry room as I had both my boys with to check if a washer was open (the downfall of community washers.)

I wished she had stopped at is he yours. A question I have grown use to hearing seeing I did do child care and would have 3 kids with me at a time. Though those questions were usually “are ALL three of those kids yours?” Yet if she had just stopped at asking if he was mine I could have ignored the real reason she was asking.

I could have just said yes he is we have such a busy household. Yet it was the adding of what color Lyams hair was and his skin that she so anxious to point out.

Now don’t get me wrong the topic of our boys and the their skin and hair color has come up among friends. Usually though it’s predicting what they will look like when they get older or if Lyams hair will ever curl like his brothers. We point out how Cadden with his beautiful tanned skin and tight curly hair looks just like me when I was a child, and how Lyam with his lighter but sun kissed skin and brown/blonde straight hair is a spitting image of his father. Yet it’s just talk in our world tucked behind closed doors. Talk that’s spoken between friends and out of love. So I was thrown off my track when she asked this.

She did not know me other than a quick hi in the hallways. I wanted so much to respond with more than a yes in fantasy land with all the time in the world I so wanted to say:

Yes he is mine the news of his coming was just another added gift to the holiday season. You see he is the rainbow baby our baby after the storm. The storm being an ectopic suffered right before the holiday season kicked off. Yes to I did carry him for nine months. In those nine months we had morning sickness, heartburn that could have destroyed a small town. Sleepless nights, a scare of preterm labor, oh and did I mention the having to pee like a race horse?. Then on to his birth… It was beautiful. As my doula and close friend walk around the neighborhood and did lounges up a hill all day hoping we would encourage the child you are questioning to be mine to show his face.

Our prayers answered later that night when my water broke. As my husband sped to the birth center worrying me on whether he would get pulled over and I would have to hitch a ride with our doula who drove cautiously behind. As we walked into the birthing center that rainy night… And I labored on the edge of the bed then in a tub ( which felt soo good). As we joked about why the heck I was drinking zero calorie Gatorade , or how I was floating away in the tub. As we searched for a pushing position that fit for me and my needs, and how my husband who was convinced before our child’s birth to catch him….caught Lyam as he was making his entrance into this world. Yes this child that I am holding is mine but if you need convincing I have pictures of him making his entrance into this world from my vagina to prove it.

Yet that is not how I responded… My response was ” yes he is mine, I tend not to have the habit of breastfeeding other babies unless asked.” then walked away. Well more like dragging my toddler along due to a tantrum while trying to get away as quick as possible.


One thought on “We may Differ Skin wise, But Yes He is Mine

  1. I don’t understand how, in somebody’s mind, it is ever appropriate to question whether a child “belongs” to you, no matter what either if you looks like. How in earth does the relationship have any affect on them whatsoever? It doesn’t, so why ask? Not even mentioning the abhorrent casual racism inherent in the question itself.

    You have a beautiful family — that’s all that matters šŸ™‚

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