We have started to talk about it recently and it inspires in me a dark, deep-down fear. Your brother looks at the picture on this blog and chirps brightly, with grave knowledge, “That Darrett. That’s Darrett in Momma’s tummy.”
“And Saige,” you chitter, “and Saige in your tummy.”
Garrett nods gravely. You do every thing together. It is all you know. You are far too innocent and unsullied by our boring world to look at each other’s skin and question that it was not always so. That the bond does not stretch back to that quiet water-filled place. Unlike those we meet every day, the jaded masses who know in a glance that you didn’t sip from the same uterine cup.
“No babies,” I correct again, “not Saige. Saige grew in her tummy mommy’s belly, in Haiti.” I wish to just say yes, to keep it simple for you for a short time, while you are simple, but I’ll never lie to you about this for my own comfort. Not even once. As I speak, my heart clenches in dread for the questions that will follow. Not today. Not yet. But someday. Soon.
Where is she now? I don’t know. Why did she take me to an orphanage? She didn’t have any way to feed you and she loved you beyond words and thought, way too much to let you starve.
It’s my birthday! Tell me my birth story. I don’t know your birth story, my daughter. I wish I had been there, holding your birth mother’s young hand. I can weave it for you, if you can understand the difference between lies and conjecture. If you will accept it as myth, born of love.
I think she could see the stars, as she tended the open fire in front of her parent’s shanty. She felt the first pains low in her back and she closed her eyes and whispered to patron saints in her lilting Creole tongue. Hours later, sweat drenched and immersed in pain, I think she clenched her teeth and remained silent, the neighbors too close for the luxury of screams, already alerted by the iron smell of blood as they tended their own small fires. Some gruff but kind older woman, a relative or neighbor mopped her brow and dribbled the dirty, disease-ridden water hauled from the nearest stream into her mouth. You arrived onto rags on a floor, my coddled love, a dirt floor. Don’t you fret, baby, there’s no shame in that. You were handled no less lovingly than any other newborn girl. Women in this silly, pampered country pay people to teach them to labor as your birth momma did, teeth clenched, thoughts focused inward and downward.
She named you, your tummy mommy. She gave you the name Mirlandy, your middle name. She held you, for a few days, and whispered her love into your ear. But, she knew. She’s never read a paper. She’s never watched CNN. Her knowledge is the worst kind, the knowledge of experience. She lives in Cite Soleil, one of the largest shanty towns in the world. One of the worst slums in the world. A place where babies die every single day. A world without the calories to produce breast milk, where formula costs more than a month’s wages.
Cite Soleil. The City of the Sun. A beautiful name for a terrible place. Here, in our world, a place with that name would conjure pleasant images. A resort beach town, surf and sand. There it means sun in its cruelest, harshest sense. Beating down on people without respite, without hope of respite, without running water or electricity. Punishing, scorching sun. Baking them. Sun that brings flies and disease and death. Unforgiving. Brutal.
She started to walk, with a male relative for safety. She made the long, dusty trek up the mountain to the little creche that women whisper from lip to lip in the City Soleil. Madam John’s. Allez Madam John. She reached it on your tenth day and that is when our story begins. That is the picture we received of you, ten days old, held in your birth mother’s arms. To be so happy in the face of another woman’s worst pain is a complicated gift.
There are things that I know too. I know you could have had a very different story, if your Haiti momma had less strength. An unknown story. A tragic story. Just another little soul among multitudes, born to destitution, who died too soon of dehydration and hunger. I can’t breathe when I consider your might have beens. Few women ever get the chance to be so brave as your tummy mommy was.
You are a gift. On your third birthday, you blow out the candles and wish for princess dolls and ponies, stickers and pretties for your hair. You wish for every single silly thing that American girls wish for. You earned that. Your birth mother earned that. Every child on this earth ought to have the right to have so few needs that they wish for silly things and dream about the stars.
I’ll take the hard wishes for now. I’ll wish for your Haiti momma. I wish her plenty.
Plenty of clean water.
Plentiful beans and rice.
Plenty of safety from gangs and violence and political turmoil and riots.
Plenty of health in a world without 911 or doctors.
Who knew plenty could be so little? I’m honored to have learned this from your tummy mommy.
Oh my goodness, I read this post with tears in my eyes… You did a wonderful job of telling her birth story, whether it’s in her realm of understanding or not. What was the name of the orphanage that you adopted her from? I lived in Haiti for 6 months after I graduated high school {and it’s in my blood, a part of my soul, and I long to go back more than anything} and I have friends who’ve adopted many from the orphanage that I worked with.
thank you for sharing such a touching story and for bringing me back to a place that my heart aches for…
Your posts just amaze me.
This line: “You are far too innocent and unsullied by our boring world to look at each other’s skin and question that it was not always so.” just touches my heart SO much.
I love your story of Saige’s birth. And you write it so well.
Oh and I LOVE the name Saige.
Have I told you yet that I think you’re totally amazing? Because I really do.
I have goosebumps. Thank you so much for sharing this story.
“Every child on this earth ought to have the right to have so few needs that they wish for silly things and dream about the stars.”
I have this hope for all people of the world.
So beautifully written. I also often wonder at how there could possibly be a world (my world) without my children.
Very good and inspiring once more. If it helps, around here the questions have come slowly, building on eachother over time. It’s been interesting to hear him tell others about who’s tummy he was in. my dd doesn’t appear to have any interest or questions yet. they all figure it out in different ways i suppose.
Beautifully done once again!
Pam
Incredibly lovely and brilliant post. That is one blessed little girl.
holy cow you are a fantastic writer…you need to get published somewhere!
beautiful, absolutely beautiful!
This was beautiful. I often comment about your amazing writing, but now I will comment about what a wonderful person you are. Or maybe, if that sounds creepy, I will go back to talking about your writing. So, so moving. And beautiful. You are all so lucky to have each other. And I think that Saige’s tummy mommy knows how loved Saige is.
Beautiful! I could not think of a better way to write about a Tummy Mommy.
That is such a beautiful post. I had to stop reading twice to go hug Bunny.
I cried thinking of Tummy Mommy just like I cry thinking of China Mommy. I hope that I can tell Bunny her story (what I know of it) just as eloquently.
So incredibly beautiful. And makes me want to resume our adoption journey some day.
Utterly amazing. Your posts never fail to inspire. My son is almost 3&1/2 and completely unaware still of his adoption. I wonder about the future and the questions and his reaction to his unique story. This gives me the confidence that I, too, will know all of the right things to say to him when it comes that time.
What a wonderful Mommy you are. And what powerful, eloquent writing you produce, over and over again. It’s an amazing thing when you have the power to repeatedly move people with your words. I hear your heart in what you write, and that’s an incredible thing. Saige will hear it too, when you tell her the story someday, and it’s a gift she’ll treasure.
Corny, I know, but I just want to reach through the interweb and give you a big hug, go out to Starbucks with you, and talk for hours, even though I’ve never met you in “real life.”
Thanks for touching my heart once again through your words.
Oh your posts move me in so many ways. Sometimes I’m reluctant – it’s so much easier to bury my head and pretend the world isn’t what it is.
You are a gift. To that baby girl and her birth mom, to your family, to me.
That was my favorite post I’ve read in a long time. Perfection. She is lucky to have you as a mom.
You make me cry waaay too often, lady. In a good way. That was beautiful.
WOW! What an amazing and loving way to share her story!
We love your blog. You have us rolling with laughter one minute and then totally caught up in your heart-felt love story about your child the next.
A friend told me about this post…and I am so thankful she did!
I have tears of joy and sadness reading your poignant writing. Simply amazing.
Someday, your little girl will treasure this post with all her heart.
That was simply lovely. I can’t imagine the conflicting feelings you must have after falling so madly in love with your little girl, knowing the pain that your joy results from. There is certainly no one “right” way to explain adoption or to cope with the emotions that accompany it. But it sounds as though you have a good handle on what works for you and Saige…
Beautiful story – I totally cried. It’s perfect – and I hope she hears it just like this.
A beautiful, eloquent story, so lovingly told. Thank you.
You are all making me cry this morning. Thank you for listening and understanding.
Mandi – Haiti is like that. Transformative and addictive. The orphanage is called God’s Littlest Angels.
Pam – I think that will help me, that their questions will build slowly. I’ll have time to learn.
Marinka – I hope she does know.
Valerie – You absolutely will.
Psychemamma – Ah, the way to my heart. I would love to spend hours at SBs with you.
Jill – Me too. That is my biggest wish for my kids as they grow. That we’ll be able to really talk to each other and really hear what’s being said.
I think you know that when we found out we were having the Pumpkins, we gave up on international adoption. It was the most difficult decision I ever had taken away from me.
There is a place in my heart that still aches for that child. That is the place that my tears are coming from now. There is nothing about this post or the decisions leading to it that isn’t beautiful in the deepest and most human way.
You made me cry again!
Absolutely beautiful and touching story. So sweet and honest in so many ways. I hope she appreciates the story you tell for her.
Out of curiosity, will you be teaching her (and your other children?) French now or as they get older to give her some more connection to Haiti? Do you ever plan to take her there to show her where she was born?
Awesome. I’m humbled.
What a beautiful way with words you have and using it to express your heart! Like Amy said – you are a gift, just as your precious girl is a gift to you.
Oy, I cry way too often when I come here! But they are always good, welcome tears.
She will treasure that birth story, as will your other children.
Her tummy mommy and you – brave, brave women.
So wonderfully complicated. You will have all the right answers to tell her. In the meantime….her innocence is beautiful.
so very beautiful! thank you for this post!
So moving and tearful. I hardly have the words…
Insta-mom – I do know and I know you still feel pulled. But, You can look at your twins and know things happen for a reason!
Michelle – Yes and yes! I hope she’ll learn French. I plan to push it as gently as I can. We absolutely will travel back to Haiti when she’s ready.
Whew! I’m tired tonight. Thanks for reading my emotional junk ;-) Tomorrow, I plan to focus on reading you all!
what an absolutely gorgeous post. just beautiful. happy birth day and story, saige.
Such a beautiful post, and such beautiful and heartfelt feelings that inspired it!
What a great way to describe the adoption of a child – I don’t think I’ve ever seen it written that way before. Congrats on being Saige’s MOM. She is a very lucky kid.
G
Beautiful story Stacey…I cried as I read it.
I didn’t realize this would be such an emotional lunch! Thank you for sharing your beautiful story and writing.
i can’t say anything new that hasn’t already been said.
you are truly an amazing and inspiring writer, story teller and mom.
you definitely have a way with words, the ability to tell a story that reaches out and grabs you – makes you listen and feel, more importantly. you can see the story unfold before your eyes…without the need for pictures.
in addition…you mother your beautiful children in a way that i wish i could see everyone do. and that makes me want to make myself a better mommy too.
thanks for your inspirations! can i join you guys at the coffee shop??
Stacey, what a huge heart you have to go with your wise head.
Beautiful post.
what a beautiful story. I love your tummy mommy, it’s so sweet and endearing.
my daughter has a friend from haiti, he was adopted just last may, after 2 years of going through the process.
Thank you for this post. What a beautiful way of describing such a difficult and painful situation. You have one lucky daughter.
oh, you made my cry. and opened my eyes a little (it’s so easy to want to not ever know about anything except the blessings and abundance we have here.)
I just found you blog….through Twitter…but this is a beautiful post. And I guess, you tell her this and hope that it’s enough.
Both kids are beautiful by the way.
Wow, what a powerful story! Totally made me cry. You amaze me with your strength and the beauty of your words. All of your children are lucky to have such a kindhearted person as their mom.
Crying. I hope, when Lucy asks, I will be able to tell as beautiful a story…I have even less information than you do, but like you I know the basic truth: love. And so perhaps it’s enough.
Thank you all so much for your words. This post was close to my heart and your comments have brought me to tears. I think you have a false impression of my mothering skills, passionate writing does not equal patient and thoughtful mothering, but I do try!
Mam – I think as long as we stay open and address their questions honestly, love is plenty.
I’ve just found your blog today thorugh Bridges and am absolutely blown away by this post. All of us in our pampered little lives need the lesson you learned from your daughter’s “tummy mommy.” It reminds me of the “enough” in the seder and it also calls me to consider futher action regrding the terrible imbalances in our world.
I just found your blog as I wandered my way through links on other’s blogs, but I am in awe of your writing. This post had me in tears by the end. I grieved for Saige’s tummy mommy, and I cheered for Saige who was given such a wonderful mommy to raise her!
Here from Bridges. This pulls at my heartstrings.
Visiting your blog from bridges.
This post is so beautiful, absolutely beautiful.
Came over from bridges and you made me cry. Both your children and mine too are lucky to live in a place where birthday wishes can be about new dolls and bikes. We are so lucky to have so much.
came over from bridges to read this one again. still just so perfectly beautiful. thanks for sharing this one.
so beautiful… thanks for sharing.
Wow, what an amazing post. I’m reading this through Bridges and you have me in tears here at work. Thank you so much for sharing this with us.
I’m also visiting from Bridges (again) and am so in awe of your writing and the ability to clearly tell your daughter the importance of her tummy mummy, the difficulty of her life, and the loving and heart-wrenching decision that she made.
K has not started to ask questions yet (mostly because he barely talks) but I know they are coming. I hope, when they do, that I find the right words to use to help him start to understand the complexity in international adoption.
Here from Blog Nosh. What a beautifully written story. I live in Africa and have seen too many young children and mothers who don’t wish for the silly, frivolous things to take your wishes for your daughter’s “Tummy Mommy” lightly. And I love the term “Tummy Mommy.”
A beautifully written post … I am new to your blog, reading old posts as time allows after bedtime routines are done … two of my children were also born on dirt floors in Cite Soleil. I wish I'd come up with something this lovely for them! :)
A beautifully written post … I am new to your blog, reading old posts as time allows after bedtime routines are done … two of my children were also born on dirt floors in Cite Soleil. I wish I'd come up with something this lovely for them! :)
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Reading this beautiful entry in the wake of the Haiti earthquake. I have no words, I just wanted you to know I immediately thought of you, and Saige, and her Tummy Mommy.
Mary in MI
Powerful story. Truth and love mixed together to create a beautiful explanation.