My mind is traveling back to Viet Nam
Just recently, I joined a yahoo group for folks whose children came from a certain orphanage in Viet Nam. And there were photos of the children there. Pictures from their Christmas party. All these little faces, bright and smiling.
So naturally, I tortured myself by going through the pictures, my eyes looking for a pair that remind me of The Boy. (For you gentle blog readers, The Boy is from Viet Nam)
He knows that he's adopted and we've been as honest as possible with his questions. In fact, I'm the one that's a wreck telling him what we know. My little man. He was at the same school my husband taught at and one of the kids in his kindergarten class, told him he couldn't be Mr. S's son, cause he didn't look like him.
First Family Portrait, taken 3 days
after coming home, 1999
The Boy, ever ready, rolled his eyes and said, "Duh!, I'm Viet Namese."
When he came home that night he was a little more quiet than normally and thoughtful. He asked me about his birthmother. (again, GBRs, we use the term "birthmother" as opposed to "real mom")
The Boy: Did she love me?
Me: I think she did, she made sure you're were taken care of, someplace safe.
The Boy: Mommy, you're my mommy, and daddy is my daddy, right? Forever?
At this point I'm done in, I can't stop crying and he's patting my back, leaning into me. My husband is pacing slightly.
Me: Yes, you are our child, forever and ever.
The Boy: Ok, can we watch SpongeBob now?
He goes as long as he is comfortable and is very good at switching a subject. Part of our adoption story has always been that we wanted a family and he needed one and we traveled to bring him to his new home. But Viet Nam will always be home.