A year ago at 8:10am, my life changed for the better, forever.
Conversations with my birth mother and father revealed something I never knew about my tattoo, and it sent chills to my bones.
My biological dad looked eerily similar to the way he looked in a dream I had as a child. He was tall with whispy strawberry blonde hair. His skin had a pink tint to it. He wore dark wash jeans that fit him well, with a light blue button down shirt and flip-flops.
During World Breastfeeding Week, I salute the female body. I thank God for giving women the ability to sustain life, and for growing me in the process.
Some days I wondered if I was even worthy of this gift. I would look at myself in the mirror and actually feel a level of shame about my growing bump. Was I doing something wrong?
The conversation with my adoptive parents about meeting my birth parents was not an easy one to have. It happened over a span of a lifetime, right up to the day of actually hugging my birth parents for the first time. It’s still a dialogue we keep up with, as they have now re-entered my life as real living beings, instead of this idea I had of who they could be.