My real mother gave me my first home. I lived within her for 9 months.
My real mother gave me a name. My second mother changed it.
My real mother gave me a birthday.
My real mother is the one who first held me. I wish I could have given her a tighter grip.
My real mother gave me my brown hair and brown eyes and the dimples that I’ve been complimented on all of my life.
My real mother gave me my curly hair. You know I spent an hour everyday straightening it. I hated my curls with a passion and since I met her, I like my curls!
My real mother gave me my perfect 32 Bs, hmmmm will I get those back after I have my baby??
My real mother gave me the blood that runs through my body.
My real mother gave me my laugh.
My real mother gave me the ability to laugh.
My real mother gave me the ability to love.
My real mother gave me life.
My real mother couldn’t be there for games and events. She wasn’t given the chance.
My real mother cried for me as my second mother wrote out a check for my purchase. I’ve often wished that I came with a sales receipt. Surely she would have wanted a refund when I came home late, or when I had trouble with math, failed a test, threw a fit, said the wrong thing, or moved out to have my own life.
My real mother was unable to keep me. It came down to owning a home, being married (and we all know how much THAT means!) and having a bank account. My second mother “won”.
Posted on a message board that now no longer exists. 4/2/2005