My son is getting old enough to express his feelings about his adoption and hold whole conversations with me about what he thinks. We had one such conversation today, and while it had a bit of a ‘hit-me-over-the-head-with-a-two-by-four’ effect, it validated a lot:

“Mom… can we keep it a little secret, just between us, that I’m adopted?”

I feel there is an important point to make by revealing his words (and my thoughts about them) even if I feel a tad guilty so immediately violating his trust.

We were in Starbucks getting our usual Frappachinos (yes, I buy my kid Starbucks… so sue me!) The barista making our drinks knows me (causally, due to the fact that I visit their establishment probably far too often) and I made pleasant conversation with her while we were waiting. I asked about her health and she asked about mine. It had been before the holidays since I last saw her, so I told her about having my hoo-hoo-ectomy in January. I’ve gotten used to the ‘typical’ response -

“Well, at least you already have your son… and if you want another one, you can always adopt,“

she said. I glanced at [The Kidlet]. He seemed to have missed and/or ignored the comment. Since he had his Frappachino straw stuck half-way down his throat at this point, I made the assumption that he didn’t even hear her.

“I’m already a proud adoptive parent,”

I replied, looking straight at [The Kidlet], this time, and motioning toward him. I gave a grand smile – the grand ‘I-adopted-and-am-therefore-entitled-to-praise’ smile. The smile that I am embarrassed to possess, the one that despite my best efforts, still comes forth at odd times. Why should I still flash such a look when I entirely don’t feel the need for reinforcement of my decisions? Maybe I should examine that a bit further… but I digress.

“[The Kidlet], do you want to tell her anything about yourself or about being adopted or about Ukraine?“

I questioned, still looking at him and still with that stupid grin plastered on my face.

“No, not really,”

he replied, annoyed.

I was confused, totally and utterly confused , caught off-guard, even. Usually, if given the chance, [The Kidlet] loves to tell anyone who will listen about Ukraine, how his “mother Nadyia lives there” and that he is excited and looking forward to his visit in 2009.

His comment immediately started me down the ‘OMG what is happening/has happened/is something wrong/is he upset?’ track. A million questions passed through my mind while we walked from Starbucks to the car, most of them once again questioning my own parenting abilities.

As we drove away, I gently asked some questions.

“Hey, [The Kidlet], how come you didn’t want to talk about Ukraine and your adoption?“

He shrugged and continued to sip the Frappachino that was already nearly gone. He deliberately acted uninterested. I casually continued -

“Did something happen? Are you upset? Are you embarrassed about being adopted?“

He flashed his ever-evolving “mom you’re embarrrrasssssssing me” look. (I’m seeing that look a lot more often, lately, BTW…) Finally he answered -

“Nothing is wrong, Mom. But, I don’t know that lady, so can we keep it a little secret just between us that I’m adopted?”

The lighbulb flashed on in my head and the mantra I’ve been repeating (at least online) was finally confirmed by the one for whom it matters most:

This story is his to tell, and not mine.

If my mentioning he is adopted in public and/or unfamiliar situations makes him uncomfortable, then I have to respect that. Even if I’d love to shout to the world how proud I am to be an adoptive mother, I need to filter myself a bit more. I need to respect his space and realize that what my big fat mouth says in front of him and ‘on behalf of him’ makes a difference. He notices. And even though I might not have respected that in the past (especially when he was much, much younger and couldn’t tell the difference or at least couldn’t tell me his feelings about it) I need to remember that now.

Will I still blog about adoption? Yes, but just as my adoption blog has literally dwindled in the last few years, so will specific details about my son dwindle (even more) online. I will speak in generalities and give examples or offer advice when asked. But I will not tell his story, not anymore…

It is HIS story, HIS and not MINE.