So technically Kya is officially 6 months which also means that I am officially 6 months post-partum. Physically I am doing very well, other than having a sore back from carrying around such a chunky monkey, and still losing more hair than I’d like in all the wrong places. I mean sheesh, post-partum hair loss could at least throw me a solid and shed in other areas too…
TweetYesterday I made a point to make sure everyone knew that when I said “have a good V-day” that they didn’t confuse it with Venereal Disease day. I feel like having both words start with the same letter was done somewhat on purpose considering the two sometimes go hand in hand. If you’re not in a committed relationship people, wrap it up. Just saying.
It’s always been ironic to me that something that should bring a couple together like the birth of a baby, can also push that same couple to the brink of separation. No, John and I are not getting a divorce, trust me, but I’m not going to lie, sometimes the thought has crossed my mind and even come out of my mouth during hormonal induced screaming matches…
TweetAs you can probably tell by the title of this post, today’s topic is going to be about…sex.
TweetIt’s always so random when feelings of my adoption come up in my every day life. Since opening up about how much being adopted has affected my life to my family, friends, and well, the whole internet world, I have not thought about it nearly as much as I used to. Before it was an everyday sadness that plagued my life, now I go a few days to a week before something will trigger any thoughts regarding adoption.
Lately however, thoughts about my adoption have become once again more frequent since having Kya. One thing that I struggle with most about being adopted is my identity. Part of your identity is the way you look physically as well as who you are on the inside. When I came over from S. Korea at 13 months, all I had was a packet that told who ever was in charge of transporting me to my new family who I was, my identity. That packet which I found in my teens and read, told someone what color hair I had, how much I weighed, my height, my eye color, and any identifying marks on me which included my freckles on the right side of my face and a burn mark on my left wrist, which until that moment upon reading about, I had never noticed before or remembered how it got there. Now I stare at the scar on my wrist constantly just trying to remember something….Even though this packet described all of my features, and who I was, it left out the most important thing that I’ve been left wondering for the past 26 years…who did I get all of it from? Who did I COME FROM? Continue reading
