Seeing My Adoption Wounds Through My Toddler

Motherhood is full of surprises, and recently, I’ve found myself in a season of deep connection with my toddler. I am absolutely in love with him. Even as I navigate his tantrums and meltdowns, I find myself adjusting, learning, and growing alongside him. I am amazed by the wonder in his eyes—the pure innocence and curiosity that he carries in every moment.

One of the most profound experiences I’ve had is witnessing how attuned he is to my presence. When we sleep together, the moment I quietly slip out of bed, he senses it immediately and wakes up crying. He just knows I’m gone. My husband and I joke that we are like a Bluetooth connection—instantly disrupted when I move away. This simple yet powerful connection makes me reflect on my own childhood and the bonds I longed for but never truly felt.

I also see how my toddler interacts with my husband. Their connection is different—more playful, full of energy, and brimming with confidence. When his dad is around, he takes more risks, knowing he has someone to catch him if he falls. Watching this dynamic makes me wonder: Is this the natural bond between a biological child and their parents? I don’t know what it feels like to be connected to my biological mother and father in this way, and that realization stirs something deep within me.

Lately, I’ve been reading about ambiguous loss—the kind of loss that is indefinite, unresolved, and hard to define. Somehow, I resonate deeply with this concept. My journey of self-discovery, of mourning a loss I can’t fully articulate, is still ongoing. I don’t know if I will ever meet my biological parents. That question, along with so many others, lingers in the spaces of my heart that still seek closure.

But I hold on to hope. I may learn to live with ambiguity, make peace with the void, and embrace the questions rather than fear them. For now, I am here—marveling at the bond I have with my child, grateful for the love I can give and receive, and allowing myself to feel the emotions, both positive and negative, that surface. Healing is not linear, but it is happening—one moment, one realization, one connection at a time.