When more is better.

It amazes me that people shield kids from the truth. I knew from a very early age that I was adopted. In fact, I don't remember a time when I didn't know. I think it was the best way to deal with it. I cannot imagine what it would be like to find out at the age of 10, or 14, or even older, that I was adopted. It just wasn't a big deal in our house. I was chosen, special. (Of course, it would have been impossible to keep my adoption a secret. My entire family has dark hair and complexions, and I am a pale, freckled red-head.)
Girl Terror has known for a long time now that "Grandma is Daddy's Mummy" and all the different variations of that theme. Auntie is his sister, Grandpa is his father, yep. Got it. So I wasn't too surprised when we got to discuss The Mystery of the Three Grandmothers this week. See, the Terrors have three grandmothers rather than the traditional two. "Grandma" is Hubby's mother. "Nanny" is my adopted mother, and "Grandma Beth" is my birth mother. Add to this the new knowledge that "Mummies grow kids in their bellies!" and we have an interesting dinner conversation.
I knew that eventually I would need to explain adoption to my children. In fact, I'm kind of surprised it took this long. I was a bit worried about how it would go, but everything was fine. We avoided phrases like "Gave away" or anything negative, and I just told her "Grandma Beth grew me in her belly. Then, after I popped out (because babies pop dontcha know?) I went to live with Nanny, and she was my Mummy when I was a little girl." While I waited and held my breath, Girl Terror thought things through. But in true kid fashion, she didn't get bogged down with the whys or hows, she stuck with the positive results. "So, we get THREE grandmas! You get to have TWO mummies! Lucky, lucky us!"
Lucky, lucky us indeed. What a smart little girl she is.