Mothers as Caregivers

A hospital intake form, an honest answer, and the moment my five-year-old learned—publicly—that he was adopted. When my son was five, he was admitted to Primary Children’s with pneumonia. A resident came in to take a family and pregnancy history and asked all the standard questions. “Were there any drugs or alcohol used during the pregnancy?” “Yes,” I said honestly. “Quite a bit of alcohol. And possibly drugs.” “What kind of drugs?” he asked. “I’m not entirely sure,” I said.

A humorous personal essay about adoption, parenting later in life, and a child’s unfiltered poolside comment about “not-real parents” and aging.

When my mother was eight years old, she became ill during the summer polio outbreak. After a misdiagnosis, a spinal tap confirmed poliomyelitis. The health department quarantined the house, and for months her mother kept her alive through isolation, fear, and relentless care during one of the most dangerous eras of childhood illness.