The Last Name Is Birth

When my son was in first or second grade, he climbed into the car practically vibrating with excitement. He handed me a tiny slip of paper as if it were a treasure.

“Mom,” he said proudly, “I got Johnny Birth’s mom’s phone number.”

I looked at it and nodded.“Well, that’s great,” I said, “but I didn’t even know Johnny was adopted, so I’m not sure why I’d need his birth mother’s number.”

My son stared at me, slowly and patiently.

“Mom,” he said, “Birth is his last name. It’s not his birth mother.”

Right.

Sometimes when your kid is adopted, your brain… goes places.