So the other day, it’s just David and me at home, and he’s playing with the new kitten (a whole ‘nuther story).  I began to recall a conversation that DH and I had had recently, about how when I’m alone with David, I’ll sometimes ask him, “Do you have any questions about anything?”

This is my cowardly way of pretending to be open to talking about his adoption without actually having to talk about it.  And David always thinks for a second and then says, “No.”

DH and decided that maybe the question should be a little more specific.  After all, we have told him he is adopted, but we don’t talk about it much, and we weren’t entirely sure he even knew.  It’s hard to tell what gets retained in a 6-year-old brain.

So, on this afternoon, I start to ask him a question, but I chicken out and I say, “Do you have any questions?” 

He just plays with the kitten and says, “No.”

Then I kind of gather my courage back up and ask him, oh-so-casually, “Do you have any questions about being adopted?”

He says, “No.”

And for a minute, that’s it. 

Then he says, “Adopted means that I came from somebody’s tummy and then I came to you, right?”

I said, “Yes, but you’ve always been with us.  I was the first one to hold you when you were born.”

He says, “Okay,” and picks up the kitten and walks into the other room.

I just let him go, but it was hard.  I mean, I feel like that door’s really open now, that he can talk about it if he wants to.  At least we know he really knows now.  But I wanted to run after him and hold him and cuddle him and talk about our feelings…but I didn’t. 

I am trying to let him take the lead, to make him aware that he really can talk about this if he wants, it won’t upset me (though it might, but I think I’m doing a good job of being casual about it), while at the same time not forcing on him my need for constant reassuring touching and talking.

It’s tough, but good.  It feels right.