Being Mama Grouse

It’s funny, we talk about parents and “their children”. We hear parents say, “my son” or “my daughter”.

I thought I couldn’t get used to refering to Chicklet as “my son” because it was surreal: I have a son!

And, quite honestly it is – in the most perfect of ways.

But that’s not why the words trip uneasily off my tongue. If someone were to ask me if I thought that Chicklet came from inside me, or if he was delivered by a stork, despite the fact that I’m still recovering from the pregnancy, labour and birth, I would have to say that I find the latter more plausible.

I don’t feel he is “mine”.

I feel he is his – and I’m just the luckiest person to be given guardianship of him.

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