Hers, all hers.
Roccie once wrote something that I think I finally understand. I am too lazy to find it, so let me paraphrase: She doesn’t spend a lot of time thinking about the fact that her gorgeous son conceived via an egg donor doesn’t look like her or isn’t biologically related to her, but neither does she spend a lot of time thinking that her gorgeous daughter not conceived via an egg donor IS. (Good luck parsing that ridiculous sentence.) Bun Bun was fairly young when I read it, and I was still constantly marveling over the fact that she was my daughter. Some of the marveling had nothing to do with being her being made from my DNA, like the fact that she used to fit in my uterus. Freaky. How can that BE? But some of it certainly did. I absolutely looked for pieces of myself in her and tripped OUT over the fact that we were RELATED. So I figured that if I didn’t feel the way Roccie felt, well, this was just another datum indicating that Roccie is a better person than I am. Which she is.
But over the past year or so, I’ve discovered that I can’t feel those feelings anymore. It’s like when you’re suffocatingly hot and you can’t summon the physical state of being miserably, freezing cold. I just can’t summon the emotional state.
I think what’s happened is that Bun Bun’s Bunbunness just overshadows everything else now. She’s so obviously her own person that I can’t see past her personhood to my own reflection, at least not the way I used to. Of course I still see her through the lens of my own feelings and beliefs and desires, but it’s different. And I can tell it’s not just that I have changed or grown or am too tired to pull it off, because I CAN and DO feel the feelings for Bunlet. I cuddle him and marvel at his little toes and his gorgeous, fierce, sweet, perfection and trip the fuck out that he’s mine, all mine.
Maybe that’s the key. She’s not mine anymore. She’s HERS.
Bun Bun turned two last week. We had a quiet family birthday, the way I like ’em. And of course I CAN still trip the fuck out that this:
And will become who knows WHAT in the coming years. Something good and strong and happy, I hope.