“Mommy,” six year old Darcy calls, as you wobble, six months pregnant, from the kitchen to the hallway, where she is staring up at the pictures on the wall.
“What is it, baby?” You ask, kneeling down next to her, holding your stomach, as she looks enamored by a photo on the wall. She points to it.
“Who is that lady, Mommy?”
You look up at the photo to notice that the lady in the photo is Sarah, her birth mother. You wonder how you should answer her question, but you know you can’t lie, or put it off; she’s a smart girl. She would bring it up later, or somehow find out herself.
“That, my beautiful, beautiful girl,” you start, pulling her onto your knee, kissing her forehead, “that is your birth mother.”
She looks at you, furrowing her brows in confusion.
“My what?” She asks, tilting her head, and unconsciously placing her hand upon your protruding tummy, rubbing circles into it.
Your knee begins to hurt from the weigh of both of your children, so you slowly lean backwards, sitting down and put your back on the wall.
“Darcy, you have two Mommy’s.” You state plainly, watching her intently.
“How?” She asks, sitting in the crook of your crisscrossed legs, facing you. She is so small, she fits perfectly.
“Your birth Mommy,” you point, “her name is Sarah, and,” you breathe in, “she is in Heaven. Like this baby,” you place a hand to your stomach, “im his birth Mommy because he is in my tummy. You are a very lucky girl, Darcy.”
“Why is that?” She asks, tilting her head in confusion.
You chuckle slightly at her response. “Because, you have a Mommy in Heaven that loves you very, very much. And you have a Mommy on Earth that loves you very, very much.”
“I have-” she pauses a minute, trying to understand, “I have two Mommy’s?” She questions.
You nod.
“So,” she pauses, trying to get it right, “I was in her tummy?”
“Mhm,” you say, smiling.
“I have two Mommy’s!” She smiles, jumping up, “That’s so cool!”
You laugh, shaking your head at her, as she does her signature rock on her heels.
“Here,” she states, reaching her hands out to help you up.
“How did you get so sweet?” You ask, taking them, but putting the weight of you standing up on the wall, pushing yourself up on it to stand.
“Daddy always asks the same thing,” she giggles, running off to play after you are upright.
You hear her talking to herself, her reassuring words filling your heart as you sneak up to her room, leaning against the door case.
“Mhmmm,” she nods, looking down at the baby doll wrapped in a blanket in her lap. “She’s the nicest Mommy ever,” she giggles, “she makes yummy food, and we sing and do arts. You’ll love her.” She rocks the pretend child back and forth, continuing, “I have two Mommy’s. One of them is in Heaven, and one of them is your Mommy too. Mommy says im a lucky girl.” She smiles. “My birth mommy is dead.” She states plainly, nodding her head.
Wait, what? You never told her that she died; you just stated that she was in Heaven. You never talked to Darcy about life or death, she’s never really experienced it, so you had no clue she even knew the word “dead,” nor understood it. You don’t even really remember ever talking about God with her.
