My Baby Has Another Mama

My baby has another mama.

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Her first mama, her birth mama. Her grew-her and knew-her mama.

I think of this mama often, especially when I pass the hospital where her heart broke, and my heart broke open, and a baby girl was born.

We’re not so different, her and I.

We were little girls once, with hopes and dreams. And then hopes deferred and dreams crushed. And resilience, and hope, and bravery, and loving on. I admire her strength, carrying on with a beautiful smile.

We carried babies we didn’t raise. We live with heartache and joy and heartache and joy. We stand, misunderstood by many.

We share love. Her love spans the miles between us. Our daughter knows her love.

Some people may think that she chose adoption because she didn’t care. But really it’s because she did care. Selflessly choosing us to raise her sweet baby girl, and even sharing in our joy as the months go on.

She didn’t expect this path. She was a little girl once, with hopes and dreams.

Is it too bold to say I don’t think most parents desire to head down the path of adoption or foster care? It’s a misconception that they choose it, as if it was that black and white. As if they had no love or care or affection for their child.

(Yes. There are exceptions, but generally speaking).

Life hands hard cards (unimaginably hard), and sometimes decisions are made, and sometimes decisions have hard consequences, and sometimes choices aren’t black and white, and sometimes the world doesn’t understand all the places to lead them to this one fork in the road. They stand, misunderstood by many — myself included, I’m sure of it.

But one thing I do know — this little girl I get to raise was so loved and known and wanted by her first mama.

She loved so much that she gave up hopes and dreams and took on pain.

I know the pictures she receives bring joy and pain — blurred together in an indistinguishable mix.

My baby has another mama.

We’re not so different, her and I.

We both share love for a little girl, and she’s our daughter.

Untitled design (1)(Just look at those cradling hands. Such love.)


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Rachel George
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Rachel George shares about hope in the midst of life’s darkest moments. She believes in the power of stories and community, loves being outside, and is delighted to own a coffee shop in her little midwestern town. She’s working on her first book about creatively processing through grief with eyes fixed on Jesus. You can find her on Instagram@rachelgeorgewrites and


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