Why I'll always try to kiss them once for you.

Bolivia has had quite the impact on me, I’ve become quite the prolific kisser. 

On the cheek though.

Mostly. (Jokes.) 

There’s the constant air kissing that is just cultural, but also, the kids at Casa de Amor have just the most kissable little faces. But for the last little while, I’ve been deliberately double kissing™.

As in, I’ll kiss them once, then sneak in a second. (Sometimes like 20, depends on cuteness, and if they need changed at that moment.)

And here’s the reason.

I’ve been listening to a song called “From God’s Arms, to My Arms, to Yours”. Musically, it leaves a lot to be desired as far as my tastes go, however, it is lyrically beautiful. It’s written from the viewpoint of a birthmother, and I find it compelling. It’s not a viewpoint I feel like we hear a lot, and it’s one we need to hear more often.

Since I find myself with kids whose future options lie only in adoption multiple times in a week, I find myself thinking about their mums a lot.

Do they think about them?

Did they want to give them up, or was there no other choice?

Do they regret it?

How do they feel on their birthdays?

As they watch their other kids grow up, do they think about the milestones they miss?

What was the reason?

I try hard to think well of their parents, although at times that’s easier said than done. But I do.

After all, they gave this child the chance to live.

And drive me insane as these lot do, and they really do, I’m grateful for every single one of them.

And so, as I think about their lives, and I think about their parents, and as they cuddle up on my knee and I smother them with kisses, I try to sneak in an extra one - one from their first family. 

Flawed as they might be, they chose life for their kids.

And I have no right to judge when I’ve never been in their situation.

If staying with them wasn’t an option, I wish that each situation was one where the parents left their child in the hospital, safe with a social worker.

But I also wish that each one had been born in a hospital, and that just isn’t true.

I wish none of them had been a victim of rape.

I wish that simple issues like cleft lip didn’t mean that their mother couldn’t breastfeed, couldn’t afford formula, or the surgery.

I wish men were willing to accept a child that wasn’t theirs, and I wish that it was easier for a woman to walk away from a man who mistreats her, and her child.

I wish there were more options for a woman on the street.

I wish there were more options for a woman in prison.

I wish they had been taught to make better choices.

But for now, these are just wishes.

And the children are already here.

So since I can hold them while their birthmothers can’t, I’ll sneak in an extra kiss, so that one day if I meet them, I can tell them that I never let them be forgotten.

That I gave them one kiss from me,

And one from them.