It’s interesting to me that some people think that when I was surprised by Simone’s skin color that I loved her a little less. Or that because my husband and I are of different races that we argue about race. There must always be conflict, right?
I don’t think I ever loved so hard as I did in the year after Simone was born. She was my everything. Simone has a scrapbook of the early days. It is filled with pictures of her in every pose imaginable and accompanied by all of the details of what was happening at the time. She was a reflection of me, which means she was cute and clean 24-7. I nursed her that year. I nursed even though it was painful at first and sent me to the doctor twice. Simone and her well-being were my priority. I didn’t even know I had all of that love inside of me. In fact, it was scary at times. I knew for the very first time in my life that I could seriously harm someone if she tried to harm my baby. I bet other mothers have said the same thing.
Sometimes people ask me whether the hubby and I argue about racial issues. No, we don’t. I am not sure how such an argument would unfold. Differences don’t always produce conflict. Sometimes they produce understanding. Ken and I argue about the same things other parents of a young family with two girls, two dogs, and two working parents trying to budget in these tough economic times. We aren’t different in that regard. A family is a family is a family.
What other myths can we break?