I talk to my kids every day and saw them just last week but really, this month has been about getting to know M, A's amazing little girl. I find myself calling her "Ava" by mistake sometimes because her antics so bring me back to how my now ten-year-old used to be when she was just two. Here she is jumping on the Dora bed that I made her.
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The other day the three of us had a wonderful evening going out to see James Brown's horn section playing a free concert outdoors at Lincoln Center. I didn't hear, but A overheard some ladies behind us murmuring about us. M looks Asian from her father's side, A is white and I'm black, so the two black women behind us were furiously trying to figure out who belonged to whom. The same thing happened to us at Ava's big birthday weekend sleepover. We had five girls, an assortment of hues and continents, and an old lady thought we were a low-rent Jolie and Pitt.
It's quite amazing how nosy people are. They will come right up and ask you if the kids are yours; who's the father, who's the mother. Of course I would love my kids whether they were genetically linked to me or not but I don't see how it is anybody's business but our own.
Has something like this ever happened to you?