These are my kids.
It doesn't matter that she is an inch taller than I am.
It doesn't matter that he is only 5 years younger than me.
He is a size 0, and she is a size 22. I fluctuate anywhere between an 8 and 12. But that doesn't matter.
It doesn't matter that he is on the Autism Spectrum and doesn't understand a few social cues.
It doesn't matter that I am in no way biologically related to her.
He would rather play video games when I'd rather be swimming. But it doesn't matter.
It doesn't matter that I am a blonde, and she has brunette hair. (Or red, or blue, or green, or purple, or whatever color she decides to dye her hair.)
It doesn't matter that he is gay and I'm straight.
It doesn't matter that she just upgraded her phone to the iPhone 7 and that I still use my basic TracFone.
He prefers Winter whereas I am a Summer baby. But that doesn't matter.
It doesn't matter that she has scars on her wrists from cutting and that the only thing on my wrist is a hairband and the word LOVE.
It doesn't matter that she is bold as brass and will start a fight for the fun of it, even though I hate confrontation.
I love comedies, but he enjoys horror movies. But that doesn't matter.
If you're keeping score, you'll realize that none of the above things matter. That's right, in the grand scheme of life, none of these things truly matter. The only thing that matters is that I love these kids. I love them as if they were mine. I would do anything in my power to keep them safe, happy, and healthy.
I help them with homework after school. I sing them lullabies when I tuck them into bed. I give them a hug and a juicebox when they have had their hearts broken. I teach Him how to flirt, but I show Her how to throw a right-cross.They come to me with questions and problems because they know I will help them without judgment.
So, the next time you point out that they are not biologically mine, don't act surprised when I will point out that you aren't smart enough to understand this kind of love.The kind of love where kids don't have to be blood-related to warrant being loved and cared for. The kind of love that makes you want to legitimately adopt 130 adolescents while you are only 23 years old.
Whether it's the 8 year old who calls me Katelyn, the 14 year olds who address me as Miss Vinson, or the 15-21 year olds who call me Momma, I have kids. Lots of them. And anything you say to the contrary simply doesn't matter.
