I spent the first 3 months of my life in the hospital. After that I went straight into a foster home with a neglectful foster parent. After that back to the hospital due to severe diaper rash that left permanent scaring. At about 6 months old I was actually returned to my birth mother for a couple of months. Then I lived with my maternal grandmother and due to her 1 bedroom apartment not meeting the social workers standards I went back into another foster home until I was three years old. I entered my last foster home at the age of 3.
I had weekend visits with my biological mother. I loved those visits and lived for them. I could spend time with my older brother and sister (they were in different foster home) and life felt normal. I was so happy on those weekend visits. I was the baby and everybody doted on me. My big sister was my favorite person in the world and I love my brother too.
When it was time to go back my biological mother was returning me later and later. She failed to bring me back on time one time too many and our weekend visits were turned into supervised visits in the social workers office on Saturdays only . Leaving after only being able to visit for a few hours was so hard. I would cry and be so sad. My mom would sing "We are family" by Sister Sledge with us and make us hug each other and promise to never forget. I missed her so much. I missed them so much. I would lay under my bed cry and cry and cry. I didn't understand how we could have so much fun together, so much love between us, and she not just do what the people (social workers) told her to do so I could be with her. Every where we went people said I was her little twin. No one every looked at me like she did. She would beam with pride and I would glow. With her I was a confident little girl. I would dance and sing and smile a lot.
One day it hit me that she would never do what the social workers told her to do so I could come home. I could not depend on her. I knew where my next meal was coming from and it was not from her. With this knowing the tears just stopped. I remember the day like it was yesterday. I was laying under my bed crying and my adopted father asked me what was wrong and why I was crying. I came out from under the bed and he asked me "Are your crying for her? Are you crying for your real mom"? I said "No. She is not my real mom. Mommy is my real mom". I never cried for my biological mother during my childhood again. I was 10 years old.