We did know one thing for sure, so obvious to us that we barely had need to discuss it. This baby—if there were to be a baby—would always know her origin. It would be woven into her earliest life like a bright thread, with no fanfare.
This is the author thinking of how she would have approached informing a child that was conceived through unconventional means.
For me, that intention she had was very much how my parents handled the fact that I was adopted. It was always part of my identity: my origin story was that there was a woman who became pregnant, who loved me so much that she gave me up because she wasn’t ready to be a mom. And then, there were my parents, who loved me so much they chose me and raised me as their own precious, cherished daughter. Always, always it was a positive thing.
