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There is no hiding, and it was precisely this loss of privacy that I struggled with at first. There was always a 3-year-old scrutinizing it and asking endless questions about womanhood. My adolescent vanity didn’t matter anymore, and it was pretty liberating to let go of.
Inspired by my rapidly changing form, she would ask, "Why are your boobs massive and dark? I’d find her dressed in my tights and heels, pretending to read one of my books, reeking of my perfume.
I still dread the day when she will inevitably scream in petulant rage, "You’re not my real mum; you can’t tell me what to do!
" She has chosen me as her mother, but she can just as easily make the choice that I am not her mother.
I hope that this fear of rejection doesn’t govern how I raise her too much.
I want to treat her and her brother equally, but I don’t think that’s completely possible all the time.
I was never against the idea of having children eventually, but I wasn’t determined to do it either.
I’d never considered that, one day, I would take on someone else’s child.
Amelia’s biological mother was rarely in touch, and although she missed her, Daniel provided an incredible all-encompassing level of support.I did lots of yoga at home, often with Amelia sniggering behind the door or crawling underneath me while I tried to practice my breathing seriously.I learned quickly that children are little precision mirrors; they tell you the truth you’d otherwise avoid. " Raising children helps you to realize that none of this stuff really matters.I spent all my spare time with the two of them and quickly developed a sense of comfort within this new role.People would often presume I was her mother when we were out, and we all behaved as though I was.