peace with this one, though more often than not, it is an uneasy peace.
S OMER SITS ON THE BENCH, SIPPING HER WARM SWEET COFFEE and watching Asha hang from the monkey bars in the playground. In the last year, Asha has become adventurous—climbing, hanging, and swinging from everything she can. All of her little-girl caution is gone, and she has the scabbed knees to prove it.
She loves bringing Asha to this park. They moved to this neighborhood a few years ago, when she was two. It was hard to leave San Francisco, the place where they learned to be a family together. After years of pain and estrangement, she and Krishnan enjoyed the novelty of their family time—going to Baker Beach on the weekend, where Asha would tiptoe just up to the water’s edge and then run away screaming when the next wave came. Somer and Krishnan found a way to relate to each other again. Their conversations didn’t center on medicine anymore: they rebuilt their tattered relationship, and did it around Asha.
They hadn’t planned to join the exodus of their friends out of the city, but as Asha became more active, they began to lament their tiny backyard and the quality of the local schools. When Kris got a lucrative offer to join a practice in Menlo Park, a neighborhood with a good school district thirty minutes south of San Francisco, theystarted looking for houses nearby. Somer found a position at the community medical clinic.
“Asha, five more minutes,” Somer calls out, noting the sun’s position.
“She’s lovely,” says a woman sitting on the bench next to her. “I think I’ve seen you before. We come here almost every day.” The woman gestures to a little blond boy digging in the sandbox. “He loves it, and I’m always happy to get out of the house.”
“Yeah, Asha loves it here too. I’ll have to pry her away soon.” Somer laughs.
“You should come by here at noon on Fridays,” the woman says. “I get together with some of the other nannies from the neighborhood every week for a picnic. The kids have fun together, and we get some grown-up company.”
Nannies? After a polite moment, Somer stands and collects her belongings. “I’m not her nanny,” she says, “I’m her mother.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I just assumed…I mean, I thought because—”
“It’s fine,” Somer says, in a tone that indicates otherwise. “She looks more like her father, but she has my personality.” She strides toward Asha. “Have a nice day.”
On the way home, Asha rides her bicycle while Somer trails behind, reflecting on why the incident at the park bothered her so much. It’s easy for people to assume she and Asha aren’t related. She should be used to it by now. When the three of them are out together, people often look twice at Somer. Even she can see how natural Kris and Asha look together, when she rides on his shoulders or they sit side by side in a restaurant booth. At these times, Somer has to resist feeling she’s the one who has been adopted into their family.
At an adoption seminar they attended years ago, they were told that adoption only solves childlessness, not infertility—a distinction Somer has come to understand. Asha’s arrival into their lives broughtmany things—love, joy, fulfillment—but it didn’t erase all the pain caused by the miscarriages, nor did it completely eliminate her desire for a biological child.
When they are together, just the two of them, Somer feels like Asha’s mother and loves her as if she’s her own child. She doesn’t tell people Asha is adopted. Not only does it not seem pertinent, but she doesn’t want to make Asha self-conscious about it. She doesn’t see the dissimilarity evident to everyone else in Asha’s dark hair, her tan skin. Now, when she sees Asha waiting at the corner, it is through the eyes of the nanny at the park. One of Asha’s thin brown legs is perched atop a pedal, while the other barely touches the ground. Her thick black ponytail is
S OMER SITS ON THE BENCH, SIPPING HER WARM SWEET COFFEE and watching Asha hang from the monkey bars in the playground. In the last year, Asha has become adventurous—climbing, hanging, and swinging from everything she can. All of her little-girl caution is gone, and she has the scabbed knees to prove it.
She loves bringing Asha to this park. They moved to this neighborhood a few years ago, when she was two. It was hard to leave San Francisco, the place where they learned to be a family together. After years of pain and estrangement, she and Krishnan enjoyed the novelty of their family time—going to Baker Beach on the weekend, where Asha would tiptoe just up to the water’s edge and then run away screaming when the next wave came. Somer and Krishnan found a way to relate to each other again. Their conversations didn’t center on medicine anymore: they rebuilt their tattered relationship, and did it around Asha.
They hadn’t planned to join the exodus of their friends out of the city, but as Asha became more active, they began to lament their tiny backyard and the quality of the local schools. When Kris got a lucrative offer to join a practice in Menlo Park, a neighborhood with a good school district thirty minutes south of San Francisco, theystarted looking for houses nearby. Somer found a position at the community medical clinic.
“Asha, five more minutes,” Somer calls out, noting the sun’s position.
“She’s lovely,” says a woman sitting on the bench next to her. “I think I’ve seen you before. We come here almost every day.” The woman gestures to a little blond boy digging in the sandbox. “He loves it, and I’m always happy to get out of the house.”
“Yeah, Asha loves it here too. I’ll have to pry her away soon.” Somer laughs.
“You should come by here at noon on Fridays,” the woman says. “I get together with some of the other nannies from the neighborhood every week for a picnic. The kids have fun together, and we get some grown-up company.”
Nannies? After a polite moment, Somer stands and collects her belongings. “I’m not her nanny,” she says, “I’m her mother.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I just assumed…I mean, I thought because—”
“It’s fine,” Somer says, in a tone that indicates otherwise. “She looks more like her father, but she has my personality.” She strides toward Asha. “Have a nice day.”
On the way home, Asha rides her bicycle while Somer trails behind, reflecting on why the incident at the park bothered her so much. It’s easy for people to assume she and Asha aren’t related. She should be used to it by now. When the three of them are out together, people often look twice at Somer. Even she can see how natural Kris and Asha look together, when she rides on his shoulders or they sit side by side in a restaurant booth. At these times, Somer has to resist feeling she’s the one who has been adopted into their family.
At an adoption seminar they attended years ago, they were told that adoption only solves childlessness, not infertility—a distinction Somer has come to understand. Asha’s arrival into their lives broughtmany things—love, joy, fulfillment—but it didn’t erase all the pain caused by the miscarriages, nor did it completely eliminate her desire for a biological child.
When they are together, just the two of them, Somer feels like Asha’s mother and loves her as if she’s her own child. She doesn’t tell people Asha is adopted. Not only does it not seem pertinent, but she doesn’t want to make Asha self-conscious about it. She doesn’t see the dissimilarity evident to everyone else in Asha’s dark hair, her tan skin. Now, when she sees Asha waiting at the corner, it is through the eyes of the nanny at the park. One of Asha’s thin brown legs is perched atop a pedal, while the other barely touches the ground. Her thick black ponytail is
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