Truth be told, I don't spend a lot of time thinking about Noah's birth father. Perhaps because I'm his mom, I feel a much stronger pull towards his birth mother - even though we have comparably little information on her.
She carried my son, birthed him, loved him, and made an adoption plan for him. I carry an ongoing concern, endless gratitude, a fair share of curiosity, and a genuine worry for her well being.
But birth father? He's on the very outside of my radar. He's there, somewhere... but he's murky. He remains that way for most of the year. Until Father's Day arrives.
Every June, this mysterious person creeps into my thoughts.
Somewhere out there, my son has a birth father. He's not on our paperwork. There's a blank spot on the forms where his information should be. But that empty space doesn't erase the fact that he's out there.
Scratching for something tangible, I've tried to formulate a picture of him in my mind. Comparing Noah's features to his brother's, I try and identify his unique features.
Noah's eyes are distinct, so he must get his big brown peepers from his birth dad. His hair is a mess of curls while his brother's is poker straight. Maybe the curls come from Dad's side?
What's his heritage? When I look into his golden brown eyes and sweep the brown curls off my sons' forehead, I wonder about his ancestry, and his birth family's story.
I wonder what else has he taken from his genetic father. Do they have the same laugh? Do they both love soccer and hate vegetables? Are his many allergies something his birth dad also endured? What lucky or unlucky genes has he passed forward when our son was conceived over four years ago?
I have no answers. The canvas is blank. The story's not told. Somewhere out there my son has a birth father. Does he know he's a dad? Does he have any idea what an incredible son he helped create?
Wherever you are, birth father, whatever kept you from your son's life, I hope you are making something incredible out of your life. Your son is doing just that. Happy Father's Day.