Corban is a tad confused.

Corban was a gigantic surprise.
huge.
enormous.
surprise.

Corban came into our lives in a completely unnatural-to-us manner…by birth. 

I was a horrible pregnant person. I was never one of the sweet round-bellied ladies that I have seen so often. I have heard multitudes of women (bless them) say pregnancy is beautiful. But no one could convince me of the loveliness in gaining 60 pounds and peeing on myself when I sneezed.
It is just not cute.

Corban.
He and I are the odd ones out.
Everyone else in our family is adopted.

He is REALLY annoyed that he isn’t adopted.
He frequently asks, “Who is MY ‘logical mom?”
I always say, “ME!”
He ALWAYS responds with: “Quit joking! Really, who is it?”

sigh.
We have been having that conversation for years.

Corban is loud and outspoken. He is blunt and particular. He is quick-witted and silly.

He loves his siblings. And his mohawk…

and playing in the ocean.

He loves reading and computers.

Corban, although he was never in foster care, and is not adopted…is probably our family’s biggest adoption supporter. He loudly, sometimes rudely, always honestly, answers adoption questions.

At the grocery store while checking out the very nice cashier asked, “So, which one is yours?” (meaning the kids). I answer as I always do, “All of them.” And she responds with eyebrows raised, “No, I mean YOURS.” This is when Corban jumps in…”ALL OF THEM. We are ALL brothers and sisters. EVERYONE asks us that question. WE are ADOPTED. Do you know what that means?” Then he slaps his head like he has just had to explain 2 + 2 to a grown-up.

After a time-out and (once again) using his standard apologetic phrase, “I apologize for my rudeness” we have our usual follow-up conversation. I tell him he isn’t adopted. I tell him people are just curious sometimes. And he is not excused from consequences for his rudeness because the cashier accidentally asked what might be considered a rude question.

Then he corrects me (again) and explains he IS adopted and I am wrong, he did not grow in my uterus.

So to my almost 7-year-old:
While I am so enjoying you and the kids getting older, I still miss you being little sometimes. I miss your silly sayings and baby ways. I miss you saying foxers instead of boxers and moocock instead of mohawk. I miss eating at Chuck E. Jesus instead of Chuck E. Cheese’s 
You are not, in fact, adopted. I think you will probably completely understand that in the near future.
And I think I will miss that too.

Happy Birthday, Corban.