My Bi-racial Babies

Vivienne with me in the hospital holding Audrey 

Back in 2007, while pregnant with Vivienne, my sister had this fun idea to create a collection of stories from some of her friends and put it in a book for us.  She called it Mamalogues.  When she asked me to write something I felt like I had nothing really to write about.  She kept bugging me and one day I read something that inspired me to write.

Fast forward to now, three babies later.  I came across a blog Baby Making Machine I love it.  I found a section about bi-racial babies, since she (the author) is black & her husband is white.  She wrote and entry titled Perfectly Mixed, a little ironically on my youngest daughter's  birthday.  It is a beautiful post & brought tears to my eyes.  It also reminded me of my Mamalogue story, and so I thought I would share it with all of you.

Colette 

My Bi-Racial Baby

A friend passed a copy of Parenting Magazine on to me since she had already read it.  There was an article about one mom's struggle with strangers asking what she called the question.  "Where did you get her?" The mom was blonde with blue eyes and the father was of Japanese decent.  In this instance, "the question" referred to her daughter's heritage which left the mother feeling angry, insecure and frustrated.  She sought the advise of child therapists who recommended several strategies for either avoiding the question or short, rude quips for responding to it.  After I read this article, I was hit with the reality that soon I would be the mother of a bi-racial and bi-cultural child.  I am American / Caucasian my husband is French / Black.  For several days I wondered in silence if I was up to the task.  This author had brought up so many points as to her duty to protect her daughter from the "evils" of the inquiring world.  What would I do when someone hurt my baby with a racial comment.  Then, I thought about the universal struggle that all girls have: to fit in and be happy with the features that God gave them.  This transcends race and culture.  My mom reminded me that I cried because I hated my freckles.  I wanted curly hair; mine was straight.  I wanted slender hips; mine were curvy.  The list goes on.  I realized that my job as my babies' mom is to create in her a sense of pride in who she is.  If people ask "the question" I will respond with a huge smile and say, "She looks like her Daddy.  He was born in Nigeria."  I believe that if I am angered by this innocent inquiry, then I am teaching my children to be ashamed of her differences, or that I am not proud of her.  Her father is the most amazing friend, husband & father, and I am proud to have his children.  Children and adults can sometimes be cruel.  If she is made fun of at some point because of her looks, well ... weren't we all?  I need to remember this when I give her a big hug and remind her how much I love her.

Audrey & I ... photo taken by Vivienne.  My 4 year old. 

Would love your thoughts ... comments welcome.