I was adopted. I was first taken from my biologicals (that's what I will refer to them as from now on, it's just easier) when I was six months old and from that time I was placed into 21 different foster homes by the time I was three. My parents got me when I was three and my adoption was final when I was six.
Now the stories that I've heard have been some what horrifying, to say the least. Such as, I was pushed down a flight of stairs and that is how I dislocated my left hip (I now have problems with my left hip, x-rays show that the ball is wide and flat instead of round). Stories of neglect and abuse. Now I don't know what's true and what isn't so I refuse to place blame or make judgments (that's not my call).
One of the stories that I've been told was about how the female biological loved her dogs more than her children (there were four of us in total). She fed her dogs and took care of them, she loved them. When my mom and dad got me they say that I was so malnourished they could count all my ribs from a short distance away. They also say that I used to go to the fridge, open the door and just stare into it for a few minutes. When asked what I was doing I would just say "just making sure it isn't all gone" or something along those lines.
Here I am, 34 years later. I'm over weight and I have issues with food. I have a six year old daughter that isn't fat, but she's solid as a rock (and sneaks candy and food). I have my fears for her.
I have been eating healthier, making better food choices in hopes to shed a few pounds and be an example to my children. The next few blogs will be about my struggle and my journey with food.