Switched at Birth: The True Story of a Mother's Journey by Kathryn Kennish, ABC Family Read Free Book Online Page A

rare and extraordinary that they simply cannot be defined.
    Then the counselor who had started it all was saying, “Daphne, this is Bay. Bay, Daphne.”
    And Daphne, my daughter Daphne, who I’d held in my arms just once sixteen years ago, flashed a gorgeous smile and said, “It’s nice to meet you.”
    I would like to say that my first thought was that my daughter was well mannered. But that was not the case. Because Daphne didn’t just say it.
    She signed it.
    Which is why my first thought was not She’s polite .
    My first thought was She’s deaf .
    Amazingly, I was able to stay on my feet; miraculously I didn’t weep, and this was because I had to think of Bay. I had to be strong and calm for Bay, who right that very second was going through something every bit as enormous as what I was going through. Equally enormous, but in reverse.
    She was looking into the dark eyes and lovely face of the woman who had pushed her into the world and fed her from her own body. Her biological mother.
    Something fiercely protective ignited in me. I was like a warrior, ready to attack if this woman did one thing to make Bay feel anything less than unconditionally adored.
    But this woman, this Regina Vasquez, with the rich chestnut hair (like Bay’s) and deep brown eyes (like Bay’s), was looking at my daughter—her daughter—as though she were seeing a priceless work of art, a precious treasure.
    Which, of course, she was.
    And I understood that I wasn’t the only one whose heart had just melted. Regina was taking Bay in, her eyes filled with tenderness and awe. She was making up for a decade and a half of not having this exquisite young woman in her life. She was trying to make sense of it, even as she knew that there was no way to make sense of it. And she was looking every bit as proud and delighted and terrified as I was.
    The reality set in: This was Bay’s mother.
    Bay’s mother? No. I’m Bay’s mother.
    And I’m Daphne’s mother.
    It didn’t take a mind reader to know that this woman, this Regina Vasquez, was thinking the same thing. For one crazy second, I considered knocking her down, grabbing both girls, and running away with them, never to be found.
    But that is not how a self-respecting Mission Hills mom conducts herself.
    This is:
    “Regina,” I said in my most gracious voice, “we’d love to have you to our house for lunch.”
    So we dined together.
    I made some rookie errors with regard to Daphne’s deafness, and Regina reacted in a manner that, at the time, I thought was hostile. But I understand now. She had one agenda, and that was to protect Daphne from our ignorance. The only thing we were guilty of was having never known anyone who was deaf. We guessed, plain and simple, and we guessed wrong. I spoke too loud, I spoke too fast, I asked Regina if she was Mexican—wrong, wrong, and wrong (she’s Puerto Rican, in fact). We found out that Daphne and Regina lived with Regina’s mother, Adrianna, and that Daphne was a vegetarian (so much for the chicken enchiladas I had warming in the oven).
    Through all of it, I sensed Regina’s defensiveness (although at the time I might have said contempt). But now that I’ve had some time to consider it from her point of view, I know I can’t blame her. First impressions are mostly about what you see on the surface (since there’s really little else to go on), and Regina was walking into a pretty intimidating setting. I’m sure, at that point, she saw us primarily in terms of the neighborhood in which we lived. And weren’t we seeing her in the same way? Not to mention that she was outnumbered. We had the “conventional family” thing going for us, and it must have seemed to her that we were flaunting it.
    Of course, she had the significant advantage of speaking Bay’s language, whereas every time Daphne tried to communicate with us in hers—those graceful but elusive signs and hand gestures—I held my breath hoping John wouldn’t make some seemingly