"That ain't no Etch A Sketch. This is one doodle that can't be undid, Homeskillet."

It has been coming into conversation a lot lately. The fact that I am adopted.

I actually love talking about it. I love that everyone has so many questions and that I have a different story to tell. The main questions that I get asked are: 1) Do you know your birth mother? And 2) Do you want to find her?

The responses are always the same. No- I don't know her. No- I don't want to find her. (It 's always interesting to me that no one asks about the birth father.) There are different kinds of adoptees out there. Those that have an insatiable urge to know and those that just don't. I am the latter. My parents are my parents. I've never known anything different and never wanted to know anything else. The only thing that sort of stinks is when I go to the doctor. You know, the whole "do you have family history of illness?" and I have to tell them I'm adopted.

I was born on October 6th, 1981 and brought home by my parents on December 18th, 1981. This fateful day is referred to as my Gotcha Day. Every year since I was small this day has been celebrated. Mostly with a dinner at a restaurant of my choice and a small gift. Its fantastic because it falls on the week before Christmas. I would always get one killer present. The best year was a hamster named Dusty.

I always knew that I was adopted. I was aware of it from the time that I was old enough to understand it. I was always proud of it, like I wanted everyone to know. I remember having the book "Why Was I Adopted?" It was this book with pictures and explanations. I used to love to flip through the pages and show my friends. My brother was adopted, too, and I remember being in the first grade and standing up to tell the whole class that I had to leave early to go and get him for the first time. "I'm getting a new brother today!"

I do know a couple of things about my birth mother (I find that term so weird. It reminds me of a milk cow or something.) her. One day when I was young, I remember being home alone and snooping through my mom's dresser drawers. Underneath it, tucked way behind her dresser, I found a large manilla envelope. I wasn't even expecting to find it, but there was some information in there about my adoption. Basically, all that was mentioned was that she was very young. There was mention that she was musically inclined (which I always remember to this day because I love to sing) and that she had named me Norma after the nurse that took care of her.

When I watched Juno, I imagined that she was just like Ellen Page. I wondered if she was smart and sarcastic or what she was like at that young age. I have to give her credit. She made an incredibly difficult choice that I am eternally grateful for. I mean, I wouldn't be here today if she didn't have the courage to do what she did. And that is enough for me. That is why I don't need to meet her or have her be part of my life. She is already. She gave me up so that I could live mine... that's all I need to know.