From the moment I learned I was adopted (in the 4th grade) I became obsessed with finding out the origin of my physical traits. When I found my adoption paperwork that had one paragraph about my natural mother, it fueled my curiosity. All those years up until the time I met her, I only wanted a picture of her. I wanted to lay my eyes on the woman who gave me my appearance. I had bright blue eyes, curly blonde hair and a round face. The paragraph described the same features so I wanted to see if I looked just like her. I think it was this obsession that made me obsess over my own daughter’s features and it made me so happy to point out similarities between her and us, her parents. I loved to see that my baby looked just like me and had many of her father’s features, as well. I remember in her first few days, finding one small bump on each of her ears that her father also had. My heart swelled with pride. I’ve often stared at her pictures in complete amazement that she looked just like me. I loved it, it was comforting. I’m sure that is not unlike what other non-adoptee parents do but I felt happy that my daughter would never have to wonder, as I did. But it wasn’t too long after that I didn’t have to wonder anymore because I hired a private investigator to look for her. I told them not to contact her because I only wanted to know her name and see her face. Although they went against my wishes and did contact her, I was happy because I got to see her in person. I finally got to see the similarities! And I also was able to compare her photos to mine like everyone else does. I learned that as a baby I looked like my aunt and I also got to meet my cousins, one of which I looked just like when I was in high school. It was fascinating and comforting for reasons I cannot explain but it shouldn’t matter, really, who I look like. It answered my questions (which we are entitled to) but it didn’t change who I was on the inside or who I had been raised to be. They say it’s not the reflection in the mirror but your eyes that are the window to the soul. We’re entitled to know where we came from but it doesn’t have to define who you are on the inside.