Switched at Birth: The True Story of a Mother's Journey Read Online Free PDF

motherhood from the day we brought her home. Toby did, too, of course, but his contribution was different, as every child’s is bound to be. With Toby I learned how to mother a child who approached the world with caution; with Bay I had to shift gears and learn to mother a kid who barreled into everything at ninety miles an hour, oblivious to danger and utterly opposed to anything conventional. Toby taught me patience, but Bay taught me to embrace the unexpected.
    And believe me, the irony of that is not lost on me at all.
    The point is, instead of cleaning, I sat on Bay’s bed and tried to picture a Kennish family that did not include her.
    Impossible.
    Then I’d stand beside her window and gaze out.
    As though I were expecting to see a teenage girl I’d never met but would recognize on sight, just walking up the driveway.
    As though I were expecting a miracle.
    Which, in a way, I was.
    And that’s when the what-ifs would start. What if we never find her? What if the mother who took her home had moved out of the country and left no forwarding address? What if there had been an accident—anything could happen over the course of sixteen years, after all—a car wreck, a plane crash, a drowning? What if that mother hadn’t watched and worried and planned and protected the way I would have—the way I did … for her daughter?
    What if …?
    And the worst part was that I knew Bay’s head was swirling with what-ifs, too. But every time I broached the subject, she’d crack a joke and turn the conversation in another direction. She wasn’t ready, or perhaps wasn’t able, to put her own what-ifs into words. For once, Bay was taking her time.
    Then one day, she found me in her room, looking out the window.
    “You’re home early,” I said, feeling foolish and embarrassed at being caught just standing there. I picked up the Windex bottle, but since I’d neglected to include paper towels in that day’s cleaning charade it was a useless bluff.
    “I’m not early,” Bay informed me. “It’s after four o’clock.”
    “Is it? Gee.” Time flies when you’re waiting for your missing child to find you. “How was school?”
    “You know, school-ish.” She gave me her wry smile. “On the upside, I ditched science class, so I didn’t discover anything else that might potentially rip our family apart.”
    She dropped her backpack on the floor. Reflexively, I picked it up and put it on a chair.
    “That’s not what’s happening, honey.”
    “Really?” Bay slipped out of her cherry-red school blazer, the one that goes so gorgeously with her porcelain complexion (it, too, landed on the floor). “Because you’ve been wandering around this house like a zombie for weeks.”
    “I’ve got a lot on my mind,” I said vaguely.
    “Like what you’re going to do when the prodigal daughter returns?” She grinned. “See? And you thought I never paid attention in Sunday school.”
    I laughed.
    “So instead of standing around here pretending to Windex stuff, shouldn’t you be off planning the Welcome Home Whoever You Are extravaganza?” Bay frowned, feigning great concern. “What’s the protocol for this sort of thing? Will it be a black tie event, maybe? Or more casual, like cocktails and finger food on the patio at dusk? And saliva swabs for everyone, ya know, in keeping with the theme.”
    “Good question.” I responded with a grin of my own. “I guess I’ll have to look it up. Maybe Emily Post has some insight on the etiquette for Whoever You Are parties.”
    “Excellent. Sounds like a plan.” Bay picked up the sketch pad from her desk and began to doodle.
    I watched her for a moment, thinking I’d leave her alone to work, but the lighthearted teasing had gone a long way toward lifting my spirits. Suddenly, I felt ready to say something I’d been meaning to say for days now.
    “Bay …” I sat on the bed and waited for her to look up from her drawing. “I want you to know … I need you to know that no