My friend’s daughter recently had a baby. When I showed the picture to my oldest daughter, her immediate comment was, “She looks like a Nelson to me!” I instantly agreed. It reminded me of how I felt when our children were born, and the innocent comments that continued as the kids grew. “He looks like Keith did when he was little, … she has the Weatherford eyes, … there’s no mistaking she’s a Weatherford, … yup, there’s that mechanical mind. Just like grandpa.” I even came up with my own way of joking about it. My standard response was, “Yeah, I’m just the gestational host!” Even though I didn’t fully recognize adoption’s impact on my life until I was pregnant with our 5th child, I do remember how those comments felt. It was isolating. I had no family traits or patterns to mirror, so it was easy for the focus to be on the paternal side of the family. Even though my kids had grown within and been delivered from my body, I still felt like the sole inhabitant on my genetic island. Roots matter. They ground us, for generations. Trying to exist while feeling untethered to anyone else in the world is hard work. Ask an adoptee. They know.