His first mother

I am not my sons first mother nor am I his second mother, I am his third and forever mother. I don't often think of his life before us. I never really have because when I do I get angry. I get angry at the woman who carried my son then neglected him so badly that professionals documented that he was significantly delayed at three months old. I read about his first three months and I want to cry, for the suffering my son had to endure before he was ours. I am so torn between the hate I feel for her during the first three months of his life and I love her for giving him life, for creating one of the most wonderful people I have ever met and love. And selfishly I am glad she made the choices she did because I can't imagine my life without him. Ours is a closed adoption, we have no pictures of her, just her name. For my son, I wish there could be contact, someone to answer questions for him, someone he would look like, someone who loves him but wasn't ready to be a mom yet. How can I hate her, look what she (a stranger to my family) has given us.
His second mom is a wonderful person who has opened up her home to us. She took in my son, the baby with the lifeless eyes and loved him, nutured him and cared for him until that sparkle came back. With that sparkle came lots of smiles and laughing. She mothered him for 9 months of his life, loving him as if he were one of her own. He was one of her own until he found his forever home.
I am his third and forever mother. I promise to love him, nurture him and challenge him. I want to give him wings so he can fly and be the best person he can be. I want him to live honestly, laugh often and love deeply.