'My first blood relative was my son. This is what it's like growing up adopted in Australia.'

I can't exactly pinpoint the moment I fully grasped the concept that I was adopted, it's just been a part of my identity and family story for as long as I can remember.

While many adoptees do experience a pivotal before/after or sliding doors moment where they find out later in life (and often experience some emotional upheaval around deception, abandonment or trauma), being a cross-cultural adoptee of very apparent South Korean ethnicity adopted into a Caucasian Australian family with country bumpkin roots definitively ruled that out for us.

Being a precociously inquisitive young thing (and remaining so to this day), there's no chance my parents were dodging any questions about why we looked different to each other or where babies came from, so they simply didn't try, and told us so early that I can't even recall the conversation. I'd say that the day I learnt that adoption exists was the same day I learnt it applied to us. And on reflection, I think this has always worked in our favour, in that adoption was never a big, scary thing to "announce" once we were "ready" or old enough to cope with it, but rather just an accepted fact that, if anything, made us even more special.

Watch: The difference between parents in the '80s and parents now. Post continues after video.

And while it is definitely and understandably not the narrative that all adoptees feel about their story, "special" is exactly how I have always felt about this unique part of my identity.

I believe all Australians are so lucky to live in the best country in the world with so much opportunity, prosperity and safety (and often remind audiences when I do speaking gigs not to take that great fortune for granted). But my gratitude is brought into even sharper focus knowing I wasn't born into those circumstances but given a second chance here without having done a single thing to deserve it (I mean, I was a blob at the time for crying out loud — I was five months old when I arrived here).

Our story has instilled in me a lifelong belief not only in seizing every opportunity (I know, it explains A LOT) but also the deep belief that some things are "meant to be". If you need any more convincing than the fact I immediately knew Mum was my mum even a few days after meeting her (the body language is mind-blowing), my brother and I are not actually biologically related and were adopted from different families, but were born on the exact same day, four years apart — WILD. (Even crazier, my husband's Mum is also ethnically Asian and was adopted into a Caucasian Australian family in the early days of cross-country adoption —you cannot make this stuff up.)

Sarah with her mum, when she was just five months old. Image: Instagram/@spoonful_of_sarah.

Sure, there have been interesting and less favourable aspects to our experience, with some racism and bullying at school (during the much less multicultural 1990s) or big blank spaces in our medical histories. But even when it might have suited me to have some trauma to signal (I distinctly recall during my legal career trying to find something compelling to include in a Rhodes scholarship application to Oxford), there simply isn't any there.

The most commonly asked question has always been about the search for our birth families, and I know many adoptees who have had a lifelong sense of something missing that drives them to go on this journey (with a broad mix of both positive and negative reunions if they do come to fruition). For me, the answer is simple — my curiosity just doesn't outweigh how burdensome the search would be. Sure, I'm curious and if my birth parents were outside my door, I'd love to meet them (and request a full medical workup). But think about the South Korea of the late '80s — a much poorer country, pre-digitisation of any records, with adoption often being the result of unfavourable circumstances shrouded in secrecy and perhaps circumstances I might not actually want or need to know about... It would be immeasurably difficult to find answers that may not even be there, so you've got to REALLY want them.

I have, however, reconnected several times with our foster parents when travelling to Korea (most recently when I was pregnant during my husband Nic's first visit there), which is a whole different kettle of kimchi. Between birth and the age of adoption at five months, rather than staying in a children's home, my brother and I both had the chance to live in a warmer family environment until our parents picked us up.

It is these people who cared for us in those precious early months of our lives that are more interesting to me; who have memories or photos of us as babies and to whom I feel a level of connection. And this is where becoming a mum myself earlier this year has really added some new dimensions to my feelings.

Sarah after giving birth to her son, Teddy. Image: Instagram/@spoonful_of_sarah.

To me, my life has always begun at five months old, when the photos with my family as I know it start the timeline. Before that time, of course, I had no conscious memories and until now they have largely felt irrelevant to my overall identity and sense of self. But now that I have experienced Teddy's own first five months of life and the huge developments in his little soul since then, I deeply appreciate how my time with Mr and Mrs Lee may have, in fact, been more formative than I know. Had they not invested in my curiosity, excitement and awe of the world, perhaps I would not be who I am today.

Add to that the fact that Teddy is the first blood relative of mine that I have ever met or seen my features reflected in, becoming a mum has been especially profound and by far the best thing I have ever done. Again, however, just as adoption overall hasn't been the traumatic experience some people expect it to be, becoming a biological mother hasn't changed my feelings about family in the way some might have thought.

Of course, I have a much more intimate appreciation of what the age of five months looks like and what a superhero my Mum is for battling through that stage without the benefit of postpartum hormones. And yes, I absolutely loved being pregnant, giving birth and spending those scrumptious (but definitely blurry) early days in the newborn bubble. I loved sharing those moments with Mum, knowing it was also her first time and experiencing them with such awe together.

Sarah's mum with her son, Teddy. Image: Instagram/@spoonful_of_sarah.

I lose my bananas at least once a day, wrapping my head around the magic of the fact I literally grew this perfect little boy inside my body, and he's now this fascinating little dude who lives in our house.

Biology is unbelievably cool BUT if I had only met Teddy at five months old, and we didn't share DNA, I don't think my love would be any less. I still believe what I've always said — some say "blood is thicker than water", but I think "love is thicker than both". Watching Teddy with our whole family makes my heart explode, and if you didn't know, I don't think anybody would distinguish between the blood links or the adopted ones.

Family doesn't just look one way and I love that for us.

Listen to The Quicky below where Sarah Davidson shares more of her story.

Feature image: Instagram @spoonful_of_sarah.