While waiting to bring Lexi home, Wayne and I poured
ourselves into the process of adoption. We wanted to be sure we were ready. We
participated in online training, read several books about adoption, and
received general counsel from both our social worker and the folks at our agency.
We had numerous conversations with friends who had adopted, and I read blogs
until I felt I knew other adoptive families personally! We were well versed in
the ins and outs of adoption, and after 13 months of waiting, felt that we were
at least somewhat prepared. We knew that the process would not be easy. Besides
the general changes that occur when a new sibling comes home, we were ready for
long nights filled with fear, ready for rejection despite our best efforts, and
ready for complete isolation from the outside world if needed.
And yet . . . our transition has been nothing of the sort. To
be honest, it’s a thousand times better than we could have ever imagined. Lexi
loves easily and freely. She gives kisses, hugs and cuddles. She obeys our
instructions (for the most part) and is just, as a general rule, happy. It’s
unbelievable really.
She already
comprehends most of what we say – get your shoes, bed time, time to take a
bath, and she is learning to speak the English language at break neck speed.
Lexi has so easily become one of our gang. She has molded to our routines and
truly seems to adapt well to new situations. We were somewhat concerned about
youth camp, but she handled it like a champ. She was perfect on the six hour
drive, slept through the night, took naps during the day, and fell in love with
the water.
Yes, there have been tears, rounds of time out, and several
“discussions” between the girls, but all in all, the transition – the
transformation – has been miraculous. In fact, the adjustment has gone so well,
that sometimes we forget.
That is until we have a day like Sunday.
For the last 12 weeks, Lexi has spent nearly every hour, every
minute with at least one of us. Besides a couple of hours that she spent with
Memommy and Gandaddy while we were at camp and a couple of Sundays that she
went by herself to Sunday School, we’ve never been out of her sight.
As I
mentioned earlier, the transition has gone so smoothly that I felt it was
probably time to start leaving her in the nursery during church. I’ll be back
to work soon, and she will be with a babysitter. I didn’t want the separation
to come as a shock or a setback.
So, on Sunday I did it. She did well. In fact she walked
right into her room, eager to play with her friends. Her teacher even brought
pictures to show how happy she was. I felt good, knowing we’d done the right
thing. That is until the teacher says, “We’ve got to teach her my name. She
calls me mama.” Well, needless to say, I wasn’t happy, but I guess it’s to be
expected. She doesn’t know the word teacher! She went to AWANA that night as
well. Again, she called the teacher mama, and then at dinner, she called her best friend's mom - Mama.
And all at once, it was breathtaking . . . heartbreaking . .
. and I remember.
I remember that this baby who I’ve known for less than three
months, has experienced only 12 weeks of Mama. . . 12 weeks of family, brothers
and sister and grandparents. She is still learning what it means to have a
mama.
Because I feel certain that Lexi was well cared for, I think
I sometimes forget that she spent the first three YEARS of her life as an
orphan – lots of people to care for her, people who made sure she was clean and
fed, but never a Mama.
She has no idea that Mama has a special meaning. It’s
reserved for THE one - the one who loves you beyond earthly comprehension, the
one who gives and sacrifices for your happiness and your safety, the one who
would literally travel to the other side of the world to bring you home.
Realistically, I know she knows I’m different. She is
wholeheartedly my girl. I’m the one she turns to when she needs a snack, needs
to potty, is sleepy, or just wants to be held. She kisses me a thousand times a
day and says I love you, Mama about that many times as well.
I also know that it
was her first time to experience a group setting on her own and with her
limited English, mama was a word she knew would gain her a listening ear.
But I also realize that Mama is a new concept for our girl.
And three months as compared to three years is really not that much time. And
while our transition has been so easy that we tend to forget, Sunday served as
a startling reminder that Lexi was born to another woman and lived many years
in the care of other women.
It may be years before she can fully comprehend the meaning
of mama. But for the sake of our girl, I will remember.
I will remember as I go on kissing boo-boos, dressing baby
dolls, painting toe nails, and reading the same book over and over. I will remember
as I go on getting juice, fixing snacks, and taking numerous trips to the
potty. I will remember as I go on loving; as I go on being mama, even when it’s
hard, when it’s breathtaking and heartbreaking.
And even if she calls every woman in the world by my special name, I am
her Mama.
One day she’ll get it . . . one day she’ll understand. But until then, I will remember. Being her Mama
is a gift, a miracle far greater that I could ever conceive. Today, as I
reflect back over the last 12 weeks, I am so grateful that she not only calls
me Mama, but that I get the privilege of being Mama as well.
