Sometimes We Forget

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.