My Overthinking

Philly Area mom, Life forever changed by adoption

Sunday Snapshots: {9}

9. The last year as one single digit. That’s big.

This day, in 2002, here we were. Me after the hardest thing I had ever done–labor and delivery. And, Evan, a total miracle child, meeting the world for the first time.

We marveled at the gift God had given us. 

And, we were pretty much clueless. Oh, how I cried when my mom left after helping me for a week. I had no idea what I was doing and why in the world anyone would trust me to take care of this little person. I felt so inadequate and just tried to figure things day by day.
9 years later. Some things have changed…and some things have not. Evan’s no longer a baby; and, I’m no longer a new mom whose daily life pretty much revolves around one baby’s nap schedules and feedings. Evan’s 9–he likes robots and spaceships and legos and books and going to museums. And, I’m a mom balancing working from home part-time, Bible studies, some exciting stuff in the adoption community, 2 kids in elementary school, one kid in preschool, and one toddler who goes with me everywhere. But, Evan still needs me…just as much as he did 9 years ago. And, I’m still the clueless mom who often finds myself feeling the same way I did a week after he was born when Mom waved goodbye and headed home, leaving me with my baby….my baby. As much as I’d like to be the expert with 4 kids who has it all together. I’m just not. 
And, I am certainly reminded of that this month in particular as we have 3 birthdays to celebrate in our family (Lydia, Evan, and Drew). And, well, that makes this clueless Mama feel even a little more clueless. 3 birthdays in a row coupled with Lydia’s family day in there as well–that’s a lot going on to handle.
But, Evan didn’t seem to mind my pulling things together somewhat last minute. A lego party it was yesterday with just us and one set of cousins who were in town for the big kids’ sale we do twice a year–just what he wanted. We decorated–I mean, built–lego necklaces and headed to Chick Fil A (Evan’s fave) where we designed our own lego minifigures to put together in a book and ate a cookie cake made to look like a lego board…sort of. Evan picked out favors off Etsy to give each kid–lego minifigure crayon packs.

 (Had to include this snapshot–this is her picture smile. Totally cracks me up.)

He woke on his birthday to all the door decorations we have done every year.

And, after church, Mark took the 3 big kids to the movies while I took Lydia home for her nap and enjoyed some peace and quiet while getting some work done. I love this picture and the text at the top. Mark suggested maybe moms need Mars rather than Mars needing moms. 

 9. Crazy. It’s kind of a big deal. What a handsome man he’s become. 

Ni Hao Yall

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A birthday tradition I guess we should cease

My big birthday plans for Miss Lydi Mei didn’t turn out quite as I had planned when Mark had to work late, we didn’t arrive at the restaurant in Chinatown until 7:30, the torrential downpour negated the plan to walk around Chinatown, the Chinese bakery for dessert was closed, and we didn’t get home until about 9:30 which meant our gifts remained unopened. (sigh) So, I announced to Mark late that night that I was declaring a do-over, and we would celebrate again on Friday night. I ordered a cookie cake (no complaints from the fam on that) and ordered pizza (in that order) and opened the remaining gifts from us (a baby doll set complete with a bike that Lydia thinks she can fit her little 22-lbs on and a tutu –can’t not give a 2 year old a tutu).

On March 9th of last year, the day before her first birthday, I asked our social worker to contact Lydia’s orphanage and request a picture of her taken on her actual birthday. I just wanted one. The next day, on her birthday, we got a handful of pictures of her and not just her—her and a ginormous cake. And, they were dressing her and treating her like a little princess which included the icing smears on the face which I learned was a tradition in China.

I had the clever idea of doing the tradition again, so after we had already attacked our cake, I decided to try to get a similar shot. Come on, it’s tradition, right?

I’m all for tradition. But, I am thinking maybe this one should be one we bail on. 
Poor baby. 
I even tried to convince her with some pez candies. 
Nope. Icing on the face is not fun, even with pez candies.

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Her birthday

Lydia is 2 today. And, I didn’t expect to feel the way I do.

For a Raudenbush child, a birthday means a bedroom door decorated with streamers and balloons when he or she wakes up in the morning. It means a meal of their choice, some fun activities, some sort of party, gifts, a celebration of them all day long. In fact, they think about it pretty much year round, looking forward to their day, making lists of game ideas, themes, gift ideas.

And, for me, their birthdays mean remembering. I remember being pregnant with them and my labor and delivery. I remember those first moments holding them, studying their faces, memorizing their cry.

So, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that I feel like I do today.

We are celebrating Lydia with the streamers, balloons, gifts, a special meal, and all that. But, I am also grieving that I cannot remember those first moments with my child. I didn’t know them.

A sweet friend gave birth to her second baby last week, a beautiful baby girl. Another friend and I went to the hospital the next day to see her and meet the baby. The mommy was glowing as she shared her birth story. We doted on that little girl, admiring every wrinkle of her brow and how sweetly folded up she still was. We looked at her expressions closely—“Oh, I think she just looked like her big brother,” “Did you see that? She really looked like her daddy when she made that face.”

I’m thinking of that visit today, wondering what it was like for my daughter’s birth mother today 2 years ago. I know I can’t romanticize the event. I do not know what her situation was; I just know that she and the birth father could not keep her. But, I do wonder. I wonder if they loved her the moment they first saw her. I wonder if she nursed her and cradled her close. I wonder if they saw themselves in her and laughed about her strength even as a newborn. I wonder what they named her.

I cannot tell Lydia today how long I was in labor with her, what the doctors said when she was born, how Daddy cried when she finally was born and she screamed for her first breath.

But, I can tell her what we were doing that day.

We joined the special needs program. On March 10, 2 years ago, after waiting nearly 2 years in the healthy child program, Mark and I sent an email to our agency with our application to join their program to adopt a special needs child—a step of faith we quietly took. We told them: “We feel like we need to open to the child God has for us. We do not know if she is in the sn program or not. But, we are opening ourselves to that possibility.” In another email I sent that day to an adoptive mom, I said, “We want to be open to what God may have for us, but this sure is scary.” And, it was.

I cannot tell Lydia about her first moments. I long to know what they were but have accepted that I most likely never will. But, I can share with her our story on her birthday and how God laid it on our hearts that very day to join the program that would lead us eventually to be a family.

We prayed this morning together as a family as we always do. We thanked God for Lydia, for her life, and for her birth family. We thanked Him that they protected her, that they cared for her as they did and made sure she’d be cared for 15 days later when they knew they could not do that any more. We prayed for them today that if they knew what day it was and if they are thinking about their little girl and missing her, that the Lord our God would comfort them and somehow allow them to know in their hearts that she is loved and secure.

Happy birthday, our sweet Lydia. Thank you, God, for this child.

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