Lydia Archives - Page 19 of 27

383

4.16.11

When you have a child who was not with you from before he or she was born, when you don’t share memories of those first movements in the womb, when you don’t have pictures of your belly growing or video of their first coos, you cling to what you do have.

One of the ways I do that is by remembering significant dates. These dates don’t call for a party with balloons and streamers. But, they are significant nonetheless. Perhaps they are even more significant than the balloons-and-streamers dates. They make me take pause. Just stop and remember with the One who remembers all of those dates and then some. And, smile.

Some of these dates will be on our calendar every year–the day we got the call about Chen Mei Yue and saw her sweet face for the first time, the day we met her for the first time and received her into our arms, the day we arrived home and she met her brothers and sister and we were completed.

Today is not one of those days. Today is different. We won’t recognize it again. It’s just today.

383. Lydia lived 383 days without us. And, now, today, she has lived 383 with us. Starting tomorrow, she will have lived with us longer than she lived without us.

And, that feels good.

I’ve heard that real attachment takes about as long as your child lived without you. I always thought that was sort of arbitrary. For a 2 year old, does it take 2 years to attach? A 3 year old, 3 years? But, here we are, 383 days after we received her when she was 383 days old. And, maybe there is something to that “rule.”

Our attachment is still growing, maturing with new experiences, made clear through times like my weekend away when I really missed my baby and realized that she missed me too. But, I know it’s real. And, there’s something that just increases its clarity even more knowing that we are now on the plus side, the “more” side of the calendar.

She’s ours. And, she’s not going anywhere….in a matter of speaking.

My ordinary became extraordinary

4.5.11

I had an epiphany yesterday.

We weren’t doing anything special. Maybe that is what made it significant.

It was a Monday. Monday mornings are hectic around here. Getting the two older kids to school can be hard on Monday mornings. Then, I have about a 10-minute gap during which I come back to the house with the two younger ones, get some dishes done or throw a load of laundry in and then take Drew to preschool. I usually go to the grocery store after dropping him off and shop for the week with Lydia in tow—something that often becomes stressful for both of us.

This particular Monday, I had some extra errands to run. So, we did the grocery shopping and still had three more stops before it would be time to pick up Drew. Since Lydia is crazy very active, I brought the hip carrier I use and carried her in that to try to contain her a bit.

This was the set-up for my epiphany—clearly, nothing extraordinary, just normal life.

It was at the second stop as I was toting her around, occasionally petting her flyaway wisps of brown hair and giving her kisses on her forehead when she would snuggle extra close and tuck her arms in tight to me and dialoguing with her constantly (as of this weekend, she has officially entered the “why?”-stage), that I had my epiphany.

I love this little girl. She is my daughter. Every little idiosyncrasy of my reaction to her was because I am her mother and she is my daughter. Every answer to her “why?”s, every glance down at her, every pat on her back and pet of her hair, every smile in response to someone we past by who smiled at her…all was because I felt completely normal with her on my side, literally attached to me. And, it was really a good feeling.

I realized that as well as I thought attachment had been going for the last year, as committed as I was to her, as much as I loved her and loved seeing my husband embrace her and the other children dote on her, there had been something missing, a very important thing missing.

When we first brought her home, we had the opportunity to meet with an attachment therapist as part of a research study. I remember at one of these meetings towards the end, she asked me a pointed question along these lines, “Many adoptive parents say that it takes them a little while to really feel like their adopted child is their child. Do you feel like she’s yours?” Yes, yes, I answered. She’s mine. I can’t imagine her anywhere else. And, yet, there was some small amount of disconnect. I attributed it to her bonding with Mark more than me. She clearly likes him more, I thought. She sees me more as a glorified caregiver, I thought. Maybe that’s why she bonded to Mark more than me.

But, yesterday, there I was walking around in one of the most mundane places. And, there, God did it again. He made the unholy, holy. He made the ordinary, extraordinary. There I was, shopping for jewelry displays, and I realized I was holding my daughter.

And, my heart grew big.