A Year Ago Today...

 (Emily - singing "Happy Gotcha Day" (to the tune of (and often - words of) Happy Birthday).  Probably a pretty unusual celebration by playing in the yard with brothers, swimming at the pool, eating pizza with cousins and grandparents, and dancing on the deck with homemade musical instruments). 

Still - if the idea was a day of love.  We had it!

One year ago today (June 29^th), we received a call saying “the baby is here,” and then we bolted to the hotel elevator and rode down to the lobby to meet our daughter.  That seems like a crazy sentence to type.  And it is!  It was a crazy, wonderful, angst-ridden, exhilarating, whirlwind experience.   I'm not even sure we were breathing in that elevator!   Quite different – and yet quite similar in some ways – to how we felt when our baby boys were born.   We had known about Emily for 3 ½ months before June 29^th.   Sort of the same way we had known about our biological babies during the months before they actually arrived.  We actually knew more – in some ways – about Emily than we knew about the boys when they were born.  For one thing, we knew she was a girl – and we never found out the sex before our baby boys were born.  And, we knew what she looked like (from pictures).  Much better than we knew from grainy ultrasounds what the boys would look like when they were born!  We knew that Emily could walk and talk and that she usually had her hair pulled tightly onto the top of her head in a “fountain” ponytail.  We knew that Emily’s orphanage reported that she was a “very good baby.” But we didn’t know what she would really be like.  And that, too, is sort of the same as how is when you physically have a baby.  You don’t know what he or she will really be like when they are first placed into your arms – and beyond.

 

My heart was beating so quickly when we walked out of the elevator in China last June 29^th.  We saw Emily immediately.  She was dressed in a pink-ish polka-dotted outfit and had her hair in a very-tight top ponytail.  She was chasing a green balloon.

 

I knelt down to be at her level and she approached me and then, when the orphanage staff member told her that I was her mama, she turned and ran in the other direction.  She did the same thing to Justin.  When we went over to some tables in the lobby, I think that we signed some paperwork (agreeing to keep her safe for the “trial” period of one night) and were told some things about her.  I have no real memory of any of that.  I was trying to watch her and to let it sink in that this was it and that she was our daughter.  The orphanage people thought it best to make a quick getaway, so they handed her to me, got into their car, and bolted.  She began screaming so loudly that our guide advised me to take her to our hotel room and then she and Justin stayed to finish paperwork in the lobby.  I carried Emily upstairs and when I opened the door to the hotel room, she slid down me and ran to the window sobbing “go guy-oh, go guy-oh.”  I tried to comfort her, but she didn’t want me.   She just wanted to be alone in her misery and to point out at where her people had gone.  I just talked softly to her and took pictures in between trying to wipe her eyes and nose.  I felt a little bad taking those pictures of her sadness, but I wanted to be able to remember what this day was like.

After about an hour of crying, she let us pick her up and put her into her crib.  She slept there for a few hours and then woke up and let me hold her and feed her.  We gave her a bath and then took her outside – where she noticeably perked up.  (We later learned that "go guy-oh" meant "go outside" and that outside was her favorite place).  We made everything official the next day, signed all of the required forms, and endured a long, horribly hot day trying to get a suitable picture for Emily's passport.  (I talked about that in a post from China). 

We went to her orphanage the next day and met her special nanny and the other residents of the SWI.  We saw their love for her.  We saw how they talked to her and held her and laughed with her.  We heard from them (through our guide) about all of her accomplishments and skills. Just look at her nanny’s face and look at Emily in the first picture below.  Then look at the other residents crowding around to see and to hold her one last time.  These pictures say it all about her life before our family.  She loved and was loved.  She never lacked for attention or stimulation or care. 

And we are forever grateful - because that loving beginning has made everything so much easier for Emily - and for us.

She attached to us pretty quickly in China. 

And really never looked back. 

Still, the comparison from last June 29th to this June is pretty amazing.

Our year has been a whirlwind of figuring things out, of going back to diapers and naps, of learning a new person, of teaching new things, of having new experiences, of introducing her to family and friends, and – most of all – of love.   She has brought more love, and fun, and laughter into our house than we ever imagined was possible.  She has brought out a side in her brothers that we might not have otherwise seen.  They LOVE her and she LOVES them.  Every day when she wakes up, her first words are “my brothers?” - to find out where they are.  She can’t go to bed at night unless she has given them kisses.  And, they refuse to go to school or to bed or anywhere without getting their kisses from Emily.  She waves them off to school by holding her fingers in the “I love you” sign and singing, “Love, love, love.”  They rush to meet her when they get home – even a year later.  Graham wants to touch her and hold her all the time --  just as he did when she first arrived home last July.  The "new puppy effect" hasn't worn off.  Jackson still marvels at each new thing she learns.  None of this - on their parts or hers - has faded at all as the year has passed.  The boys' hearts have grown bigger and they understand more about the world and its children – and especially its orphans.  And Emily has fully embraced living in a family where two other people are always competing with her for our attention. 

Emily’s grandparents’ hearts have grown bigger too.  Nana finally has a girl grandchild to buy pretty clothes and purses and other things for.  (Nana is a master shopper and finds awesome deals at consignment sales, thrift stores, and regular shops)   And, my Dad has another person to love and to help fill the void left in his life when Mama died.  Very rarely does a week go by when Emily’s teachers don’t tell me about how sweet she and my Dad are when they leave school together (he picks her up every day).  I received an email from a teacher the other day that said this:  “I walked out with my class when they walked in this morning.  Your dad holds Emily with such care and love.”   My Dad loves her and she loves him.  He calls his afternoon pick-up program the “RAS (his initials) Program” and he calls his car his “Team Bus” (40 years of coaching still coming through).  Emily tell us the “rules” of the “RAS Program” and quotes my Dad often.  He and she sing “Row Row Row Your Boat” and the Auburn fight song as they ride along together in the afternoons.  Lots of love between those two.  She needed him and he needed her.  And, to think that I was so worried about how he would react to our adoption news that I considered first detouring to a liquor store on the night I was going to finally tell him (just kidding – sort of!)…

Justin and I continue to be amazed by Emily.  She is smart and capable and is thriving in a mainstream 3 year old class (even though she won’t be 2 ½ until July).    She has gained 6 pounds and has grown 4.5 inches since we "got" her (and she was not small then).  She is pretty much potty-trained (except at night).  She can count to 10 and can mostly sing her ABC's.   She sings nursery rhymes and loves to "read" books.  She is SUPER excited about going to "Mickey Mouse's house" in August.  She speaks in full sentences like any other 2 ½ year native English-speaker.  She knows all of the colors and most all of the shapes.  She will tell you that her name is "spelled E-M-Y."  (missing a couple of letters, but pretty darn good!)   She can run and play and jump and dance and she loves to do any sort of art work or craft projects.  She is happy and funny and engaging.  She is loving and thoughtful and kind.  She is curious and stubborn and mischievous.  She loves baths and the pool.  She wants to copy anything her big brothers do (which is why we are constantly on "death watch" around here).  And, like any two year old, she wants her way and can throw a tantrum with the best of them.  She also has a good singing voice and a terrific memory. 

And, most of all, she is resilient.  At 10 days old, she was left with a note and a bottle at an orphanage in the cold, dark January night.

Then, at almost 18 months old, she was handed off by people she trusted to two strangers who didn’t look at all like anyone she had ever seen or known. 

Yet, other than on last June 29th, she has been happy.   She has accepted us and loved us and she has looked for and fully expected our love in return.  

 

We recently showed her pictures of her orphanage and of her special nanny.  She looked with interest, but with no seeming recognition or memory.  Her only comment - in relation to the picture of her nanny - was to say “that lady is holding Emma.” (which is what she calls herself).   At the pictures of the orphanage grounds (with her in them), she just said "Emma playing right there."  I think her calm response and lack of specific recollection is because her overall beginning was (under the circumstances) a good and loving one. 

We (old parents), who were already “done” with diapers and naps and who had forgotten what it is like to be on ever-vigilant watch over a rambunctious toddler), have had to get back on our A game with Emily.  On any given day if our backs are turned, she could be standing in her high chair or laughingly calling us from the top of the stairs (having long since figured out how to work the safety gate).   But, there are also perks to having toddlers and we've loved having the opportunity to experience those again.   Having someone throw her chubby arms around your neck and say "I'm your baby" is one of them.  Or, having someone look at your necklace, clap, and say, "Mommy like a pin-cess today!" is definitely another.

 

Although life with a 1 ½ through 2 ½ year old (and two other kids and animals and jobs) hasn’t necessarily been easy, we have had an easier road than most.  We haven’t had attachment issues or special or medical needs different or greater than what we were expecting.  We haven’t had to help Emily overcome trauma or bad things in her past.  We haven’t had to earn her trust and love like many adoptive parents do.  I have slept in her room for a year.  That hasn’t been easy or fun always, but it’s fine.  It is/was what she needed.  She was used to sleeping with her nanny and having her nearby all night.   So, I did the same thing.   I laid beside her and responded when needed during the night.  I used to have to hold and sing to her until she was sleep – in order to get out of the room without her calling me back.  Now, I just say prayers, sing a few songs, and put her in her crib.  She usually says, “Good night Mama.  Go wash your hair" (or brush your teeth – or some such task), and then I leave.  I come back to her room around 1 a.m. and sleep for the rest of the night.  Some nights, she stays in her crib all night.  Other nights, she wakes up at some point and asks to come out onto the mattress with me.  Then, she goes right back to sleep.  I am a softie when it comes to sleep and children.  I don’t love sleeping on a mattress or not being in my own room.  But, I think it’s what Emily has needed and I think it helped her realize that I’m always near and that I will always be there when she needs me.  I remember someone saying (in response to a question from a new adoptive mom) that love is a verb.  Very true.  Sometimes, love looks like spending a year on a mattress on the floor.  Other times, love looks like something different.  And, if me sleeping on the floor for a year has made her feel secure and happy in her room – especially since we’ve had no other issues at all – this is a very, very small price to pay.

 

People still tell us how lucky Emily is that we adopted her.  It’s true that her life began with the huge loss of her biological family.  And, it's true that her future (even at a good orphanage) would have been pretty bleak and that she wouldn’t have had access to the care and accommodations that she can receive here and in a family.  She wouldn't have had the opportunity to be rocked and comforted and loved by a mom and dad and taught (and poked and prodded) and loved by brothers.  She wouldn’t have been a very-much-loved grandchild, niece, cousin, or sister…   All true. 
 

But, WE are the lucky ones.  We get to experience and to watch all that she has to offer the world.  We get to hear her little voice and to kiss her and hold her and help her to learn and grow.  We get to help her when she needs it and comfort her and celebrate with her and cheer for her and hold her hand.  We get to feel her squeezy hugs and to laugh at her jokes and funny comments.  We get to see her eyes light up.  We get to help her find ways to see things better or to do things more easily for school.  We’ll get to watch her grow up.  She has changed all of us for the better and has brought more love to our family than we would have known without her.    

“For this child I have prayed, and the Lord has granted the desires of my heart.”  1 Samuel 1:27