Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Walking Blind

One Friday afternoon, few years ago, we were driving home from violin lesson when Bailey said, "Mama, I have a funny feeling in my tummy."

"Are you sick?" I asked.

"No", she said, "I just having a funny feeling about something. . . . . . how did I get here? I mean, you adopted me from Korea, but how was I born? Zacky came from your tummy, but where did I come from?"

Why are the BIG questions always asked in heavy traffic?

You see, we hadn't told Bailey about her birthmom. We had talked about Korea, the "Babies Home", her foster mother, the airplane, the paperwork, the attorney, the judge, citizenship, the baby shower - all of the "easy" things about adoption. We had answered all of her questions honestly, but for some reason, the subject of a birthmom had never come up. It didn't come up until that day, driving down Hillside in heavy traffic.

Deep down inside I wanted to say, "Let's wait until Daddy gets home from work and we'll sit down and talk about it." But I didn't. I didn't want this to be uncomfortable. I didn't want it to seem like a big secret or a difficult subject, so I just blurted out "You came from another lady's tummy. She loved you very much and wanted you to have a family. She wasn't able to take care of you and she wanted you to have a good life. So, after you were born, she found some people who helped her find us. We needed a baby and you needed a Mommy and Daddy, so God put us together."

When we got home, I let her and Zack rummage through her "baby box" that is kept in my closet. We had looked through it before many times, but it meant more to her this time. She looked at her passport, pictures of her foster mother, the clothes she was wearing on the airplane. . . . then Zack jumped up and ran out of the room. "I can't talk about this anymore!"

"Why mom?" He asked in tears. "Why didn't that lady keep her? It makes me sad."

We've talked to Bailey about adoption her entire life. We've tried to answer questions honestly. We haven't brought up issues that we felt were not age appropriate. We've read books about adoption and celebrated her Korean heritage. I thought I had done everything "right". I have always been so sensitive to Bailey's thoughts and emotions concerning adoption, but I never even considered what Zack was thinking or feeling. Zack was really troubled. I never dreamed he would react this way.

"I just don't know what I would do if you didn't want me when I came out of your tummy,"  he sobbed, "Poor Bailey." We tried to reassure him that it wasn't that she didn't want Bailey. She just couldn't take care of her.

Wow. I was NOT ready for all of this. Things finally "settled down" after a couple of weeks and I thought we had made it through a rough patch.

Until last night.

Bailey brought me a picture she had drawn of a smiling lady holding a baby. "My birthmom," she said in a monotone voice, "and me." Then she turned and left the room. I slipped into her room and asked her if she wanted to talk. "Yes," she said, "I want to talk about my dollhouse."

So, we talked about her dollhouse. We talked about the furniture, the dolls who live there, the next "home improvement project" she would like Pa Pa to start working on. We talked for a long time. I guess I was waiting for her to bring up her adoption, but she didn't. She just wanted to talk about her dollhouse.

I don't want either of my children to hurt. I want them to both see the side of adoption that is wonderful and beautiful. I don't want them to see the other side - the side that can cause sadness and confusion. I just want them to feel loved, accepted, treasured, and happy.

Bailey and I have a special bond. From the moment my big brown eyes met her tiny little black ones, we have been linked together. There is a quiet comfort when we are together. We belong together.  I will never see adoption as anything but a miracle. My daughter may have been born half a world away, but the love I have for her is as deep as any mother's love. I could go on and on, trying to explain the love I have for my little Korean angel, but it all boils down to one thing : She is my daughter. It is as simple as that.

A while back, after a fun day together, she said, "You're the best, Mom. I'm so glad I came here because, you know, when you're adopted from Korea, you just never know WHAT kind of mom you're gonna get!"

Being a mom the hardest, happiest thing in my world. I am trying to just take things a day at a time, answering questions gently and honestly. I am trying to keep my emotions at bay. There are times I am panicking on the inside and acting casual on the outside. There have been times I have poured out my heart to God, asking for wisdom and there have been times when I have sent up a quick "help me say the right thing" prayer.

Trust me, I have read all the books, but I still feel like I am walking blind through a forest. I just keep putting one foot in front of the other, hoping I don't bump into a tree or trip on a fallen log.

Kris walked into the house one day after a long day at work and Bailey said "Hey Dad, I know I came out of another lady's tummy, but how did I get in there in the first place?"

Yikes!

Kris said "Hmmm. That's a good question". She turned and hopped out of the room.

Whew! That was a close one!

Monday, July 2, 2012

My Husband Thinks I am Pretty

I found a note one morning, a couple of weeks ago, stuck to my bathroom mirror. It was from my husband. It said, "You are beautiful. I love you."

It's funny, when you think about it. It was just a little note on a heart-shaped piece of paper, stuck to the bathroom mirror. It's funny, how something so simple could mean so much.

My husband thinks I am pretty.


He is the first one to tell me I look nice. He tells me he likes my hair, my new outfit.

Even on days I pull my hair into a messy ponytail and wear my jeans and flip flops, he tells me I am pretty.

Sometimes I laugh. I think it is absurd. I look in the mirror and see a tired, frazzled, frumpy, highly imperfect person and yet my husband thinks I am pretty. How can that be?

I have quit trying to figure it out. I have quit accusing him of being dishonest. I just relish in the fact that my husband thinks I am pretty.

There is an incredible security in that.