She survives. And, for this I am grateful. Although I pray for her sweet heart to be prepared bit by bit for the coming of her family I am grateful that she does not miss us yet. I could not bare that thought.
If you have ever wondered what it is like to be an adoptive mother here is a little bit of an insight. A small one, perhaps.
In the car earlier this week I found myself talking to Momma Gamo. A woman birthed my son and I wonder if she lives. I wonder if she wonders, if she ever thinks of him. And, in the car the other day I was so overcome with gratitude for my children that I wanted her, I needed her to know how absolutely positively magnificent he is.
"And, you know...", I continued..."he makes this face when he is thinking that can melt a heart, and he is the most tender big brother, and he loves the Lord and thanks Him for things like protection and laughter and chicken fingers." Days come and go and then some days come when I remember that if she is alive she might want to know with all of her heart and soul and might that the little baby she birthed is ok, more than ok, he is thriving and he can read and he loves to write letters to his friends and decorate them wtih car stickers. And, tomorrow he is going on his first ever big boy playdate without me and he is so excited that he keeps telling his baby brother about it while still sweetly saying, "But, I promise Bubba will be back and we will play trains Little Buddy."
Would't that be the stuff you would want to know? If Momma Gammo and I talked, if I could ever know, then today I would tell her that he got a Marshmellow Gun in the mail from his Aunt Karen and he has gone around all day shooting the household with Marshmellows and eating an entire bag with a goofy sticky grin and a slightly taller stance as the marshmellow gun means for him that he is older and braver and somehow more of a man, a man with a marshmellow gun and he knows how to use it.
And, then there is Nannie.
In the midst of wondering if her car seat would fit and if she would be able to wear shoes after her surgery I began to wonder if we had enough clothes for her. We have been bit by bit collecting sweet little pieces and preparing her room. The last piece of paper that we are waiting on from immigration has still not come. I can not control that, but I can go through clothing and prepare and so I do. A half and hour later I called my dearest friend sobbing and apologziing for the call at such a late hour. She did not care. She never does. I sobbed.
"These dresses are to small. They are all too small. All these dresses for her that we have are too small now and she never got a chance to wear them."
I cried because the stupid immigration paper is not here yet. I cried because my baby girl is in an orphanage when we are here in a warm home filled with cookies and clean sheets and perfectly wild brothers. I cried because I had boxed those dresses up and imaged her in them only to now realize that would never come to be. I cried because these moments of her life are passing, moments that I will never get to know as intimately and dearly as I have with Finn the baby that I have birthed and witnessed each and every mind blowing day since. Mussie has taught me that it is ok, painful, but ok to have missed those days. That even without the knowledge of birth and memories and habits and experiences, even without knowing the story of your own precious child, you can walk forward together and forge a deep and loving and permanent bond from which more joy will come than ever imagined. Yet, what I wouldn't give for a baby picture to hang on the wall of him next to his little brother. What a treasure it would be to know if he had a head of curly hair and if he fell asleep nursing on his mothers breast. These are not every day thoughts, not at all, in fact they come only now and then like in moments such as this when I am thinking of my daughter in China who is experiencing a day that I have no idea about.
I can tell you everything my boys did today. But, my daughter...I do not even know if someone touched her. And, that hurts. A lot.
There will be no baby picture for her either, and ultimately that is going to be ok. Every day we spend together from the moment we walk out of the orphanage will make that ok, even it we all mourn that from time to time.
I am so glad she does not miss us now. But, those too small dresses pushed me over the edge as we wait for that one piece of paper. I sobbed. I can't seem to stop. I hold the boys, read to them, pray with them, play trains and cars and chase, and the tears come rushing to my eyes....but they are tears of a two equally strong emotions.
I AM A MOTHER FULLY BLESSED. I HAVE A SON THROUGH ADOPTION. I HAVE A SON THROUGH BIRTH. AND THEY ARE THE MOST PRECIOUS GIFTS I HAVE EVERN BEEN GIVEN ASIDE FROM SALVATION. Then the tears, the same tears, come too for Nan and the dresses and the days going by and I mourn for her in a way that tears me to pieces. I mourn for her to the point that my tears have become moaning to the Lord.
Mussie, Finn and I are studying the Solar System this month at school. Earth is tiny in comparison to the rest of the known universe. Tiny as it is my daughter is so far away tonight. My prayers go up to my God, to the God of the earth, of the universe. The God that spoke all of this mystery into being, the God that gave us these two boys, the God that has always been faithful.....to Him I pray with the heart of a mother to please deliver her home soon.
And, I wait.
This is what it is like to be a mother touched by adoption.
It is beautiful beyond explanation and more difficult than ever imagined. How grateful I am to be on this journey, even though there is pain in the offering.
Labor pains, like with Finn. Gut wrenching, life altering, never seeming to cease pain and yet every part of me moves forward towards the life that is being delivered.
Birth and Adoption, both heavily requiring labor. The contractions for Nannie are coming on strong. Oh, Lord I love you. Please hear my prayer and sustain me with your strength now as I have labored long and I weary.
It was your hand that upheld Mussie and me.
It was was your hand that upheald Finn and me.
It is your hand now that I rest in, knowing she rests there too.
And, yes.... of course....the too small dresses were sold to the consigment shop so that new ones would be waiting.
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