Three Years.

 

  I’ve not blogged in a bit.  Thank you for all of the kind e-mails checking to make sure that we’re all alright and that the adoption is progressing.  We’ve been buried-under-busy since moving in January, but I’d like to get back to posting.

 

  I’ve wanted to start blogging again for a while, but today I felt like I had the proper motivation.  Our sweet Bella has been with us for three years now.  Three years. 

 

Bella,

  I cannot remember life without you.  Although I can remember the day you came to us down to the smallest details – the nausea in my stomach on the way to the hospital, the fear and despair written over every inch of your cancer ravaged little body, the panic that set in when I realized that your illness was much more than the intake worker had implied, the sadness that overtook your being as you realized you were going home with us, strangers.
 
  Yes.  I remember it all.  How is it that I can remember it so well, but simultaneously I cannot remember life without you?  I think it is grace – God had begun to prepare my heart for you before you came – I think I cannot remember life without you because you were there in my heart long before I ever knew it.

 

  We’ve been through the ringer these last three years, eh?  The darkest night of your soul.  Your agony.  Cancer.  Food issues.  Sleep issues.  Rage.  More cancer.  Then pinpricks of light – when I think you began to feel like even though it had been completely taken apart, the puzzle of your life was beginning to come back together – in a different way.
  We are not in the light just yet.  There is still pain, fear, challenges.  But now we work through them together instead of them dividing us.

 

  You, Bella, are my daughter.  I love you.

I am not your first Mama.  I will never, ever be your only Mama.  But God has knitted us together in a way that only adoption can produce – in a way you can only experience by watching God heal brokenness and create family from nothing.

 

  Soon you will be seven.  Before we know it you will be 16.  In the blink of an eye your Daddy will be walking you down the aisle.  And I feel so blessed to get to experience it all with you.

 

  Right now you and your sisters are singing your own rendition of “Let It Go” and we are getting ready to eat dinner which will assuredly be a chaotic, loud, and incredibly messy event.  Yes, event.  I will cherish each minute of it – when you are so helpful with your sisters, when you complain because I put veggies in the sauce, and when your eyes light up because your Daddy decides to make cookies with you tonight. 

  I praise God for you, little one. 

 

Love you, love you, love you,

                    Mama

Moving.

 

So, as is typical, we have to keep things interesting around here.  We wouldn’t want to go more than six months or so without a major life change – that would be so, you know, normal.

We are moving.  This Saturday.  To be clear: all seven of us are going.

We’ve known for a long time that long term we wanted to be closer to family.  Currently we travel about two weekends out of every six so that our kids get to see all of their grandparents frequently.  We want our kids growing up really knowing their grandparents, so we made it a priority.  Well, Brian finally got a job offer near my hometown, and so we’re going.  We’ll live very near my parents, and it will make traveling to see Brian’s parents much easier and more frequent!”"
We’ve planned this for so long – it was always a future thing – always something we planned for, never something we did.  Well, now we’re doing it.  And it’s so much harder than we anticipated.

God placed us here seven years ago – newlyweds with no kids.  (Yes. Seven short years ago we had no children.  Now we have five.)

In those seven years he has worked in our lives in ways we couldn’t have imagined.  Not only has he blessed us with our children, but he has shown us more grace than we could have asked for.  And as the conductor for the grace he has shown us, he has used the people he has surrounded us with.

Truly we have developed a community here such that it feels like a family.  Through everything we have been through, both good and bad (and there has been a lot…of both) he has brought up around us a chorus of grace as we have watched him intertwine our lives and the lives of others.  We have, quite literally, seen an Acts church lift us, carry us, and sharpen us as iron sharpens iron through valleys and celebrations.

I could not be more grateful for the time he has given us here, and for the people he has given us to love and be loved by.

 

All that to say, it is difficult going.

 

However, God’s grace and his faithfulness is not dependent on our location, and we are also looking forward to seeing how he will choose to use us somewhere else.  We are looking forward to living near family, we are looking forward to where he takes us from here, we are looking forward to visits from our dear friends from here (ahem.). 

 

More on the logistics…

Brian interviewed (for three months) and was (finally) offered a job at the Build a Bear Workshop Corporate Headquarters!  I know, right?  How could there be a more fitting job for a guy with five little girls, eh?  And his offer letter?  ….it came like this:

 

Yes.  Really.

 

On the adoption – no, it’s not been finalized.  We pursued this job opportunity because as recently as September they told us it would be finalized in December.  But, clearly that didn’t happen.  Actually, as of the new year they hadn’t even sent someone to our house to do our homestudy.  So.
We are moving with the girls as a pre-adoptive placement, and they will complete the adoption via ICPC.  It might take a little longer that way – but then again, at the pace they were moving anyway, maybe not.

 

SO.  Lots of change here.  I need to go so that I can pack.  Here’s to moving and trying to sell a house with five children ages six and under.  Prayers appreciated.

‘Tis the Season.

 

 

  It happens every year, so I’m not sure why I let it surprise me.

The stores start playing Christmas music.

We put up our Christmas tree.

Lights are on the houses all around us (but not ours, because seriously, where do people find the time!?!).

And it’s like a cue is given, it’s like a switch is flipped, and our sweet girls and their broken hearts start to bleed again.  With the music, with the lights, with the tree, and with the traditions, it’s like their scabs are peeled back, exposing the hurt again.

So every year, as we usher in the holidays, we also usher in dis-regulation and regression.

 

Every Christmas is hard for our girls.  They are clearly confused by their feelings and revert back to an instant fear response.

BUT, I can also see growth each year.  As they look to us with increasing confidence for their comfort, and as our trust and love grows stronger – their hurt does not diminish, but now we can be their safe place.  We are praising God for growth.

This year we see the regression.

But this year we also see trust.  We see the girls looking forward with excitement to our family Christmas.  Their family Christmas.

It will always be hard. We are not their first family, we are not their only family, but it is clear in the joy in their eyes, that we are their family.

With that in mind, I am looking forward to this Christmas season.  Dis-regulation and all.

One strand at a time.

 

 

Two years ago today we got a phone call.

There was a little girl, three years old, very sick, and in need of a home.  God softened our hearts.

“Can you take her?” 

“Of course.”

A thread passed through the loom and was pressed in tight as to never come unraveled.  A thread of a different color.  A thread of unknown origin.  A thread of anxious preparation, unknown challenge.  What would it look like in our tapestry?

We went and picked her up at the hospital, so sad, so scared.

We didn’t think that she could stay.  Not what we had planned for, not what we had been told.  What if it wasn’t good for our family?  But God made a way, he provided, and she stayed.

Another thread passed through the loom and was pressed in tight.  A thread of trust, a thread of faith, a thread of change.

 

We went through treatment after treatment.  ER trips.  Scary illness.  Improved blood counts. Healing.  Healing.

We went through visits.  Up and down.  Back and forth.  Trauma after trauma.

We went through vomit.  Refusal to eat.  Eating challenges and, well, not eating challenges.

Painful bedtimes.  Trauma tantrums.  Disregulation.  Hating us.  Loving us.  Confusion.

Whump.  Whump.  Whump.  Thread after thread pressed tight into the weaving.  Different colors. Some light, some dark.  Some thick and hard to weave in.  Some silky and soft.

 

Finally trust.  Finally attachment.  Finally smiles.  Finally food.

Joined by her sister. 

Threads of sparkling beauty added to The Artist’s creation.

Final goodbyes.  Painful last experiences.  Ties damaged, but hopefully not broken.

Threads woven with blistered fingers.

 

What was it that The Artist was doing?  As we watched one thread woven through at a time we couldn’t tell.  Sometimes it seemed like things would turn out ugly. 

Sometimes our ideas of what our tapestry would look like were stretched. 

Sometimes we couldn’t see past the thread being woven to remember who was weaving.

 

But now.  Now looking back.  Look at the beauty.  Look how they all fit together.  A story told to be retold, revealing the beauty that The Artist had in mind.  It is gorgeous.  Not without it’s pulls in the thread.  Not without sweat and tears staining the weaving.  But all for the glory of the Artist.

Faith that He knew what he was doing.  That he had a plan for how all the threads would look together.  Looking back over the last two years I wouldn’t change a single thing. 

 

And look now.

 

 

It’s beautiful.

And we’re not done yet.

Thank you Jesus for weaving things in that we would have never considered.

 

I love you Bella.  My Bella.  My daughter.  Forever.  Happy two years.

Daddy-Daughter Dates.

 

 

  My hubby takes our girls out on dates regularly.  He does one date night per week, and we rotate between the girls.  They LOVE IT.  We did father’s day presents where the girls had to answer questions about their Daddy.  Three quarters of the questions were answered with, “Going on dates.”.

What’s your favorite thing about your daddy?

Going on Dates.

What’s Daddy’s favorite thing to do with you?

Go on Dates.

If you could do anything with your Daddy, what would it be?

Go on a date to…

  They build lots of special memories while he’s winning their hearts.  Meanwhile they are learning how guys should treat them, show them respect, and love them.

 

  The day of their date, Brian calls them in the afternoon to ask them to go on a date with them.  And he always tells them to ask my permission – just in case the answer is no. ;)  As soon as they hear that someone is on the phone for one of them, they all get excited.  “You get to go on a date tonight!  Daddy’s on the phone!”  It’s adorable.

  Anyway, I wanted to post some pictures of date nights recently so that we can keep them in the memory bank. 

Naomi just turned two in April.  Two is the magic age where you get to start going on dates, so she recently had her first.

Out to dinner.

And to the pool.

She was very proud that she got to go on a date.  She kept telling me, “I go on date with Daddy!  We go pool!”

 

Sylvia’s most recent date was a picnic at the park and going on a flower walk.

 

 

 

 

 

 

And ice cream…

 

Bella’s most recent was going to a ceramics studio and getting to paint her own piggy bank and then going to dinner with Daddy. 

 

 

 

  Tootaw’s up next and I’ll post her pictures then.

 

I love my husband.  They love their Daddy.

Goodbye and forever.

 

Last Wednesday the girls had their ‘goodbye visit’ with their mother.  Ever since the hearing we’ve been debating how to go about all of this.  Do we prepare them ahead of time?  Do we wait until after the visit so that we can be the comforters vs. the bearers of bad news?  How do we talk about something so traumatic?

Well, it turned out we didn’t have much say in the matter, because they called us Tuesday night to let us know the visit was on Wednesday.  Well then.  So much for preparation. 

Brian took the girls to the visit (an hour and a half away) so that one of us could be there for them afterward.  Also, I had recently e-mailed their birth mom a bunch of pictures from Disney and never heard back, so I wanted him to ask and make sure I had the right e-mail. 

 

The visit actually went relatively well.  Mom didn’t even discuss it being the final visit, but did give the girls some pictures of the family before leaving.  I have a lot of respect for her ability to not make it an emotional blood bath – because, really?  I can’t even imagine.  The only thing that could have gone better is if Mom would have taken some time to verbally give the girls permission for us to be their family, for them to love us and move on.  But, having been in this field for a while, none of us were really expecting that.

 

When they got home from the visit, we went ahead with bedtime.  Bella was clearly contemplative and a little quiet.  Then she asked it,

“Was that my very last visit with my Mom ever?”

I’ve been thinking about, praying about, preparing for this conversation for so long, and still it was like a punch in the gut.

“Yes sweetheart.  Yes, it was.”

Knowing that if at any point it is appropriate for the girls to have contact with their mom that we would be all for it – it was difficult not to want to comfort her with that.  But, from what we’ve learned (purvis, purvis, purvis) it is better to be straightforward and not give hope for what might not happen, at the risk of implanting a hope in a child that they could hang on to for years without any resolution.

She went on to ask all the questions.  Why?  How long is forever?  What is adoption?  Will I ever see them again?  Are they dead? 

Tootaw doesn’t understand what is happening at all.  Not at all.

Lots and lots of questions.  Lots of tears.  Some obvious relief for having some concrete answers.  Some relief that she does not have to say goodbye to us.  Lots of heartbreak. 

 

Since then we’ve seen a huge resurgence of trauma behaviors.  Trauma tantrums with hitting, kicking, spitting, biting.  The difference between a year and a half ago and now is that she trusts us, so with lots of help from Empowered to Connect, we are able to work through it.  We are able to provide comfort.  We can love her through it and connect through the pain.

But jeez, what I wouldn’t give to not have to go through all this trauma again.  We had worked through so much.  So. Much.  And now here we go again.  But this time around we are investing in forever. 

Forever. 

Thank you Lord.

 

Prayers for the hearts of our sweet girls are coveted.  Healing will come.  It will.

Bittersweet.

 

 

Today was the conclusion of the termination of parental rights trial for Bella and Tootaw.  All so very bittersweet.  I was anxious going into it.  I don’t think I was anxious as much about the outcome (it was fairly obvious what was going to happen) as I was about having to sit in the court room again with their parents and listen all day to all the things they screwed up. 

If you find it impossible to have compassion for birth parents in a situation like this – if you just can’t connect with them and empathize – go to a termination trial.

They are just people.
Thrown into the pool of life in the deep end, head first.
Usually with no support system.
Usually having grown up without role models.

A life most of us cannot even relate to.

So, I was not looking forward to sitting in the court room with them all day while they were trampled in all the muck they have left in their wake the last two years.

 

We got there and made small talk with their parents.  We’ve worked hard to develop and maintain a relationship with them and regardless of the outcome today, I wanted them to know that we still aren’t against them we are just for the best interest of the girls.

It took them a long time before they even started telling people they could come in the courtroom – attorneys in and out, lots of hushed talking.

Finally, the state’s attorney asked me to come into the courtroom.  Mom and Dad were considering relinquishing their rights and wanted to know if there was any way we would maintain contact.  Brian and I had already had conversations about this, I had discussed it with the girls therapist, and we knew that if possible, we did want to maintain contact to some degree.  Both their therapist and Brian and I agreed that initially it would be better to maintain contact through e-mail or P.O. Box.  We were hoping for an open adoption to some degree and to maintain as many ties to their past as possible.  Both for the sake of the girls and their family.

 

I left the courtroom to find their parents crying in the hallway.  The caseworker had just let them know that we were willing to maintain contact and Dad leaned forward and said thank you.  I wasn’t sure what I was going to say, but I walked over. 

We had a conversation about their fears.  I promised that the girls would never forget them and would always know that they love them.  My heart was breaking for them.  It was excruciating to be a part of.

I am thankful that this is how it all happened if it had to.  I felt assured through our conversations today that their Mom and Dad knew that we weren’t against them,  that they trust us to care for their girls, and that we love the girls and will forever.  We were able to offer support in such an awful time.  I felt like it was the fruit of working so hard to maintain a relationship.  Now, in the midst of such pain, they knew they could trust us, they knew we would not give up, they knew that all we wanted was what is best for the girls.  And in the midst of all that, it laid a foundation for continued contact.

 

It was excruciating to watch.
We hurt because they hurt.
We hurt because of the loss that this day signified for our girls.
So much brokenness.

 

All this will take a lot of processing.  I’m sure that I will post more on it as it all settles.  I wish it could just be a celebration, and celebrate we will when we get to our adoption day – but for now it is bittersweet.  So much hurt that is so visceral right now.

The sweet in all of this?  Right now I am looking at my girls.  My girls who will be my daughters forever.  My sweet babies that I will love and cuddle.  I will watch them graduate.  I will watch them walk down the aisle.  I will watch them pursue their dreams.  I will watch them heal and grow and flourish.

 

And, I guess, that’s the end.

3 Months.

 

 

  I know little Vi, this post is a bit late.  After Easter, stomach bugs, and broken clothes driers, I’m lucky I got one up at all this month!

 

  You are such a joy at 3 months.  You give smiles at the drop of a hat, especially to Daddy and I.  As soon as you focus in on us and see our faces, your whole face softens and lights up with a big smile.  And every time you smile at me, my heart feels like it might burst. 

 

 

  You still look exactly like Sylvia, but there is something just a little different about you that makes you Vi.  I can’t wait to get to know more of your personality to know if you are like Sylvia in that way too. 

  You’ve rolled over a few times – but not super regularly yet.  You’ve started making a lot more noises, trying to talk back to us when we talk to you.  It’s adorable.  You’re a chunkster.  At your two month appointment you were in the 90th percentile in height and weight, and I don’t think you’ve slowed down any.  Before long I think you and Naomi may be sharing clothes!

 

We brought out the bumbo just recently.  Your sisters thought that since you had a tray you must need a cup, bowl, and plate.

….and a princess hat, for good measure.  Although it looks a little like a pope hat.  Maybe they were offering you up for the job.

 

You’ve found your thumb now, and you love. it.  I’ve never had a thumb sucker, but you seem happy to be my first.  I’m not terribly upset about it, because you frequently put yourself back to sleep when your napping, or if your feeling tired you pop it in and fall asleep!  I’m not sure, as number five, if this is a survival technique or just your tendency….but it works.

 

 

 

Your sisters are still so in love with you.  And you are so obliging.  They hug on you, sing to you, kiss you, lick you (Naomi’s new thing), practically lay on you, and you just roll with it.  It doesn’t phase you in the least – and you’ve even started giving your sisters smiles when they talk to you.  They love that.  You have lots of people in this house who love you – it’s like you have your own cheering section that generally comes dressed in princess dresses and dirt.

You love to nurse.  And you love to cuddle your Mama.  And I am nothing but pleased with both.  I’ve still not left you anywhere just yet – I like having you close, and I think you like it to.  There will be plenty of time for us to be apart, so right now, I’ll just soak up the cuddles.

 

  Oh little lady, you have no idea how much joy you bring to my heart.  Even when all of your sisters are having a rough day, all you have to do is smile at me and I remember the joy in all of this.  I don’t think I could possibly love you any more than I do.  You are growing up so fast – it seems to be going even faster than it did with your sisters.  So slow down.  You can be my baby for a while, can’t you?  I’m eager to see your little personality and to watch you learn new things, but we can just take our time. 

 

I love you so much.

 

Love you, love you, love you,

                              Mama

So thankful, So healthy!

 

 

Bella took her very last dose of Chemo on Friday!!!  It seems so strange.  She’s been sick ever since she was placed with us – for the last (almost) two years, all we have known is hospital visits, tons of medication, and E.R. trips.  What is this life with no Chemo?  We can hardly remember!

Saturday we had a party to celebrate our sweet girl being a SURVIVOR!  We invited our family and friends who have played such a crucial role in helping our family through this trial.  Through prayer, meals, babysitting, encouragement – we couldn’t have done it without them.

At Bella’s last hospital appointment while still on treatment!

 

Bella with her doctor and her primary nurse.  After so much time at the hospital, these people practically feel like family!

 

 

We had the party at a frozen custard shop near our house.  Everyone enjoyed frozen custard and cake, and it was so great to get to celebrate with everyone.  I was overwhelmed at having all of these people together who have done so much to love our family and love our daughter over the last two years.

Of course, at the end of March, in only makes sense that there would be a big snowstorm during the party…

 

Photos of Bella from the time she came to us to today.  She looks like a completely different child.  She looks so healthy and happy now!

 

 

 

Nana and Grandpa

 

Ms. Chris, or Grandma Chris as the girls call her.

 

Reading books with Grandpa Richard.

 

 

Bella with our family worker.  She is wonderful!

 

It was a wonderful celebration!  I wish we had taken more pictures, but we were busy soaking up the moment.  We are so thankful, so relieved, so joyful that we are through this trial!  Although we’ll still be making a lot of follow up visits – no more yucky meds, no more lumbar punctures.  Our brave girl made it through!

Can’t give up.

 

 

  Tomorrow is a big day. 

We’ve had a lot of those lately.  Bella had her last chemo appointment on Monday, and will officially be off all chemo meds as of the 22nd!  Very.  Very.  Exciting.

  But tomorrow is even bigger.

  Tomorrow we will go to court and listen to everyone on the case testify.  We will see the good and the bad, and we will listen as a judge determines whether or not to terminate the parental rights of Bella and Tootaw’s mom and dad.

  When I think about it, I feel like vomiting. 

I know in my mind what, at this point, is best for the girls.  I know they need closure.  I know they need to be able to heal.  I know that they need their childhoods released from the anxiety of being in foster care.  But no matter what happens tomorrow, there is pain, there is loss, there is brokenness.  It is possible, and likely, that we will go to the court hearing tomorrow and sit with the mother and father of our sweet girls – and that when we leave they will no longer have any of the rights associated with being parents. 

  They won’t get to decide what their kids have for dinner.

  They won’t get to watch Bella graduate from Kindergarten.

  He won’t walk them down the isle. 

  She won’t sing them to sleep.

  There is hurt.  There is pain.  There is loss.  Loss that is at the start of every adoption.  Loss that will never be erased.  I hurt so much for our girls and for the pain they will have to work through.  For the loss that will follow them through life no matter how well we love them.

 

  We took their mom out to lunch with us on Monday to give her some more time with the girls.  It’s so easy to detach ourselves from the situation and to talk ad nauseum about all the things they aren’t doing, all the times they let them down, how there is no way it could ever work.

  But when I am with her, when I identify with her as a person, as a mother, as a person broken and in need of a savior -

I want so badly for it to work.

  I want it to get better.  I want to paint smiles on all of their faces and mend their broken hearts.  I want to fix the brokenness that this world has to offer and for goodness sake, see us all as we will be on the other side of this life.

  I think of how I have been changed by unrelenting love.  None of us is perfect, none of us get it all right, we are all broken, and we all mess up.  I think of how my heart has been redeemed by a savior that loves me no matter what – an unlikely redemption, a heart changed forever.

And I just can’t let myself give up.

  I can’t give up on her.  Not until the judge has declared it final.  Even if, and probably when, her rights are terminated tomorrow, I won’t give up.  I will still pray for her heart to find it’s way out of the brokenness and wreckage that it is in.  Out of the hard places that life has taken her.  Out of difficult circumstances that poor choices have left her in.

  I hope we will be able to maintain contact to some degree at least.  Because I can’t give it up.

 

  Simultaneously I am so looking forward to it being over.  I am looking forward to working toward healing with the girls without anything to take us backwards.  I can’t wait to finally work toward being a true and legal forever family that nothing can erase.  I’m looking forward to the redemption that adoption implicitly brings.  To kiss the girls goodnight knowing that I will kiss them goodnight every night until they are grown, and that then I will worry about them every day until I die.

 

If you could be praying for tomorrow, I would so appreciate it.  That whatever is truly in the best interest of the girls is what happens and that we would trust no matter what happens.  And also that we are able to figure out some way to maintain contact with their parents if rights are terminated.  Pray.  pray.  pray.

2 Months.

 

  Well Vi, these two months have flown by.  Really.  How have you been here for that long?  I think you’ve gotten used to the insanity that is our house, our family.  You aren’t fazed by the shrieks and squeals that pierce our ears every 30 seconds or so.  You aren’t upset by smothering sister kisses, or even when one of them manages to try to move you in the 5 seconds that I’m not looking.  You just roll with it.  That’s a good attitude to have around here, where the bumps in the road are more frequent than average for a little one like you.

 

You’re pretty good at holding your head up already, and you’re making your best effort to start rolling over – I give it a week or two.  You’re in a hurry to get moving with all these sisters of yours.

You give smiles very generously, which melts this mama’s heart.  Your sisters love it when they can talk to you and get a smile – they are so in love with you.  You are cooing and making baby noises.  Adorable. 

 

 

 

 

At our six week post partum appointment, you already weighed 11 pounds 10 ounces!!! You like to eat, so it shouldn’t be any surprise. But holy cow!

These are pictures of you with our midwife, Debbie.  She loves you, and she prayed for you the whole time you were in my belly.  Not to mention she worked her midwife magic to get you out of my belly.  She is wonderful.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Smiling for Grandma Debbie.

 

 

 

 

You are delightful.  If you’re awake, you like to be held by your Mommy.  On my shoulder.  With both hands.  (Maybe you’ll be picky?)  You nap well, although yesterday you were up from 11:00 a.m. to 8:00 p.m., and you let me lay you down while you sleep.  But who wants to do that?  You are so snuggly and I am soaking up every little cuddle you give me.

 

Your sisters love you.  They sing to you when you cry, they try to give you your pacifier, and they snuggle you so much I’m kind of surprised I get any snuggles at all.  Naomi gets a little jealous of you when you nurse or need to be held, but loves you anyway.  When I lay down with Sylvia to put her to bed at night, most often she doesn’t even want to snuggle me, she wants you in between us so that she can snuggle you while we read stories.  I’m a little jealous, but that’s ok.  You sleep with me at night, which is one of my favorite parts of the day – I can understand why Sylvie likes to snuggle you so much.

 

Meeting Aunt Jennifer!

 

I love you more than you know, little baby.  I think a lot about what you will be like when you are Naomi’s age or Sylvia’s age.  I can’t wait to see, but I like you just the size you are now.  You are my Vida, and I am so blessed to be your Mommy.  As Sylvia would say, “You are the best Vida in the whole wuld.” 

 

I love you, love you, love you,

                           Mama

My Vida.

 

You have been here for three and a half weeks.  I’m not sure how that’s possible, and at the same time, haven’t you always been a part of this crazy family?  Sometimes it seems that way.  We’ve been anticipating you for so long – especially your sisters, that I think when you got here, it seemed you were just returning from some long trip somewhere and that we all already knew you.

 

 

You were born in my bed.

It was a very difficult, strenuous labor.  Even having been through two prior labors, yours was the hardest.  And still, so very, very worth it.  Worth every moment, every cry, every thought that I couldn’t do it a second longer.

And now, when I take you off to bed in the evening, and all your sisters are sleeping and the house is quiet, my room feels like this special place for you and I.  Last weekend I changed the sheets for the first time since after you were born, and put the sheets back on the bed that were on it when you came. 

Every night I lay down with you in the very spot where you first cried.  Where I first met you and kissed your cheeks.  Where I laid, thanking Jesus that you were here, that the labor was over and that I was laying there, in that very bed, holding my daughter that He had knit together right inside of me.

You are a miracle. 

I look down at you frequently and think, “I can’t believe that I’ve been blessed with another daughter.  That I’ve been given another little soul to love.”  Of course, I’m not the only Mama around here.  Nope, you’ve got five Mamas.  Your other four are always very eager to help, kiss, smother, sing. 

Bella loves to hold you, and it’s the first thing she asks to do when she gets home from school each day.  She is always eager to help – changing diapers, picking out clothes, giving baths – you are her favorite new little doll.

Naomi is head over heels for you.  And I was a little worried about how she’d react to you joining the family.  She gives you about 500 kisses a day.  Anytime you cry she makes sure that I don’t miss it.  She runs to me pointing at you saying, “She crying! She crying!”  She sings to you in the car.  The look on her face when she gets to hold you is full of pride, joy, and excitement.

Tootaw randomly comes up to you several times a day and says, “I just love you baby Vida.”

But Sylvia.  Sylvia seems to have some special bond with you.  She is constantly holding you, touching you, singing to you, kissing you.  Last night you were crying while I got ready for bed.  I climbed into bed with you to nurse you, and Sylvia was not five seconds behind me.  She climbed in on the other side of you and snuggled up just as close as she could possibly get to you and whispered, “Oh Vi-Vi (her name for you), it’s ok now, I’m here and you’re safe.”  After you stopped crying she added, “Oh, is that what you wanted, you just wanted your Mommy and your Sylvie?”  She regularly tells you that you are “the best gurl in the wuld.”  She loves you so, so much.

 

There is so much love for you here.

As my belly begins to return to normal, and I can see how you’ve begun to grow, I snuggle you close not wanting to let go of this sacred thing that has just happened.  Not wanting to forget your kicks, not wanting the relief of you being placed on my chest to fade, treasuring your newness – a soul so recently and intimately crafted by our Father.  But I am also so anxious to see, as you grow, just who it is that He has created.  Who you are and what you love and to find how you will live out your purpose here.

You are treasured.  In the rare moments of quiet that we get together each day I whisper to you, “You are treasured.  You are so loved.”  And I whisper to Jesus, “Let her know you, let her find her purpose in Your glory.”

I love you Vida Elizabeth.  I ask you now for grace when I stumble.  I cannot wait to watch you grow, and to grow with you.

 

Love you, love you, love you,

                                  Mama

You belong.

 

Bella is doing better with processing and dealing with visits than she did the first time around.  Thank goodness.  We’ve had a couple of vomit issues and definitely some behavior driven by confusion and anxiety – but overall much better than before.

 

I think that this is mostly due to her feeling much more stable and attached in our family.  I think she has decided that this is where she wants to belong, and she knows that we aren’t going anywhere.

 

They have visits on Fridays, and every week I get a little nervous about what the repercussions are going to be when they return and how it will effect this new sense of normal that we have worked so hard to build for the girls.

 

Last week, when they got home, Sylvia was drawing and Bella and Tootaw joined her.  As they sat down to draw, Bella said, “I’m going to draw a picture of my family,” and made sure that Brian and I both heard her.  I had no idea what to expect, especially since she had just returned from a visit with Mom.

 

A few minutes later she brought me her picture, declaring that it was her family.  The picture was of all of us, Brian, Sylvia, Naomi, Tootaw, Bella, and me, with our names next to each of the people.

 

I think, in the only way a five year old knows how, she was making a statement.

 

This is my family.

This is who is here for me.

This is who makes me feel safe.

 

And she was also asking for reassurance.

 

This is where I belong, right?

 

Yes, sweet girl.  You belong.  And no matter what happens, no matter what any court decides, no matter where you are, no matter where else you also belong – we will always be here for you.  You will always have a piece of my heart.  You will always be safe here.  You will always have a Bella shaped spot in our family.  And you have no idea the way you made my heart feel by drawing me as a part of ‘your family’.  Love you, love you, love you.

             Mama

Fall at Grandma and Grandpa’s.

  We spent the weekend at Grandma and Grandpa’s house.  The girls had a lot of fun, and Bella and Tootaw got to meet their Aunt Amy and Uncle Jon for the first time.

 

 

 

 

Opening birthday presents!

 

…with a little help.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Picking pecans from Grandma and Grandpa’s pecan trees.

 

 

 

 

“Practicing their balance.”

 

And ice cream on our way out of town…

 

 

 

 

The girls gladly all split this monstrous banana split.