So here I am today beginning to rummage through my thoughts of year 2013.
When Asher was born, a nurse asked something like, "Are you the dad?" and Otha had this incredible moment of stepping forward and thinking, "Oh, dang- that's me! I am a dad!". Obviously no one asked who was Asher's mom. There was only one lady in the room laying on a bed, who had just delivered a placenta, and looked like she just went to war with fatigue and pain... and that was me. When the nurse handed me Asher for the first time, I thought my heart would explode right then and there. I felt this instant connection and deep love and 1,000 emotions all occurring inside of me at once.
I share that little bit, to then say: I did not feel that same connection with Malia (name we shall use for our foster daughter since we cannot use her real name on the internet and such).
Otha and I had countless conversations the first few weeks and months that Malia was in our home about whether we "felt like she was ours". It sounds silly now, but back then it seemed important. I had heard so many families who had adopted, either private adoption or through foster care, say that they just knew when a kid was theirs. 1) I do not like that terminology. 2) This made us very confused and try to read into our emotions way too much. I am absolutely not discounting what these other families felt or saying that they were wrong! Truly, I wish I would have had a deep, wonderful feeling when CPS brought Malia to our front door... or at least something equivalent to what I felt when the nurse handed me Asher for the first time. But instead, I kept searching for something to click in order for us to know whether we would adopt her or not.
I wish I had kept count of how many times I have been asked in regards to Malia: "Are you her mom?". Probably the first 152 times I was asked, I would trip over my words and say things like: Well, no... uh, but yea, kind of... it's complicated... she is in foster care... I am her mom... but not her biological mom. It was just uncomfortable for everyone. My answer then became more concise over time: I am her foster mom.
Then somewhere in the midst of sitting by her bedside in the ICU when she was sick and rocking her to sleep at home when she was healthy, I began to answer that question with: Yes, I am her mom.
I could end the blog post here and pretend that it's a happy ending that I now identify myself as her mom. But it's just not that simple.
I do identify myself as her mom now. Malia sees me as her mom in every way that her young mind knows how to process provision and love right now. People that we know identify me as Malia's mom now. And all of those things are wonderful and heart-warming. But there is a disconnect between the moment Malia was born and where she is today. I will choose to believe that when Malia was born, her biological mom had this amazing feeling inside her heart when she saw her daughter for the first time. And I choose to believe that her biological mom has an innate unconditional love for Malia... because she is her mom. But for various reasons, Malia's biological mom was not given the responsibility to raise Malia.
So then I enter the picture, trying to muster up a love that matches the love a mom has for her biological child. And I fell short. Every time. I struggled through the beginning of this year, trying to feel something identical to what I feel for Asher. Guilt, fear, anger, and confusion swirled inside of me every day as I tried to identify and sort through exactly what my love for Malia should look like and wondering why Otha made it look so easy and seamless. Then a wise woman who counseled me though my darkest times this year explained to me: I am just part of the redemption process. My love for Asher would probably look similar even if I was not a Christian. It's a natural thing inside of me to care for a child from my womb. But adoption, that requires a new level of dependency on the Lord. I have to look to the Lord and ask for love and understanding of Malia that I do not naturally have.
Don't get me wrong- I love this little girl to the moon and back. But my love for her is different than I have ever experienced before. It's not more or less than my love for Asher. It's not better or worse. It's just different. And the moment I stopped trying to figure it out on my own and instead plead for help from the Lord, I felt a beautiful layer of love for her that I never could have imagined. Expectations can wither my heart if I am not careful. I had expectations to love Malia instantly and fully the moment she came to our home. But I had to learn to throw those expectations away and have a blank canvas for what our relationship would look like. It took time... and I love efficiency, so a slow process of anything is not my favorite. But it seems like the best things take a lot of time.
In the scheme of mothering Malia, it's still not just about me. The moment I received news that Malia's foster case was complete and we would now enter the adoption process, I cried. It did not take me long to realize that my tears were not just tears of joy. They were tears of sorrow. I wept for a good hour that afternoon then off and on for several days. I cried because I was so incredibly sad that Malia's biological mother would be missing out on the beautiful little girl that Malia is and the beautiful woman she will become. I grieved on behalf of Malia that she would not have the opportunity to grow up with the woman who gave birth to her. I sobbed for the brokenness of the situation and so many situations like it happening every day.
We are relieved and excited to have made it through a crazy year and to be legally adding Malia to our family in the coming months. But we do not want to take lightly that our gain is someone else's loss. So before you congratulate us on beginning the adoption process or say how great it is for Malia to be in such a loving family, please know the joy we feel is a result of a journey of pain for others. Because in the end, if someone asks both myself and Malia's biological mother: "Are you her mom?" we can both legitimately say: Yes, I am her mom. Just only one of us gets the chance to raise her.
Lesson learned from 2013: things are not as black and white as I want them to be. Ever. Things are not what I expect them to be. Ever. And both of these things are probably for the best.
