My daughter is a preschooler but I have only known her for a while. She is adopted.And my mother not only adopted one kid, but three...and still gave birth to a fourth. Thrilling chaos definitely describes my household growing up.
After years of wanting to be parents, my husband and I were given 14 hours notice ... then a little girl walked into our house.
Trying to adopt had been a long and frustrating process. But, when we connected with an American Foster Family Agency, it happened very quickly. One night, the phone rang – the social worker told me we'd been "matched" with a 3-year-old girl.
I hung up the phone and stood still for a second. Then, I had to sit down. Within a minute, I was lying on the floor. Yeah, this was real: A little girl was coming to our home. Tomorrow.
There wasn't a baby shower, there wasn't time to discuss with family and friends, there was no way to really prepare for her arrival.
She arrived without an instruction manual. I didn't know if she had a sleep schedule, food allergies – there wasn't even a note pinned to her shirt. She just walked in and looked up at me, like "got lunch?"
There isn't a word for the elation I felt. I grinned like a maniac and jumped into parenthood.
We got to know each other: we blew bubbles in the backyard, drew with sidewalk chalk, threw the ball for our dog, (who looked up at her, like "dibs on the big bed.")
Together, we decorated her new bedroom – arranging white furniture, laying out a pink rug, messily peeling and sticking purple flower decals on the walls.
I was delighted by her: Every facial expression, every tantrum, every small thing she did was fascinating and fantastic. Mornings were now a flurry of juice spilling, tiny clothes washing and frenzied kid-chasing. It was thrilling chaos.
My mother loved us so much, she went out and got more.
Thanks, Mom. More than you know. More than I ever say, actually. And to everyone else out there, adoption is one of those things that you really should consider...on either end of the equation.
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