Today marks one year since our children officially moved into our home via fostering. One year since we par-officially became a family — a birthday, or anniversary, of sorts. What our little Miss calls “Love Day.”
It didn’t all begin with nine months of a widening belly, anticipation, and decorating the nursery
We didn’t spend time poring over baby names, using vetos, or shaking our heads at each other after silly suggestions. There were no labor pains and no pushing. We didn’t bring our bundle of joy home from the hospital wrapped in a blanket in a car seat that looked way too big for such a tiny guy.
Our first year as a family wasn’t a year of sleepless nights, feedings, spit-up, and dirty diapers. We didn’t celebrate first steps, first teeth, first words, or first smiles. I don’t have pictures of first Halloween costumes, first Easter baskets, or first Christmases. Grandparents didn’t elbow each other to hold our little girl, introducing themselves, saying, “Hi, Sweetie. I’m your Grandma!” or “Hello, darlin., I’m Nana, you are so perfect.”
We didn’t have to endure endless people coming to us with their endless opinions on circumcision, breastfeeding, when baby should eat solids, or if we are spoiling them and should really let them cry it out.
Instead, it all started with two and a half years of classes, home studies, an endless parade of people in our house, and judgment from strangers. There were screams of frustration and times when it felt it would never end.
When our children first came to our home, they arrived with trepidation, with assurance, and with support from the social worker
They arrived with a suitcase, a few boxes, and one large trash bag of stuff. And, of course, that one damned car seat that I still curse at.
Our first year was full of fear, loss, longing, heartache, learning about each other, accepting each other as family, and eventually smiles, joy, and laughter. We celebrated our first report card, first parent-teacher conference, first Christmas concert, and first tooth-fairy job.
We cried, worried, and puked through the last visit with their mom
We took pictures of their 9th and 3rd Halloween, Easter, and Christmas. The grandparents first met the children with warmth and a little bit of distance to not overwhelm the children, introducing themselves as “Tracey’s mom” and “Don,” and “Chris’s mom and dad.” “You can call me Nancy, or Nana if you’d like,” …. “I’m Janie and this is Ken.”
We did endure many people who had cautionary tales: “My daughter’s friend’s cousin adopted two children and they were terrible!” “I know a guy who knows a guy who was adopted and he is now on drugs and lives on the street”.
It wasn’t easier than a newborn. It wasn’t harder than a newborn. It was different.
We’ve all grown so much
Even those in our family who don’t live in this house have grown so much. Everyone in our lives has accepted these children into our extended family, as though they have always been here.
Grandparents are now affectionately called Grandma and Grandpa, Nana and Papa — and the kids are crazy about them, as much as they are crazy about the kids. Aunties and uncles have embraced these kids, and these kids have latched onto them right back. They are full of anticipation for the baby due to arrive next month, and still talk about Aunt Mary every day.
The little guy has come a long way from being deemed “globally delayed” with a warning of possibly never reaching his potential, to graduating out of his specialist programs early. Our little Miss has made huge leaps and bounds as she rebounded from being at a 1st grade reading level in mid-3rd grade, to an on-par 4th grade student. She no longer requires assistance at school, reads with fluency, and her spelling gets better every day.
My husband and I have grown into parents who eat at the dining table, do the dishes every night, and go to bed well before midnight on New Year’s Eve.
Our wish, on this birthday/anniversary of sorts, is for another year of learning and loving and faith and community
We wish for continued growth and patience. For those damned adoption papers to finally go through, and a court date to be set. For our forever, for-sure, no-takesies-backsies day.
