Fake Family

One hour in and the bathroom floor has become unbearable. It's cold, hard, and nothing about it feels like this is where I can make my baby girl feel better as she spirals ever deeper into a meltdown triggered by something unknown.

She is crying. She is angry. She is confused. She is helpless. She is wounded, deeply. She can't stop.

"You guys don't love me"
"I want a different family"
"You are not my family, you are a fake family"
"You are a fake mommy, he is a fake daddy, I have fake brothers and fake sisters"
"You don't want me you only want them"
"You don't like me anymore"
"I don't want to be here anymore"
"You are not my mom"
"He is not my dad"

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Man it's hard to hear that. So hard in fact that for a few days after I feel bruised, as if I have been physically assaulted.

I have long since known that this is but one piece, an expected piece, of parenting a child whom you embrace and call your own when they are older in age. Knowing it and experiencing it however are two very different experiences.

As she spirals, I remove myself emotionally from reacting to her statements. I know she comes from a place of grief, anger, confusion, and profound loss. My responsibility as her now Mommy is only to remind her, ever so gently, that she is so loved, so special, so adored. And to not dismiss what she is saying. To acknowledge her anger, to empathize, and to let her know that what she is feeling is normal and it is OK.

The truth is I understand why she says we are a fake family for her. She knows who her family is, and they are in Gambella Ethiopia. This family, here in America, is not what she ever asked for, or wanted.

But, here she is, through life's circumstances, in this family that, through her eyes, was forced on her.

That we love her beyond comprehension does not negate her feelings of wanting "her" family. As well it shouldn't. If I woke up tomorrow and my family was gone, and another family in it's place I would be furious. I wouldn't care how nice they were, how much they loved me, or how much they included me. In fact that would probably make me even more angry because all I would want is my family back and the better to me they are the more it reminds me of the family I have lost.

So many emotions. Big scary emotions for such a tiny little baby.

For me one of the most beautiful things about older child adoption is the process of nurturing relationships to create a family. While legally you are recognized as a "Family" as "Mommy" and "Daddy" the truth is those words ring hollow until you have nurtured and built those relationships. They don't just happen, you have to make them happen, you have to put in hours and hours of hard-hard work.

Just as a marriage doesn't sustain itself simply because you have a marriage certificate, building a family doesn't happen simply because a document says it is so. 

Building trust with children who have experienced the most severe breaches of trust is a long hard road, but if navigated carefully, nets the most beautiful results. I know this because I see it, every.single.day.

I see it when my baby girl only 24 hours earlier insisted we were not her family, and now she runs out the door squealing with delight "Daddy!!! Daddy!!!!" as Daddy pulls up from a long day at work. I see it when I am handed a picture only hours after being told I am not her Mom, telling me "I love you Mom"...I see it when my wounded baby wraps her arms around my neck and tells me "I feel better now, thank you for making me feel better Mommy"

These are the moments that I cherish and that give me the wear-with-all to do everything I can to see my babies through. Their love is so precious, their trust priceless, and their happiness soothes my soul. To see them make such strides and to work through all they are confronted with makes me so very very proud to call them my children.

You see, they don't love me simply because I bear the title of Mommy, they choose to bless me abundantly with their love, despite their fears, while graciously accepting my love for them.

Oh how I love my tiny treasures...