Does the story of an adopted child have a shelf life?
By that, I mean once an adoptive family gets past the initial wave of adjustments -- annoying but minor medical issues, language barriers, tantrums & meltdowns, sibling revolts, lots of extra laundry, and the shock of learning her real age -- does life together become just normal family stuff?
In other words, now that A. has been with us for nearly a year, does this blog still have a raison d'etre?
I'm wondering. I certainly don't look at her anymore and think: "Wow, she's from Ethiopia."
And yet, she is. So now that she's blended into our family and all is nearly seamless, does it still matter where she's from? What must I chronicle here and mull over as a result of that singular fact?
I'm surprised myself that at this juncture, I have little interest in maintaining her ties to her culture beyond the most cursory efforts -- special-occasion visits to an Ethiopian restaurant, a map of Ethiopia on her bedroom wall, attendance at the yearly Ethiopian Culture-Day celebration uptown, and a vague promise to return to Ethiopia at some fuzzy point in the future.
I didn't anticipate this laissez-faire attitude, but there it is.
Now for the big question: Do I have the luxury of this lax position because my daughter and I share the same skin color? Would I be more vigilant if I knew that every day when she looks at me she's reminded --subtly or not -- that she's from somewhere else?
I wonder.
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