Girl From Ethiopia

TWIN FEELINGS

This New York Times article about Haiti's struggling orphanages is an eye-opener. It explains a lot about the daily challenges of caring for orphans in an impoverished country.

This quote from a Haitian mother is just plain heart-breaking:

"So many women do not have jobs. They do not have land to grow food for their children. If their choice is to watch their children starve or give then away, they are going to  give them away, and hope that they have put them in good hands."

My own daughter's birth mother made that tough choice. I'm grateful to her. And today I'm incredibly sad for her.

HER BFF

A. is an aggressive friend-finder!

This is just week two of kindergarten and she already has a "best friend." Mind you, it's not the little girl she played with all summer and whom we requested be in her class. It's a brand-new friend, and it's all about her, all the time.

Of course I like that she's making new friends quickly, but I also feel more is going on here. I feel she grabs onto other children with desperation, as though she can't quite trust that her bond with them will form naturally, over time. That old friend she already has? Not enough. She needs a new one in place, her  insurance policy against loneliness -- or being alone.

Whether she's on the playground or at the park, A. is always casing the joint, on the look-out for someone to play with. And it doesn't matter whether she knows the other person. "Mommy, can I play with that boy right there?" she asked me at the park yesterday, pointing to a child with his family.  It's endearing -- up to a point. Honestly, her willingness, I'd say her need to go up to a stranger and say, "Will you play with me?" makes me uncomfortable. "Sweetie, we don't know them," I said in response to her plea.

Some of this is about my wanting to avoid the possibility of rejection, which she has already experienced. In her first year with us,  little girls often said "no" to her requests to play with them. One even told her, "You're not a girl, you're a boy, so you can't play with us." Her hair was short at the time, and yes her feelings got hurt.

Lots of time, it work out fine, and she has fun with her new-found friends. But I also know I'm watching a little girl in desperate need of validation through another child's willingness to play with her.  I want her to be okay playing alone sometime too.

Alas, for a child who has been taken away from her home twice in her young life, she needs to control what she can control. And I guess I need to accept that.

Enough Already

Are you going to send a photo of her to the adoption agency so they can send it to her mother?

This question came from my mother-in-law. Innocent enough, right?

Bugged the hell out of me.

First, I'm her mother. Yes, I know it takes time for folks to adjust their language, to learn to call me her mother and the woman whose womb she grew within her birth mother. Still.

Here's what I really didn't like: the unspoken assumption that it's my job to keep her birth mother updated, as though I'm an aunt or a godmother caring for her until her "real" mother can take over, again.

It's not an open adoption, I said to my mother-in-law. Her birth mother gave up her rights to A. in a court of law. I am her mother. Not so pure, not so simple, but that's the way it is.

Do I want her birth mother to see how she's grown and flourished? Sure. I just don't want to be obligated to do so.

Anyway, yes, I do send photos of her back to the agency -- at Christmas, and on the anniversary of her adoption.

For now, that feels like just enough.

Picture This

The other day, when A. showed her special photo album to my friend, she said something she has never said before. She pointed to a photograph and said, "That's my birth mother."

She now has the language for who that person is. The language we've taught her. At various turns, she calls me Mama, Mom and Mommy. It's as though she's trying out every variety, to see how each one rolls off her tongue. Yet, there she was with no hesitation, saying, "That's my birth mom."

It's time, I think, to add that picture to the ones arrayed on the shelf in our living room, right next to all the other framed family photos.

BIRTH FAMILIES FIRST

Wide Horizons For Children, the agency we used for our adoption, is doing a much-needed thing: supporting efforts to keep children in their birth families and communities even as it continues to provide international adoption.

This video created by adoptive dad Tyler Stableford, shows the full scope of WHFC's work in Ethiopia, including the Family Empowerment program. It's powerful beyond words.

AGE IS JUST A NUMBER?

When A. arrived over a year ago, she was this little thing, barely fitting into her size 3 toddler clothes. She weighed 31 pounds. We believed she was 3.

Now, I cannot pick her up: she weighs 50 pounds and has grown nearly three inches taller.

Which means she's healthy and thriving. But it also means she's the tallest kid in pre-school, has already lost three front teeth and has the motor skills of a first grader.

She is not four. Which means she was not three when she joined our family.

And so, we decided to change her official age, to make her a year older than what the birth certificate from Ethiopia says. That's a legal process -- just documents and signatures.

But what about her process? What about this girl who has been telling everyone who asks, "I'm four!"?

It's a delicate issue, for sure, and I couldn't figure out how to handle it.

Finally, one day, I just said to her, "We talked to your dentist, and when she saw you lost your front teeth, she let us know that you're actually five."

 "I'm five?"

"Yes, you're five."

"I can tell my friends at school I'm five?"

"Yes."

"Yayyyyyyyy! I'm five!"

"Yay, you're five!"

"And when I have my birthday, I'll be six?"

"That's right!"

She paused. "Mama? When's my birthday?"

Good question. We're still working on that one.