Thursday, January 24, 2008

Wait, They Come That Way?

"New research shows that in most cases the personalities displayed very early in life— as young as preschool — will stay with us into adulthood. The wallflowers will stay shy and reticent, though they will learn in time to be a little more sociable and assertive. And the average kids, the more resilient ones, will remain so. " source.

Dear Scientists,


We know. You could have just asked your mom. She would have told you that you were born with your personality.

She then would have told you to make sure that you're saving at least 20% of your research money for a rainy day. Oh, and do you need some new socks? She saw some for sale last week in ShopKo but can't remember if you like the goldtoe or some ankle-highs. Call her as soon as you can because your Cousin Louise is coming into town and she'd like to see the kids.

Yours cordially,

Monday, January 21, 2008

Last night being a good mommy was incredibly hard. We talked, for the first time, about how she is adopted. It came about pretty naturally: We were talking about temples. I told her how she went to the temple with us when she was a baby, so that we could be her parents forever.

"Baby Jooj go to temple?"
"Baby Nora (her cousin) go to temple?"
"Well, no."

So we talked about how Baby Nora came out of Tia Amy's belly, so they didn't have to go to the temple. And Baby Jooj didn't come out of mommy's belly, so...

"Baby Jooj in you belly."
"No, Mami can't get babies in her belly. Mami's belly is broken."
"No! Baby Jooj go in YOU belly."
"No, honey, Mami's belly is broken, so Heavenly Father put Baby Jooj in Diana's belly. Then Diana brought you to us, because Mami and Papi and Jooj are a family."
"No, I go in YOU belly. No Diana."
"I wish you were in my belly, Jooj, but Mami's belly is broken."
"You belly need batteries?"
"Yes, Mami's belly needs special batteries."
"Oh. Es Ok?"
"Oh yes, Mami is ok. And Jooj is my baby forever."

And it was so hard.

I love my daughter, I love my family, and I love that, through adoption, I am able to have her with me. And I know that telling her about adoption is important--it is not like we can hide it and she can meet her twin at summer camp and switch places in order to reconnect her father and I in love and marriage and groovy guitar songs. But I didn't expect it to hurt my heart to tell her.

I so wanted to say "You came from my belly--you and me have been together, even as little tiny cells inside Grammy Su, forever. I felt you kick, I loved you every second of the day. I fed you with my every heart beat, and I pushed you out and held you the instant you were born. You are mine and will never feel the need to seek out another mother, another person who shares your cells."

But I couldn't. Because it isn't true.

I know that she loves me. I know she is MINE. But our talk last night was the start of my biggest fear--that she will not feel like she is mine entirely, any longer. I know we will talk about it again and again, and I worry that, each time, she will feel drawn to another woman, another family, another set of siblings. Maybe she won't--maybe we are enough for her. But the fear is there.

Wednesday, January 9, 2008

Go Ahead, Admit It

Sometimes you have a favorite child.