For This Child I Have Prayed

For this child I prayed, and the LORD has granted me the petition I made of Him, but He forgot to give me any affection for her.
None.
Whatsoever.
My husband seems to like her quite a lot, which is good. Every child should have a parent that thinks they are half as fabulous as they think they are, but which brings out the only emotion I can conjure up anymore:
Jealousy.
I tell myself that his affection for her is a good thing. She needs more than a fake it till you make it parent. She doesn't know this. She thinks she doesn't need a parent at all. She likes having a cleaning lady. And a short order chef. She likes having a personal shopper and a credit card handy and if the only way she can get that is to take me along, she'll do it. But she has no need for a mom. She did just fine before I came along, thankyouverymuch.
The thing is, I'm not over fond of only being useful to her. Particularly when I fail her and present her something hideous to eat like steak or garlic biscuits or double chocolate muffins.
God forbid I serve anything but plain old bread and the occasional strawberry. One. No more than one. Good Lord, why would I serve three, or a bowlful?
She shrugs off my hugs and she shrugs off my gifts and she shrugs off my food and if I do her hair, she immediately leaves the room and redoes it.  She shrugged me off from day one. After the initial, "Wow, you really came for me?" life in her presence has been like hugging a cactus.
The rejection is killing me.
So I turned off my emotions and serve as if I am household staff, but I am noticing that this isn't particularly healthy or helpful, either.
The resentment builds.
I'm on edge from the moment she wakes until the moment she sleeps and when she is sleeping, I'm on edge that she will wake sooner than I'm ready to face her.
Today, for this child I have prayed that the Lord would fill me with love.
And Jesus? If you could make her like my baking, too, that would just be tops.

Moving from Impossible to Difficult

I really like the quote, “I have found there are three stages to every great work of God: first it is impossible, then it is difficult, then it is done.” - J. Hudson Taylor

And I have been anxiously waiting for impossible to turn to difficult.  Impossible is just...not fun.

This absolutely looked not only impossible when we began but outright foolish. Yet somehow, as soon as we committed to the girls, we knew we had stepped over some invisible line, one that we hadn't known existed, into a whole other realm of obedience.

Six Month Stats

I posted Blake's amazing 6 month stats here.

But lately I have been thinking about how the rest of us have changed in the past 6 months...so here's a rundown of what I've observed so far.

1. Leah has had more playdates at our house in the past 6 months than in her previous 6 years. 

2. Autum can take her diaper off all by herself with her pants still on.

3. Autum has developed some great arm muscles from working on her food-throwing skills at dinner, thanks to her big brother!

4. I have changed from a multi-sport endurance athlete to a sprinter.  Sprinting as in how many times I can get around the block running before the baby monitor sitting on the mailbox begins to light up and squall at naptime.

Why I Can't Be "Real" With You

I was told today "you should write on your blog like you are in real life!"

Interesting.

I thought I WAS writing on my blog like I am in real life...
but the more I thought about it, maybe she's right.

I can't tell you the gory details about my life.
I can't tell you how frustrating it is to try to decipher a child's barely-knows-enough-English-to-be-frustrating rant while another child is crying and feeling wronged and you have no idea what is the matter. I can't tell you because you'd think "well... you asked for this!"

I can't tell you how SICKANDFRICKAFRACKINGTIRED I am of my half-bath looking/smelling/feeling like one of those gas stations where you have to get the key that's attached by chain to a big block of wood because, Lord help us, someone wants to get into that bathroom without permission! CHAIN UP THE KEY, Floyd! Someone might get in our bathroom without our knowledge! I don't know why it is... but the floor is gross, the toilet is gross, the light switch is nasty and I don't even want to go in there. I'm considering having a port-a-potty delivered for the under-10 crowd to use exclusively. Maybe the port-a-potty people have a gift registry online! Dear Santa...

Here in Whopperville

My daughter had a huge in-ground pool at her old house.
And three wind turbines, the kind like they have in Nebraska.
She's seen HOP hundreds of times. As well as all the other movies he hasn't been allowed to see.
She had 12 cats.
And three dogs.
Three goats.
Three cows.
And chickens.
Twelve pair of shoes.
A big bed. Bigger than mine.
Oh, and she had 12 shots, too. Which I sure wish they'd recorded so we could have skipped this shots every week nonsense to get her into school.
She likes the number 12. And 3.
She loves to brag to her brother about all the spectacular stuff she used to have and he totally buys into it.
One of her friends had a TV as big as his wall.
Another had several cars. Nice ones. Like my neighbors'.

All things in Ethiopia were awesome. America is a downgrade. She's now living in the depths of poverty.

How Things Go

".. And how are Things going...?"

The all famous question, newly adoptive parents hear all too often.


We then feel the slight urge (which we control), to blast: "Don't you see the circles under my eyes, I haven't slept in weeks", and things like, "I'm at my wits end in all this!", but we gracefully announce "Things are well here, how are you?"

As newly adoptive parents we feel obligated to inform you that things are ‘going great’. After all, we are humbled that our Lord had allowed us to adopt, children are a blessing from Him, and yet, we feel overwhelmed, discouraged, drained, frustrated....you name it, we are it.

If we do inform you (which barely happens, remember, we're grateful), about our real state of condition,  we could easily live without those  comments like, "Yeah, they come with a lot of baggage", "You wanted it that way", "Oh, you'll be able to manage", to well meant practical advice as " Well, just force her to wear that jacket, shoes, eat that food, etc", and "Be understanding and give it time". HAH!