Little Reminders

As I rub her belly during nap time and whisper a very specific chicken song, I become very aware I am not the first woman she has called Mama. I very well might not even be the second or third. The reality of their story hits me hard in the softest moments of motherhood.  I cry silent tears in grief of the pain my children have walked through. I cry silent tears in the moments of misbehavior as a result from their past.

I am reminded that each day I get to call them mine it is no more beautiful that it is tragic.

Sitting at the doctor’s office as they get poked and prodded I realize that their medical needs are far more complicated then first thought.  For the doctors to determine diagnoses becomes even harder  because of the little knowledge I have of their biological families. My heart begins to break as I so desperately want to fix the broken parts of their body. I so urgently want to know the things that are so impossible. I want to answer the doctors questions like a biological mother could.

Did they have their vaccines as infants?    “I’m not sure”

Did their mother struggle with similar medical issues “I don’t know”

Were they birthed early, late or on time? “umm”

Have they ever been sick before recently? “I have no medical record besides the ones here”

These are the questions I so desperately want to be able to answer to find more answers to the harder questions.

These are the questions I may never find the answers too. The questions that almost make me angry because there are no answers.  So instead I will be pushed to the ground on my knees in prayer that my children who have not always been mine; That at one point called another woman MAMA  will be healed, healthy and safe. That they will learn to love, respect work hard and have compassion. That they will advocate for themselves and others around them. I will pray.

As we dance, giggle and watch Finding Nemo for the 5th time my heart is overflowing. I want so badly for their first family to know how much smiling, giggling, talking and playing they do. I want to tell them that R hates Green Peppers and P hates having her ears rubbed. I want them to know that R loves local music and P loves Indian food. I so badly want their first family to know that they girls are loved, cherished and cared for by people here and across the ocean.

My girls are beautiful, resilient and intelligent none of these qualities they have acquired from me. I am reminded daily that I am the lucky one to call them mine. I am the blessed one to wipe their faces, wash their bodies and tuck them into bed. I am the humbled one as I watch them grow, conquer and learn about the world around them. I am who they call Mama when they fall, laugh and search for when they are tattling. The weight of that title lays heavy on my heart as my heart is full with love for these two littles I get to call Daughters.

So as I am walking this motherhood road. I am reminded that for our family to form great tragedy had to transpire. This motherhood road is humbling and I am honored God chose me to walk it.

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