Transition meets denial

It’s really started.

Baby E is starting to transition to her new home.

Her new family.

I can type those things, but the words get stuck in my throat and I avoid them at all cost.

I caught myself avoiding calling Miss C. Mom or Mama. I didn’t want to say it, because saying it would get me a little closer to the reality that I am never going to be that to this precious baby girl.

Now, if you remember when we brought Baby E home we decided to refer to ourselves as Äiti and Isä, the Finnish words for Mom and Dad. This was mainly for Jeremiah’s benefit; later on we thought we were just being trendy and different, but we soon found out that it also was a way that we were attempting to protect our hearts. A disassociation barrier of sorts.

I can still sort of pretend that I am just taking her to a babysitter. I might have to for a while, otherwise I just get too angry.

Hubby will be going with me Wednesday when I go to pick her up. I hope this will help give him some peace. He’s really been struggling with this. The fact that she came home smelling like someone else’s house tonight just drove him nuts. No one is good enough for his little girl, and in his heart these people are taking her away from us. It’s so hard. I guess I feel that way too sometimes, but I can’t let myself go there. I have to fake being okay with this, otherwise I’m going to be more crushed than I already am.

It’s hard because I really like this family. They are wonderful. They’re sweet, and gentle, and super helpful. They’re patient with us and they know how much we are hurting…well, as much as they could know. They love Jesus and will raise her up right. But they are not us. She is not the woman who rocked E for hours when E couldn’t stop screaming from the pain of the m*th withdrawals. He is not the man who stayed up till 3 AM because E decided she was hungry right before he was going to bed. She is not the woman who worked so meticulously on all the exercises the physical therapist prescribed, despite E’s fussing and crying because her legs and hips were just too tight. He is not the man who snuggled with E in his big chair reading books, because that would be “their thing”.

They’re just not us.

And we have to deal with the fact that although we are so blessed to know that we gave her a great start, and that she knows what love and security feels like because of us, she will not remember all those things above. She won’t remember my silly songs or Hubby’s silly voices. Unless we actively stay in her life, she won’t even remember our faces.

That stabs me right in the mama heart.

So this is my sacrifice? This is laying myself down? This is putting her above me?

And I’m not even being asked to slit her throat. (That’s an Isaac reference BTW.)

And now to quote Mother Therese…sort of…

Lord, you told me you won’t give me more than I can handle, but right now I wish you didn’t trust me so much.

Blessings!

Hannah