Will She Love Us?

This day has been playing out in my mind hundreds of times, ever since we started the adoption process.   But, with limited pictures and information , one can never know what to expect.  Especially my own emotions.   As Jeeva noted in the previous post, waiting is something we have been  forced to be more comfortable with and even embrace in this process.   And it is obvious as we traveled to the center this morning for the first time everyone on that bus had grown accustomed to waiting.   Everyone sat at breakfast and enjoyed conversations with new friends, as if we were going sight seeing for the day!  People loaded the buses arranging and rearranging their seats (we have lots of siblings on the trip.)  

We gathered in a big conference room for an orientation, and everyone listened as if we were months away from meeting our daughter.    We all had been forced to wait in excitement and anticipation and still totally exist  as if nothing was going on.  We were quickly bonding with these people  because we shared this joy and anticipation.  We boarded a old, red bus and rode on a bumpy unpaved road  just down the street to the place where our daughter lives.  The butterflies, once again, rose up.  But, this time I knew that these butterflies had a relief today.  They would not need to be compartmentalized into a piece of my heart  which had to wait!  We got to the beautiful care center and sat in a room brightened with a wall of windows, high ceilings, and white marble floors and warmed by large floor rugs, rocking chairs, and comfy yellow couches.  This place was lovely, clean, and remarkably quiet for housing over 40 children – ages 0 to 5.    We were told one family would be called at a time to meet their child.  Since no cameras are allowed in the center, there is a video crew taping your whole experience.  So, we waited at the bottom of the stairs .  Our new friends, one at a time, would be called up the stairs and return with a baby on their hip and a smile on their face.  Crazy.  We shared a joy with them as they had just given birth, some families for the first time!   

Will she love us?   What will she smell like?  What will her response be?  What will we do when we meet her?  So many questions going through my brain, but when our name was called it seemed really simple.  Walk up the stairs, and walk into a room.  A room where two babies lie on the floor and two nurses sit in the corner feeding a child with a metal cup.  A quick glance at the social worker to confirm which one was our baby, and there she was…. A precious girl lying on her tummy, chin way up in the air with a big smile on her face.  A smile so big you can see her gums. 

Jeeva and I both fell to our knees to get to her level and smiled at her.  She looked briefly at me, and then at Jeeva.   She never stopped smiling for the next few minutes.  She let out a few giggles toward  Jeeva’s playful voice.  I picked her up, and smelled her.   She smelled like a baby.  She felt like a baby.   A feeling I had longed and prayed for.   When I held her she looked at Jeeva; when Jeeva held her she looked at me.  She smiled and smiled.   After about three minutes, we were ushered back downstairs with her in our arms , where now there were clumpings of families sitting on the ground around their new child or sibling. We found an open spot in a rocking chair, since the nurse followed me with a bib and  a bowl of cereal to feed Rayne.   I was glad, at that moment, that I had done this a million times before with my other kids.  But, Caleb and Nathan never ate that fast!   We made a big mess of cereal, cleaned it up, and began to play with her.  She was precious, lovely, playful, and more than I could have dreamed of.    She liked us, but would she love us?  After about 30 minutes she grew tired, and she found her thumb.   The report was correct: "sucks on her right thumb."  I held her tightly, snuggled up to my chest .  She laid her head onto my shoulder and rested about 30 minutes until she silently fell asleep.  

She would love us.   I thought as she slept on my chest for the next hour that she has never been in anyone’s arms or fallen asleep in someone’s arms for over four months.  What a gift to be that person.   

As  I reflect on both of our visits with her today, I know that this orphanage is providing amazing physical care for Rayne.   They are efficient and well equipped.  They provide structure and playtime.  But, what we provide as parents no one can duplicate.   Rayne struggled to look in my eyes today as I held her. Her head turned and she grew very uncomfortable when I held her in a baby bottle feeding position, since no one has held her like this.  When she is fed she sits up in a nanny’s arms and faces out, when she is bathed she faces out and bathed with quick, loving hands... but no eye contact.  When she puts herself to sleep, no one is rocking her or singing to her. She resisted my eyes, but she is not resisting my love.  She already has become more comfortable with our love.  As the minutes progressed with her today she made eye contact with me.   I long to love her today, and watch the transforming power of love.      

 We love her, and she will love us.